She laughed. “I didn’t get the purse,” she said wistfully, then admitted, “No. That’s a lie. I did. But I gave it to a little baby. I have a nephew no one thought to tell me about.”

“Hang the purse.” And its owner, he might have said. How could he possibly think about another woman when Harriet was letting him touch her like this? She hadn’t made a single move to stop him. He hoped to God she wasn’t relying on his willpower. Just because he wasn’t a London rake didn’t mean he was a saint. But, Lord, he couldn’t help himself.

“She’s beautiful,” Harriet said out of the blue.

“Aunt Primrose?”

She bit her lower lip. “You know who I mean.”

“Oh, her,” he said absently, his hand stealing upward another inch. “I didn’t notice.” Her skin felt like raw silk. The texture of it sharpened his hunger.

“What did you notice?” she asked in curiosity.

“Her hat.”

Her eyes grew wide.

“That’s all?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Then-”

“She had really sharp teeth.” “You’re awful,” she whispered, laughter in her voice.

“She probably thinks so, too,” he said with a grin.

“She might if she knew what you were doing right now,” Harriet said, studying his face.

The thunder of his heart reverberated through his body. He leaned down, slipping one hand around her shoulders, the other into the vulnerable hollow between her thighs. “She definitely would if she knew what I was thinking.”

His mouth grazed hers. He savored the sigh that escaped her. His fingers gently parted the folds of her sex and stroked. She stifled a cry against his cheek. He pitted every particle of his control against his instincts to keep himself from persuading her to give him more.

Harriet was, in fact, fighting a losing war against the sensations that coursed through her blood. Her breasts swelled inside her gown, as if all the little aches inside her body had joined to overpower her. The sight of Griffin standing alone in the alley, standing up to protect her, had pierced a chink in her defenses. She had let him carry her off without a word of protest. Indeed, now she wasn’t making a fuss at all. She had not dreamed that she could be disarmed by the duke’s knowing touch. She hadn’t guessed that a man’s gentleness could be his most potent weapon.

He seemed to understand, even if he was withholding his mercy. She moaned, her body begging, moving against his hand. She felt his fingers penetrate deeper to stretch her passage. She heard his breath, ragged in the silence, the roughness of it intensifying her own arousal. His face hovered above hers, one moment in shadow, the next revealed in the wavering carriage light behind the window.

He smiled with the allure of a fallen angel, so beautiful that her throat ached, and even when she closed her eyes, he was all she could see. “Harriet,” he whispered, kissing her again, leading her deeper and deeper into swirling darkness. And just when she knew it couldn’t get any darker, a storm broke inside her and enveloped her in black heat.

She lay for several moments afterward in wondrous contemplation. When at last he lifted himself from her prone form, she felt her heartbeat begin to slow. He stared at her in fierce silence, then kissed her softly on the mouth.

They sat apart for the duration of the drive. She did not ask him to explain how this would change her position in his life. She knew perfectly well that she had unleashed a force of nature, and now she would have to tame it or pay the price.

Chapter Seventeen

It was another unspoken rule in the Boscastle family that one discussed an unpleasantness only in private. In public one pretended these events had not occurred. If a Boscastle stopped to deny every accusation hurled his way, he would likely never make it from his front door to the pavement.

When Harriet arose the following morning and hastened to help Lady Powlis plan the afternoon, her ladyship made no reference to the previous day’s disaster. She behaved in her usual grumpy manner, while two chambermaids tended the fire and hunted for the bonnet that Primrose insisted had been stolen, until Harriet reminded her she had sent it back to the milliner’s to be replumed.

The minute Lady Powlis dismissed the chambermaids, she jumped from her armchair, as spry as an elf, and closed the door. “I demand a full accounting, every detail.”

And so Harriet gave her an accounting, naturally leaving out the details of the carriage ride, which she herself had reviewed countless times. If her ladyship once again suspected certain omissions, the grim depiction of her visit to St. Giles seemed enough to occupy her mind.

“By the by, I am delighted to death that you dropped Lady Constipation’s bag in the cradle.”

“Lady-” Harriet shook her head. “Oh, madam, how looks deceive. And here I’ve always thought that a lady could never slip into low talk. How I admire you for breaking that rule with such aplomb.”

“I shall slip into something much lower if my nephew marries that piece of work.”

Harriet smiled. She knew a powerful ally when she found one. The duke had to be mad if he thought Primrose would drive her away. “Let me ring for some tea and cake. It’s hours before the breakfast party. I should not want all this distress to weaken your ladyship.”

“What comfort you are, dear.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “You didn’t tell me everything about yesterday, did you?”

“Madam, my life is an open book.”

“I shall dismiss you, Harriet, if I discover that you are fibbing.”

Harriet nodded demurely. “Yes, and so you should.”

But Harriet kept her thoughts to herself for the rest of the day. The duke escorted her, his aunt, and Edlyn to a breakfast party at the Mayfair mansion of a viscount whose title escaped Harriet’s notice. She had enough to worry about, what with keeping an eye on Miss Edlyn, not stealing looks at the duke, and placating Lady Powlis, who ate half a mutton pie and complained about her bunions and the bonnet that was taking forever to replume.

It was an enjoyable party, if only because the duke spent most of his time with his handsome cousins and not with Lady Constance, who was said to be recovering from the insult inflicted upon her person by the cutpurse in the park. Harriet overheard several ladies at the party discussing the incident. One ventured to guess that Constance might not make another public appearance until the perpetrator was caught. Her friend whispered that Constance’s doctor had suggested the young lady spend the rest of the Season taking the waters. Harriet was afraid that Lady Constance was made of sterner stuff.

“Harriet.” Lady Powlis poked her gently with her cane. “Where has Edlyn gone now?”

Harriet glanced up. “She was watching the archery contest a minute ago.”

“Well, I cannot see her through the featherbrains dancing about the place. Be an angel and make sure that she has not been lured off by some handsome fortune hunter. And take a bite of this pie. I think the meat is off.”

“Do you wish me to taste it before or after I find Miss Edlyn, madam?”

“I wish you to stop answering me in that impertinent manner. And I forbid you to taste the pie. No point in both of us taking ill.”

Harriet set off through the park, leaving Lady Powlis at the trestle tables that had been arranged around a drooping fig tree. Miss Edlyn was not watching the archery contest. The duke, however, had removed his frock coat and was sauntering across the green to compete. Harriet would have given a month’s wages to watch. An ornamental bridge that crossed a pond was crowded with ladies who gathered to cheer him on. His black hair shone like a raven’s wing in the dappled light. He paused, looking around as if he was waiting for someone to join him.