risked another glance at the Earl.
The ripple of laughter almost won despite the horrors. Because the Earl of Venmore was a Corinthian. All that Wallace wanted to be, tried so ineffectually to ape, here was his heart’s desire in the flesh. Wallace had the ambition to be a sportsman, proficient and lauded for his abilities in the saddle, with pistol and rapier. To be admired for his splendid physique, his handsome looks. To be recognised as a leader of fashion. He never could. And here standing before him was the epitome of all his dreams.
And hers.
Washed, shaved, his hair settling into shining, elegant dishevelment, the Earl cut a splendid figure. He was taller than she had thought, more than six feet, his shoulders impressively broad beneath the lurid monstrosity, and did she not know at first hand how the muscles ran sleek and smooth, as water over a rock, beneath his skin, the athletic moulding of his strong thighs and firm belly? Did she not know the smooth satin of his skin beneath her palms when she had washed and bound his wounds? And Harriette felt her face and her blood heat at the memory.
How degrading that he should look at her with such arrogance printed on his features, as if she were of no consequence to him. But then why should she be? If he were a man of intellect, the Earl of Venmore would have quickly detected Wallace’s disgraceful plotting to catch a husband for her.
Her concentration was dragged back as her brother’s anger filled the room.
‘You have dishonoured my sister, Venmore. I demand retribution.’
‘No…! There was no dishonour,’ Harriette gasped, a knot of ice forming in her belly.
‘Be silent!’ Wallace rounded on her. ‘This is not for you. Although many would say you brought it on yourself, cavorting as you do with the Free Traders. I will settle this. What hopes for a suitable match if this gets out—as it surely will?’
‘Then there is only one remedy, is there not?’ A cold interjection in the heat.
The Earl walked across the room towards her, slowly but steadily enough. His eyes were on her face, and Harriette saw banked fire there and recognised a lethal fury at her brother’s wily methods. Even so, he bowed before her with inestimable grace.
‘Miss Lydyard. There is one solution to restore your good name in the eyes of the world. Would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’
Marriage! To become the wife of this man? The knot of ice melted in a rush of heat. If she could choose her heart’s desire, would it not be this gift that was being offered to her, as in a childhood fairytale? A precious jewel on a silk cushion? She might have damned him as a traitor, but now she must acknowledge the depth of honour that he should come to her rescue, much as a knight of old would ride to slay the dragon—Wallace—and carry off the damsel in distress.
Would not this miraculous offer make her heady dreams come true?
But Harriette heard herself reply, her voice as distressingly matter of fact as his. ‘No, my lord. There is no need. As we both know, my brother was ill informed. I am grateful and will never forget your kindness in making so great a sacrifice, but I must refuse your generous offer.’
She saw him react. That was not what he had expected. The muscles along his jaw tightened. ‘Perhaps you do not quite understand the situation, Miss Lydyard.’
‘I am not a fool, my lord.’ A flash of impatience, which she strove to temper, but without much success. ‘I understand the situation perfectly. As I see it, there is no situation between us.’ And gasped as her brother grasped her wrist with painfully hot fingers.
‘Show some sense, girl—’
‘Sir Wallace,’ the Earl interrupted icily, raising a peremptory hand as Harriette tugged ineffectually for her release, ‘I need a moment’s private conversation with your sister. Alone, if you will. Is there a library or drawing room in this establishment that we can use?’
Sir Wallace drew himself up to his most pompous. ‘I’ll not allow it. It’s not appropriate that you—’
‘Sir,’ the Earl interrupted bitingly, without finesse, ‘if I spent the night with Miss Lydyard behind locked doors as you imply, luring her into my bed and proceeding to destroy her reputation by the physical demands of my body on hers, five minutes in a library in the full light of morning will not make matters any the worse.’
Harriette froze at the brutal description of what had not occurred. And for the length of a heartbeat wished that it had.
‘Five minutes, then.’ Sir Wallace allowed Harriette to pull her wrist away. ‘Take his lordship to the library, miss, and try to keep some sense in your stubborn head.’
They descended the stairs, Harriette leading the way into a library as dusty and disused as the rest of the house, what furniture there was shrouded in Holland covers. The leather spines of the few books on the shelves were dull, clearly unread. Immediately the door was closed behind them, a swathed form of a sofa strategically positioned between them, Harriette swung round to face the Earl. Her eyes were clear and bright and very determined. She might have been proud of her earlier reticence, but she could remain silent no longer, even if it meant rejecting the heartstopping image painted in her mind by the Earl’s savage words.
‘There’s no need for this, my lord. I know what my brother is about. I’ll lay odds he didn’t suggest marriage until he heard you were an earl!’ She saw her sharp cynicism cause a slash of high colour along the Earl’s magnificent cheekbones—whether from anger at her brother’s presumption or disapproval of her lack of discretion she could not tell—but she would not simper and prevaricate.
‘I wouldn’t take your odds, Miss Lydyard. Sir Wallace certainly saw the opportunity.’
‘I’ll wager the Lydyard’s Ghost he did! To get me off his hands, and to gain a connection with a man of wealth and consequence.’ Harriette made no attempt to bury the bitterness. ‘My brother is nothing if not ambitious. And I should tell you, I won’t do it, just to further Wallace’s ambitions. Not even if you were the Prince Regent himself!’
‘Fortunately for both of us, I am not!’ the Earl responded, taken aback. What was the impression he had gained not ten minutes ago? Here was no innocent, vulnerable, gently reared girl, bullied by her brother. Here was a highly opinionated young woman actually refusing his offer of marriage. And with a forthrightness that, quite frankly, he resented. His lips thinned. ‘Would marriage to me be such an anathema, Miss Lydyard?’
‘That’s not the issue here. What possible advantage could there be for you in such a mésalliance? I think you must be all about in your head to even consider it, my lord!’
‘The blow from a club might have rattled my senses as a temporary measure,’ he snapped back, ‘but I think I am sane enough.’ What possible advantage…? The kernel of an idea began to form in his mind. That such a marriage might just bring him a glimmer of light, an unforeseen advantage….
‘We know nothing about each other. How would I fit into your elevated social circle in London? I have no notion how to go on there. I have never been to London, not even further than Brighton. Why would you possibly wish to marry me? A beautiful debutante? No. A wife skilled in the social mores of London? Not that. A rich wife with powerful connections? Not that, either. So why? I am no fit wife for you.’ Harriette kept her voice unemotional, ignoring the weight of regret that lay on her heart. He would never know how difficult it was to reject him. ‘I am twenty-three years old, my lord!’
‘And I am thirty-four, if that is of any interest to anyone but myself.’
She saw the flash of proud temper as she resisted him, but would not retreat. ‘I agree your age is irrelevant. Mine is not. I did not think you obtuse, my lord.’
‘Obtuse?’ His eyes hardened, unused to being challenged.
‘I am firmly on the shelf, with nothing to recommend me as a wife, fit for nothing