It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  Anne huffed and opened her mouth to protest, but Mother’s quelling look silenced whatever she had been about to say. Jemma tensed when her mother’s gaze locked on her. “I could not help but notice that William hasn’t been around to the bakery in those three days. Did you two have an argument?”

  “No,” Jemma said slowly, a mental picture of Will’s naked body filling her mind and heating her cheeks with embarrassment. Not shame. Never that. Despite the fact that she hadn’t meant to give Will her innocence… Frankly, when her heart had quit pounding, her ears had stopped roaring, and her body had cooled off, she could scarcely believe what she had done. But it was done. Besides, she loved Will, and she was sure he loved her in return. He had told her that he would be very busy with his studies for the next few days, after all. She was being silly. Selfish, really. They were going to be married just as soon as he had enough money saved to move out of the room he rented and purchase a home for the two of them.

  She squared her shoulders and shoved back the doubt that had been plaguing her since she’d succumbed to her desire. “Will has exams and is studying.”

  Mother pressed her pale lips together for a moment, and Jemma prayed that would be the end of it. She knew how her mother felt about Will—all men really. Jemma did not need yet another reminder. Her mother turned as if to begin putting the tarts in the case, and Jemma exhaled with relief, but that relief was short-lived.

  Mother swiveled back around and eyed her askance. “William always managed to come by during his exams before.”

  Leave it to her mother to point out the painfully obvious without blinking an eye. Fresh doubt battered Jemma’s heart, but she refused to show it. “This is his last year, you know that. These exams are the hardest and the most important.”

  Her mother snorted. “That’s not a good excuse. If you ask me—”

  “I didn’t,” Jemma reminded her.

  Her mother shot her a glare. “Don’t be disrespectful. You don’t know everything at eighteen. And you know I understand a great deal about gentlemen.” Her mother said the word with exaggerated derisiveness, as usual.

  “Mother,” Anne said in a tiny, hesitant voice. Jemma gave her twin a grateful look, but one quick reproachful glare from Mother and Anne fell to silence once again, dashing Jemma’s hope of being rescued. Really, she couldn’t believe they were twins. Yes, they were born on the same day—two minutes apart with Jemma coming first—but they may as well have been born in different time periods for what they shared in personality, as well as looks. Anne was obedient and sweet, and Jemma… Well, she did try to be obedient, but it was very, very hard when she felt she was in the right.

  “I warned you,” Mother continued, as if Anne hadn’t interrupted her, as if she hadn’t said these exact same words hundreds of times before. “I warned you that men are deceitful, self-serving rakes. You’re better off possessing a bakery as I do than trying to possess a man’s heart.”

  Jemma felt as if there were a tight band inside her, stretching and stretching. She curled her hands into fists and fought against speaking her mind. It wouldn’t do. It really wouldn’t. But that band stretched further and snapped, and really, she simply could not help herself. She had to defend Will.

  “Will is not Father. He will not abandon me as Father did you. Will does not want me for my money.” She slashed a hand through the air. “We have none! We barely get by! Will wants me for me.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jemma saw Anne frantically shaking her head for Jemma to stop talking, but Jemma’s blood roared in her ears. She’d endured her mother’s tirades about men for years. Now, when she needed a kind word, she had to tolerate more hatred. A voice in her head reminded her that her mother didn’t know Jemma needed comfort and reassurance, and some of her mounting anger slipped away.

  “Mother,” she started, prepared to simply apologize so they wouldn’t argue.

  “He may not want you for money as your father wanted me and abandon you when you’re with child and he realizes no money is coming, but mark my words—” Mother huffed “—he will break your heart in his own special way. All men do.”

  “Will is not like Father,” Jemma said, finding a calm, firm voice, though a tempest swirled inside her. “He will never abandon me.”

  “I hope not,” her mother said so quietly and in such a small voice that Jemma knew she’d hurt her mother’s feelings.

  Shame washed over her in unbearable waves. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

  Her mother shook her head. “Just don’t go losing your senses until you’re good and properly married.”

  Jemma’s stomach knotted, uncoiled, and plummeted to the ground. It was too late for that warning. She’d lost every ounce of sense she’d possessed when in Will’s arms three nights ago. Staring at her mother, she longed to confide her fears, but Mother’s heart was so hardened to men that Jemma feared she’d immediately march to Will’s lodgings and demand a marriage take place posthaste. That wouldn’t do. Will was going to marry her, but she certainly preferred to know it was his choice and not something he did by guilt or force. Besides that, as Jemma stared at her mother she noticed dark smudges under her eyes and that Mother’s skin looked almost sallow.

  “Mother, do you feel all right?”

  Her mother nodded, even as her hand strayed to her chest and rubbed it. “Just an ache here. But that’s nothing new,” she said in a hard voice.

  The bell at the front door jingled and all three of them jumped at once. It wasn’t quite time for the bakery to be open, so that had to mean…

  “Will!” Jemma exclaimed, rushing past her mother and Anne, and stopping just short of flinging herself into his arms. He had on tan breeches, a dark coat, and a crisp white shirt with a light-blue cravat he’d recently taken to wearing. She eyed the cravat, still feeling as if he’d not been truthful about his parents purchasing it for him, but she shooed the doubt away, knowing it was surely her own insecurity making her feel thusly.

  “Where have you been?” she blurted, then bit down on her traitorous tongue. Hadn’t she told herself repeatedly that when he finally came around she would act wholly unbothered by the fact that he’d not come by in three days.

  So much for that plan.

  When he didn’t answer, she stepped toward him and gazed into his eyes. “Were exams that difficult?”

  He opened and shut his mouth, while his face turned a deep-crimson color. Pity filled her and determination to make him feel better drove her forward to grasp his arm. “Oh, Will, don’t worry. We’ll think of something. Could you take the exams again?”

  He shook his head, still not speaking.

  Jemma squeezed his arm. “That’s all right.”

  “I passed with top honors,” he blurted, a bead of sweat dripping down his face.

  Jemma wrinkled her brow. He seemed very nervous for someone who’d passed with honors. “Then what is it? I don’t understand.”

  Will’s gaze darted from her, to her mother, to Anne, and back to Jemma. “Might I speak with you in private?”

  The bell chimed again, and Jemma glanced at the longcase clock, then stifled the curse on the tip of her tongue. Eight o’clock. The bakery was open and the first customers had arrived, and by the looks of them, they would not be patient. Wealthy people so rarely were. Jemma would bet her left arm that this young lady and her companion—no, actually, likely her father by the similar eyes and mouth—were grossly rich. The girl was beautiful with her china doll skin and large blue eyes, but she was made even more so dressed as she was in an exquisite emerald-green gown. Her father had peppered hair, covered partially by a shiny top hat, and he wore an overcoat made in a deep, rich burgundy with large, gleaming stones set into the sleeves.

  They strolled through the door, and Jemma pasted on a smile as her mother and Anne, both a heated mess from baking in the kitchen, scurried away to tidy themselves. She turned to greet the customers when Will jerked her back around to face him. “Jemma, I must tell you
—”

  “William,” the girl said in a sweetly chiding voice that made Jemma’s stomach flop. “You said five minutes. Father timed it, and we’ve been waiting five minutes and twenty seconds. Haven’t we, Father?”

  The man gave a curt nod. “The ship is waiting,” he said, flicking a dull gaze over Jemma. His eyes widened for a moment before he locked his gaze on Will. “The ship leaves for London within the hour. We must depart now.”

  “Two minutes,” Will said firmly.

  Jemma’s mind froze on the word we. We. As in Will, or as in the two strangers? She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms against her cotton skirts and swallowed. “Will?” She cringed at the shaky sound of her own voice.

  “Really, William,” the woman snapped. “Tell your cousin good-bye. We must leave.”

  Will nodded. Jemma blinked, but her eyelids felt heavy as stones. Cousin? The word rippled across her mind, slow and languid, like the undulation of the water when she swirled her toes in it. Cousin.

  She snapped her eyebrows together. “I’m not—”

  “Two minutes,” Will repeated, interrupting her and stepping in front of her so her view of the strangers was blocked.

  “No more than that,” the woman replied. “We don’t want to miss boarding.” With that statement, she swiveled away, and within seconds the bell chimed once more, leaving only silence and Jemma’s screeching mind. She eyed the door to the kitchens, certain any minute her mother would burst through it.

  Her mind whirred, uncertain what to ask and afraid to ask anything at the same time. Yet she had to say something. Ask something. “Who was that?”

  Will shuffled his feet. “Lady Jane.”

  “Who is Lady Jane?”

  Will tugged on his cravat, and something clicked in her mind. It was a dreadful something that made her skin prickle. “Did Lady Jane give you that cravat you’ve been wearing?”

  He let out a long, rattling sigh and then nodded. The prickling sensation spread over her entire body and became more pronounced, like tiny beestings. She licked her lips and tried to order her thoughts, but they spun and spun until she felt slightly dizzy. “How do you—”

  Will grabbed Jemma’s arm. She would have jerked away, but she thought she might just topple right over if he released her.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” she thought he said, but his voice sounded as if it came from down a long tunnel.

  “Hurt me?”

  “She has a cousin from America in school with me, and well, I’ve known Lady Jane for quite some time, but I never thought— She’s an heiress to a shipping empire. She lives in London and only visits twice a year. I never imagined she’d want me, not even a lawyer yet.”

  Jemma spoke, though her tongue didn’t want to form the words. “Want you?” Of course, she’d want him. He was intelligent, handsome, and wanted to change the world for the better. And he was a liar. From somewhere within, Jemma managed to yank her arm out of his hold and remain standing. The victory was small and pathetic, but she clung to it. “Who is she to you?” Jemma demanded, her voice now coming out loud and strong.

  He blew out a breath, his cheeks puffing and then deflating. Her heart deflated right along with them. “She’s going to be my wife. We’re to be married. That is— What I’m trying to tell you is—”

  “I know what you’re trying to tell me!” she bit out, the sting of her nails as they curled into her palms making her wince. “I’m not an imbecile, just a blind fool.”

  He moved as if to touch her, and she jerked back, her skin rippling with revulsion. “I gave you my love,” she whispered, feeling broken. “I gave you my innocence.” As she said it, a horrified thought stuck her. Marriage was lost to her forever; no man would want a wife who wasn’t innocent. She clenched her teeth. She didn’t care. She never wanted to be in love again, so there was absolutely no point in marrying. Dear God! Mother had warned her repeatedly never to give a man her trust, yet she’d not listened. “How long have you known you would be marrying her?” The bitter words stung as they left her mouth.

  He shifted from foot to foot again, and though she didn’t think it was possible to feel worse, with each dart of his gaze, her humiliation deepened until her body was burning with regret.

  “Two weeks,” he finally said.

  “Two weeks?” She could hardly believe her ears. Anger and mortification warred within, anger winning the battle. She shook her fists in his face. “You are a disgusting pig,” she snapped. “We were together three nights ago.” Her heart hammered so that her chest ached with the force.

  “I came to tell you everything and say good-bye.”

  “Everything? There’s more? What more could there be?”

  He jerked his hands through his hair. “She’s with child, Jemma.”

  Jemma’s mind flashed back to the night they’d been together and he’d used what he’d called protective measures. Dear heaven! Had he used them with this Lady Jane and she’d gotten with child?

  “Did you—” She gulped, not believing she needed to ask this. “Did you use—”

  “No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “I didn’t know of the measures one could use then.”

  “Well”—her voice cracked and she willed herself to be strong—“I suppose you’ve learned more than the law in school,” she said dryly.

  Will’s shoulders slumped forward. “Jemma, I’m sorry.”

  “You are that,” she agreed, feeling nauseated.

  “I did love you. I still—”

  By all that was holy, she couldn’t take anymore. “Get out!” she demanded. “Get on the ship for England, and good riddance to you.”

  “Jemma, please forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” Blood pumped through her veins like a raging river. Forgive him? She looked wildly around the room and picked up the only thing near her that she could use to harm him. Waving the half-empty tray of lemon tarts at him, she screamed, “Go now! Go or I’ll bash you over the head with this tray and you can leave for the ship with a split head and covered in jam filling.”

  When he stood there gawking at her, she snapped. She hurled the tray at his head, and he deflected it with his arm. Tarts flew through the air as the tray went crashing to the ground with a loud rattle. Dual bells jingled, at once announcing someone entering the shop and either her mother or Anne coming out from the kitchens. Jemma expected to see Lady Jane appear in the door, but two men dressed in dark suits stepped into the bakery. A gasp came from behind her, and she whirled around to see her mother, white-faced, staring with huge eyes at the men. What little blood was in her mother’s face drained away, leaving even her lips blanched.

  Jemma shoved at Will’s back. “Go, you cad,” she whispered fiercely.

  Will stepped around the men and departed out the door, and Jemma didn’t even have time to spare a thought for her broken heart. The taller of the two men handed her mother a piece of paper. “Payment for the loan wasn’t received, so I believe you know what that means.”

  Jemma could see the paper her mother now held, trembling in her hands. Her mother licked her colorless lips and nodded. “Yes. Please go.”

  The man gave a curt nod. “You’ve two months to either pay the loan in full or leave the premises. The bank will repossess the property in exactly sixty days.”

  “I understand,” Mother said in a shaky tone.

  Jemma’s mind whirled with disbelief as the men departed. She stared at her mother, who was rubbing her arm and then her chest, clearly unsure what to say. Jemma swallowed and voiced one of her suddenly numerous fears. “Will we lose the bakery? Our home?”

  Her mother forced a smile. “Don’t be silly. I’ll simply swallow my pride and write to my father. He owes me. After all these years, it’s time he paid the debt of driving your father away from me.” Her mother shuffled over to the tray Jemma had thrown at Will’s head, and as she bent down to grasp it, she let out a muffled cry and crumpled to the ground. Jemma raced to her mother’s side and
turned her over.

  A short gasp came from her as she clawed at her neck. “Can’t breathe,” she choked out.

  Jemma’s skin tingled and her muscles tensed as she yelled out for Anne while pulling her mother’s head into her lap. She glanced wildly around the room. “Anne!” she shrieked again as Mother’s eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth fell open.

  Anne came through the door singing a song. She stopped mid-tune and screamed before staggering over to Jemma and Mother. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know! One moment she was standing and the next— Never mind! Take her head while I run to fetch the physician.” Anne nodded as Jemma slid herself out from under her mother, whose eyes had shut. Anne took Mother’s head in her lap and started speaking to her immediately. The last thing Jemma saw as she raced out the door was her mother’s hand lying unmoving against the ground.

  Jemma raced down the block to the physician’s office and found him with a patient. It took what surely must have been only a second, but seemed forever, for him to gather his bag, and the two of them set off running back down the block to the bakery.

  She burst through the door with the physician on her heels and dropped to her knees. She took her mother’s slack hand in hers and patted Anne, who was crying incoherently. The physician barked an order for them both to move, and Jemma had to physically drag Anne away. They hovered above him as he worked for a few minutes. All sound around Jemma faded, save the physician’s sighs and muttering.

  The smell of lemon tarts swirled around her and made her stomach roil. Sweat dampened her brow, her hands, and under her arms, and the cotton of her gown clung to her, making her horridly hot. Then, suddenly, she shivered with cold.

  The physician sat up and turned to look at them. His eyes held Jemma’s for a moment as he shook his head. “She’s gone.”

  Sound crashed in, the loudest tick of the longcase clock. Her thoughts scrambled in her head as her mind raced to latch on to one. With a sharp intake of breath, she repeated what the physician had said. “She’s gone?”