Chapter Sixteen #3
“Balderdash.” Oh hell. He opened his mouth to defend himself further when the door swung open and Harriet entered, looking flustered. Then stunned.
“My lord? What are you doing here?”
“Being interrogated, it would seem.”
“Frances, where is Caroline?”
“She is helping Mr. Hammons, I believe.”
“Why did you let him in?” Harriet still hadn’t looked his way.
“He claims to be your husband. Is that untrue?” Frances, despite her treatment of him, seemed generally unbothered by the idea of letting a man into the house, regardless of his identity.
“He is! But you’re alone.”
“I have a penknife on me.” Frances shrugged, standing and moseying out of the room, clearly bored with the direction of the conversation.
They were alone. Together. And if Harriet closed the door, they could—
“Good day. Do you require something?”
“Good day to you. I’m glad to see you have returned safely to London, a fact I might have been made aware of days ago.”
“What for?”
“So that I may know my wife is safe.”
“Ahhh, this is an issue of property. Your valuables are accounted for, my lord,” Harriet replied sarcastically. He knew from his vast experience with women that this was a poor place to be indeed. He needed to change tack.
“I only thought you might return to my house. That is, our house. Now that we are married.” Harriet looked at him oddly, as if he had suggested they might move in together to Buckingham Palace.
“I had assumed that would not be necessary based on our agreement. You desire no children, nor do you require me to run your household. I did not think you might like to be apprised of my whereabouts. And I felt certain you did not wish me to be apprised of yours.”
She did, he supposed, have a point.
“It would seem rather odd to elope only to live apart, would it not?”
“I had not thought so. Hence my residing here.” She was being quite difficult.
“Our marriage is supposedly a love match, no?”
“Perhaps we fought,” she gritted out.
“Much as I adore the image of us as a passionately tempestuous couple, perhaps you might consider removing to my town house? You may run it as you see fit. My housekeeper, Mrs. Tanning, will be delighted. She’s been trying to get me to choose new curtains for the dining room for ages now.
” Harriet bit her lip, mulling over his request. He thought once again of the door and how it might be closed, even for a brief interval, so he could attend to some matters with her.
Matters he’d been imagining over and over and over. “Please?” he added.
“Why do you want me there?”
“Besides the issue of curtains, I think it would be rather … beneficial … for us to be together.”
“Your letter suggested otherwise.” His letter. So, she was upset he had left her. That had been rather badly done of him, he admitted.
“I do apologize, I had business in town that could not be put off.” He did not like lying to her, but he felt it was the kindest course of action.
“I would like you to come live with me, at least for a little while, for the sake of both of our reputations. That was the point of our marrying, was it not? Though we won’t be producing heirs, the illusion of attempting to beget them would go far for us both, I believe.
We aren’t to have a traditional marriage, of course, but as you previously suggested, I hoped we might be …
friends.” Nothing about seeing her again brought friendship to mind, but Alexander ignored that impulse.
He also ignored the small voice inside that questioned why he was so invested in her coming to live with him.
“I have conditions.” Alexander smiled, despite himself, and nodded for her to continue. “I have just met with Mr. Dawkins.” Hell. His stomach twisted.
“I understand. You want to keep seeing him?”
“I do.” That was not precisely what Alexander wanted to hear, but he would be a hypocrite of the highest order if he were to stop her. If stopping Harriet from doing something she wanted were even possible.
“As I said, as long as you’re discreet and do not conceive a child, I do not mind.” That wasn’t precisely true—he did mind. Although he felt assured that this unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling of possessiveness would wane shortly.
“No—I don’t. I’m not—I’m making a dictionary with the man, not tupping him.” Harriet paused then. “Do women tup men? Or is it only men who tup?”
Alexander could not form a single coherent thought at the moment, so he simply muttered, “Don’t rightfully know.”
“If I am to remove to your house, I require your word that I may continue my work on the dictionary undisturbed.”
“Of course.” That wasn’t at all a concession, especially when compared to allowing her to swive the man.
“Any profits I receive from the dictionary—or any subsequent book I author—are my own to do with as I please.” She held his gaze with a challenge in her eyes, as if she expected him to deny her this.
“Absolutely. I will inform Hawthorne, my man of business, as much. He can draw up some sort of contract. He will be giddy. Anything else?”
“Do you have a library?”
Alexander could not keep the grin from his face.
“I do.”