If Wishes Were Earls (32 page)

He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to be part of this. I’m . . . I’m releasing you, Harry. It’s probably best if you go. For your own sake.”

Harriet blinked. What the devil was he suggesting? Go? Leave him? Was he mad? After all they’d been through?

They.
Not him, but they. Together. Good heavens, when would he ever learn?

She caught him by the lapels of his jacket and gave him a shake. “Release me? How dare you!”

He managed to look affronted. “I’m being honorable here.”

“Honorable? Were you honorable at Owle Park? Or in your aunt’s library? Bah, I say. Bah and humbug to your demmed honor!”

“Harry, you’d be living in thin straits for the rest of your life. With my aunts. I repeat: With. My. Aunts.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I don’t even know how to tell them.”

“Roxley, we’ve already established that I love your aunts. As for the rest of it—” Harriet sighed. “I’ve lived in ‘thin straits’ all my life. You’ve seen how my family makes do. And none of that has ever mattered. Not when you have a family around you. Your aunts love you. Desperately so. And they know none of this was your making.”

“Yes, that might be, but it was mine to fix. And I’ve failed them.” He shook his head and pulled away from her. “As I’ve failed you.”

“Oh, what utter rot.” Again, Harriet tugged him back so he faced her. “Can’t you see how it works with us? That when we are apart, it all falls to pieces, but when we are together, how right it is. How grand. We fit, you and I. We work together. Only together. And if you could just believe for one more night, that we deserve, nay, that we must be together—”

“But Harry—”

She shook her head and covered his mouth. “No, Roxley, you will listen to me. It is just this one night we must work together. And then tomorrow, we’ll do it again. And then the next. That is how love works. That faith, that staying together. Whatever would you want to accomplish without me at your side?”

He drew back a bit as her words finally pierced that stubborn hide of his. “Nothing,” he said softly. “There is nothing I want more, but—”

“No, you can’t argue this. I won’t hear of it. You love me. I love you. You asked me to marry you and I am saying yes.” She worked her way right up against him, placing his arms around her and settling in against his chest, her head atop his heart. “Yes, Roxley. There it is.”

“You didn’t say yes before,” he pointed out.

“I think that my saying yes now when you haven’t a feather to fly with would show you the depth of my affections.”

He laughed a little, the sound rumbling up from his chest. “One could argue it shows the depths of your madness.” With one hand, he brushed away the errant strands of her hair that were falling loose around her face.

His touch was like grace itself. A promise and vow all in one. “Together, Harry. But I daresay, you’ll change your mind in the morning.”

“We’ll see come morning.” She tipped her chin up so he could see what she desired most between now and then. “But if you make this night unforgettable, you’ll never be rid of me.”

R
oxley knew this was madness. He hadn’t a rag to his name. He should be setting her aside. Letting Harriet go so she could find someone worthy of her.

But the moment her lips touched his, a sense, an understanding of what she’d been trying to tell him, ignited inside him.

For when he was with her, his life did make sense. It always had with her close at hand. From the first time they’d met, when she’d twined her chubby fingers around his hand and led him outside into a world he’d only imagined.

Harry. With her unforgiving temper. With her practical sensibilities. With her ridiculous romance novels and Miss Darby quotations. She was a bundle of contradictions and light.

His light. And as he drew her closer, he saw the truth of it. Felt it in the warmth of her body, the steady rhythm of her heart. Harriet Hathaway. His heart and his only desire.

His one and only wish.

He sealed a silent vow, to love her always, to the end of his days, with a deep, passionate kiss.

H
arriet sensed the change in him almost immediately. His kiss deepened, his tongue easing past her lips and tantalizing her with promises of what was to come.

For the rest of their lives.

Her hands slid beneath his jacket, sliding the wool from his shoulders, marveling at the muscles beneath, letting her fingers trail over them, knowing only too well what they would feel like naked. The hard strength, the crisp triangle of hair on his chest, the muscled ripples of his stomach.

Her lips sought his out, because she had to taste him, have part of him inside her, even if it was just his lip, his tongue, which she suckled, even as she tugged at his shirt.

Madness.
It erupted inside her as he kissed her. Yes, this was madness. But she longed for him. Was incomplete without him.

Touch me, Roxley. Touch me
, she wanted to shout.

But she didn’t need to, for his hand was on her gown, pulling it up, the hem rising quickly exposing her legs, her bottom, his fingers trailing over her exposed skin, leaving fire in their path.

Their mouths joined in a deep kiss, tongues sliding over one another in a manic, welcoming frenzy. Quickly, her gown slipped off, her petticoat and shift quickly following.

Then in quick succession, Roxley’s shirt and breeches were added to the pile.

In a tumble, they fell naked onto the mattress.

A bed
, Harriet marveled.
They were in a bed.

Roxley laughed. “Yes, this is far more comfortable than my aunt’s desk.”

“I believe I still have a bruise from the inkwell,” she teased back.

“Allow me to inspect your injuries,” he replied, rolling her over on her stomach and kissing his way down her back, a wet, heated path that left her shivering. “Ah, yes. A most grievous inkwell injury,” he told her, running his tongue over the spot.

Harriet giggled. It was all so ridiculous, so deliciously wicked. So very Roxley.

Having examined her, he flipped her again, so he looked up at her, his mouth set in that sardonic smile that teased at her heart, his hooded glance full of promises.

His next kiss was a whisper. “Open for me.” It blew over her, teasing at the soft pink folds of her apex, wet and hot all at once. “Open for me, Kitten,” he teased, even as his finger drew a line from the top of her curls slowly and tantalizing down to the very opening, brushing against that taut nub that left her quivering, and ever so willing.

She couldn’t do anything but give in to him. Whyever wouldn’t she?

He growled softly and then came closer, his lips tracing the path that his finger had made. Harriet sucked in a deep breath as his tongue touched her. There. Drawing a slow, lazy circle around her. And then again, laving over her, kissing her, probing her, lapping at her, until she was rising up, the sheets wound into her fisted hands and she was trying to breathe even as the pleasure began to wash over her, rushed at her from all directions.

“Roxley, I’m—” And then she came, hard and fast, lost in a world of pleasure.

He looked up at her again, this time the smile was a grin. “Yes, I suppose you did.”

“Hmm,” she purred, and reached for him, drawing him up, so she could kiss him, feel him atop her, his cock hard against her thighs. “More,” she managed.

And that, Roxley happily gave her.

K
eep Pug close.

Harriet awoke sometime later, thinking that someone had called out those very words. Yet the room was empty—save for her and Roxley—the only bit of light, the glow of the coals in the fireplace.

Beside her, Roxley stirred slightly and she smiled as his toes stroked her bare calf. It was intimate and silly and perfect all at once.

Keep Pug close.

The words nudged at her.

Whatever had Lady Ophelia meant by that?

And for that matter, where the devil was the wretched figurine?

She slipped from the bed and looked around, finding the box sitting precariously on the edge of the grand chair by the fireplace.

“There you are,” she whispered. “You are worse than Mr. Muggins.”

She went to catch up the box and it slipped, and for a second, she thought it was going to crash to the floor, but in the last moment, she caught it, saving Pug from a smashing end.

“Dear heavens,” Harriet managed as she peeked inside the box to see if the china dog had survived. “Lady Essex would have my hide if anything happened to you.”

Pug’s crooked eyes stared back up at her, accusingly.

Harriet shook her head and carried the box over to the bed, settling back in beside Roxley and arranging the contents on the nightstand.

Pug, the miniatures of Roxley and his father. Harriet smiled at the resemblance between the earl and his father. No wonder Davinia had been wildly in love with him—her Roxley had been a handsome devil as well.

The shell, the bit of ribbon, the stub of candle, the little trinkets all went on display, and Harriet smiled as she got it all arranged just as Lady Eleanor had done.

“Whatever are you doing over there,” Roxley murmured sleepily as he rolled over, catching Harriet as he came around and pulling her beneath him.

She was rather certain he was about to make love to her again—well, he certainly was ready—but then his gaze lifted to the nightstand and he stilled.

“Good God! Where did that come from?”

Harriet craned her head to look at the display. “What, this? That was why I got up in the first place.” She smiled. “Not that you gave me any time to explain.”

He grinned at her and then reached out to touch the miniature of his father. “That is exactly as I remember him.”

“Do you know what the other pieces signify?”

He shook his head. “I asked my mother once, but she said that love has its own secrets. And these were hers. They meant the world to her. And here all these years, I thought this lost.”

Harriet reached up and brushed a strand of his hair back from his face. “Your aunts have kept this part of her with them—in a hidden compartment in Pug’s traveling box.”

“Pug!” he snorted with nothing less than disdain. “I have loathed that dog for years and now I find he’s been keeping secrets from me.” He spoke directly to the figurine, wagging a finger at him. “Don’t think this improves my opinion of you!”

Harriet giggled. “It is just a china dog.”

“You wouldn’t think so by the way my aunts squabble so over him.” Then he glanced down at Harriet, and his gaze turned more wicked by the moment.

“Whatever am I doing arguing over that bad piece of china when I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my bed?”

“Most beautiful—” she scoffed back, playfully struggling to get out of his arms. “You are mad.”

Roxley caught hold of her and the game was on, both of them wrestling back and forth, kissing each other to distract the other, a touch here, a stroke there, until Roxley caught her around the waist and flipped her around, Harriet landing with a thud into the deep mattress, her arm flying akimbo and sweeping across the nightstand—sending the little shrine scattering to the floor.

Including Pug.

The moment the back of her hand hit the dog, she knew what was about to happen. Roxley was already busy nuzzling her neck and all Harriet could do was cry out, “Oh, no! No!”

Roxley looked up, for it was hardly the reaction he’d been expecting, but at the sound of the crash, the crack and tinkle of china being shattered, they both stilled.

“Oh, no, indeed,” he said, looking at the empty nightstand. “I think you’ve broken Pug.”

Harriet whirled around. “No! No! No!”

Roxley leaned over the edge of the bed. “Oh, yes, he’s good and smashed. Well done.”

His relief only lent to Harriet’s panic.

“This is a bad omen,” she told him.

“A bad omen?” He laughed. “Now you sound like Aunt Oriel.”

“It must be a bad omen,” she told him. “Your aunts have guarded Pug ever since your mother died.”

And then they both paused.

Ever since your mother died.

In unison, they leaned farther over the side of the bed and peered down at the mess of broken china.

“Perhaps not the omen you thought,” Roxley said, picking carefully through the shards.

“Not?”

Roxley’s fingers brushed against a velvet pouch and he caught hold of it by the strings and drew it up out of the ruins. When he gave it a heft, it made a distinctive rustle, the sound of stones nestling together.

They both looked at each other in amazement. Could it be?

Roxley opened the bag and, without any hesitation, upended the contents onto the tousled sheets.

And out came a shower of diamonds.

Epilogue

Have you ever wondered why a star falls from the sky, Miss Darby? I believe it is envy—for it looks down from the heavens, sees us together and realizes that such love is only found between two perfectly suited souls. It is envy that entices them to leave the heavens. Envy of us.

Lt. Throckmorten to Miss Darby,

on the occasion of their wedding night

from Miss Darby and the Curse of the Pharaoh’s Diamond

London, three months later

“T
here,” Roxley said, as they got out of their carriage in front of the house on Hill Street. “That business is concluded.”

“I am ever so glad,” Lady Roxley replied, smiling up at him.

“That” being the sale of the diamonds. Mr. Eliason, London’s premier diamond merchant had been more than happy to buy the entire lot, which Roxley and Harriet had agreed was for the best.

“You don’t regret not keeping one of them?” he asked.

Harriet shook her head. Vehemently. Neither of them wanted a single one of the stones in their possession, and had ignored Aunt Essex’s badgering that a solitary diamond necklace wasn’t too much to set aside.

Hadn’t these diamonds done enough already?

“Well, I fear the money won’t be ours for long,” he told her as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her up the steps. “Mr. Murray’s attorney will be waiting for us and the diamonds will barely cover what I owe.”

“But we’ll have Foxgrove and Marshom Court,” Harriet reminded him.

“Aunt Essex has Foxgrove, as she will remind you,” Roxley teased. “And luckily for us, Aunt Eleanor made it back to Bath in time.”

Mrs. Nevitt had been most resourceful at keeping Lord Tarvis at bay for the few days Lady Eleanor had been missing. Even going so far as to call one of the less reputable doctors in town and bribing the man to give the pushy lord dire reports of Lady Eleanor’s condition.

It had been to Lord Tarvis’s great dismay when Lady Eleanor had turned back up in Bath social circles in the pink of health and looking like she’d live to be a hundred.

“My lord,” Fiske intoned, opening the door for them. “There is a certain person to see you.”

Fiske regarded anyone not in the nobility as not truly worth His Lordship’s notice, but there were times . . .

“Yes, yes,” Roxley told him. “The lawyer.” He turned to Harriet. “Shall we?”

“You want me there?”

He nodded. “Together. Just as we promised at our wedding.”

And wedding night
, Harriet mused.

Mr. Murray’s lawyer did not appear amused to have been kept waiting, but even less so to find that Lady Roxley would be present for the meeting. “Most unusual, my lord,” he complained as he pulled out the papers from his valise.

“Yes, well, I am an eccentric,” Roxley told him, winking at Harriet.

She did her best not to laugh.

“Hmm. If you say so, my lord. Allow me to conclude our business. I was instructed to give you this.” The man handed Roxley a folded piece of paper that was sealed with a thick piece of wax.

Roxley, uncertain what to do, looked back at the attorney, who nodded for him to open it.

“Mr. Murray ordered me to give that to you, and you alone, in the event of his untimely demise.” The attorney’s brow furrowed, for it was apparent he found the entire situation distasteful.

Besides, one of his best clients had been murdered. It was bad business all around.

Roxley broke the seal and began to read. As he did his eyes widened and then his mouth opened. When he finished, he gaped at the note for a moment more before handing it to Harriet.

Harriet took the thick paper in her hands and before long, she too was gaping.

Dear Lord Roxley,

My life has been spent in the solitary pursuit of profit. And now, as I know my end is near, I realize it has gained me nothing but misery.

Sometime ago, Mereworth—our mutual acquaintance—discovered some matters of which I am not proud. I will be honest: I lied and cheated at times to gain advantages. He used his knowledge of these dealings to force my presence into your life. I should have refused.

I should have been more like you.

Your deep and noble desire to right the wrongs around you has haunted me these past weeks. I was not strong enough to stop him. I pray you have.

In return for your forbearance, your noble example, I forgive all the debts I hold in your name. All of them. I expect no repayment. Since I have no heirs to speak of and my ill-gotten gains are mine to dispense, I am free in this to do as I desire. And so I forgive you your obligations, if you can forgive me.

Your obedient servant,

Aloysius Murray

“Is this true?” Roxley asked the lawyer.

The fellow was already gathering up his papers. “Yes.” He sounded neither happy nor thrilled by this turn of events. Then he handed over the rest of the papers. All Roxley’s debts—satisfied. He bowed and left.

“Poor fellow,” Roxley said after the door closed behind him.

“Why is that?” Harriet asked.

“I suppose he was hoping for a long and expensive legal struggle. This tidy and neatly handled matter must be a bitter pill.”

Harriet laughed, and then got up and wound her arms around Roxley, giving him a kiss. “We are saved!”

He caught up Harriet and carried her toward his desk. “I beg to differ.”

“You do?” Her eyes alight.

“Yes,” he told her most gravely. “I am saved, but you, my dearest, darling Harry, are not.”

“I’m not?” Her arms wound tighter around him.

“No. You,” he whispered, “I fear, are about to suffer another very grievous inkwell injury.” And with that, he deposited her on his desk.

And the injury was most grievous.

Indeed.