It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  “Philip…” She stepped toward him, overcome with such gratitude and desire. The desire shocked her to the core. She’d never thought she’d want to touch a man again. Yet, here in this moment, she wanted nothing more than Philip’s lips on hers. Dear God, it was mad! She was a hoyden. Did her past with Will prove it? Yet, she could not stop herself from tilting her head up to Philip.

  “Philip,” she rasped again, wanting to beg him to kiss her but not daring to form the words.

  Their gazes locked, and he leaned his head down, his lips hovering so near her mouth that his heat washed over her. “Jemma…”

  “Jemma!” Anne cried from very near, making Jemma yelp and Philip shuffle backward. Anne came toward them and stopped, her brow creasing. Slowly, a knowing smile spread across her lips. “Jemma, the dinner bell has been rung.”

  Jemma cast a sideways glance at Philip. Their eyes met for a second, but he looked away and jerked his hand through his hair. Was he regretting that he had almost kissed her?

  Wait. She frowned. Had he almost kissed her, or had that been her imagination? Whatever was the matter with her? He did not want her. And she didn’t want to marry, anyway.

  “Jemma,” Anne persisted, “we must go in before your absence is noted.”

  Jemma nodded, feeling in a haze.

  Anne looked pointedly at Philip. “Lord Harthorne, I suggest you follow in a minute.”

  He nodded. “Undoubtedly wise.” His words were uneven, and he did not look at Jemma.

  Maybe he was embarrassed? Maybe he wasn’t sure she had wanted him to kiss her? She certainly couldn’t say anything now. Left with no choice, she followed Anne. She could sort out her own feelings, and possibly see how Philip acted, as the night wore on.

  But Philip did not come to dinner.

  After the meal, she made her way over to Amelia, who was speaking with a tall, gray-haired man Jemma thought she’d seen at Grandfather’s house before but whom she had never met.

  Jemma came to stand by Amelia, who introduced her to Dr. Talbot.

  Jemma curtsied. “You’re my grandfather’s physician, are you not?”

  Dr. Talbot offered her a kind smile. “I am. I’ve known your grandfather for many, many years. I knew your mother, as well.”

  “You did?” Jemma’s heart gave a little jump. No one ever mentioned her mother, as if she were a forbidden subject, but this man did not seem to consider it a taboo.

  Amelia touched Jemma’s arm. “If you’ll excuse me? Colin is waving me over.”

  Jemma glanced toward Amelia’s husband, who was indeed motioning to his wife. “Certainly. Did your brother depart? Do you know?” She knew she shouldn’t ask after Philip, but she couldn’t help herself.

  Amelia nodded. “He said he was tired.”

  Disappointment filled Jemma, but she struggled not to show it…and not to feel it. When Amelia left, Jemma wanted to go, as well, but she was still standing with Dr. Talbot, and he was still open to discussing her mother, it seemed.

  She took a deep breath. “Did you know my mother very well?”

  “Yes.” His eyes took on a strange, almost pained look. “I know your grandfather very well, too.” He paused a beat, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. “Do you mind if I speak plainly for a moment? I feel I must, as his friend.”

  She certainly didn’t feel she could say no to such a request. She nodded, and she stepped closer as he began. “I’ve known Rowan since I was a young boy.”

  Jemma quirked a brow, unsure what the man was getting at. “Er, how nice.”

  Dr. Talbot sighed. “My father was his physician before I was, so I’ve been privy to seeing him at his most vulnerable, which is rare, as you can imagine.” The man had lowered his voice, and he glanced around before continuing. “He’s rather pushy, and when he gets an idea in his head there’s no stopping him.”

  “Yes,” she said sourly, “I know.”

  Dr. Talbot frowned. “I digress.” He took a deep breath. “Rowan is one of the finest men I know. I have seen how cold you are toward him. I saw it at the dinner he had for you and your sister when you first arrived here, and I witnessed how you treated him with hostility at the ball he held in your honor.”

  Jemma inhaled a sharp breath. “How dare you—”

  “I have my reasons for daring, I assure you,” he interrupted.

  She put a hand on her hip. “Exactly what would those reasons be?”

  Instead of answering, he glanced around once more and stiffened. “I cannot— That is, I mean to say, now is not—”

  “Dr. Talbot!” a woman called from a few feet away. Jemma did not miss the adoring look she gave the physician as she neared them. “I wanted to speak to you about my trip to Bath to take the restorative waters.”

  He smiled fondly as he held the woman’s gaze. “Certainly, Lady Harthorne.”

  Lady Harthorne? Was this Philip’s mother?

  As if the woman could hear Jemma’s thoughts, she turned to her and gave a smile that filled her smoky-blue eyes, which were the exact shape of Philip’s. “You must be Miss Adair!”

  Jemma blinked. “Yes. Did your son mention me?”

  When Lady Harthorne shook her head, heat flamed Jemma’s cheeks. How utterly foolish she must appear! Lady Harthorne offered her a curious gaze before speaking. “My daughter described you, and she’s quite vivid with her descriptions.”

  “Yes, of course,” Jemma rushed on. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up.” Really, she needed a moment alone to get over her mortification, but it would not do to admit that.

  A few moments later, she was hiding in the retiring room behind a painted screen when two female voices suddenly filled the silence.

  “Did you see that American talking to Dr. Talbot?” a woman with a high-pitched voice asked.

  “It’s outrageous the way she wears her red hair down all the time,” another woman with a deeper voice full of disdain replied.

  Jemma scowled and touched a hand to her hair.

  “I’m surprised he dared approach her. One would think he’d have more sense.”

  Jemma frowned. Why wouldn’t Dr. Talbot approach her?

  “I know!” the woman with the deeper voice responded. “Do you think, after all these years, he’s still heartbroken over the chit’s mother? So sad how she ruined both their lives by running off to Gretna Green. And the grandfather…”

  The voices trailed off, and Jemma was left sitting there in utter confusion. Dr. Talbot had loved her mother, and she’d broken his heart? That would certainly explain the odd look in his eyes when he’d spoken of Mother. Jemma rubbed her temples, her thoughts swirling. Mother had never mentioned Dr. Talbot, but then again, why would she? There was no reason she should have, except Jemma could not shake the niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite as it seemed.

  She rose and made her way back downstairs to find Dr. Talbot, but she ran into Amelia, instead, who informed her he was gone. Mrs. Featherstone found her and requested they leave, as well.

  The entire trip home was filled with nervous questions about Lord Glenmore and if Mrs. Featherstone should be worried that Grandfather would somehow blame her if Lord Glenmore actually declined to ask for Jemma’s hand.

  Jemma listened halfheartedly, but all she wanted was to be alone.

  Chapter Ten

  Jemma was having the loveliest dream. Philip actually kissed her in the gazebo this time, except then some sudden sobbing and the sound of a frantic voice filled her head. How odd. The image of the small bakery with the counter containing glass cases filled with pastries and a sign that read Jemma’s Sweets disappeared, and she yawned and stretched, tensing with her arms spread wide as the sobbing pierced her ears again. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up with a start.

  Mrs. Featherstone, silver hair mussed around her head and face splotchy from crying, was standing over her. Eliza, with pinched lips and pale cheeks, was standing beside Mrs. Featherstone.

  “What’s the matte
r?” Jemma asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “Your sister,” Mrs. Featherstone moaned.

  Jemma’s heart jerked as she glanced at Anne’s bed. It was empty. “What is it?” she demanded as she scrambled out of bed.

  “It’s this!” Mrs. Featherstone wailed, shoving a piece of foolscap at Jemma.

  Jemma opened the paper, and as she read the words, her heart sank.

  Dear Mrs. Featherstone,

  I’m awfully sorry to do this to you. I fear Grandfather will blame you for my running off to be married, but do not worry! Ian has promised me we’ll hire you on as soon as we get back from Gretna Green.

  “Oh dear God!” Jemma gasped.

  Mrs. Featherstone’s eyes bugged out at Jemma’s language and Eliza blushed, but Jemma didn’t have time to care that she’d shocked them. She brushed past both of them, raced to her wardrobe, and yanked out a gown. She was dressed before she took a full breath, and Eliza was suddenly there behind her, hooking the gown.

  Jemma swiveled to look at Mrs. Featherstone, and Eliza turned with her as she did. “When did she leave?”

  Mrs. Featherstone shook her head and swiped at tears. “I’ve failed. I’ll be let go for certain.”

  Jemma’s patience snapped. She marched over to the woman, grasped her by the shoulders, and gave her a little shake—not too hard but hard enough to get her attention. “Does Grandfather know?”

  “No,” Mrs. Featherstone whispered, as if Grandfather could hear what she was saying. “According to his valet, His Grace is still in his bedchamber.”

  Jemma rubbed her temples, her head pounding. Whyever would Mr. Frazier have come to get Anne in the middle of the night if he truly cared for her? He hadn’t even asked Grandfather for her hand yet. Jemma’s stomach clenched. Maybe Mr. Frazier was afraid Grandfather would say no to Anne marrying him.

  Jemma clenched her hands. She had to be certain her sister was all right. But Gretna Green was a two-day trip. If she went after Anne herself, there would be no one here to cover for Anne and keep Grandfather distracted. She couldn’t send Mrs. Featherstone or Eliza; their absences would be noted. Jemma knew with a sudden pang that the only person she could trust to help her was Philip.

  The confusion she felt from last night enveloped her, but she shoved it away, swiveled on her heel, raced to her escritoire, and quickly penned Philip a note, begging him to come see her. When she was finished, she hurried over to Eliza. “I need you to rush this to Lord Harthorne’s residence in Mayfair and make sure he reads it in front of you.”

  Eliza clutched the letter and nodded. “I’ll not let you down.”

  Jemma stood rooted to the spot as Eliza disappeared from the room.

  Mrs. Featherstone began sobbing again. “I don’t understand how Mr. Frazier squired your sister away.”

  Jemma didn’t, either. She circled the room, looking for clues. When she found none, she opened the balcony doors and sighed. Stones littered the balcony. Obviously, the devil had thrown pebbles at the window and Jemma had never even heard a sound! Had they planned this? Or had Mr. Frazier simply shown up on a whim and awoken Anne? Had Anne mentioned to him what a deep sleeper Jemma was so he thought it would be safe?

  Jemma glanced over the side of the balcony and judged the distance from where she stood to the tree. She could make it, but could Anne have done so with her weak leg? She must have.

  “Miss Adair, Miss Adair!”

  Jemma swung around at the sound of Eliza frantically calling her name. She frowned at her lady’s maid. “Why are you back already?” she demanded, gruffer than she’d meant to, but really, Eliza was wasting precious minutes they might need to save Anne.

  “As I was leaving, Lord Harthorne arrived,” Eliza said. “He’s waiting in the parlor to speak with you.”

  Well, that was certainly good timing! Jemma scrambled out the door and downstairs. She had to force herself to walk at a ladylike pace through the corridor to the parlor room, because she was certain at any moment she would encounter her grandfather. She didn’t want to give him any reason to be suspicious.

  As she rounded the corner to the parlor, she almost ran into Mr. Sims. Grandfather’s butler stepped to the side. “Pardon me, Miss Adair. I was in a rush to get to your grandfather.”

  “No apologies, necessary,” she said. “I was in a rush, as well.” She started to move past him but noticed he was holding what appeared to be a medicine bottle in his hand. “Is Grandfather ill?”

  The butler opened his mouth, shut it, gave a little shake of his head, and then finally spoke. “Nothing to concern yourself with. A small cold. He told me to tell you and your sister he was going to spend today in his bedchamber.”

  Jemma frowned. He was spending the day in his bedchamber for a small cold? Something didn’t ring true. “Are you certain it’s merely a cold?” Grandfather may be insufferable and stubborn and make her life incredibly difficult, but he was her grandfather and her only living relative other than Anne. That she knew where to find, anyway. Her father may very well still be alive, but where he was, was anybody’s guess.

  The butler nodded. “Yes, Miss Adair, I’m sure he told me to tell you he had a cold.”

  That wasn’t what she had asked, but Mr. Sims’s tone had taken on that formal, stiff note he so often used. Even if Grandfather were on death’s door, the butler would never tell her differently if Grandfather had instructed him not to. Was Grandfather ill? Truly ill?

  Impossible. She would have noticed something. Still…

  “I’ll come see him in just a bit.”

  “As you wish,” the butler replied before continuing on his way and disappearing round the corner.

  Jemma raced toward the parlor at a trot since she was certain she was not going to come upon her grandfather. She burst into the room, and Philip immediately stood. He wore a bottle-green coat, a white shirt, an oddly dangling white cravat, and tan breeches that fit as snug as a glove over his powerful legs. Very careful not to gawk, she met his gaze and hurried toward him so that she could talk low in case any nosy servants came by the open door. Philip, she’d swear, backed up several steps to match the ones she’d taken toward him.

  She stopped in her tracks. “Philip, I was just sending a note to you with my lady’s maid.”

  He furrowed his brow. “You were?”

  She nodded and scooted closer to him. This time, he didn’t retreat. “I need your help. It’s about Mr. Frazier.”

  Philip grimaced. Was he sick of her need for help? “Frazier is why I’m here,” he said in a clipped tone. “I’m afraid your worry in regard to him is well-founded.”

  Jemma’s heart squeezed. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “I fear it’s too late. But what do you know? What did he say?”

  “He admitted he was interested in your sister for the dowry he thought she would bring him. When I told him he was mistaken, that your grandfather would not give her any dowry, he said he would simply take her to Gretna Green and force your grandfather’s hand.”

  Jemma pressed her palms to her suddenly hot cheeks. Poor Anne. Grandfather would never give a dowry to a man who had swept his granddaughter away to Gretna Green as Father had done with Mother. What had possessed Anne?

  Jemma massaged her aching temples. She knew what had possessed her sister to act so foolishly—love. Love made women blind idiots. Love caused women to give away their innocence and ruin their lives. She glanced at Philip, and the concern in his eyes caused her belly to flutter. She was the biggest fool of all. She was coming to care for him, despite everything that had happened to her, despite knowing the plans he had. She would not care. She would not.

  “You must warn your sister not to do anything foolish such as run off with the man.”

  Jemma bit her lip. Philip sounded oddly formal, unlike himself. But no, she needed to concentrate on Anne, not Philip.

  “She’s already gone,” Jemma blurted, feeling as if precious minutes to rescue Anne from her own folly were slipping by. An
d she wasn’t even sure now if Philip would go after Anne for her. Maybe he wouldn’t want to be involved. He was acting so strange.

  She raised a shaky hand to her throat. “She fled in the night to Gretna Green with Mr. Frazier. She left a note for Mrs. Featherstone saying she would return as a married woman, but that’s all she said.”

  “Good God,” Philip muttered. He glanced between her and the door. Was he going to refuse to aid her? What would she do?

  Jemma was trembling. Philip began to shake, too. He shouldn’t touch her, shouldn’t comfort her.

  Keep your hands by your sides, man.

  He balled his fingers into fists, but before he could mentally gather the will to stop himself, he cupped her cheek for one brief, glorious moment. “Don’t worry,” he said, though it came out as a gruff whisper. “I’ll go after her. And even if I’m too late, I swear to God, I’ll help make things right for her.” Philip forced himself to pull his hand away, and as he did, Jemma flung herself at him. His breath whooshed out of him as her body thudded against his.

  Her hands slid up to his shoulders and grasped them, and she buried her head against his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I thought—” Her voice broke on a sob. “I thought you were going to refuse to help.”

  He was acutely aware of her in a thousand ways at once. Her heart beat quickly against his chest through her fine silk gown. She had a strong grip but slender fingers. She smelled of lavender with an undertone of lilac. She fit perfectly under his chin and against him. She radiated a warmth akin to the sun’s.

  Her sobbing broke his heart in a way he could write a thousand lovelorn poems about and still never capture just how much he wanted to erase her pain. If circumstances were different, he suspected he could fall for her so deeply that finding his way to the surface of sanity would be impossible, yet he’d be blissful where he dwelled with her. But circumstances weren’t different, and he could not fall. He released her, and as he did, she swiped at her damp cheeks.