And the Miss Ran Away With the Rake(124)

Roxley groaned. “Really, Harry! Never been kissed? That’s your reason.” He threw up his hands and began to pace around the tree. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Well, if you were to kiss me—”

“Which I won’t,” he shot back.

“If you insist.” Harriet did her best to appear non-plussed, as if his quick retort was the least of her concerns.

“I do,” he continued to insist.

Truly, did he have to sound so adamant? “But if you did—”

He paused. “Harry, you can stop right there. Kiss you! Now you are being ridiculous. If I were to ruin you, your brothers would shoot me.”

“If they were in a good humor,” she conceded. Actually, all five of them would most likely insist on taking a shot.

Unfortunately, Roxley knew this as well, for he echoed her thoughts exactly. “And since I don’t favor an untimely death by firing squad, I fear for tonight your desire to be kissed is going to have to remain on the shelf.”

Like her life. Like her chances of ever being loved.

Passionately. Her gaze slid back in the direction of the arbor.

Oh, it all seemed so patently unfair. And yet, a few months ago, she would never have considered such things possible. She had lived her entire life content in the knowledge that as a spinster of Kempton she would never marry, never be kissed, never . . .

But now, having come to London with Tabitha and Daphne, and seeing her two dearest friends find happiness in such unexpected ways.

Not just happiness but love.

Oh, it had been like seeing one of her favorite Miss Darby novels unfold before her very eyes.

And here she was, with the only man she’d ever wanted to kiss, in this garden, under this moon, and why shouldn’t she want to be kissed?

Just once.

“No one would have to know,” she whispered. “No one would ever find out.”

“Someone always does, minx,” Roxley told her. He’d circled around the tree and stood much as she did, leaning against the great trunk but on the opposite side, so that the wide breadth separated them.

How she longed to cut it down, to make it so that nothing could keep them apart.

“There are no secrets in the ton,” he added.

Well, she didn’t care if the entire population of England, Ireland and Scotland knew. It wasn’t like she was an heiress with prospects, or anyone else was going to come along and claim her.

“Roxley?”

“Yes, Harry?”

She pressed her lips together every time he called her that. Did he have to use that horrid name? But taking a deep breath, she dove in. “What do you see when you look at me?”

“Not much,” he said. “If you haven’t noticed, it is rather dark out here.”

She rolled around the tree until she was right beside him. “Oh, do stop being him. I deplore him.”

“Him? Who?”

“You know very well who I mean.”

“Harry—”

“Roxley!” Harriet was losing patience with him. If he pushed her much further, she would go find Fieldgate. “Stop being the fool all London takes you for.”

“But he’s quite a handy fellow that fool.”

“He’s an annoying jinglebrains.”

“That’s the point, minx.”

“I know who you are.”

“Do you?” He’d turned a bit and whispered the question into her ear.

Her breath caught in her throat, so that she was only able to answer with one word. “Yes.”

Oh, yes, she knew who he was. The only man who had ever made her heart beat like this.

And then he moved closer, brushing against the hem of her gown, and Harriet clung to the tree to steady herself. “No one would believe you, minx.”

Minx. Not Harry, but minx. His minx.

Harriet looked up at the bit of the night sky peeking through the thick canopy of leaves above and spied a single star. A lone, twinkling light. And so she wished.

“You don’t have to hide from me.”

It was an invitation, one she knew he desired. She’d seen his struggle for months now—this game he played, this role he lived. This capering fool. Society’s ridiculous gadfly.

But that wasn’t the man she knew.

No, the one she loved, adored, desired was the one with his gaze fixed on hers, his jaw set as if he were determined to do the right thing.