She shouldn’t have emptied an entire bottle of gin. She must have been mad. She was surprised that she could even consume so much. Alas, the proof never lies. An empty bottle had stared at her the moment she opened her eyes.
“Well, let’s have it. Who has darkened my doorway today? Did he give a name? Tell them I’m indisposed.” She lifted her legs to wiggle her toes—she hadn’t even worn slippers.
“He claims to be a Mr. Grave—”
Harriet leaped from the sofa before the footman finished. “Rohan is here? A big, hulking, red-haired man?”
“Er, yes my lady, that seems to fit the gentleman’s description.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Harriet dashed to the drawing room without waiting for a reply. Rohan was one of her closest friends. As dear as a male friend could get. And the very friend she had planned to meet in Charleston had her plan not gone awry.
Had her father directed him here? He had never approved of their friendship, even though they’d grown up on neighboring estates in Kent. The Graves family came from trade and they had made their riches on the sea, which had never sat well with him. He approved even less these days.
But why was Rohan back in London?
Normally he sent word weeks in advance of his travels. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have had the confidence to board a ship to the Americas in the first place.
What a twist of fate!
Harriet burst into the drawing room, her eyes lighting on the mop of red hair. Their eyes met, and two mouths split into grins.
“Rohan!”
Harriet dashed across the room and launched herself straight into her friend’s arms. He lifted her in a hug, the low rumble of his laughter ringing in her ears.
A sound she had always loved.
The sound of her laugh weaved through his as he twirled her in circles. His strength always left her in awe.
“Have you grown even bigger since I last saw you?”
He chuckled. “I’ve put on a few pounds,” his eyes narrowed, “But nothing more. And all muscle.”
“You are never going to forgive me for calling you fat, are you?”
“Never.”
“It was only once!”
“Once was more than my heart could take.”
She grinned as he set her back on her feet but still held onto her shoulders. “Let me have a look at you.” His gaze traveled from the top of her messy head to the tips of her pale toes, twin lines forming between his brows. “What happened? Did you escape Bedlam?”
“Don’t start trouble. I drank too much last night.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Don’t tell me... the batch from my last trip?”
“The very same.”
He leaned in to sniff her. “Now that you mention it, you do reek like a tavern wench.”
She curled a fist and punched his arm. “You dare point that out?”
He laughed. “You dare drink so much gin?”
She covered his mouth with her hand. “Hush! What if someone—”
A throat cleared.
