Chapter 5

Harriet stood at a darkened corner of one of the lecture chambers in the campus, watching Samuel deliver his lecture. Impeccably dressed in dark grey suit, black cravat around the collar of a pristine white shirt, his tall figure made her insides flutter. Deep admiration filled her as she witnessed his joy and passion for knowledge and research. It had been in him from the start. He exhibited this scientific curiosity and eagerness in learning, so rare in most of his rich peers who did not value their easy access to education. Unlike the poorer students who squeezed their last penny to be able to complete their academic steps, her father being a typical example.

She only lamented that women were not allowed in their midst. Would not be for another seventy years. She would have loved to have sat on these benches and accomplished her own high studies. Instead, she must be satisfied with the home tutoring she received, fighting the prejudice the male teachers carried that she would not understand their teachings. Therefore, they would not provide them. Fight she did and reached higher than most of her friends.

Those listening to Samuel’s lecture, the visiting scholars, undergraduates and the peers he had invited, did so with ecstatic attention. His diligence and hard work evident in every word. The semi-circular room with its centuries-old oak benches and the huge desk in its front contributed to the air of ceremonious deference that seemed to dominate anyone who entered it.

“You are very much aware women cannot enter these premises, Mrs Stratham,” a derogatory voice muttered by her side.

Her head swung as she saw Michael Trent standing beside her. A shiver of pure revulsion travelled her skin. “Good afternoon, Mr Trent,” she made it a point to call him by the wrong tittle, instead of Lord Trent. This excuse for a gentleman did not deserve it. Neither did he deserve an answer to his taunt.

His sniff conveyed with precision what he thought of her mistake. But she did not care, and turned back to Samuel, much more interested in his speech.

Her indifference must have piqued the future Marquis. From the corner of her eye she saw his jaw ticking with irksome speed.

“I can call a clerk who’ll evict you in a rather loud way,” the threat caused a cold rush to wash over her. Shaming Samuel was the last thing she wanted.

But backing down did not list in her options at that exact moment, not yet at least. “You do that, my lord,” the title sounded the very opposite of its importance, “I’ll be right here.”

Both looked ahead, seemingly with their attention on the lecture. “You shouldn’t have refused my protection. I could have settled you lavishly.”

The repellent shudder that crawled up her spine nearly unbalanced her. But she managed to tamp it down resolutely. “I thanked you at the time, preferring to enjoy my employment with Professor Hayley, if memory serves,” she clipped out, wishing he left her alone.

“Should you become ... unemployed, my offer stands,” the veiled threat climbing up his words was not lost on her. Though how he intended to set it up, she had no clue. The ruffian did not frequent the professor’s house anymore and held a distant contact with Samuel. Besides veiled, the threat was empty at best.

“I’ll remember that,” she answered without giving the impression she grasped his meaning. Better if he thought her daft.

Samuel only half-listened to the questions asked after his lecture, with his attention on the exchange taking place in the back of the room. He swelled like a peacock showing off his proud feathers to his mate. Despite other people’s presence, his speech had been solely for her. His delight in it faded the moment Trent approached her. She had gone stiff, tension thrumming in her every muscle, those lovely crystalline eyes becoming dull. He had this urge to stop everything and go to her, protect her, shield her with his own body, prevent any harm from darkening her beautiful face. But he must wait until he finished here to do that. Fortunately, they reached the questions part. It would not be long.

As soon as the last question was answered, he came down from the front dais and strode towards her, distractedly thanking the audience’s praise as he passed.

“Mrs Stratham,” he called as he neared her, keeping the formality in public. “I trust you enjoyed the lecture.”

Her eyes snapped to him as a relieved smile drew her delectable mouth. Memories of every moment they shared almost knocked him out of his senses. Somehow, he held onto his polite mask, offering her his arm.

“Mr McDougal,” his name came too clipped for comfort. “It was outstanding as usual,” she praised, placing a tense hand on his sleeve.

“Trent,” Sam greeted his former classmate. “I never thought you’d be interested in a lecture on Bromeliaceae.” Michael’s glance darted to Harriet’s hand on his arm and up to him with a hard expression Sam did not decipher.

They walked outside where the setting sun announced supper.

“I am not,” Trent confirmed, “I just came to invite you to join us. It’ll be a special night there where we met the other day.”

Naturally the nobleman would not mention Madame Drummond’s bawdy house’s name in Harriet’s presence. The label ‘special’ must surely refer to all kinds of debauchery Sam considered abusive to everyone involved.

“I regret to decline, but I promised to take Mrs Stratham home.” Which he would do in the ten-minute walk to where he currently lived, a detail he curiously had not shared with his acquaintance.

Again, the other man looked at him and at her alternately, a suspicious expression covering his jaded person. Short, with a paunch showing under his garments, his carousing lifestyle had imprinted itself in his tired eyes and sallow skin.

“Perhaps later,” Trent insisted.

“I’m afraid not,” Sam reiterated firmly.

This seemed to make the Londoner certain in his suspicion for a smug smirk came to his bloated face. “I bid you good-night, in that case.” Naturally Trent did not bow before taking his leave, Harriet not being a lady of society.

A sigh escaped Harriet as the hand on his arm gripped him trembling. “Harriet, what happened?” His large hand covered hers, squeezing it.

“I—nothing, don’t worry,” she turned a brittle smile at him. “You were a resounding success,” pride exuded from every syllable.

“It would not have been without your invaluable help,” he thanked her.

“I do it with joy,” her smile more genuine this time.

“You belong in scientific circles, not just in the background.” Even with the flourishing research taking place around him, it seemed that real advancement came slowly regarding the inclusion of women in every sphere of life.

“I wish I could,” she said wistfully. “I take great satisfaction in science.”

They made the rest of the way in companionable silence, relishing the spring twilight.

After supper was cleared and Mrs Marsh announced she would retire, tension returned. One that embroiled so many elements Harriet would be barely able to list them. The conversation during Sam’s lecture had shaken her more than she would like to admit. It reminded her how happy she had been with her position as a governess with a family that received her so kindly in their midst.

It also made her apprehensive for her future, when the professor’s children would not need her services anymore. Made her realise how alone she was in a world that offered few opportunities for women other than marriage or the other less well-regarded positions. She did not blame mistresses or lightskirts, they were simply the victims of that lack of choices. Since she came to Oxford, she had been saving her wages as best as she could, which would grant something to live on in between positions.

In her case, marriage proved ineffectual and not a source of safety as society led—or misled—her to believe. Trying it once more was out of question for her. Independence and living by her own means seemed the most reliable choice. But that would not shove away the Trents of the world. Her integrity would be endangered at every turn, forecasting the need to stay alert at all times.

Amidst this fretting, she stood from the table. And heard the other chair move too. Samuel. The second element embroiled in her tension. She never felt so attracted by a man as she was to him. These last months had been a battle against the steamy desire he awoke in her. It had simmered to an unbearable point and now it was bursting at the seams, and she became nearly without will to fight it any longer.

The little moments with him simply induced more yearning. She really did not know if she wanted to resist. He beckoned her with warmth, respect and a high regard she never saw in another man. Made her feel cherished. He made her feel that was the crucial point.

“I think I’ll call it a day,” she said and turned to the door. She had better not tempt destiny.

A large hand closed softly on her wrist. “Harriet,” the silky call caused her head to swing to him.

Still in his refined suit, he stood there tall, his hair gleaming with reddish strands in the candle light. His eyes bore intensety behind his spectacles. She never imagined that she would consider spectacles charming. Most people viewed them as a sign of flaw. But on him, they looked serious, smart. And so penetrating.

The fixed stare he directed at Harriet induced thrills to run all over her. Heat surfaced on her skin, air became scarce as he held her in thrall. Next moment, he had pulled her to him, his hands on each of her nether cheeks, drawing her close, so close to his hardness.

“I cannot hold this any longer,” the hoarse admission caused a veritable flash wave of moisture to crash between her legs.

The hungry way her eyes fairly gobbled him was becoming familiar to Sam. So familiar he had no choice but to bring her flush against him amid her clear desire imploring to be set free. His jaw lowered to connect with her satiny neck. It dragged down charged with white-hot thirst. He captured that vein leaping under her skin, sucked it, nibbled on it until he heard her gasp and registered that her arms had tied him with an inevitability that resonated with his own.

“Neither can I,” she finally answered before pressing her breasts to his chest.

At this, his mouth fused with hers in a kiss so full of feverishness they might set fire to the whole town. One hand held her nape, the other laced her waist as he bent to take more. Every time he kissed her, touched her, something expanded in him, not only the obvious physical response, something else in the region of his chest. It felt special, unique, as though he had found himself.