To Ruin a Rake (18 page)

“At your leisure, of course,” she answered. “After all, I would never wish to inconvenience you, Your Grace.”

Her expression was placid and her demeanor pleasant—affable, even—but he wasn’t fooled. She was as tense as a bowstring and as infuriated as a cornered badger. A thrill shot through him. How he’d missed this! He’d missed crossing swords with her, missed the way his blood heated when battling her sharp mind and tongue. Being here with her now was like consuming a rich, flavorful meal after a week of nothing but bread and water.

I’ve missed her.
His gut clenched. To hide his disquiet, he turned to her sister who was now absorbed in rearranging the flowers on the table. “Lady Catherine, what might you like to talk about in lieu of the Hospital, since your sister has been so kind as to let us off the hook?”

The girl leveled a vacant stare at him. “Oh! Am
I
to choose, then? How lovely! It isn’t often I’m given the privilege in this house, my being next to youngest.” She giggled a little and bit her lip. “Well, I suppose I should like to know more about
you
, Your Grace.”

It was the right thing for a properly trained young lady to say, and he ought to have feigned flattery. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard quite enough about me from your sister,” he said, glancing at Harriett.

“Not at all, Your Grace,” insisted Catherine. “In fact, I’ve been
quite
annoyed by how tight-lipped she’s been these past few weeks. Of course, I shouldn’t perhaps have expected her to be very forthcoming. After all, she hardly ever spoke about your brother, either.”

“Cat!” hissed Harriett, frowning.

“Well it’s true! You didn’t.”

Dunhaven cleared his throat. “Ah, Catherine, why don’t you tell His Grace about your plans for a garden gazebo? His knowledge of architecture may be instructive in improving the project.”

It was a deliberate redirection from a subject that was obviously a point of contention between the two siblings. Roland smiled encouragingly at the girl. “Do you share your sister’s fascination with building things then, Lady Catherine?”

“Me? Not at all, Your Grace,” answered the blonde. “I simply thought it might be nice to have a bit of shade in that part of the garden. We had an enormous tree there, once upon a time, but lightning struck it last summer and it had to be cut down. I’ve drawn a few sketches of what I should like to see replace it, but nothing more. Harriett, as usual, spoiled my fun and told me they’d never work. She tried explaining why, but I could hardly understand a word of her explanation—she spoke of tinsel stress and jousts and such. It was like listening to someone speak in a foreign tongue.”

“Tensile stress and joists,” Harriett quietly corrected.

Catherine’s delicate brows drew together and she opened her mouth—doubtless preparing to protest being made to look a fool—but her red-faced father intervened. “Why don’t you run and fetch them and let His Grace have a look? He might be able to advise you regarding which will best suit.”

The young woman’s mutinous expression transformed to one of delight. “Would you?”

“I would be delighted,” Roland said, smiling at her.

She jumped up at once and shot Harriett a smug look. “I shall fetch them at once.” Whirling, she all but ran from the room.

Dunhaven’s shoulders sagged with relief. “My apologies, Your Grace. She is young and has lived a very sheltered life.”

“You need not apologize for her enthusiasm,” Roland told him, though he was looking at Harriett. “We were all young, once upon a time.” His inclusion of her in the statement was quite deliberate. And effective, as evidenced by the black look she shot him.
That’s more like it!

“Maturity will sober her soon enough,” said Dunhaven with an indulgent smile.

“Should it find her,” quipped Harriett, glaring daggers. “
Some
manage to escape it their whole lives.”

The rapid-paced clack of heels on wood alerted them to Catherine’s return, and a moment later she appeared in the doorway, her cheeks bright and her breath fast. “I have them, Your Grace,” she said, dumping an armful of papers on the table in front of him.

Roland spent the next half hour poring over the drawings with her, purposely ignoring Harriett and hoping it would drive her mad. Though he forced his eyes to the task before him—Catherine had been told the truth, for not a one of these had any potential to become a reality—every other sense was trained on Harriett. He could smell her faint lavender scent in the air. He could feel her gaze burning into him.

It wasn’t long before a footman came to inform them dinner was served. Catherine rose first, but Roland pretended a lingering interest in one of her sketches long enough for her father to claim her. Rising, he at last looked to Harriett and saw that her eyes were like twin jades. Smiling, he offered his arm.

She glanced at it as though it bore some vile pestilence before grudgingly taking it.

“You’ve been very quiet tonight, Lady Harriett,” he murmured as they left the room. “I’m unused to such reticence from you.”

“What are you doing here?” she breathed back. “I mean what are you
really
doing here?”

Straight to the point. That was Harriett all over. “Being sociable,” he answered. “Thought I’d try it on and see how it fit. I’m finding it surprisingly enjoyable.” Deliberately, he let his gaze drift ahead to where her sister now walked with Dunhaven. Catherine glanced back at them over her shoulder and gave him a glittering smile.

“I hope you’re not intending to ask after my sister,” said Harriett, her fingers on his arm tightening. “If you think for one moment I won’t break my heretofore polite silence about you and tell her just what sort of man you really are, you are mistaken. I’d sooner let her wed a snake than you.”

“Ah, so that’s why you think I’m here,” he whispered, smiling. He paused and looked her up and down, taking his time. “Well, at least you wear your color out in the open. Green suits you, by the bye.”

Her cheeks pinked. “My motives are purely protective. I’m sure you must know by now that I have
no
interest in a relationship with—”

“Is all well?” called Dunhaven from down the hall, his expression concerned.

“Yes, of course, Papa,” she called, forcing a bright smile. “We are just coming along.”

Roland gestured to Harriett. “I was only taking a moment to admire your daughter’s elegance.”

The other man’s brows shot up. “Well, by all means, feel free. I should like to see her dress so more frequently.”

“As would I,” he said low, just for her benefit. A small, strangled noise escaped from between his companion’s clenched teeth as they resumed progress, and he knew she would like nothing better than to wring his neck.

~ * ~

He couldn’t possibly have meant it! Even so, his compliment sent a flush of heat to Harriett’s midsection. “Such clothes are ill-suited to my duties at the Hospital.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to see you more often in other settings, shan’t I?”

Her heart lurched. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed, stopping him again. “He has no
idea
how things really are between us, and I would rather it stay that way.”

“That shall be entirely up to you.”

“If you mean to force me out of—”

“I have no such nefarious intentions, I assure you.” But the gleam in his eyes belied his protestation.

“I know what you’re on about,” she countered. “It won’t work. I’ll tell Papa—”

“Do so, and he’ll refuse to allow you within a hundred paces of that Hospital as long as I am present. Which will be daily from now on.”

Fingers of ice clutched her spine. “You intend to make it so unpleasant for me to be there that I am driven away. And if that doesn’t work, then you plan to give the false impression of interest in me until I am forced to tell my father the truth so that he will forbid my being anywhere near you.”

“I would never be so cruel as to force you out, Harriett. I know what the place means to you. But you and I are going to have to reach some sort of an agreement. If you wish to remain at the Hospital in your current capacity, it will have to be on my terms.”

“And what terms are those, exactly?”

“What
is
keeping you?” called Cat from up ahead, sounding much put out.

He leaned closer. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until Monday to find out,” he whispered, grinning. Turning to face her sister, he called back, “Nothing, poppet. Just a question your sister had concerning the renovations in the east wing.”

Poppet?
Harriett ground her teeth as Cat giggled—she was acting, of course, but her coquettish manner with him still rubbed her the wrong way. She didn’t care to explore why it bothered her—but it did. A lot.

“But I thought we were to discuss something
besides
that, Your Grace,” whined her sister. “Did you not give me leave to choose the topic of our dinner conversation?”

“Indeed I did, and I am nothing if not a man of my word,” he said, shooting Harriett a loaded glance. He hooked her arm and pulled her along. “Onward, Lady Harriett. Dinner awaits.”

Given no choice, she acquiesced and led him to the dining room. As they entered, Harriett looked upon the spread with pride and a pang of sadness. The way the table had been set, one might think King George himself were to arrive at any moment. Their best china and silver lay gleaming upon their best tablecloth alongside their best crystal. All of it would be gone by this time next year, thanks to Papa’s mounting debts. She determined to enjoy it while she could, despite the fact it had been dragged out to impress her enemy.

“No, Catherine,” said Papa as her sister made to sit beside their guest. “You shall sit here beside me.”

Cat’s wore her disappointment openly, but she did as she was told beneath their father’s stern gaze.

Harriett would applaud her acting skills later. What had Manchester meant by “terms”? Her mind came up with all sorts of disastrous scenarios, some more calamitous than others—those were mainly inspired by the way he looked at her now as she made her way around the table to take the seat beside him. Her pulse jumped as he stepped in ahead of the footman to hold out her chair for her.

Taking her place, she refrained from turning to smack his hand away when while pushing her in toward the table his knuckles brushed the back of her neck. Gooseflesh rose all over, and an involuntary shiver ran through her. The faint smirk he wore as he sat down beside her said her reaction had not gone unnoticed.

Wroth, Harriett fixed her gaze on the plate before her, watching as the soup was served. His sleeve brushed against her arm. Again she shivered. Hoping to avoid a repeat, she leaned away a bit. But it was hopeless.

Who the devil had placed these chairs so bloody close together? It was a large enough table, yet here they were all crammed together at one end with barely enough room to breathe without making contact with some part of one’s neighbor.

Her suspicious gaze flew to her father, who sat at the head taking what seemed to be far too much pleasure in his soup. For pity’s sake, the man was humming under his breath as he ate!

She jerked a little as something touched her foot beneath the table—another foot. Turning, she impaled Manchester with a glare that should have sent him sprawling to the floor in agony. The blackguard ignored her and looked at his soup bowl as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Concealed by the table, Harriett lifted her heel and brought it down atop the toes of the offending foot in a grinding motion. Nothing. She rose slightly and placed all of her weight on that heel, disguising the true nature of what was going on by pretending to adjust her skirts.

A soft hiss of indrawn breath was Manchester’s only indication of pain.

Triumphant, she settled back down—and with a tiny yelp immediately shot up again. He’d pinched her on the derriere!

Bending, he retrieved his napkin from the floor. “Pardon me, madam.”

Her temper flared as his shoulders began to shake. She sat and without bothering to conceal the motion this time kicked him with all her might.

He let out a muffled grunt.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Grace!” she exclaimed. “Please pardon my clumsiness—I’m afraid the heel of my shoe has become caught in my hem.”

“That’s quite all right, Lady Harriett,” he replied, his laughing eyes further infuriating her. “It is a price I am happy to pay to be in your delightful company. May I assist you in disentangling your foot?”

Harriett’s cheeks burned. She hoped Manchester’s shin bruised to the marrow! “No thank you, Your Grace. I have managed to free it.”

“I’m glad you discovered it before attempting to leave the table,” he said with mock sincerity. “Putting one’s foot in the wrong place can be very dangerous.”

“Oh, it can indeed,” piped Cat as the servants replaced the soup bowls with a course of perfectly roasted duck. “History is full of examples of people who have fallen to their deaths over a simple misplaced step. Harriett has always been a bit accident prone. I worry every time I see her approach a stair in haste. Remember poor Lady Dudley.” She shook her head sadly and sighed. “Tragic.”

Harriett whipped up her napkin just in time to catch a dribble of wine that escaped her mouth, while Manchester inhaled a bite of duck and was subsequently overtaken by a fit of coughing. She was going to kill Cat later! Her sister along with everyone else knew full well the late Lady Dudley had been allegedly pushed down a staircase by her enraged, cuckolded husband. Her pretended ignorance was beyond the pale.

“Yes, we should all be a bit more careful, I suppose,” said Papa, his face red. “So, Your Grace, what did you think of our Catherine’s drawings?”

Manchester smiled. “I prefer the one with the octagonal design. I think it would fit well with the style of your garden. Very nicely done, by the way,” he added, raising his glass.