Page 10 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
Harriet frowned, puzzled. At this dreadfully early hour? And who on earth would--
The realization struck her like a physical blow, effectively snapping her into full wakefulness. Of course. He'd wasted no time at all, the arrogant Scot.
Tamping down the potent brew of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her at the mere thought of him, Harriet nodded to the maid with as much poise as she could muster.
“Very well, have him shown into the morning room. I shall join him presently.”
As the door clicked shut once more, she flung aside the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her hands trembled faintly as she fumbled to secure the sash of her dressing robe, unruly curls escaping their pins to tumble in a riot of brown waves around her face.
Why would he arrive at this ghastly hour? Harriet wondered as she hurried through the motions of preparing herself to receive him. She was quite certain that he was not that eager to propose to her. In fact, she was certain that it was no more than an aggravating task for him as well. One would think the man could wait until noon to call upon her.
By the time she swept into the morning room mere minutes later, she'd managed to compose herself into an outward facade of unruffled serenity despite her pounding heart. The sight of him standing at the tall windows, however, hands braced on the sill as he gazed out over the sculpted hedgerows, instantly shredded the fragile mask.
His shoulders seemed to take up more space than should be allotted, the powerful line of his back tapering down in an unmistakable vee that hinted at the virile strength coiled just beneath those impeccable clothes. Harriet's breath caught in her throat, an unwelcome flush of warmth heating her cheeks as unbidden thoughts of how that broad expanse would feel beneath her palms flooded her mind.
Clearing her throat to dispel the unsettling images, she lifted her chin in a silent demand for acknowledgment. “Your Grace. To what do I owe this... unexpectedly early call?”
Hugh turned slowly, his expression unreadable as those piercing green eyes settled on her with inscrutable intensity. There was a heavy pause as he simply regarded her in that discomfiting, assessing way of his. Just as the silence verged on becoming unbearable, he spoke.
“I thought it best we settle matters as soon as possible,” he rumbled in that deep, impossibly grave timbre that seemed to vibrate through her very core. “Before tongues begin waggin' even more viciously.”
“Settle matters?” Harriet echoed before she could quite catch herself. She rallied quickly, any trace of weakness buttressed by a sudden surge of pique. “How dreadfully pragmatic of you, Your Grace, to address the topic of my utter ruination with such mercenary calculus.”
He didn't so much as flinch at her acerbic tone, merely holding her fiery gaze with unblinking equanimity. Maddening, how she couldn't seem to ruffle him no matter how barbed her rejoinders.
“Hardly me intent to be glib, lass,” he countered, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw. “We both know there's only one path forward that preserves what's left of yer reputation.”
Comprehension dawned with a sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach. Of course. The inevitable reason for his presence, stated so boldly she could scarcely breathe around the lump of dread constricting her throat.
“So my brother has already called upon you with his scheme, has he?” she bit out, anger swiftly overshadowing her other turbulent emotions. “How very kind of you both to decide my future without so much as a courtesy discussion!”
Hugh's brow creased in a frustrated scowl at her harsh accusation. “Heavens, lass, this is nae merely some scheme to ensnare ye! I'm only here with the noblest of...”
A harsh bark of derisive laughter burst from Harriet before she could rein it in. “Noble? You and William both, always insisting your intentions are above reproach! But where does a woman's agency factor into all of this nobility, I ask you? Or am I simply expected to meekly accept whatever path is dictated to me regardless of my own desires?”
Silence swelled in the wake of her outburst, thick and fraught with unnamed tensions. Hugh stared at her, lips compressed into a flat line, and for a fleeting instant Harriet could have sworn she glimpsed a flash of...remorse in those fathomless eyes? But then his expression shuttered once more into that impenetrable mask of stoicism.
“I came here expectin' a rational discussion about our circumstances, nae to be greeted with such hostility and accusations of ill intent,” Hugh ground out, his jaw tensing visibly.
Harriet scoffed, anger and indignation lending her a reckless boldness in the face of his chastisement. “A rational discussion?” she echoed scathingly. “You speak of rationality as though my life, my future was little more than a mere mathematical equation to be solved with cold pragmatism!”
She took a defiant step towards him, chin lifted in open challenge. “Well I'll not have it, Your Grace! I reject your lofty rationale, your insistence that I simply resign myself to being yet another chess piece maneuvered across the playing board of society's whims!”
Hugh's jaw worked furiously as he struggled to reign in his temper, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. When he spoke again, his words were clipped, precise incisions that sliced through the charged air between them. “Then pray tell, Lady Harriet, what would ye have me do? Stand idly by as yer reputation crumbles to ash thanks to a misfortunate series of circumstances? Because make nay mistake, thetonwill show ye nay mercy in light of what transpired, nay matter how blameless yer actions may have been.”
"And you presume to solve everything by shackling me to a man I hardly know?” Harriet shot back without missing a beat. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but that seems an awfully drastic remedy for wounded propriety, does it not?”
“It's the only blasted path left to ye that preserves any shred of dignity!” Hugh snarled, his carefully cultivated composure shattering in an explosive outburst of Scottish temper. “If ye turn me away now, ye consign yerself to a life of destitution and scorn, untouchable in the eyes of the whole blastedton! Is that what ye want, foolish lass? To be a cast-off, a ruined woman doomed to walk in shame for the rest of yer days?”
The naked anguish writ across Hugh's noble features gave Harriet pause, her breath hitching at the visceral potency of his words. For an endless, suspended moment, she could only gape at him as the terrible reality he painted bore down upon her in waves of breathless dismay. Then, as abruptly as his composure had slipped, it snapped back into place—a brittle, impenetrable mask that closed off his expression once more.
"Well?" Hugh's terse prompt sliced through her reverie, his tone hardening with impatience. "I am afraid I daenae have all day, lass... will ye marry me or nae?"
A frown immediately settled between Harriet’s brows at his abrupt question and she crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
The single, succinct syllable seemed to ricochet through the air between them with shocking potency. Hugh stared at her, eyes widening fractionally in what Harriet could only interpret as dumbfounded surprise. She watched as myriad micro-expressions flickered across his chiseled features—shock, consternation, displeasure...until at last his eyes narrowed in a bemused glower directed at her as though she were some inscrutable riddle.
“Nay?” he echoed in a low growl that somehow still managed to roll with that lilting brogue.
