“It’s hardly unusual. Furthermore, it’s not as if your circumstances are much different, considering your mother’s threat.”
“At least I didn’t need to travel to another country to find a bride.”
“No, you left to find a mistress.” She clamped her lips shut, horrified.
Dipping to catch her eye, he cocked a brow. “Are you jealous? Because that sounded a lot like jealousy, Mads.”
“Don’t be absurd.” The words came out strangled.
“Hmm. Does the thought of me with Esmée make you jealous?”
Esmée. Even her name was beautiful. Maddie pictured her: a witty and cosmopolitan French woman, draped in fabulous Worth gowns and drinking absinthe at a salon. Her belly cramped uncomfortably. Had he been in love with her? Was that why he hadn’t come home?
Oh, God. She was jealous. Jealous of Harrison’s mistress.
No, this could not be happening.
Harrison and his mistress and his stupid handsomeness could not distract from her purpose. He was a friend, nothing more. A friend who would marry someone else and disappear from her life as he’d done before.
Turning, she started for the house and waved over her shoulder. “I should find my bed. I have an early practice tomorrow with my coach. Good night.”
“Maddie.”
Halting at his sharp tone, she glanced over her shoulder. She’d never seen him appear so fierce, so focused, and it both scared and thrilled her. “Yes, Harrison?”
“The question you asked earlier, about me kissing you?” A wolflike grin slowly twisted his lips. “The answer was yes.”
White tents blew in the breeze on the chateau’s east side, where the Webster staff was busy carrying provisions for the afternoon picnic. Harrison squinted in the bright sun, the harsh light burning his dry and tired eyes. The night had been a long one, with his mind continuing to spin long after he’d finished his cigar and left the terrace.
Things were progressing with Maddie faster than he could have dreamed. Two important developments had crystallized. First, she was attracted to him, as illustrated by the longing in her gaze and the way her tongue moistened her lips when he’d held her.
Second, she felt something deeper for him. Otherwise, why experience jealousy over his mistress? No, that reaction meant this wasn’t one-sided. He wasn’t chasing after a woman who did not return his regard.
He was close. Fueled by fierce determination, he would continue to scheme and plot, to use every available trick he knew in the limited time left to win her over.
Because only one man would marry Maddie—and that was he.
Kit suddenly appeared at Harrison’s side. “Late night?”
He slowed his pace. “Not particularly. Why?”
“First, because you look absolutely terrible. Second, I went for a stroll last evening. Heard you and Maddie out on the terrace.”
“Oh?”
Kit put a hand on Harrison’s arm, bringing them both to a halt. “I saw you holding her face like you were about to kiss her. She wasn’t exactly pushing you away, either.”
Though Kit was his closest friend, it didn’t feel right to talk about this. Not here, not now. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“Please. You’ve been in love with her forever. Still are. Had you thought no one noticed?”
Apparently Maddie hadn’t. “And? What is your point?”
“I want to know what’s going on. Are you really here to marry one of these women?”
“I am here to marry one woman,” he hedged.
“A tennis-playing woman who is nearly betrothed to a duke?”
“Nearly betrothed is not betrothed.”
A smile broke out on Kit’s face. “Say no more. I get it. I tried to stop it, you know.”
Harrison blinked. The discursive manner in which Kit’s mind worked would test the patience of a saint. “Stop what?”
“Lockwood’s pursuit of her. Did everything I could think of—short of seducing her—to throw him off the scent. But Maddie finally told me to cease interfering.”
Harrison cast a glance toward the tent. “Well, there’s nothing to worry about there. A boring duke hardly stands a chance of coming between Maddie and me.”
“That’s the spirit.” Kit slapped Harrison’s back. “It goes without saying that you have my support.”
“Thank you. I was worried you would resent being dragged along under false pretenses.”
“Are you kidding? False pretenses are my very favorite pretenses. Come on, we’re late.” He started for the tent.
The two of them arrived at the tent together, where they found Maddie, Mrs. Webster and the guests drinking lemonade in the shade. Maddie didn’t meet Harrison’s eyes as they approached.
“There you are,” Mrs. Webster called. “Join us, gentlemen.” She beckoned them to her table, which was filled with mothers and chaperones. After a round of greetings, Kit drifted to the tables with Maddie and the heiresses, leaving Harrison behind.
“Mr. Archer,” one of the chaperones said. “I happened to see your mother the day before we journeyed here. I was surprised to learn she had no idea about this house party.”
Because I would rather swim back to France than have my mother involved in my life.
He tried to smile but likely failed. “I must have forgotten to mention it to her.”
Mrs. Webster patted his arm but addressed the women. “I told his mother that I would help young Mr. Archer by hosting this house party. She is still in mourning for her late husband, of course.”
“And do you plan to stay in New York indefinitely, Mr. Archer?” This was from another chaperone.
“I haven’t decided.” It was a lie. He planned to live in the city and oversee Archer Industries—but no one could know that yet.
“You should decide soon,” a different woman said. “I don’t like the idea of my daughter living in France.”
“Me neither,” someone at the table said. “It’s pure hedonism over there.”
“Have you bought a house in the city yet? I hear there are some nice properties on Ninety-Fifth Street.”
“Oh, yes, you really must get a house, Mr. Archer. The West Side has some lovely brownstones for sale.”
He couldn’t keep track of who was speaking because the voices all came at once. Sending a longing glance toward the house behind him, he resisted the urge to pull at his collar.
“Excuse me, won’t you?” Maddie arrived at his side and slipped her arm through his. “I must steal Mr. Archer for a moment. He will soon return.” She towed him toward the dessert table, which was covered in small cakes and cookies. “You looked as if you needed rescuing.”
“I did. Thank you.” He selected two pistachio macarons, his favorites. “They had more questions than I was prepared to answer.”
“You’re welcome.”
He stared down at her, but she was concentrating on the desserts, not looking directly at him. Was this because he’d confessed the desire to kiss her?
No matter what else happened in the next few days, he couldn’t allow her to ignore him. “Something wrong, Miss Webster?”