She stopped and turned with a frown. "What are you doing?"
"You are brilliant, and I believe I have the perfect solution."
…
It had been more than a week since he'd seen Harriet at the Crystal Palace, though he'd returned every day in between. He told himself it was because he was mesmerized by the architecture and exhibits, and that was true. But he also knew that part of him hoped each visit he'd run into her again. Aside from his obvious attraction to her, he wasn't certain why he enjoyed her company. He'd decided not to spend too much thought on it. She was pretty, and his presence seemed to simultaneously make her nervous and embolden her to speak her mind. It was a heady combination.
When a note from her arrived that morning suggesting he accompany his mother on her visit to see her own later that afternoon, he'd not even considered not going. Perhaps she'd had second thoughts about helping him. But her motives didn't even matter. He wanted to see her and she, for whatever reason, wanted to see him.
His mother had seemed surprised when he'd shown up ready to escort her to weekly tea with Lady Lockwood.
She kept smiling covertly at him in the carriage.
"I took your advice and have sought Lady Harriet's assistance in finding myself a wife."
"Splendid."
"Mother."
"I am pleased you are taking this task seriously."
He doubted that was it, but he said nothing more. When the carriage stopped, he climbed down, then assisted his mother. Number 22 King Street was a handsome townhome with red brick and two white columns flanking the shiny black door.
He'd already noted that the entryway and foyer of the townhome were in excellent repair. The Lockwoods quite obviously took great care with their home.
"My lady," the butler said to his mother. "The duchess has requested tea for you in the gardens."
"Excellent choice," his mother said.
Oliver moved to lead his mother to the back of the house where the garden doors would be, but the butler held up a hand.
"My lord, if you don't mind, Lady Harriet suggests you might wish to wait for your mother in here." He opened the door to their immediate right.
His mother didn't wait for him; instead she simply smiled and waved as she followed the butler down the corridor.
Oliver noted that the parlor was tastefully decorated, and he recognized that his mother must love this room with the pale green tones. But what caught his attention most was the vaulted ceiling and the fresco painting of cherubs with gilded wings.
The butler stepped back into the room and Harriet entered, followed closely by another woman, her lady's maid, he'd guess.
"Lord Davenport," Harriet said with a curtsy. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Of course, she couldn't admit to inviting him here herself. That simply wasn't done. She'd certainly gone to great lengths to follow propriety in setting up this rendezvous. He stepped over to her and bent as well as he could over her hand, pressing his lips to the softness of her glove, never taking his eyes off her. She had such a pleasant face that he decided he could look at it for hours. Sketch it. He didn't often draw anything other than building plans, but on occasion something beckoned him to put his pencil to paper. Lady Harriet was one such thing, though he doubted he could do her justice.
He motioned to the large leather chair adjacent to the settee. "May I?"
Her eyes fell to his leg, then the cane. He was accustomed to the looks and the stares; still, from her it was unsettling.
"Yes, of course, where are my manners?"
He lowered himself into the chair, knowing that his slow, methodical movements were likely painful and awkward to watch.
She and her maid sat on the settee.
"The weather has been unusually cold," she said.
He nodded. He'd noticed. His damned leg was better than a weather vane at knowing when a temperature shift was coming.
"Is that what you wanted to discuss? The weather?" he asked.
Her cheeks pinkened. "No. It would seem that some things have changed since last we spoke, and I have reconsidered assisting you."
"In my bride hunt?"
She inclined her head.
"So, you have decided to no longer concern yourself with my spending habits?"
"Of course not. I still believe your behavior to be appalling, and I will not cease reminding you of such."
"Splendid," he said, not bothering to disguise his sarcasm. "I fear I would miss your incessant nagging."
"As it so happens, I've decided there is something I want from you, in exchange for my help."
His eyes dropped to her lips. Her perfectly pink rosebud lips. As if she read his mind, she bit down on her bottom lip. He wanted to kiss her. Hell, he wanted to do more than that, but starting with that would be all too pleasant. He didn't dally with virgins, though. She was off-limits. Or she should be.
"You want me, you were saying," he said.
She frowned. "I want something from you." She turned to her maid. "Lottie, would you be a dear and fetch us some tea?"
Her maid eyed her suspiciously, opened her mouth as if to say something, then curtsied and left the room.
"You recently purchased the Garner townhome right down the street from your own," Harriet said, not wasting any time. "It is only a few doors from here."
"That is correct. I bought it last month." He frowned. "Why do you know that?"
Her shoulders lifted slightly. "Our mothers talk. I hear things."
"What is it that you want with the Garner townhome?" he asked.
"I want to borrow it."
He opened his mouth to ask a question, but she held up a hand to silence him.
"No questions asked."
"The home is empty. I have only had it cleaned; I haven't even hired staff for it or decided what I shall do with the property. Whatever … " His eyes took in the length of her. There was only one reason why a lady such as herself would want to have use of an unoccupied townhome-a lovers' rendezvous. Anger surged through him. He didn't want to think about another man having his hands on Harriet's beautiful body. That was ridiculous, though, as he certainly held no claim over her. "Who is he?"
Deep crevices furrowed her brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your lover, Harriet. What's his name?"
Confusion marked each of her features.
"There is no other reason you'd need such a property," he said.
Her shoulders rounded, and her chin tilted upward. "I, uh, yes, that is why I want the house. To, uh, fornicate with my lover." She stumbled over several of the words, and her cheeks now glowed a deep crimson.
He nearly drowned on the relief flooding him, also ridiculous. He needed to do something soon about his unreasonable attraction to this woman. If she didn't have a lover, then she had another reason to use the townhome. If she thought to play at deception, he would certainly oblige her. He stood and moved to sit next to her on the settee. She was the one who'd dismissed her chaperone.
"Are you saying you are a woman of loose morals?" he asked, leaning close to her face. She smelled delicious … like ripe cherries and cloves. He resisted the urge to inhale deeply.
Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath but nodded swiftly. "Yes, I am very much that. Very loose morals, indeed."
He bit back a smile. "And you wish to fornicate inside my property?"
"I do. Fornicate, yes."
He stared at her face, his eyes dropped to her lips again. She was so damned pretty.
"I can't very well do it here," she said.
"Of course not." He was now so close he could see the pupils of her eyes widen at his nearness, the black swallowing the warm brown of her irises. "Loose morals," he whispered.
"Yes," she breathed.
And then he lowered his mouth to hers. She stiffened initially then relaxed as he coaxed her lips with his tongue. Her body leaned in to his, and she opened to him. He'd meant only to tease her, to startle her, but now that he'd started, he wasn't certain he'd be able to stop kissing her. Especially since Harriet kissed him back. Her inexperience didn't turn him off; on the contrary, the tentative strokes of her tongue fueled his desire. He cradled her face, let his thumb stroke her cheek.
The tea cart rattled down the corridor toward them, and Harriet abruptly stood, hand to her throat.
Her lips were parted, and her blush disappeared beneath her bodice.
He stood as well, leaned against his cane. "You might not wish to tell me the truth, but I shall discover why you want that house." That kiss had been far more arousing than it should have been. He shifted his stance.
She took a steadying breath. "Then I may borrow it?"
"Yes. For the time being."
The maid opened the door and shuttled the tea cart inside.
"You shall assist me in finding a suitable wife?"
"I will."
He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to it. He looked up over her hand and met her gaze. "Then we have a deal."