He wore Harriett’s hand print proudly for all to see and speculate over. Soon all of London would know Harriett Dunhaven for a vicious hellcat and not the tragic figure everyone thought her. Fortune had smiled on him tonight, for his friend the footman had entered just prior to her slap. A moment sooner, and the fellow would have witnessed a very different scene. Timing was everything. His good humor was short-lived, however. The situation with Harriett had drastically changed. Damn it all—kissing her had not been part of his plan. He’d only meant to give her a good scare before calling her bluff. Instead he’d all but thrown her down and tossed up her skirts. Another moment or two and she would have let me... By George, she’d been disturbed and no mistake! He’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in the pounding of her heart, in the flushed heat of her skin. And her desire had inflamed him like nothing he’d ever known. For a moment, just a moment, he put aside the enmity between them and allowed himself to enjoy the memory.
