Page 37 of A Naughty Proposal for His Winter Countess
His smile was sly, “I’ll hold that in reserve, if you don’t mind.”
Laughing, Harriet kissed his cheek, “Good night.”
“You as well,” Daniel replied, as he bowed and he headed to the dining room.
Smiling blissfully, Harriet went to her bedroom, but in that corridor was Martha and Antony’s room, and while passing, heard the hushed undertones of an argument. That was strange—shouldn’t they be in the dining room?
Pressing her ear to the door, Harriet heard Antony coldly say, “You haven’t tried enough.”
“This is not my doing,” Martha sounded profoundly distressed. “I cannot control what God permits.”
“God has nothing to do with it,” Antony seethed. “You’re just worthless.”
Shocked, Harriet jerked her head away and after a moment, scampered to her room and locked the door behind her. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates and Harriet pressed a hand to her breast. Had she heard that?
Still perturbed, Harriet disrobed and dressed for bed in a thick night rail and wrapper. Sitting at her dressing table, Harriet brushed her hair out and tried to make sense out of what felt senseless. Why was Antony debasing her sister that way?
If so, why hadn’t Martha said something?
Unable to understand it, Harriet decided to ask Martha about it the next day, and went on to think about Daniel. He was a complex man, intriguing, and if she dared think so, possessive. He’d vowed to teach her all the seductive wiles but when he had told her that he wanted her to be wicked with him—she could only dream what he meant.
With her hair rolled and her nightcap on, she went to her bed and at the table there, fished out Ashworth’s book from the drawer. Hesitantly, she turned the pages, eyes darting to some riveting scenes and the imagery that made her heart pump out of rhythm.
“If you want to be wicked…be wicked with me,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll certainly hold you to that.”
* * *
“A musicale?” Harriet asked, fiddling with the ring Daniel had given her, “Are you sure?”
“I am,” Daniel replied as they headed off to Emma’s home, before they went to London, “It would do us good to be seen outside of your sister’s Manor for a change. And Matthew, another past mate from Cambridge, had given me an extended invitation.”
Harriet nodded and turned the ring a little, drawing Daniel’s eyes to the motion. “Is it tight? We can stop at a jeweler to fix it.”
“It’s not,” Harriet corrected, with a nervous laugh, “It just feels a little strange on my finger. Tell me about your friend?”
“Matthew Oakley is the Marquess Sandhurst without a Marquessate. His family lost the land to creditors but he held the title and earned his wealth by connections in trading. He is a perpetual bachelor and has told me more than once, if he ever brings notions of marriage to me, that I should carry him to Bedlam.”
A soft laugh escaped Harriet, “He seems like a character.”
“Unburdened by too much responsibility, he certainly is,” Daniel replied. “Ladies see him as an easy mark, with much wealth and little duties to spend it on. He doesn’t have to pay many taxes, or too many servants. Don’t be surprised if you see more women and their mamas at his home than men.”
“I’ve often likened those mamas to bears who have just awoken from hibernation and are looking for prey,” Harriet laughed. “On behalf of all members of my sex, I apologize to you and your kind for our savagery.”
Taken aback, Daniel inclined his head, “I should take out an article in the London Gazette and publish your apology.”
The coach trundled to the old home where Emma and Aunt Barbara lived. Harriet’s childhood home looked the same; the same paved inner courtyard, gabled roof and sun-weathered faded boards as if time had left it in a bubble by itself. She left the coach, went to the door and knocked, waiting quietly in the afternoon sun for her sister to come out.
When Emma did come to the door, she was wrapped up in so many layers that Harriet could barely see her eyes. Her ruby-red nose and flushed cheeks immediately had Harriet concerned.
“Emma, are you ill?”
Waving a hand, Emma said, “Very much so. I came down with it this morning; woke feverish and congested. I didn’t think to send word, Harriet. My apologies.”
Harriet stepped forward, “Perhaps I should stay—”
“Don’t you dare,” Emma replied, glaring weakly, “I will not have you sacrifice your fun for me. Please go. I can take care of myself, and when Aunt comes back from vising her friends in Manchester, I’ll be more than set.”
“I know you can,” Harriet replied. “Doesn’t mean you should.”
