up slightly, he felt a jolt of awareness in his breeches. He liked easing her burden it seemed. If he was not careful, he would soon be counting in twos…
****
Five minutes later they were all seated around the hearth in the drawing room and Lord Stephen started the story of the contrary young man, Robinson Crusoe. Of course, Harriet had read the book in her childhood and had enjoyed it, but it seemed that no one had thought to read the tale to her younger brother. She wondered why she never had. And why had neither of her parents or the nanny or tutors? Perhaps Robinson was seen as a bad influence on a boy such as William.
Stephen’s dulcet baritone voice was perfect as he described Robinson’s parents’ concerns about their son going to sea and his first voyage. She enjoyed watching her brother’s face change as Robinson first hated the sea voyage, then loved it, then got drunk, then began to fear for his life again, before getting drunk yet again. She had a feeling that William may very well have chosen to come home at that point, proving that despite him being classed as an imbecile, he was possibly more sensible than a lot of young men.
Lord Stephen read until Robinson was captured by pirates. A look of amusement crossing his face as he closed the leather bound volume. She looked at her soon-to-be sister-in-law who sat enraptured staring into nothingness and then to her brother, the excitement evident on his face. Disappointment flashed across William’s features, but Harriet could not help thinking he held his tongue for fear his new friend would refuse to read from the book at a later date if he made a fuss. As she turned to Lord Stephen he caught her gaze and grinned. Phoebe was nestled against his side, drowsy from the heat of the fire but aware her father had finished his reading.
“Papa, are you not going to read more?”
“No, my darling, not today. Perhaps another day. There are other things we can do on a Sunday afternoon. We could be scandalous and have dancing lessons. Lord Oldbeck says that he does not know how to dance. I think it is time he was taught.”
“Ooh yes, let’s.” said Mary, jumping to her feet.
Harriet hid a smile behind her handkerchief.
“Oh I was only teasing.”
“I think that is what they mean when they say one is hoist by their own petard, Lord Stephen.” She could not help it. He looked vaguely horrified. “Oh come on. It would only be a little dancing with the family and one of the maids playing the pianoforte. No one would know. Besides, it is not as if we are Presbyterians. I promise not to allow the maid to play a waltz.”
He guffawed at that.
“So we are going to be dancing?” said Phoebe, wriggling free from her father.
“Yes,” Harriet said decisively. “But first we shall have tea.”
She got up to ring for the bell just as Lord Stephen got up to move seats. They found themselves, quite by accident, toe to toe, forehead to chin.
“I do beg your pardon, my lord,” she whispered, stepping to the side. Unfortunately, in an attempt to get out to the awkward situation they were in, Lord Stephen stepped to the same side.
His nearness seemed to set her off balance and muddle her thoughts. All she could do was breathe in the scent of him. It was a musky scent—spicy and very male. She stared at his emerald cravat pin which sat right at her eye level. She dared not look up into his eyes. Those chocolate depths that stole her very soul. He’d not had this effect on her two years ago. He had just vexed her with his need to mollycoddle her after a quick dip in the pond.
Lord Stephen reached out a hand, pulled the bell cord for a servant then took her by the shoulders and turned her round. Guiding her back towards her chaise.
“It looked like you and Lord Stephen were going to kiss there,” said William—subtle as a coach and six as ever.
“Only if she was going to kiss his cravat, dummy,” said Mary.
“Don’t call me a dummy. I meant they
****
Five minutes later they were all seated around the hearth in the drawing room and Lord Stephen started the story of the contrary young man, Robinson Crusoe. Of course, Harriet had read the book in her childhood and had enjoyed it, but it seemed that no one had thought to read the tale to her younger brother. She wondered why she never had. And why had neither of her parents or the nanny or tutors? Perhaps Robinson was seen as a bad influence on a boy such as William.
Stephen’s dulcet baritone voice was perfect as he described Robinson’s parents’ concerns about their son going to sea and his first voyage. She enjoyed watching her brother’s face change as Robinson first hated the sea voyage, then loved it, then got drunk, then began to fear for his life again, before getting drunk yet again. She had a feeling that William may very well have chosen to come home at that point, proving that despite him being classed as an imbecile, he was possibly more sensible than a lot of young men.
Lord Stephen read until Robinson was captured by pirates. A look of amusement crossing his face as he closed the leather bound volume. She looked at her soon-to-be sister-in-law who sat enraptured staring into nothingness and then to her brother, the excitement evident on his face. Disappointment flashed across William’s features, but Harriet could not help thinking he held his tongue for fear his new friend would refuse to read from the book at a later date if he made a fuss. As she turned to Lord Stephen he caught her gaze and grinned. Phoebe was nestled against his side, drowsy from the heat of the fire but aware her father had finished his reading.
“Papa, are you not going to read more?”
“No, my darling, not today. Perhaps another day. There are other things we can do on a Sunday afternoon. We could be scandalous and have dancing lessons. Lord Oldbeck says that he does not know how to dance. I think it is time he was taught.”
“Ooh yes, let’s.” said Mary, jumping to her feet.
Harriet hid a smile behind her handkerchief.
“Oh I was only teasing.”
“I think that is what they mean when they say one is hoist by their own petard, Lord Stephen.” She could not help it. He looked vaguely horrified. “Oh come on. It would only be a little dancing with the family and one of the maids playing the pianoforte. No one would know. Besides, it is not as if we are Presbyterians. I promise not to allow the maid to play a waltz.”
He guffawed at that.
“So we are going to be dancing?” said Phoebe, wriggling free from her father.
“Yes,” Harriet said decisively. “But first we shall have tea.”
She got up to ring for the bell just as Lord Stephen got up to move seats. They found themselves, quite by accident, toe to toe, forehead to chin.
“I do beg your pardon, my lord,” she whispered, stepping to the side. Unfortunately, in an attempt to get out to the awkward situation they were in, Lord Stephen stepped to the same side.
His nearness seemed to set her off balance and muddle her thoughts. All she could do was breathe in the scent of him. It was a musky scent—spicy and very male. She stared at his emerald cravat pin which sat right at her eye level. She dared not look up into his eyes. Those chocolate depths that stole her very soul. He’d not had this effect on her two years ago. He had just vexed her with his need to mollycoddle her after a quick dip in the pond.
Lord Stephen reached out a hand, pulled the bell cord for a servant then took her by the shoulders and turned her round. Guiding her back towards her chaise.
“It looked like you and Lord Stephen were going to kiss there,” said William—subtle as a coach and six as ever.
“Only if she was going to kiss his cravat, dummy,” said Mary.
“Don’t call me a dummy. I meant they
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