The music dwindled to a stop, and Harriet found herself looking into eyes that held repressed pain and somber wisdom. Harriet found herself wondering if she could trust him about Lord Dawson—but it was hard to accept.
As he led her off the floor to the refreshment table, Harriet quietly asked, “Why are you so adamant about keeping me away from Lord Dawson?”
“Because he is a rakehell with few morals and a line of shattered women behind him,” Lord Barkley said dourly. “As far as I know, he had two illegitimate children who, with their mamas, were shipped off to the Colonies.”
Taken aback, Harriet gasped, “What? Say it isn’t so!”
“I wish I could,” Lord Barkley replied, while looking at his pocket watch. “Haven’t seen him before the last dance?”
“No,” Harriet replied, before sipping the cool drink, “why do you ask?”
“I ask because a leopard cannot change his spots,” Lord Barkley replied, “If he is absent, it means he had found a woman, and as he is a man of habits, by the rumors about his chosen places forliaisons, he is either christening your library, or is somewhere in your gardens with her.”
Harriet looked toward the doors that would take them to the house's main rooms, and looked back at the Earl. “Are you aiming to find them?”
“I’m aiming to show you what you would experience with a man like him,” Lord Barkley said. “Where do you choose; the library, or the garden?”
Nibbling her lip, Harriet said, “He might be mad to choose the garden as it is snow-covered, so the library?”
“I must warn you; I don’t know what he is doing but something is afoot. Are you prepared for that?”
Harriet took the somber warning with a conflicted heart. “Yes.”
Gesturing, Lord Barkley said, “Please, lead the way.”
Looking around first, Harriet nodded, and turned to the doorway. If the lord had any prudence, he would wait a while before following her. She made it to the main stairs before he came into the main hall and followed her up the stairs.
Harriet was not sure why she was going along the Earl’s madcap idea—as moments before she was ready to slap him—but she felt it was her chance to prove him wrong. Lord Dawson was not doing anything indecent; she was sure.
Her brother-in-law’s library was a show of the Baron’s masculinity; outfitted in all dark woods and leather seats, the high-ceilinged library had extended bookshelves and window reading nooks covered by thick-velvet cloth. The fireplace was unlit, but the place was warm, and a coy giggle and a male laugh came from one of the nooks.
Lord Barkley grabbed her and tugged them into the other nook, the two parted by a thin wall of wood. It was a small nook, so they stood close, and pressed on his chest, she inhaled the exotic male spice of his cologne.
“The object of your campaign is with a lady,” he whispered in her ear.
“If you want more proof of his philandering ways, listen on.”
Harriet stiffened as a shiver ran from the point his warm breath landed on her neck to dip to the tips of her toes.
The lady laughed through the wall. “What shall I do with the bludgeon in your pants, My Lord?”
Dawson laughed, “Is it not going to help itself, is it? On your knees, Love.”
Harriet's eyes were as wide as dinner plates as she tried to conjure what was happening in the nook beyond theirs. Surely—surely—the woman was not pleasuring him with her mouth? She had read of such salacious acts, but to witness them was another thing altogether.
Undecided if she should stay and hear some of her deepest fantasies, or leave to before all her sensibilities were torn from her, Harriet felt affixed to her place.
If I run now, he’ll know I was putting on a front.
“Had enough of me, Pet?” Dawson said as the slaps of flesh continued. “I’m not done with you yet. A friend of mine is going to join us in a few.”
Aménage à trois, something Harriet had read about but had shunted the idea of ever witnessing into a drawer of fantasy. Still unable to move, Harriet felt everything within her tighten with the lady’s hoarse cry of completion, and Dawson’s strangled grunt had her heart racing.
Harriet pressed a hand to her chest, where her breath felt stuck in her lungs, and her vision shifted in and out of focus. The reality of what she had just heard still felt unbelievable, but then someone joined the two.
“Am I too late?” the man said, in a silky cold, aristocratic drawl.
“No,” Dawson replied, “you’re just in time.”
