"Who?"
"Harriet. She knows everyone." His mother nodded to the crowd around Harriet. "Look how people are drawn to her."
Harriet's smile was nearly blinding as she laughed at something one of her friends said. Another man came to stand in front of her and wrote his name on her dance card.
"She could likely find you the perfect bride," his mother said.
He had considered heeding her advice. "You want her to be my matchmaker?" He squelched the thrum of his heart at the thought of spending more time with her.
His mother lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. "She is well connected. Everyone likes her."
"I can find my own damn bride," he said.
"Ticktock, my dear. Remember, you have until my birthday or else I shall pick for you."
"Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad." He glanced out at the ballroom. People milled about getting refreshments, talking, dancing. "Who would you pick?"
His mother followed his gaze out to the room and scanned. Then she smiled. "Do you see that girl over there?" She pointed with her fan. "The one at the refreshment table?"
"The one in the gown that looks as if it were carved from butter?" The dress appeared as if it could move about the room on its own accord, it was so heavy and ornate. The girl in the dress was as nondescript as her gown was overdone. "No."
"Very well," his mother said with a chuckle. "Show me one lady who has caught your attention."
His eyes immediately fell onto Harriet again. She was hard to miss. Her smile lit up the entire ballroom so much he suspected they might not need so many candles. Her golden hair piled atop her head in a nest of curls. He wondered how long it was when it was down. Would it drape over her creamy shoulders? Cover her perfectly round breasts if she pulled it in front?
He jerked his eyes away from her; she was too bloody distracting. Not only that, but she knew far too much about him. He might have been the one to pass on a union between them, but she had seen his state of desperation. And he, in turn, had seen the pity in her eyes.
"No one." Then he turned on his heel and walked away, his cane making a clip-clop noise as he went.
Chapter Three
It had been only two days since he'd seen her last, but Oliver spotted Harriet immediately upon entering the ballroom. Though she was much tinier than her friends, standing nearly a head below each of them, she was hard to miss.
The lavender gown she wore hung off her shoulders, exposing the delicate pale skin. The bodice then dipped into a plunging V that left little to his imagination or any other man's in the room. Her cinched waist served only to draw attention to the swell of her hips and abundant cleavage.
Desire pummeled through him. He'd never been much of a dancer even before his accident, but looking at her and remembering how she'd looked dancing with that Ashby fellow, Oliver wished he could whisk her into a waltz.
She was exposed, looking very much like a meticulously decorated cake that every man would want to devour. Without another thought he ambled his way to her.
He inclined his head when he reached her. "Lady Harriet," he said.
"Lord Davenport." She dipped into a curtsy which gave him an even better view of her magnificent breasts.
He hissed out a breath and clenched down on his teeth. He could scarcely think when face to … ahem … face, with her breasts. Oh, to rip that bodice off her and delve into the creamy mounds. He shifted his stance in hopes of alleviating the uncomfortable swelling in his trousers.
"You need to cover yourself," he said through gritted teeth.
She frowned as she looked up at him, all wide blue eyes and innocence. It should have reminded him that she was a sweet virgin and not someone he should be fantasizing about bending over the billiards table he knew waited a few rooms away.
"Beg your pardon, my lord?"
He intentionally glanced down at her cleavage, then back up at her face. "You have left little to my imagination. And every other rogue in the room."
Her cheeks pinkened. "You shouldn't say such things. It isn't proper."
He scanned the ballroom. The crush of people was suffocating. Damnation, but he hated these things. Perhaps he should allow his mother to select a bride for him, then he could retire from social engagements altogether.
Yet even with just a cursory glance around the room, no other woman grabbed his attention the way she did. And the few introductions he'd garnered the last couple of weeks had ultimately resulted in awkward conversations with girls who appeared so frightened of his mere presence he was nearly ready to give up this entire quest. But his mother deserved happiness and a life of her own. She would not accept one, though, if she thought he still needed her.
"It also isn't remotely true," she continued. "My gown isn't any more revealing than any of the others here tonight. And I certainly don't see a line of rogues trying to take liberties with me." She seemed to be surprised by her own words, because she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"It's your curves," he said.
"My lord, that is most inappropriate to say. You should not discuss such matters with me," she said. "Not to mention, it is quite rude of you to point out my flaws as if I weren't aware of them."
What the devil is she talking about? "Flaws?"
"My ample curves," she gritted out.
"You see them as flaws?"
"Of course I do. Everyone does. It is not fashionable to look this way."
"I care not a whit about what is or isn't fashionable. You"-he gave himself permission to look his fill of her-"look good enough to eat."
"You must be starving."
He laughed, a genuine and hearty laugh that seemed to surprise both of them.
"Is that what you came over to tell me?" she asked.
"No. Actually, I had something I wanted to discuss with you, but you distracted me." He shifted again, noting that his semi-hardness hadn't dissipated in the least. "I've thought much about the advice you gave me the other evening."
Her light brows arched. "Indeed?" Then a frown. "Which advice?"
Three young ladies walked past them, whispering. When he glanced up at them, they all looked down at the floor and scurried away. "About my bride hunting."
"Ah yes." She nodded knowingly.
"I should like for you to help me find a wife so that my mother will cease her constant pestering." Granted she'd only recently started asking, and in truth, he was doing this for her more so than himself.
"You wish me to play matchmaker?" Harriet asked.
"Yes. No. Not exactly. I require assistance, as I've been out of Society for a few years and I'm not as familiar with the marriageable girls."
"I see. And you thought of me … because?"
"You know everyone, and everyone seems to like you."
As if on cue, a group of guests walked by and nearly all of them wove or spoke to Harriet.
"See?" he asked.
"That is only because I am friendly."
He shook his head. "You also know me, how I am," he said, recognizing that he was stumbling over his words. "Can you find me a woman strong enough to live with me? I don't want some simpering miss who cries every time I enter a room."
"That would be terribly annoying," Harriet said.
"Then you will do it?"
"I didn't say that. I was merely agreeing with your statement." She shook her head. "Though I can't imagine why any woman would cry because you entered the room."
"There are those who find me frightening."
"Do you occasionally strike people with your cane?"
Had he not seen the mirth in her eyes, he would have believed the question to be a serious one. "Not unless their behavior warrants it."
She smiled. "Then there is no reason for people to fear you. We simply need to show them that fact."
"Do you have thoughts on how we can do that?" Perhaps this meant she was considering his offer. His heart ticked faster at the thought of spending more time in her presence.
"Well, for one, you could cease your incessant scowling. Try smiling at people. You'd be surprised how far a well-placed smile can get you."
"I'm not good at smiling at people for no reason. Particularly people I don't know or like."
"Then you should practice. You will become good at it."
"I don't do that."
She glanced at him and bestowed him with such a genuine smile that he nearly forgot to breathe. Then she added, "I don't like you, yet I am able to smile at you. Through practice."
She blinked up at him with such innocent eyes, it took him a moment to catch the meaning of her words. Then he nearly laughed.
If only he didn't enjoy her company so much.
She was so pretty it was uncomfortable to look at her, as she reminded him of how things might have proceeded in his life had he not had the accident. Before that, even penniless, he could have had his pick of the marriageable women in this town. Now, though, it would take more than his considerable fortune. People moved away when he walked into a room, cleared a path. People flinched at the sound of his cane on the floor until it echoed so loudly it was the only sound.