Page 19 of Romancing the Rifleman
Abruptly, she realized her error—she was about to get soaked by the splash.As soon as the thought crossed her mind, strong hands seized her about the waist.Harrington swooped her around so that he stood between her and the river.She felt his body jolt as cold river water sprayed across his broad back.No more than a drop or two touched her.
Time seemed to slow down.He was standing so close, hunched protectively over her, she could feel his breath against her brow and smell his scent, which was of cinnamon.She became conscious of the feeling of his hands, so much larger than her own, around her waist.She rarely allowed a man near her and felt instinctively defensive when most men put their hands on her waist for something as mundane as a dance.But Harrington Astley’s hands on her body felt… right.As if that was where they weresupposedto be.
Gracious, his thumb had even settled on the underside of her breast—accidentally, she felt sure, but still.Strangely, she did not mind…
His eyes were heavy-lidded and focused on her lips.“Diana,” he breathed, and it occurred to her that if she slid her arms up, she could wrap them around his neck and pull his head down to hers.
He squeezed her waist, drawing her close…
… which caused his thumb to press into the soft swell of her breast.
His eyes flew open.He must have realized where his hand had landed, because he jerked his hands off her and took a stumbling step back.“S-sorry!I didn’t mean to grab your… your…”
“It’s all right.”Diana seized his hand so he wouldn’t back all the way into the Serpentine.“I know you were only trying to shield me.”
Rafe came up sputtering.Izzie and Lucy called out as they jogged along the riverbank, recalling Diana to the fact that they were in the middle of Hyde Park, surrounded by dozens of interested onlookers.
Rafe spat out a mouthful of river water.“What the hell, Astley?”
Diana rolled her eyes.How like a man, to be unable to admit that a woman had felled him.“He didn’t have the slightest thing to do with it.”
Izzie and Lucy arrived on the scene.“Diana, are you all right?”Lucy cried, clasping her hand.
Izzie took a different approach, placing a half-booted foot on the prow of Rafe’s rowboat and giving it a push.
Rafe sputtered protests as it drifted off into the middle of the Serpentine.“How dare you, you?—”
“You’ll want to be careful how you finish that sentence,” Harrington cut in.“You fancy yourself a bit of a boxer.If you insult his wife, I’m sure Thorpe would be happy to settle things in the ring.”
Rafe gave a soggy gulp.Thanks to days spent lifting cannons at his family’s iron forge, Izzie’s husband was built like an ox and had a hard time finding partners willing to spar with him at Gentleman Jackson’s.
Casting Izzie a dark look, Rafe swam after his boat, and at last, they were rid of him.
Lucy was still clucking over Diana.“I’m fine,” she hastened to reassure her.“It’s neither the first nor the last time one of my purported suitors has been overly forward.”She laughed bleakly.“Just another Tuesday in the park.”
“How about you, Harrington?”Izzie asked.“I think you bore the brunt of it.”
He waved this off.“Eh.Believe me, this jacket has seen worse.”
Diana’s heart was still racing as they made their way back to the landau.Harrington had almost kissed her!Surely that meant that he felt something more for her than mere friendship.
Equally stunning was the revelation that, for the first time in her life, Diana had not wanted him to stop.
Of course, it was for the best that they had been interrupted.Rotten Row was not the place for a romantic tête-à-tête.The mere fact that they had been seen walking together would provide grist for theton’sgossip mill for the next week.
But if they could find a better place, a secluded balcony, or a moonlit garden…
They had come to the landau.A thrill coursed up Diana’s arm as Harrington took her hand to help her into the carriage.
Lord Pearson was hosting a ball three days hence.As she settled back against the squabs, Diana found herself looking forward to the prospect for the first time in several years.
Chapter9
Harrington rose early the following morning and set out to execute his mission.
He started at Castle Court Tea and Coffee House, an establishment he had heard was popular with MPs because it carried a large selection of newspapers.Unfortunately, it appeared to attract the wrong sort of politicians, as none of the men diligently perusing the news of the day were on Harrington’s list of idlers.He passed an hour perusing the latest edition ofCobbett’s Political Register—something he had never imagined himself doing—then set off in search of a new strategy.
Harrington didn’t know a damn thing about the habits of the men on his list.But he did know who to ask.His friend from Oxford, Peter Ferguson, was head of his family’s business importing textiles from India, his mother’s home country.Peter had an encyclopedic memory which he applied diligently when it came to his potential customers.He had intelligence on everyone—whether they paid their bills on time, what fashions they preferred, and how they could best be beguiled into making a purchase.
