It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  Jemma glanced behind her several times to see if Philip was walking her way, but after a bit, her hope waned. Finally, she stood, intent to stretch her legs with a brisk walk and then to wake Mrs. Featherstone so they could return home, but as she glanced up, there he was, striding toward her. Her breath caught in her chest as she stared at him. The sun glinted off his russet locks and made them shine like copper. The long overcoat he wore flapped in the wind behind him with the speed of his steps. He would have looked fierce, almost dangerous, except he wore an easy, welcoming smile on his face. As he drew near, she realized not only did he have those dimples on his cheeks but he had a perfect one on his chin, to which she suddenly had the urge to press her finger. Instead, she held her finger to her lips in a signal for him to be silent.

  His brow creased, but when she motioned to the still-sleeping Mrs. Featherstone, he grinned and held one elbow out to Jemma while indicating they walk toward the water. She nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, her body tensing as his heat invaded her. She’d not willingly taken a man’s elbow and allowed him to lead her since Will. But somehow, with Philip, she felt different. He was not a threat. They were simply two people trying to help each other.

  Once there was a safe distance between them and Mrs. Featherstone, Jemma turned to Philip to thank him for coming, but the words became jumbled as she stared at his strong jaw and slightly crooked nose. Will had possessed a perfect nose, but she much preferred Philip’s imperfect one. It gave him character. Will’s nose should have been a warning that the man was not of good character.

  “You are staring, Jemma,” Philip said with a chuckle.

  She jerked her gaze to his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” His voice was as smooth as silk. “I find I rather like having a beautiful woman stare at me.”

  Jemma gulped as heat coursed through her body from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. “Are you already practicing acting like a rake?”

  He blinked and surprise registered in his eyes making them several shades lighter. “No.” A grin spread across his face, causing all his appealing dimples to appear again. “Are you saying I sound like a rake?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t sound so happy about it. Rakes are not happy.”

  He gave her an expression of mock horror. “Never?”

  Immediately, she thought of Will, who used to always laugh and joke. “No,” she said begrudgingly, “not always.”

  “Excellent. I’d hate to have to go around being morose all the time.”

  He led them onto a stone path that wound in front of the Serpentine, maneuvering them around other couples as they strolled. After several people gave them curious glances, Philip nudged her. “They may think I’m courting you.”

  She nodded. “I thought of that. That would do nicely for making you appear a rake.” She glanced sideways at him to see what he thought of it. He was frowning. “Do you disagree?”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re likely right.”

  Now she frowned. “Then why are you frowning?”

  He paused by some blooming primroses and turned to face her. “Actually having my plan come to fruition is quite different from it just being in my mind.”

  She caught her lip between her teeth. He truly seemed so nice. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “No.” His answer was swift and decisive. “I can’t have second thoughts.”

  Whatever did he mean by that? Was it her place to ask?

  He sighed and spoke before she could make up her mind. “I assume you called me here to start my lessons and to get my help strategizing on how to rid yourself of Glenmore.” He shot her a boyish grin that gave an odd little tug at her heart.

  Jemma released Philip’s elbow and stepped back a bit. Standing so near him was making her thoughts scatter with the wind. That had to be it. It didn’t help her concentration that he smelled so divine. And the way he looked at her… Her skin prickled. He gazed at her as if he truly cared about what she had to say. Had Will ever gazed at her that way? She couldn’t recall. All she could recall now was how she had been so enamored of Will that she had been content much of the time to listen to him talk, and talk he had. He could drone on for hours over the injustice of the poor and how he would change things one day. She’d thought Will gallant and that he’d intended to improve the lives of others. More the fool she was to not have realized he’d intended only to alter things for himself. How blinded by love she’d been. Never again!

  “Is that not why you called me here?” Philip asked, jerking Jemma’s thoughts back to the moment.

  “Yes, yes. But I also have a small favor to ask.” Or at least she hoped he’d consider it small.

  “Anything,” he said immediately.

  She couldn’t help but grin. “Rakes are not usually so accommodating.”

  “I’m a rake in training,” he said solemnly. “You cannot expect me to know everything.”

  “It’s a good thing you have me to help you,” she teased.

  His mouth tilted up at the corners in a heart-stopping smile. “I’m inclined to agree. Now, how can I help you? What is this favor you need?”

  “I was hoping you could help me discover Mr. Frazier’s intentions when it comes to my sister. She thinks he intends to ask for her hand, and I’d like to know for certain if this is true, and if so, when.”

  “I’ll help you in any way I can, but I’m not friends with Mr. Frazier so I’m not sure when I will even see the man again.”

  “He’ll be at the theatre tonight,” she said. “My sister plans to allow him to sit with us.” Jemma took a deep breath. “Would you care to take me to the theatre?” She hadn’t intended to ask him, but it seemed the best way to ensure he was in the box when Mr. Frazier was, and if Lord Glenmore happened to stop by, having Philip there would be a nice buffer to that odious man.

  When Philip’s lips parted in surprise and he didn’t immediately answer in the affirmative, her cheeks, neck, chest, even her ears, burned with embarrassment. “That was a silly idea.” She waved her hand between them, though what she really wanted to do with her hand was cover her face. “Of course you have better things to do than accompany me to the theatre to help me with my sister. Please forget I asked you.”

  Philip grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. Though her gloves separated his mouth from her bare skin, the heat of his touch and the way his gaze held hers made her toes curl in her slippers. He held the tips of her fingers in his strong grip as he spoke. “I can assure you I could never forget such an invitation. It would keep me up at night were I to say no to a lady in need,” he teased. “Would you like me to bring my carriage around to fetch you?”

  “That would be lovely,” she managed to reply in a slight daze. She knew Philip was partly agreeing because it would help his cause, but there was a part of her that, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, thought he was also agreeing to help because he was simply that nice. And what he’d said about never being able to forget her invitation, well… Her toes curled in her slippers once again at the thought of those words, and that bothered her. Did she truly still desire love? Would a man such as Philip ever consider her if he knew about her lack of innocence? Of course he wouldn’t, her inner voice answered. Love was out of her grasp. So it was best not to want it at all and stick to her plan of the bakery. It was good enough for her mother; it would be good enough for Jemma, too.

  After parting ways with Jemma, Philip headed to call on another eligible debutante on his list, Lady Barbara. He trudged up the steps to her home, not feeling at all like being at there, but knowing he must. He took a deep breath and rang the brass knocker against the shiny red door.

  By the time he had been shown into the parlor, he had managed to remind himself that he was doing what he must and that he might, indeed, find love today. Though it seemed the remotest possibility.

  Lady Barbara entered the room, a tall, willowy brunette in a lilac day gown.
Her hair was a lovely shade of chestnut, and her eyes—a dark, chocolate brown—were also lovely. When she smiled, it was polite, in addition to being lovely. She sat on the settee and motioned for him to do so on the opposite chair.

  “I was pleasantly surprised when Mother told me you were here to call on me, Lord Harthorne.”

  “I’m glad,” he replied. He was trying to think of something to talk about but his mind kept coming up empty.

  “Would you care for some tea?”

  He nodded. “Nothing in it, though, please.”

  She grimaced and giggled, a high-pitched sound that made him flinch. She covered her mouth, as if she knew how she sounded, before lowering her hand and smiling. “I cannot abide tea without a great deal of cream, but my mother has always said she knew Father was for her because he took his tea with nothing in it, which meant he had a hearty constitution.” She leaned toward him and handed him his cup. He went to take it, and she grasped his hand with her fingers. “I daresay that means you have a hearty constitution and that we would suit!”

  “Er, based on how I take my tea?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I’m to get a grand house in Gloucestershire. You need to be hearty to live there. It’s very barren. I love it. I want to live there and never come to London again. What do you think?”

  He thought she was dicked in the nob. She was proposing they marry based on how he took his tea. He set his cup down. She clearly could care less about having love in a marriage if she was willing to marry based on his tea preferences. He could not marry someone who held so little regard for getting to know someone…and for love. “I’m terribly sorry. I must depart.”

  “Oh.” Her mouth puckered and then drew into a dark scowl. “I see. Well”—she stood and violently shook the folds of her dress—“I expect you back here tomorrow at ten so we can make plans.”

  Plans? She was most definitely dicked in the nob. “I’m afraid tomorrow is out of the question.”

  “But—”

  “Good day, Lady Barbara,” he interrupted before rushing out the door. He didn’t even care what he must look like scrambling out of the house. Lady Barbara was not the woman for him.

  The footman opened the door, and Philip moved through it so quickly that he almost barreled into Sophia as she was coming up the steps. He paused and glanced down at Scarsdale’s wife.

  He pointed a finger at her. “Your friend Lady Barbara is…odd.” That was the nicest way he could put it.

  Sophia frowned. “How so?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the door was still shut. “I vow she wanted to marry me because of how I take my tea.”

  Sophia raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not. She as much as told me.”

  Sophia shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. “You men are all so pompous.”

  “It’s not that!” he said, irritated.

  “Please! I’m sure you misunderstood. Come, we’ll go in and visit her together.”

  “Oh no!” He maneuvered around Sophia, toward his awaiting carriage. “She is not the woman for me.”

  “You’re marking her off your list?” She gasped.

  He nodded. “Most definitely. I need a woman who is more, more…”

  More like Jemma.

  The thought froze him. Devil take it. Why had she come to mind? Well, he had just been with her, and she was sane, so it made perfect sense.

  Sophia was staring at him expectantly.

  “I need a woman who needs to know more than how I take my tea before she wants to marry me,” he said.

  “Who’s next on the list?” Sophia asked.

  “Lady Beatrice,” he replied.

  Sophia nodded. “Excellent. She’s quite sane, I swear it.”

  “I’m no longer sure I should take your word,” he said, only half-joking. She had, after all, put Lady Barbara on his list.

  “Pishposh,” she said with a giggle. “I’ve not known Lady Barbara that long! You said debutantes with large dowries. You never specified anything else.”

  “Being in one’s right mind is a given. I should not have to say it,” he grumbled. “Is there anyone else on the list you don’t know well enough to know of her sanity?”

  “I know the rest of them all quite well, so rest easy.”

  He nodded and sketched a quick bow before descending the rest of the steps and climbing into his carriage. He wouldn’t rest easy until this whole distasteful venture was behind him. And then he had the sobering thought that if love was not part of his life, he might never rest easy again.

  Chapter Seven

  Jemma shifted from foot to foot as she waited for her grandfather to settle himself behind his desk. She’d requested a moment of his time so she could tell him that Philip would be escorting them to the theatre. As her grandfather sat down, he grimaced and gripped the edge of his desk.

  Jemma frowned. “Is everything all right?”

  He focused his keen blue eyes on her. “If you consider the pains of age ‘all right,’ then everything is perfect,” he groused.

  That was the most personal statement her grandfather had made to her in all the time she’d lived here. It took her a moment to determine how to respond. She was used to being angry with him, or even tense, but now, shocking concern crept in. Yes, she was at complete odds with him, but that didn’t mean she wished pain on him.

  “Is it your back?”

  He nodded. “And my knees. They ache when I sit. Of course, they ache when I stand or lie down, as well, but the initial motion of sitting seems to cause the sharpest pain.”

  “Mother used to have achy knees,” Jemma blurted.

  Her grandfather’s eyes rounded, then narrowed. “I wouldn’t know since she ran off and left me behind.”

  Jemma clenched her teeth. She had promised herself to never be drawn into an argument about Mother with her grandfather, but she refused to sit by and let him think he was blameless. “Well, you did disown her. I suppose she didn’t feel very wanted.”

  Grandfather raised his bushy white eyebrows high. “Is that what she told you?” His voice held a note of disbelief, as well as a softness she’d never heard before. He was certainly superb at acting the part to get what he wanted. She tried not to scoff.

  He laid his palms flat on his desk. “Lilly told you I disowned her? That she was not wanted by me?”

  Jemma nodded as her stomach tensed.

  “You’ve the wrong of it, young lady. I refused to offer a dowry if she married your father because I could see that he only wanted her money. And I was correct.” His voice had grown low and unforgiving. This was the man she was used to, the man who had never tried to know her or her sister, or reach out to her mother once she’d defied him. He narrowed his eyes. “I never suspected she would run off with your father.”

  “She loved him,” Jemma bit out.

  “He left your mother the minute he truly understood I would not relent and give her the dowry, just as I knew he would. I was right about him.”

  Jemma balled her hands into fists. She would not argue. She would not. It was a pointless endeavor. He would simply continue to lie anyway in order to manipulate her the way he always did. Yet her anger bubbled up, and she could not hold her tongue. “Did that make you happy?” She seethed. “Did being right about Father please you?”

  “No,” he said, his voice low and shaking. “It broke my heart. First, I lost my wife and then your mother.”

  Her anger grew so immense that heat seared her. “You lie so convincingly,” she snapped, completely throwing caution to the wind.

  His eyes grew hard and flinty as he stared at her. For a long silent moment, he held her gaze, and then, as suddenly as his eyes had grown cold, they softened. Emotion flickered across his face. It appeared almost like sadness. She found herself leaning forward to get a closer look, but the emotion disappeared and he simply looked weary.

  The longcase clock chimed eight o’clo
ck, and Jemma gaped. Philip was to be here now, and she’d not even told Grandfather yet. “Never mind,” she rushed out. “Let’s agree that we won’t agree on this, shall we?”

  Grandfather furrowed his brow as if he was utterly confused, but he nodded.

  “I came in here to tell you Lord Harthorne kindly offered to escort Anne, Mrs. Featherstone, and me to the theatre tonight, and I accepted.” She tilted her chin up, fully expecting him to say no, but it was too late unless he planned to be very rude to Philip. She bit her lip. Actually, she would not put it past him to do so. Anxiety made a rush of words tumble forth. “Lord Harthorne is my friend Amelia’s, the Duchess of Aversley’s, brother. I’m sure you’ve met him. He—”

  “Jemma!” Grandfather snapped. “Quit prattling. I know Lord Harthorne. He is a fine gentleman, but I already told Lord Glenmore he could escort you.”

  She grimaced. Of course he liked Philip! Philip was a rich, titled lord.

  At that moment, the butler scratched at the door.

  “Enter,” Grandfather bellowed.

  Mr. Sims entered the room and inclined his head toward Jemma, as was proper. She’d give the man that. She knew he didn’t like her, but he never let on to Grandfather that he didn’t like her. The man was crafty, and she admired and rather respected it. It was likely how he’d survived so long serving Grandfather.

  “Lord Harthorne is here, Your Grace,” Mr. Sims announced. “I’ve put him in the parlor.”

  Grandfather gave a disgruntled sigh whereas Jemma fought not to grin. Really, Philip’s timing could not have been more perfect.

  Grandfather flicked a hand at the butler. “Tell Harthorne the ladies will be but a minute.”