They took a bath (Harriet made Jem go into the wardrobe and stay there until the footman came and went). The bath was…interesting.

They sopped up the water with a sheet and found their way back to bed, crawled, exhausted, into the bed.

Harriet woke to find Jem’s large warm body curled around hers. I’m not just the audience, Harriet told herself.

It wasn’t a concept she’d ever imagined. She was the audience in most of her life: Benjamin’s audience for chess, the court’s audience for arguments.

Not an audience was a fascinating concept.

She ran her fingers over his muscled chest, through his chest hair, circled his nipple. Jem made a sound in his sleep and rolled onto his back.

A penis, Harriet decided, was an odd thing. Though she loved her breeches, she was just as glad not to have one of those. She slid her hand down his stomach and then touched him. It.

It was smooth and hard, like a piece of marble. It raised questions in her mind. What would it taste like? What would it feel like in her mouth? What would—what did it feel like to Jem?

He was sleeping so peacefully, long lashes resting on his cheek as his chest rose up and down. But the fact was that he kept kissing her in private places. An involuntary shudder ran through her body. Surely he would like it if she did so to him.

She had dared to touch him in the bath, a soapy hand running up and down his shaft. He had thrown his head back and groaned, as if he were in pain. But then he stopped her.

It had been stark desire in his face, the same sort of tearing, itching lust that made her cry out when he was kissing her, arching her hips, begging him to come to her.

Yes, she had the idea that he might truly like it if she kissed him.

So she did.

He was warmer than marble, and he tasted like soap. Lemon soap, because it had been her bath.

She started experimenting, and forgot he was part of the picture until all of a sudden a male body erupted from the sheet and flipped her over.

For a moment Harriet relaxed, her body welcoming his touch, the fierce look in his eyes, the way his body—

But: “No!”

Jem froze. Gulped, like a little boy caught with a stolen cake. Harriet started grinning and wiggled her body backwards. “No.”

“Why not?” His voice sounded rusty. Not smooth and sensual, but desperate. She started laughing, slid out from under him.

“I’m not the audience,” she told him, leaning over, loving his chest and his arms, and the way his muscles defined his stomach. “Right now, you are an audience.”

Then she pushed him down and began deliberately, slowly, powerfully taking over the game. Making it her own. His body…hers. Owned by knowledge of its every crook and corner.

She turned his body into a musical instrument and finally held him helpless, groaning, begging, his hands clutched in her hair.

“I never lose control,” he said, warning her, reassuring himself, something like that. His teeth were obviously clenched. “Harriet…”

She ignored him, slid over his body.

And took his control. Threw it away with her kisses, caresses, slow wet love…

No audience, she.

After, he lay there silent.

“Are you all right?” she whispered.

“I’ve never been so right,” he said, a moment later. He sounded awestruck. She let herself laugh, then tucked herself against his side.

When he rolled over this time, it was in a tangle of limbs that included a silent request, her affirmation, their utterly silent agreement…

Then he was pounding into her and it was as if she felt both him, almost too large, pulsing with life, and herself, soft velvet, wet. She felt his body as much as hers.

He lowered his head and they kissed. He never missed a beat; her body rose to meet his.

It’s as if we’re not two people anymore, Harriet thought blearily. But those delicious heat waves were starting to spread, to grow from her toes, to rock through her body and everything slid away from her but the feeling of his strong body in her arms, the wildness of his tongue, the power of his body.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Marriage Proposals are So Romantic…Sometimes

February 9, 1784

“I have to pack,” Harriet said the next morning, very early. “And you have to leave this room. Any moment Lucille will enter to help me dress and she’ll likely shriek the house down if she sees you.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jem stated.

Harriet had seen that look on a man’s face before. It was the look Benjamin had when he had just started a game of chess and she wanted to leave a party and go home. It was the look her father used to get when her mother would demand that he wear jeweled heels.

“And,” Jem added, “you’re not going anywhere either. I’ll send the Duchess of Cosway home with six outriders to protect her, if you wish. I’ll send the entire household with her.” He rolled over and put a finger on her nose. “You, Miss Harry, are staying with me.”

Harriet was conscious of a feeling of giddy joy. “I can’t stay here forever,” she managed. “There are things I have to do at home.”

“Your country squire is gone. My wife is gone. Neither one of us has any reason to be anywhere other than in this bed. You don’t have children, do you?”

“No.”

“Harriet, do you really think that you’re simply going to leave and go back to your little estate, wherever it is?”

She blinked at him. “Of course I do.”

“You’re not.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “I appreciate the moments in bed when you forcefully state your opinion, Jem, but this is different. I am not going to stay with you. I shall return to my own estate, and I would be very happy to bring Eugenia with me for a prolonged visit.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” she said, biting her lip. “It’s not good for her being in that room by herself all the time. Did you see the game she’s playing right now?”

“I thought some of the rats were very well fashioned,” he said. “I do feel guilty because she wasn’t adequately bathed before bed. We’ve had the rat-catcher into the house. He hasn’t found any evidence of a rat infestation.”

“What would an infestation mean?”

“That this house held a whole village of them. He thinks the rat that bit Eugenia came in to escape the cold and was frightened. But she’ll have one of the terrier puppies from the village to stay with her, just as soon as it’s old enough to leave its mother. And no rat will never enter her room with a terrier there.”

“I don’t think my house has rats—”

“I didn’t think mine did either!” he said, his voice raising.

“But I know there are little girls living next to me,” she said, pleading. “Please let her pay a visit, Jem.”

“You don’t understand. She’s not paying a visit because you aren’t leaving.”

Harriet was starting to feel a little exasperated. “You need to listen to me, Jem. You have just as much trouble being an audience as I do, it seems.” She swung her legs out of bed. “I wonder where Lucille is.”

“She’ll be here within the half hour, and your reputation will be ruined forever.” There was a liquid note of satisfaction in his voice.

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