Chapter Ten
FOR THE PAST HOUR, ALEXANDER HAD BEEN TRYING IN VAIN TO ignore the rain.
The first mile of the day’s ride, he’d spent on Harriet’s lips.
The second on her breasts. The third on her blue-gray eyes, which flashed with humor and intelligence.
He then spent the next five miles attempting to forget that he knew this woman’s eye color.
For the sake of sanity, he’d tried to think of the eye color of every woman he’d ever met in his life.
All he could remember was that his mother’s were bright blue and distinctly not his.
The incessant return of his mind to her was proof that he ought to continue riding out.
It was only a drizzle, he told himself. Which was true enough, though it was also—as usual in England—relentless.
Unyielding. Freezing. And though it was more appealing than an enclosed space with her, enduring such frigid conditions on horseback was only possible for so long.
Finally, he signaled for the driver to stop. He dismounted and, with a sense of defeat, reentered the carriage.
The scent of oranges hit him immediately.
How did she smell so heavenly after hours of travel?
How did she look so lovely? He had intended for last night to slake his needs and therefore dull the attraction he felt toward her.
Normally, he’d have had a woman by now, and if not, he’d at least have other appropriate outlets for his lust. Taking himself in hand had been his only option and so he’d taken the risk.
Upon waking this morning, he’d understood his miscalculation.
Lying next to the woman imagining all sorts of filthy things they might do had, in retrospect, been woodenheaded.
Harriet splayed on a bed, wearing nothing, chestnut hair unbound.
Her on her knees, gazing up at him with desire.
Tracing his hands up her bare legs, which he had no idea of, but had pictured quite distinctly. And repeatedly.
Thus, this morning, he’d feigned carriage sickness and declared the need to ride out. Only to be thwarted by the damned weather of this damned country.
“You’re positively drenched,” she exclaimed, before realizing how familiarly she’d spoken to him. She cleared her throat and began again: “Are you all right, my lord?”
He really wished she wouldn’t call him that; he didn’t relish any part of his title.
“I’m perfectly fine,” he answered, removing his greatcoat.
She held out her hand to trade him the blanket that had been across her lap.
Had he been even a degree less chilled, he would have refused.
She carefully draped the wet coat over the bench next to her and returned to circling in her book.
Alexander luxuriated in the warmth of the blanket and did his level best to avoid watching her.
There were only so many places one could look in a carriage, and he intended to exhaust them all before resorting to looking at her.
He must have run out of them quite quickly, for only a moment later he watched as her lips curled into a mischievous smile. Despite his best efforts, he gave in to his instinct to charm a woman.
“Something particularly humorous about agricultural practices? Personally, I’ve always found crop rotation highly amusing.”
“I was thinking, actually,” she said with a guileless look, “about how much quim has shaped my life. Strange, isn’t it? We have that in common now.”
Alexander was silent for a moment before letting out a loud crack of laughter at the jest. Unconsciously, she joined him, their laughter looping around each other’s.
It felt so good to laugh this hard. Doing so made her miss her sisters sharply but also gave her some small hope that there might be more laughter in their future.
Matrimony might not be a dour and formal affair after all; perhaps the two of them could find a sort of friendship with one another.
But suddenly Alexander’s face stilled, and he turned distant, as though remembering something.
“Are you going to become unwell from the carriage?”
Alexander looked at her curiously. “No. I’m fine.”
“Shall I open a window? The air helps carriage sickness, does it not?”
“I’m quite all right, thank you.” His eyes returned to the window.
They sat in silence for a moment before Harriet decided to take advantage of her captive audience.
“What does monosyllable mean?”
He groaned and reached up, removing his hat and scrubbing a hand through his dark hair. Was everything the man did meant to be erotic? Did he know the act made Harriet want to run her hands through his hair? Surely he must.
“Harriet,” he complained, but she did not intend to be moved. After a few moments of pointed silence, Alexander seemed to realize this. “Oh, very well, you hellcat. It’s the same thing as quim. There.”
“Honest?”
“Yes. It’s just another word for it.”
“Your lot do have quite a few words for that part.”
“Yes, well, it’s of utmost importance—shapes one’s life, as you pointed out.”
“Why monosyllable, though? An odd name, no?” Alexander laughed.
“It’s in reference to another, more inappropriate word for a woman’s …”
“Quim.”
“Yes.”
Harriet held his gaze steadily; he would tell her the word. If she was going to give up having children for him, surely he could give up propriety for her. Alexander realized the meaning behind her stare and laughed again.
“All right. All right,” he said, throwing his hands up. “The word is cunt. Are you satisfied?” Harriet hurried to scribble the word in the margin of her book.
“Hardly! Do you know other words for swive?” Harriet had her pencil at the ready. The man was a veritable font of knowledge; she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought to quiz him earlier.
“Please, no more.” He reached his hand under the blanket and shifted, rearranging himself across the seat. No doubt he was uncomfortable from a day of riding out in the rain. “I’m not going to list off filthy words for your Mr. Deacon.”
“Oh, these aren’t for Mr. Dawkins. I presume he knows quite a lot of them; men always know words.
They’re likely already in his dictionary—unless you know something really vulgar.
They’re for me. I don’t see when I might have the opportunity to learn them organically.
I ought not to be robbed of words simply because I’m to forgo … amorous congress, don’t you think?”
“You … you plan to never … have intercourse? In your entire life?” He looked horrified at the prospect, but Harriet wasn’t certain what he’d expected if she wasn’t to consummate the wedding with him.
Alexander felt certain he’d misunderstood her. But then she said blithely, “I have lived this long without engaging in fornication. I don’t suspect I’ll miss it overmuch.”
“I assure you that it’s precisely because you haven’t done it before that you say that.” Alexander assumed that, as usual, Harriet would fight him on this point.
Instead, she replied, sagely, “I presume you’re correct.
Hence, my intent to abstain. I am not aware of what I’m missing and therefore there’s little to miss.
” His heart pinched pathetically at the thought of her never getting to experience a good bedding.
Although surely it was better than her announcing her intent to have relations with all and sundry.
And then, because conversation with Harriet often felt as smooth as being thrown from a horse, she continued: “I suppose the only thing I’d really miss is kissing. As I have seen it done before, I’m somewhat aware of what I’m lacking. I shouldn’t like to die without a proper kiss.”
Seen? Seen? She’d never even been kissed? The very idea undid something in Alexander. Had he been capable of forming thoughts, he might have had ones like: Lady Harriet Bancroft going to her grave unkissed would be a tragedy. And who would I be if I didn’t prevent such a thing?
In the name of something like chivalry—certainly not unbridled lust—he leaned across the carriage, took her lovely face in his hands, and met her mouth with his own.
It wasn’t the longest or most passionate kiss of his life.
In fact, by all measures it was rather restrained.
This was her first experience after all; he wanted to tempt her, not overwhelm her.
He hadn’t allowed his tongue to sweep over her full lower lip, or—more enticingly—dive into her mouth.
The kiss was simple and sweet. But God, did it thrill.
Heat coursed through his body, and he had to make a concerted effort not to draw her into his lap.
In faith, he’d wanted to kiss her ever since the library, and while this kiss did little to sate his desires, he was glad to know just how she tasted, even if only to add accuracy to his fantasies.
He let go of her after a moment of catching his breath, aware he’d likely shocked her with his advance.
At least she wouldn’t die without a proper kiss. Sadly, he might die because of it. His heart was racing, and he felt all the more indignant that she might never lie with a man. Specifically, himself.
Alternatively, Harriet appeared … unmoved. Peculiar. The only signs to the contrary were her swollen, red lips and a slightly dazed look in her eyes. She gathered her wits quickly—one of her most particular skills—and went back to the action her mouth knew best: talking.
“Thank you,” she offered politely. “However, that was not a proper kiss.”
“The best kisses aren’t.”
“I don’t mean it was scandalous; I mean it was … unfulfilling.”
That was like a dull kick to the chest.
“Unfulfilling?” Alexander growled, trying hard to keep himself in check.
“Oh dear, is this about your ego again?”
“I have never had a kiss described as ‘unfulfilling’ before.”
“I believe you,” she offered, like a governess to a lad of four or five. “Although, let us keep at the forefront of our minds that many of the kisses you’ve given have gone to women whom you’ve also been plying with jewels and town houses, have they not?”
“I’m quite certain I have left very, very many ladies quite fulfilled.”