If Wishes Were Earls Read Free

shame,” Harriet said, looking back at Miss Nashe and realizing how convenient it was that she’d found her countess’s coronet with that earl, and not Harriet’s.
    “What is?” her earl asked.
    “Kipps catching Miss Nashe’s eye before you could cast your spell on her . . . and her fat purse.”
    Roxley shrugged. They had come to a stop by one of the larger trees. “Actually, I’m quite distraught about her choice.”
    “You wanted to marry her?” Harriet reached out and steadied herself against the white trunk of the tree.
    He laughed. “No, Kitten. I had no designs on the lady. But I wagered she’d corner Lord Henry.”
    Kitten. Harriet nearly sighed at the familiar endearment. It held so much promise. Like a daisy being plucked of its petals.
    He loves me . . .
    Harriet laughed, at him and her hopes. “You should stick to cheating at cards.” She put her back to the trunk, leaning against it, and letting the solid strength of the tree support her.
    “You still haven’t answered my question.” Roxley dug the toe of his boot into the sod.
    Harriet glanced up. “Which was?”
    He looked up at her. “Why the devil would you want to come out into the gardens with Fieldgate?”
    “For the very simple reason that I want to be kissed. Properly, that is. By a man of some skill.” Harriet let her gaze drift back once again toward the house, her insinuation landing precisely as she’d intended.
    Spectacularly.
    “Kissed properly? Of all the insulting . . .” he blustered.
    Harriet laughed again, and realizing he’d been lured into a trap, Roxley laughed as well.
    “Good God, Harry!” He pushed away from the tree. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
    “Well, if you were to kiss me . . . again . . .”
    “Which I won’t,” he shot back.
    “If you insist.” Harriet did her best to appear indifferent, as if his quick retort was the least of her concerns.
    “I do.”
    Truly, did he have to sound so adamant? “But if you did—”
    He paused. “Harry, you can stop right there. Kiss you? Once was enough.”
    Harriet whirled around on him. “Aha! So you do admit to kissing me.”
    His voice ran low, rumbled up from his chest, his words filled with longing. “How could I forget?”
    She shivered, for it was longing she shared, one that resided in her heart, restless and tempting.
    “But you are being ridiculous,” he continued. “If I were to ruin you, your brothers would shoot me.”
    “If they were in a good humor,” she conceded. Actually, all five of them would most likely insist on taking a shot.
    Unfortunately, Roxley knew this as well, for he echoed her thoughts exactly. “And since I don’t favor an untimely death by firing squad, I fear for tonight your desire to be kissed again is going to have to remain on the shelf.”
    Like her life. Like her chances of ever being loved.
    Passionately. Her gaze slid back in the direction of the arbor.
    Oh, it all seemed so patently unfair. And yet, a few months ago, she would never have considered such things possible. She had lived her entire life content in the knowledge that as a spinster of Kempton she would never marry, never be kissed, never . . .
    And then, on that fateful day when Preston’s carriage had broken down in Kempton and she’d seen Roxley after all that time apart, she hadn’t been able to help herself, she’d begun to dream of the impossible.
    So, after coming to London with Tabitha and Daphne, and seeing her two dearest friends find happiness in such unexpected ways—not just happiness, but love —she’d begun to hope.
    And here she was, with the only man she’d ever desired, in this garden, under this moon, and why shouldn’t she want to be kissed?
    Again. And again . . .
    “No one would have to know,” she whispered. “No one would ever find out.”
    “Someone always does, Kitten,” Roxley told her. He’d circled round the tree and now stood much as she did, leaning against the great trunk