Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters (Spinsters Club #1)(7)

She wasn’t so sure. Daniel loved her, to be certain, but in that brotherly sort of ‘what is Merry up to now’ way. Since an early age, she’d always been determined to do her own thing. Her governess could not keep up with her and eventually let her manage her own lessons. Stubbornness and being a little too know-it-all at times were not qualities people loved.

“I understand why he did not,” she whispered, feeling another trickle of tears run down her face.

“Well, I do not.” He eased her back a little so that he could lift her chin with a finger and look into her eyes. “There is so much about you to love,” he repeated firmly. “If your father could not see that, that is his fault, and not yours. You are guilty of nothing more than being yourself.”

“Perhaps I should not have been myself...perhaps I should have been better...nicer...more dutiful...” Inwardly, she cursed the tears that would not seem to stop coming. They blurred her vision and trickled down her nose.

Harry drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed away the tears. He brushed a finger along her cheek.

“It was your father who should have done better, not you. Now you must pick yourself up and be the stubborn, strong-headed Merry we all know and love.”

Merry sniffed.

“I mean it.” He tucked that finger back under her chin.

She nodded slowly, meeting his gaze. Her stomach did a little flip while his gaze searched hers. She could see the tiny creases around his mouth and eyes and the little brown flecks in the green surrounding his pupils. His pupils widened, darkening his eyes.

Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and gentle. Her heart came to a standstill. Before she knew what she was doing, she was kissing him back. The gentleness gave rapidly away to a passionate sweep of his tongue. Her body tingled from head to toe and her mind was a whirl. She gripped his neck and willed the kiss to never end.

Unfortunately, he pulled back, she felt as though his lips had to still be there, lingering over her mouth. Merry fought for something to say, for her body to move...for anything...but Harcourt Easton had kissed her—what on earth was she meant to do?

He gave a soft smile and eased her off onto the chaise. Pressing the handkerchief into her palm, he dropped a second kiss to her forehead. “Have your lady’s maid fill up a bath and be sure to eat something warm,” he ordered as he straightened.

She nodded numbly.

“I have to go to London for a few days, but I’ll be back, and I expect to find you with your head buried in books and telling me off as usual.”

She nodded again.

He seemed to hesitate then change his mind. “Never change, Merry, you are perfect the way you are.”

When the door thudded shut behind him, it seemed to snap her back. She stared down at the handkerchief and rubbed her fingers across the initials stitched carefully into it. Drawing in a breath, she sat up. Harry was right—but she would never admit as much. There was no changing the past and at the age of twenty, there was no changing her. If her father could not love her, that was not her fault. Now she needed to focus on the future.

And not on that kiss.

Fingers to her lips, she frowned. She had known Harcourt for most of her life, and they had been friends since she came out into Society. He’d taken her hand and even danced with her on occasion, but he’d never kissed her. She supposed she had never been grieving before either. Perhaps it was his way of comforting her. After all, he was such a rake, kissing women for any reason whatsoever was probably quite normal to him.

Not to her, however. That could safely be considered her first kiss, and she had certainly never expected it to come from Harry. No matter how handsome and wonderful she thought him, soon-to-be spinsters did not expect kisses from veritable rakes.

She sighed and smoothed her hands down her skirts. Better not to tell the Spinster Club about it, though. They would never understand why a male friend had kissed her.





Chapter Three





When Harcourt threw down his cards, Griff shot him a look.

Harcourt glowered at him. “What is it?”

“You’re not even trying.” Griff gathered up the cards and his winnings and slid them back into his pocket.

“I am having a run of bad luck.”

Griff shook his head and signaled to the waiter with an empty glass. Two fresh brandies arrived promptly. Harcourt eyed the liquid then the now empty table. Griff was right of course. He had little interest in cards. He’d come to Boodles out of habit and what a pointless habit it was. If Merry were here she’d tell him to do something constructive like write a letter or read a new book. As far as he was concerned, he’d leave the books to her, but spending night after night in gentlemen’s clubs was growing thin.

Smoke clouded the air of the grand building, mingling with the scent of leather and whisky. Once upon a time, he’d loved nothing more than sitting in these clubs with his friends, drinking the night away and besting them all at poker or whist.

“I am merely contemplating my return to Dorset,” he explained. “My business here is settled.”

Griff made a dismissive noise. “What the devil will you do in Dorset for the summer? You cannot beat London for fine clubs and even finer women.” He leaned in. “Do not tell me a woman has turned you down and you are running away with your tail between your legs?”