Chapter 14

This wasn’t meant to have happened.

Harriet stared in silent amazement at the parlor she’d been led to. It was just as impressive as everything else she’d seen of Corwin House so far. Crown moldings adorned every ceiling. Wainscoting graced every wall. Chandeliers dripping with crystals lit every room. The bedchambers, both hers and Lucy’s, were so luxurious Harriet feared she might tarnish the space the moment she set foot inside it.

If only she had more appropriate clothes to wear.

Unfortunately, she possessed only two masculine outfits, one of which required a thorough laundering after her scuffle that morning. She’d changed into a set of clean clothes before coming here, but she still felt like a pauper who belonged more readily on the street than in such splendor.

She shouldn’t, she reflected after making sure Lucy was installed in her bedchamber and all her needs met. Before their father died, she and her sister had both been accustomed to comfortable living, though nothing quite as extravagant as this.

Standing in front of a tall window framed by curtains crafted from golden silk, Harriet gazed out at the street. Even that was expensive looking compared with where she currently resided.

“Are you sure Lucy is happy with the room she’s been given?” Brody asked, pulling Harriet away from her thoughts.

She turned and considered the man who was so much more than she’d ever imagined. Not just an editor’s assistant, or a duke, or even a friend, but someone with whom she sensed she could have been happy, if life had dealt them a different hand.

“It exceeded her expectations,” Harriet said. “Mine too, I admit.”

“I’m glad.” He smiled warmly, prompting her heart into a hopeful flutter. “And you’re welcome to take a bath too if you like. Dinner can wait another half hour.”

“Thank you, but that would give your staff extra trouble. Besides, I thought I’d wait with my bath until I’m ready to retire.” She gave him a sharp look. “Unless you’ve determined I need one sooner.”

He laughed and crossed to the sideboard. “No. It’s fine. You can wait if you like. I generally like to have my bath before bed as well. Drink?”

She’d never tasted liquor before in her life. Only wine, the ale Brody had bought her and once, a glass of champagne. Brandy wasn’t something she was too keen on trying, but men did drink it, so wouldn’t it make sense for her to have some after the day she’d just had?

“Please,” she said, deciding that it would at least give her something to do with her hands.

They’d been fidgety ever since Brody had asked her to visit. Agreeing to do so presented her with a couple of challenges she would much rather avoid. For instance, she still had her courses and would have to hide that from Brody’s maids. There were too many people here paying attention. And what if Lucy accidentally let it slip that Harriet wasn’t a man? She never used the name Harry. Only Harriet.

“Here you go.” Brody held a glass toward her, and as she took it, her fingers brushed his. The touch was fleeting, though just as affecting as when he’d held her hands earlier today. Sparks shot up her arms and made her skin sizzle. Her gaze instinctively darted to his and the intensity she saw there rendered her breathless.

Unable to utter one word, she shook her head while once again wondering if she imagined the raw desire she was seeing, for if she didn’t…

Her stomached tightened and her knees grew weak. Brody grabbed her elbow. “All right? You looked a bit dizzy for a moment.”

“It’s, um…nothing. I’m fine.”

“Let’s hope this thing Lucy has isn’t contagious.”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded faint and husky. Unsure of what to do with it, she clinked her glass against Brody’s then sipped her drink. And promptly winced in response to the bite. The brandy was stronger than she’d expected, and now she was coughing as well. How perfectly marvelous when her intention had been to look suave.

Brody slapped her back hard. “I take it you’ve never had brandy before?”

“No,” she sputtered. There was no point in lying.

He laughed, though not in a way that made her feel more embarrassed, but rather like someone sharing a joke with a friend. “Perhaps you should have the port instead.”

“Is that milder?”

“Very much so.” He prepared a glass and was just about to hand it to her when he paused, deciding to set it down on a table instead. “Give it a try.”

She placed the glass to her lips, ever conscious that he kept his gaze upon her as she drank. The sweeter flavor was soothing and much more agreeable to her taste buds. “I like it.”

He chuckled. “Good. Feel free to help yourself whenever you like. It’s the bottle that’s farthest to the right.”

“Thank you. For everything. I’m in your debt.”

“Don’t think like that.” He suddenly reached up and brushed his fingertips over her brow. “You did well, cleaning the wound. Here too.”

His fingertip brushed her lip, the hot sensation the act produced shooting straight to her core. She gasped and watched his eyes darken. Her stomach tightened and her pulse began racing. Whatever doubts she’d had about his intentions before were promptly dismissed. He lusted for Harry.

No sooner had she determined this than he dropped his hand, muttered a curse, and removed himself to the opposite side of the room. Her heart ached from the loss, not only of his touch but in knowing that he would have no interest in Harriet, just Harry.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable there. It’s quite the cut you sustained though. It’s good to see that there’s little chance of infection.”

“Of course.” It would have been a reasonable explanation had he only touched her brow, but pressing his fingertips to her lips was overstepping by leaps and bounds. Surely he knew this.

Before any more could be said on the matter the butler arrived to announce that dinner was served.

“A tray is being readied for your sister at her request,” the butler informed Harriet once she was seated at the table. “I do hope that’s all right, but the maid attending her said she was hungry. She asked Cook to prepare a broth and some buttered toast.”

“Thank you, and yes, I’m sure that will do her good.”

The meal commenced, beginning with a few tasty slices of smoked salmon garnished in dill and lemon.

* * *

Brody ate his finely sliced salmon and dill dressing in silence while cursing himself to the devil. What in blazes had he been thinking, pressing his fingertips to Harry’s lips in such a provocative manner. It was beyond the pale. He’d not been thinking. Any number of servants could have walked in on him having a hard-to-explain-away moment with his friend.

Good grief, he was an idiot. The startled expression on Harry’s face confirmed this. The poor lad had looked like a rabbit caught in a snare by a hungry fox.

It wasn’t right.

None of this was.

He wasn’t supposed to find men attractive. He never had. Not once. Until now.

The effect Harry had upon him could not be denied. He felt complete when in his company – as though he’d finally found a missing part of himself. More than that, he’d started to yearn for him so fiercely he struggled to think straight.

But that didn’t mean Harry shared the attraction. On the contrary, Brody was beginning to fear he might have misjudged the lad’s blushes and the shyness with which he appeared to respond when Brody touched him. Instead of interest, it might be evidence of severe discomfort, coupled with a sense of unequal status that made him fear what might happen if he rebuffed Brody’s advances.

Especially now that he knew him to be a duke.

Hating himself for potentially giving rise to such alarm, he wondered how best to address the issue. Of course, he could say nothing at all and let the incident fade with time. That would probably be the wisest. But it wouldn’t diminish the awkwardness that had settled between them since his blunder.

And if there was one thing Brody wanted more than anything else, it was for Harry to feel at ease in his home. Not for him to worry that his host might make demands of a sexual nature.

Damn.

His plate was whisked away and a new one appeared. This time with roast duck and potatoes.

He glanced at Harry, who sat directly at his right. “Is the food to your liking?”

“Very much so,” Harry said with a smile so wide it seemed to fill the entire room with sunshine.

Brody stared. It was impossible not to.

Catching himself, he reached for his wine and downed half the glass before saying, “I only want to make sure you’re in good health and properly cared for. That’s all.”

“I know,” Harry said once he’d swallowed the food in his mouth. “And I’m grateful, so if there’s a way in which I can ever repay your kindness, do let me know.”

A kiss would be a good start.

“No,” Brody blurted, louder than he’d intended. Harry stilled and Brody realized he was staring at him with concern. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s not too late for Lucy and me to leave if you’ve changed your mind about us staying over.”

“She’s already settled in and besides, that’s the last thing I want. What I would like is for you to forget about earlier, that’s all. Can you please agree to do that?”

“Of course.” Harry knit his brow and glanced at the table while gently adding, “Nothing happened.”

“And nothing would have, but I know I made you uncomfortable, which was not my intention at all. Please, forgive me. I’m not…” He shook his head and muttered a curse before shoving another bite of food into his mouth. He chewed the piece and chased it down with some wine. “You’re my friend, Harry. I like you, and seeing your handsome face cut and bruised disturbs me greatly. Hell, I’d like nothing better than to chase down those who did that to you and beat them until they’re screaming for mercy. I’m sorry if my show of compassion was inappropriate. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I understand,” Harry said, his words slow and measured. “You were distracted by the wounds. I believe I would have been too, had our roles been reversed.”

He was saving him, Brody realized, by supporting the notion that what had transpired was perfectly normal. It hadn’t been. Brody knew he’d crossed the line, and he was a hundred percent sure Harry knew this as well. But his willingness to play along was not only evidence of his friendship, but proved that he cared about Brody’s feelings. It also showed how kind and good-natured Harry was. Another, less compassionate man, would have shamed Brody for his behavior before informing the world that the Duke of Corwin had made advances.

But not Harry. No, Harry was goodness personified. Hard working, dedicated, and loyal. There was nothing about him that warranted even a single complaint. Nothing Brody could think of at any rate.

Raising his gaze, he looked across the table, his heart lurching when his gaze caught Harry’s.

“Thank you,” was all he could manage. The feeling in his chest was too intense for him to say anything more. It was as though his heart was expanding, pressing against his ribs with such intense longing it actually pained him.

“For what?” Harry asked with a wry smile. “If anything, it is I who ought to thank you for inviting me into your home. It’s magnificent by the way.”

“You like it?”

“How can I not when I’ve never seen anything to compare?”

“You’ve been inside Westcliffe House.”

“Only in the parlor. While lovely, it’s not as fine as yours.”

Brody grinned and sat a bit straighter. It was ridiculous how pleased he was to receive such praise from Harry.

“You’re welcome to roam about as you please. The music room might appeal if you play.”

A wistful look caught Harry’s eye. “I used to, but it’s a long time ago. I’m sure I’ve forgotten how.”

“You may be out of practice, but I doubt you would have completely forgotten.” He glanced at Harry’s hand, at the elegant fingers gracefully holding the wine glass. No wonder he was so good at setting type. If he played the pianoforte, his fingers would have a certain dexterity that surely came in handy.

“Maybe I’ll visit the music room tomorrow and find out.”

Brody liked that idea and voiced his approval.

“Would you care for an after-dinner drink in the library?” he asked when dinner was over.

Harry yawned but nodded. “I’d like to check on Lucy first, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” Brody led the way out of the dining room. “I’ll meet you there. It’s the next door on the left.”

They parted ways and Brody went to prepare two glasses of port. He set them on a table between two armchairs, studied their placement a moment, then moved them both to the table in front of the sofa. Apprehension rushed through him, quickening his pulse. Why in God’s name was he so bloody nervous?

Because after everything that had happened, Harry had not retreated. Had he been alarmed by Brody’s actions, surely he’d have declined the drink and fled from his presence as soon as he had the chance. But no, he’d accepted the invitation to spend more time together.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Brody crossed to the fireplace and stared at the dancing flames. He’d shown Harry his hand and Harry was still choosing to spend additional time with him alone. Did that mean he enjoyed his friendship so much that he was prepared to ignore Brody’s interest in him, or did it mean that he shared it?

He’d been visibly startled when Brody had touched his lips, but maybe that was because he’d not expected it at that moment. Lord, it was hard to read him, and this made Brody feel all the more anxious. It wasn’t enough that he was dealing with new and conflicting feelings, he also had to work out what the object of his desire was thinking.

Whatever the case, it would most likely be prudent of him to move slowly and gauge his responsiveness for a while before making another blunder. Not only because a mistake on his part could ruin the precious connection they shared, but because Harry’s comfort was vital. However much Brody longed to push their relationship in a certain direction, he’d not jeopardize that.

His gaze went to the glasses in front of the sofa. Perhaps insisting they sit beside one another in the narrow space was a bit too forward. Regretting the idea, he went to move the glasses back to the spot between the two armchairs, just managing to pick them up when Harry arrived.

“How’s your sister?” Brody asked. Choosing to give Harry his glass while standing so he could decide on where to sit on his own, he approached and offered it to him.

“She drank her broth and ate half her toast without feeling the need to vomit again. As far as I can tell, she’s not quite as warm as before.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I trust she’s resting again?”

“Yes.” Harry took the glass Brody offered, his fingertips sliding against his in the process. A sharp inhalation followed. He took a step back. “Sorry.”

“It’s quite all right.”

I wish you’d touch me some more.

Harry sipped his drink and Brody followed suit. “Your library is very impressive.”

Brody tracked Harry with his gaze as the younger man moved around the space. He trailed his fingers along the shelves, studied the titles embossed in gold leaf on the spines, and marveled at some of the rarer volumes. Happiness swam through Brody’s veins. He could not have been more delighted if Harry had kissed him.

“You’re welcome to borrow whichever you like.”

Harry threw him a look over his shoulder, and the sparkle of pleasure that shone in his eyes nearly brought Brody to his knees. He gripped his glass and smiled back while coming to terms with a shocking discovery that set him back on his heels. Swallowing, he moved to the sofa and carefully lowered himself to it. He needed to sit as the pure intensity of his emotions cemented within him.

He didn’t just care for Harry. He’d bloody well gone and fallen in love with the lad.