“I’d have told him to get his chin up off the ground and be a man about things.”

“Oh! What do you know about picking your chin up off the ground? You, with your thousands of servants and hundreds of houses?”

“More than you know,” he said, the line of his mouth suddenly grim.

Harriet paused, her irritation melting away before a sudden surge of hot curiosity. Every once in a while, she caught a glimpse of a different Chase St. John than the one usually presented to the world at large. It was almost as if beneath his arrogant, self-satisfied swagger, there was a river of emptiness, of sadness. He was a conundrum, this startlingly handsome man.

Brash and bold on the outside, seemingly interested only in himself, he was nonetheless capable of great kindness and caring. She found her gaze drawn to him; to the tempting line of his mouth, the masculine strength of his throat. To her surprise, a flash of heat burned through her. She could feel the warmth of his bared skin against her arm.

Heavens, but he was enticing. But as tasty as he appeared, he was not from Sticklye-By-The-River. And he was definitely not a part of Garrett Park. She had to remind herself that he never would be.

His gaze met hers and in that instant, something shimmered deep in his eyes, a sparkle that was answered in her own heart. In that moment, something changed, shifted, went from abstract thought to intense action.

“Harriet,” Chase murmured. Then, to her surprise, he pulled her to his bare chest and kissed her.

Chapter 20

Love does not come in a neat package, tied with a bow, and delivered to one’s house. It’s large and roiling, rather like a river, only noisier, infinitely messier, and far harder to control.

The Countess of Greyley to her new sister-in-law, Mrs. Brandon St. John, while knitting stockings for charity

Harriet shivered and closed her eyes. It was madness. Sheer and utter madness.

But somehow, she just didn’t care. She’d never felt such a flush of pure lust. Had never enjoyed the delightful feeling of being desired, passionately and intensely by a man—by any man really. But especially not by a man like Chase St. John.

“Harriet,” he whispered against her ear, his hot breath stirring her hair. “I want you. I want to be with you.” He nuzzled her neck and murmured against her skin, “And in you.”

Harriet bit her lip, her entire body trembling. All her life, she’d been in control, had done what was right, followed the safe and sane path, taken care of others and herself. Now…now she didn’t want any of that. She wanted to be…freer. Unfettered with responsibility and cares.

“Touch me,” he whispered, his breath brushing over her ear. “Put your hands on me.”

The old Harriet would have refused him. It was the right thing to do—to put an end to this lunacy. But the new Harriet splayed her hands over his chest, threading his crisp hairs through her fingers.