Chapter 11

The Whitmore estate was one of the grandest in the ton - and tonight, it was alight with the glow of nearly a thousand candles. The air was thick with the cloying perfume of women and the tinkling laughter of London's elite.

Harriet swallowed dryly where she stood at the entrance, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Hugh's towering form. Tonight was meant to be a soft introduction of their courtship - something to dissuade the gossipers a bit.

William had made it quite clear that the night was incredibly important and as such, she had barely slept a wink the previous night. Her mind was awhirl, not only with the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders, but there was something else she could not quite get out of her mind.

Hugh's demand for a second dance.

Well, she thought to herself, perhaps demand was a bit much. It was, after all, her idea to put a wager on their game.

Still, the idea of a second dance was a bold declaration of intent - it was a signal to all of society that Hugh was truly courting her, despite the fact that she was not entirely sure she had made up her mind yet. The very thought made her palms dampen and set her heart aflutter.

"Oh, darling," her mother whispered from behind her. "You look positively green about the gills."

Harriet merely shook her head and pressed a fluttering hand to her stomach. "I feel like I may faint," she admitted in a whisper. "I may be a touch overwhelmed by the prospect of facing the ton's scrutiny on the dance floor."

Jennifer squeezed her daughter's hand sympathetically. "Courage, my darling. You have faced far more daunting challenges than a dance. I daresay, His Grace seems as though he has some time for you."

Harriet scoffed at this. "The man is as prickly as a pincushion," she said with angry certainty.

As if on cue, a shadow fell over them - and as though he'd been called by her words, Hugh appeared in front of them.

He was clad in plain black evening wear, his face a pale mask. Harriet's eyes widened slightly as she looked at him. The black of his clothes only served to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and the darkness of his hair formed a stark contrast to the pale face. For the first time, Harriet noticed the chiseled angles of his jaw.

As hesitant as she was to marry the man, Harriet could not deny that he was indeed a rather striking figure.

"Lady Harriet," he greeted in a deep timbre and he bowed low over her gloved hand. "Ye look lovely this evening."

Despite herself, Harriet could not help the blush that rose to her cheeks and she curtsied - hoping beyond all else that the dim light masked the crimson of her cheeks. "Thank you, Your Grace," she said softly. "You cut a rather dashing figure too."

Hugh's lips twitched with a shadow of a smirk. "Thank ye, me lady," he said and dared to wink at her. "Shall ye do me the honor of a dance?"

Harriet's breath stuck in her throat. This was far sooner than she had thought it to be and she drew a shuddering breath before laying her fingers on his sleeve and allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. She glanced around furtively at the other couples around them.

"They are staring," she whispered as she looked up at Hugh. His hand tightened ever so slightly around hers.

"Let them."

It was all he said before the music filled the room and Harriet allowed a curious calmness to settle over her. This was familiar - she had danced this particular dance countless times before. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to meet Hugh's gaze.

The dance suddenly felt different when their eyes met and she very nearly stumbled - Hugh's hands moving quickly to help her settle back on her feet.

For someone who was insistent on refraining from the ton's social life as far as possible, the dour Scot was a more than adept partner. He moved with surprising grace for a man of his size, his hand warm and steady at the small of her back as they glided over the dance floor.

Harriet was determined not to let him best her - she did not care in the slightest for this man whose gaze set her heart aflutter. With a spark of mischief growing within her, she threw herself into the dance with unbridled enthusiasm. Her steps were just a touch too quick, her spins a shade too energetic as she whirled and twirled with reckless abandon. Hugh's brows climbed higher with each exuberant flourish of a movement. He flashed her a grin, a glint of amused admiration lighting his eyes as he moved to keep pace with her lively tempo.

Harriet was almost certain she could hear a faint whisper that sounded suspiciously like ‘do not think ye can best me, lass', but she could not be entirely certain.

By the time the final notes of the song faded away, Harriet was breathless - her hair coming loose from its pins to frame her face in wispy tendrils.

Hugh, on the other hand, looked infuriatingly unruled - not a strand out of place, not a drop of sweat on his pale face.

"Well," he drawled, a crooked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That was quite the invigorating dance. I daenae think I've ever seen a lass attack a dance floor with such... enthusiasm."

Harriet laughed. The rush of the dance had her feeling almost giddy. Feeling rather brave, she took a step forward and looked up at him. "Did I not warn you, Your Grace? When I commit to something... I commit fully."

Hugh chuckled at that and he shook his head. "I must say, lass, I'm rather impressed by yer stamina. Ye nearly ran me ragged out there."

Harriet shook her head at this and wiped the tendrils that had escaped from her updo from her face.

"Please - you look like you are hardly affected."

Hugh merely lifted a brow and the pair shared a conspiratorial grin as he led her from the dance floor. As they moved, Harriet was very aware of the whispers and speculative glances following him. Yet, with Hugh's imposing form so close to hers, she soon found that it bothered her far less than it normally would.

In fact, she could scarcely bring herself to care about the gossip - she felt strangely buoyant, almost giddy from the sheer audacity of their display.

Hugh's brave ‘let them' rang through her mind.

As they reached the other end of the ballroom, Hugh paused - then glanced towards the veranda with a thin frown between his brows. "If ye'll excuse me for a moment, lass. I think I might step out for a wee bit of air."

Harriet nodded, watching - almost forlorn - as he slipped through the French doors and disappeared into the night. Strangely, without him by her side, she was far more aware of the glances and gossips.

A sudden, reckless impulse took hold of her and without as much as a second thought, she made her way outside too.

Harriet nodded, watching as he slipped through the French doors and disappeared into the night. A sudden, reckless impulse seized her and before she could second-guess herself, she found her feet carrying her after him.

The veranda was a cool haven after the suffocating heat of the ballroom - the distant strains of music and chatter faded to a muted hum here. Hugh stood at the far end, his back to her as he puffed on a cheroot - the glowing ember casting an orange light upon his chiseled features.

Harriet glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief. A few other guests stood around on the veranda - smoking or chatting and unlike the women inside, they hardly paid her any mind. She approached slowly, her heels clicking against the stone of the veranda. Hugh turned when she approached and one brow jumped to his hairline as he looked at her.

Harriet shrugged with a wry grin. "I couldn't resist the lure of a bit of fresh air either," she said with a playful grin and Hugh laughed softly.

"Is it that? Or did ye wish to continue our conversation without the pryin" eyes of bored women?"

Harriet merely laughed and Hugh turned to look at her. He studied her for a long moment, his head cocked to one side as he took another deep drag of his cheroot. The tip flared bright orange before dying - a hypnotizing effect created by it and Harriet averted her eyes quickly as she felt heat rising to her cheeks.

"Perhaps a conversation was the deciding factor," she admitted, and he laughed.

"Is that so?"

Mirroring his stance, Harriet moved to stand next to him - surveying the other people on the veranda.

In truth, she had no earthly idea what had possessed her to follow him out here. It had been a whim: a mad impulse, born of the strange energy that crackled between them whenever they occupied the same space.

She cast him a furtive glance, her gaze falling upon the cheroot dangling from his fingers. A wicked notion took root and it spread through her like wildfire.

"Will you believe that I have never tried that?"

She gestured to the cheroot in his grip and he laughed - almost sounding shocked. "I would certainly believe it," he declared simply, and she moved to stand in front of him.

"I want to try," she insisted, and Hugh coughed - clearly taken aback by her brazen request.

"I beg yer pardon?"

"Your cheroot," Harriet insisted and held out her hand. "I want to try a... a puff."

For an interminable beat, Hugh simply stared at her - his expression unreadable. Then a smile tugged at the corners of his lips and to her shock, he extended his hand - offering her the cheroot with a shrug.

"Be me guest," he rumbled, amusement thick in his voice. "But daenae say I dinnae warn ye."

Harriet's heart hammered at this, but she plucked up her every bit of courage and took the cheroot from him with trembling hands. Steeling herself, she lifted it to her lips and took a tentative puff. Instantly, acrid smoke filled her mouth with unfamiliar harshness and her throat closed up at once - a violent coughing fit wracking her frame as she struggled to expel the obnoxious fumes from her lungs.

Dimly, as though it was quite a distance off, she registered Hugh's deep, booming laughter ringing out across the veranda - no doubt drawing the scandalized attention of anyone within earshot.

Harriet doubled over, hacking and wheezing, tears streaming from her eyes as she fought to regain her composure. Through the haze of her watering vision, she could just make out Hugh"s face, etched with mirth as he grinned down at her.

"Easy there, lass," he chuckled and took the offending cheroot from her fingers before grinding it out beneath his heel. "I did try to warn ye."

Despite the lingering burn in her throat and the mortifying spectacle she had made of herself, Harriet found she couldn"t quite summon any true irritation. There was something about Hugh's laughter that sent a strange warmth to the pit of her belly.

She straightened her back with as much dignity as she could muster and swiped at her teary eyes with the back of her hand.

"Yes, well," she managed to get out, her voice strangely raspy from the smoke. "I suppose I should have heeded your warning."

Hugh laughed and nodded teasingly. "Aye, I would say it would serve ye well to listen to me."

Harriet frowned at this immediately and he leaned closer, a soft chuckle escaping her lips and his breath tickling her ear.

"But where would be the fun in that?"

There was nothing she could say to this - so she merely smiled as she settled next to him.

Perhaps the evening would not be as awful as she had feared.