Page 17 of A Naughty Proposal for His Winter Countess
I wonder, why?
“Nevertheless, your shoulders are stiff, and so is your gaze. Your tone hardly changes in inflection, and your body does not give room for a man to give more or to try. Women, Harriet, have mastered the art of flirting with their eyes, voice, and body for years,” Daniel said, while reaching for his glass of punch.
“How so?”
“Buy using their attributes; coy glances, flickering lashes, seductive smiles, whispery tones, and submissive poses,” Daniel replied. “Try this; when a man praises you, turn your head to the side, dip your eyes, and bob your head as well. Drop the tone of your voice to just a calm, flattered tone, and say, thank you.”
Harriet felt at a loss for a moment. She tried to think back to witnessing coy smiles—but the only reference she had were her old tormentors in Miss Cottenham School, when they would look at her under their lashes, and smile sweetly before they uttered hateful words.
“Like this?” she tried to mirror their actions, smiling coyly and batting her lashes, but, instead of smiling, he paled.
“Good God, it’s like you’re a paroxysm,” Daniel grimaced. “I should have known that this wouldn’t be easy.”
Harriet huffed, “Pardon me for not clinging to the idea that seducing a man would be my life’s accomplishment.”
Offering his arm again, Daniel led her back to the room, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“But it burned in one,” Harriet replied as they got to the dance floor. Her eyes were dim with concern, “Are you sure this isn’t an effort in futility?”
Dipping his voice, Daniel asked, “How dedicated are you to winning…Count Roussillon?” He substituted the name for a known womanizing character in Shakespeare, understanding the need not to utter Lord Dawson’s name where they could be overheard.
He hoped Harriet would catch the reference, and Daniel was proven right when she laughed, “Enough to follow him to parts of the world unknown.”
Biting back a curse, Daniel said, “Then you’ll need to master the craft.”
A dance was called, and he ushered Harriet to the floor, where they began the cotillion. Half the dance passed in quiet contemplation on either side, then he decided on what to do next. “Come to my home tomorrow.”
“For…lessons?”
“Yes, disguised as courtship,” Daniel replied. “Should I send my coach, or will you use your sister’s?”
“I think it's best to use ours,” Harriet replied. “We do have a couple to spare.”
The music came to a stop, and Daniel bowed, “I’ll tell your sister.”
Nodding, while curtsying, Harriet stood and took Daniel’s offered arm to the sidelines where her Aunt sat, speaking with her sister, Miss Emma Bradford.
Despite their age difference, the two dressed similarly, with high-necked gowns, with enough cloth in their full skirts to make three dresses and a handful of serviettes. Harriet joined her relatives, while he went to get another drink.
“Raster?” someone said, and he turned to see two men, a marquess, Benedict Scott, Lord Portland, and a wealthy trader, Mister Silas Callum, the Lord’s business partner. Both men had once been Daniel’s close friends and confidants—but were also men he had avoided like the plague in the last two years.
Swallowing over the churn in his stomach, Daniel turned, “Yes, Portland, it’s I.”
“How are you?” Benedict asked, while holding a glass of liquor. His eyes were dimming with an emotion Daniel hated more than what had caused it…pity.
“Better than I was before,” Daniel replied calmly.
“I can see that,” the Marquess replied.
The last time the two had seen him, Daniel had become a shadow of himself, underweight, gaunt, and with dark circles under his eyes and sinking deeper in misery. Now, he knew they were seeing the marked difference from two years ago.
“Barkley, I need to speak…” Ben paused at seeing the men, “Portland, Callum, nice to see you.”
“You as well, Bradford,” the Marquess lifted his drink, “have a good night.”
Relieved that the men were gone, Daniel turned to Benjamin. “Yes?”
Ben’s eyes flickered to the backs of the men before going to Daniel. “Were they—”
