It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  “Philip, release him!”

  Philip flicked his gaze to the man half hanging, half standing in front of him. “Momentarily,” he said in a lethally calm voice. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she said, automatically pressing her fingers to her lips, which still throbbed from the unwanted kiss.

  Philip’s eyes narrowed, and she saw his arm tighten around Will’s neck.

  Jemma rushed to Philip and grasped at his arm. “Truly, Philip, I’m all right. He kissed me, but that is all. Please, let him go.”

  Philip gave a terse nod and flung Will away from him. Will staggered for a moment before finding a tree to lean against while he coughed and sputtered. When he finally gained his breath, he stood, his face twisted with rage. “Who the hell are you to come between us?” he demanded of Philip. “We love each other.”

  Philip tensed as he gazed down at her, something she could have sworn was raw hurt shimmering in his eyes. But that was impossible. For Philip to be hurt by Will’s statement would mean that Philip cared for her…

  Joy exploded in her heart as she quickly shook her head at Philip. “I once foolishly fancied myself in love with him, but I assure you, I no longer do.”

  The satisfied smile Philip gave her made her breath catch in her chest.

  “You heard the lady,” Philip said in a low but alarming voice. “She no longer loves you, so I daresay you’ve no need to seek her out again, which I’m sure will please your wife.”

  “My wife is dead,” Will ground out.

  “My sympathies,” Philip replied. “Yet my sympathy only extends to your dead wife as you do not appear to be overly distraught by the fact.”

  “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” Will retorted.

  Philip’s hand flashed out, and he dragged Will toward him. Jemma gawked at the raw, dangerous man before her. Dangerous to Will, that was. She was certain that Philip would never harm anyone who was not trying to hurt another. That was the sort of gentleman he was.

  She let out a little sigh as Philip pressed his face close to Will’s. “I know enough about you to say that if you ever seek Jemma out again, I will personally put my fist into your face repeatedly until you don’t recognize yourself in the looking glass. Are we clear?”

  Will’s gaze locked on Jemma, then slid to Philip, a triumphant look sweeping over Will’s face.

  Jemma frowned. Whatever was Will—

  “We are not clear,” Will snapped. “Jemma is mine.”

  Jemma let out a strangled cry at the horrific realization of what Will was about to say. “Will, do not,” she demanded, her voice cracking.

  His gaze, cold and flinty, found hers. “She gave herself to me. Her love, her heart—” he looked back at Philip, whose face had gone pale “—her innocence,” Will finished into the damning silence.

  Shame washed over her, along with hatred. A scathing retort came to her lips, but before she could deliver it, the crunch of fist against bone filled the stark silence. Will’s head flew back, and when he managed to bring it forward again, blood was pouring down his face.

  “You bastard,” he mumbled at Philip, who drove his fist into Will’s face again. Will stumbled backward and hit the ground with a thud. As he struggled to gain his feet, Philip closed the distance and jerked him up while rearing his arm back to hit him again.

  “Stop it!” Jemma hissed. Not because she cared at all about Will, or even if Philip knocked the man out cold, but she cared that someone should see them and Philip’s life would be marred by rumors because of her. “He’s not worth it.”

  Philip didn’t glance toward her as he dropped Will onto his back, loomed over the man, and shoved his booted foot upon his chest. “When I remove my foot you better get up and leave.” Philip’s voice was cold and hard. “If you don’t, I’ll meet you at dawn, and I will kill you. If you leave but contact her, or say one damn word to disparage her name, I will find you and kill you. If you even think to try to force her into marriage, I will gladly find you and kill you. Are we clear now?”

  Jemma felt her own jaw fall open as she gaped at Philip. Her gaze slid to Will, who lifted his head enough to nod. Philip removed his foot from Will’s chest, and Will scrambled to his feet.

  His face twisted, but his gaze locked on Jemma. “Good-bye, Jemma.”

  Her hand itched to slap him, yet glancing at him with the blood now trickling in twin rivulets from his nose, she knew he was simply not worth another thought. “Good-bye, Will.”

  Purposefully, she turned her back to him and gazed into the distance until his footsteps faded. Behind her, she could hear Philip’s labored breathing. Despite her shame, she knew she had to face him and thank him for what he’d done for her. She forced herself to turn, and when she did, he was so close to her that if she moved an inch they would be touching.

  Her heart twisted as he glanced down at her, his eyes unreadable. She darted her gaze to her slippers, wishing she could suddenly disappear. “Thank you, Philip. Don’t feel you need to stay here with me. I’ll make my way back in a second.”

  She jerked as Philip’s warm hand grasped her under her chin and lifted her face to his. “A moment, if you please,” he said in a smooth voice as his gaze locked with hers. She thought she saw warmth there, but no. She searched his eyes. Maybe?

  Of course, she wanted to give him a moment. She longed to give him all her moments, but she dared not hope he wanted the same.

  She nodded, and he took her hand in his and turned to lead them farther down another path. It twined close to the bank and deep in the shadows until ending at an arbor covered with creeping vines. The smell of ivy and damp dirt swirled in the air. He pulled her into the safe haven of privacy the thick-vined arbor provided and turned her to face him. Her breath and pulse quickened as one when he reached for her, picked out a twig that had snagged in her hair, threw it to the ground, and then cupped her cheek.

  “I wrote a poem for you.”

  His hands shook against her face, and her own body trembled in response. Was he not going to say anything about what Will had revealed? Yet, what would he say?

  “When?” The single word was a throaty whisper.

  “Moments ago, when I saw you standing at the bottom of the path wrapped in that man’s arms. I thought—” His fingers slid through her hair to gently cradle her head, bringing her face closer to his. “Well, I thought perhaps he had your heart.”

  Hypnotized by his touch, his nearness, his brandy-tinged breath as it fanned her face, she found it difficult to gather her thoughts and form words. “No.” She longed to belong only to Philip, if he’d have her. Did she dare risk her heart once again? Did she dare not? He knew the worst and was still standing here. Had not fled. Had not condemned her. She swallowed past the lump of fear in her throat, and as she spoke, she could feel her pulse pounding at the side of her neck. “My heart belongs to you, Philip, if you want it.”

  His eyes widened a fraction, and then he spoke. “Heart of my heart,” he whispered. “Breath of my breath. Soul of my soul. I was but drifting in a dream before I met you, and now I’ve awoken.”

  He bent his head and brushed his warm lips to hers, and her body tingled. He traced his tongue over the curve of her mouth, as if memorizing the very shape of it. She moaned, the sound becoming lost to the sudden hardness of his kiss as he searched, explored, and ravished her mouth. Even if she’d wanted to stop herself, she could not have. She was his to do with as he pleased.

  He deepened the kiss and urged her with his tongue to part her lips. She did, and he claimed her more completely, more desperately. His tongue dipped along the caverns of her mouth, and her hands slid up his strong back, committing every muscle, every bone, every bit of his taut flesh to her memory.

  Pulling his mouth from hers for a moment, he gazed into her eyes. “I love you, Jemma.”

  Happiness filled her. He loved her! Despite what he knew.

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I didn’t mean to tell you yet, b
ut I find that with you, I cannot help myself. Stop myself. Control myself. It’s as if the day I met you I fell off a cliff and the ground still hasn’t come. I kept thinking the feelings you stirred in me would lessen, but each day they grow stronger and I want you ever more. I ache for you, and I’m afraid no matter how many times I touch you, kiss you, hold you in my arms, I’ll want you even more.”

  Her body felt as if it were floating as she rose onto her tippy-toes and pressed her lips to his. “I ache for you, too, and there is nothing in this world I want more than your love.”

  His lips parted hers in a soul-searching message, smothering her last words, while his hands circled her back and crushed her to him. His heart beat a fast, furious rhythm against her chest while he pressed kisses across her lips, down her neck and chest to where her own heart beat. He flicked his tongue across the top of the sensitive flesh. She was unraveling very quickly and in a most splendidly wicked way.

  Her head fell back as he retraced the burning, searing path of his kiss upward to her lips once more and claimed her mouth again for a kiss that demanded nothing less than surrender. And surrender she did. Her knees went weak, and as she struggled to straighten them, he wrapped his arm around her waist and turned her so that her back was against the wood of the arbor.

  The gentle massaging of his lips against hers sent currents of desire through her until she felt she would scream to feel his hands against her bare skin. His flesh to hers. She grasped his hand around her waist, pulled it between them, and laid his palm flat against her frantic heart.

  “Philip,” she murmured, unable to say more.

  His hand molded to her breast and then slid under the fine, silk material until his fingers found her nipple and gently circled the bud. Her abdomen tightened and the core of her turned to hot liquid. His fingers grew faster, surer, harder, until the pleasure was too much, sending hot streaks of lightning coursing through her veins and consuming her. She cried out, just as cold air fanned her breast and his hot mouth took her bud in its grasp. He flicked his tongue around the nipple, teasing, taunting, and tempting her. She arched her back, straining to get closer to him, wanting him to take her further into his mouth and assuage her need. All she heard was the rushing of her blood in her ears until, suddenly, male laugher filled the air around them.

  She froze and her senses reeled as Philip whipped her dress back over her breast and yanked her behind the arbor. They crouched there, tense and silent, as the group of three men came perilously close to their hiding place. Thankfully, they passed by and faded into the distance.

  Once she and Philip could no longer hear the men, Philip gripped her hand in his and helped her to stand. He released her hand immediately and grinned. “You make me crazed.” He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I wonder if your grandfather would be home tomorrow if I came round to see him,” Philip said, a half smile tugging at his lips and his eyes twinkling with mischief.

  Jemma exhaled a relieved breath. “Philip, I want you to know that I wish to heaven I’d not given my innocence to Will. I wish I’d known you, could have seen the future and had an inkling of what real love was and what it would feel like.” Tears of regret stung her eyes, and Philip pressed his finger to her lips.

  “Shh.” He circled his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin. “I’m not going to claim it does not bother me to know another man has held you in his arms, kissed your lips, caressed your body. It makes me want to bloody kill Collins, and I just may just finish him off next time I see him.”

  She nodded, not wanting to interrupt what he was going to say to her.

  Philip leaned back and looked down at her. “I’d be quite the hypocrite if I considered you sullied, however, when I myself am not an innocent.”

  She buried her head against his chest as her body trembled. His words both released her from her shame and turned any fear that remained to love. “You are a most unusual gentleman, my lord.”

  “I like that,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, his words fanning warm air against the top of her head.

  Jemma pulled back to look up at him. “You like what?”

  He brushed his lips to hers before releasing her. “I like the way you call me my lord in that throaty voice of yours.” He paused. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything.” And she meant it to the depths of her soul.

  “Promise me I will be the only man you ever call my lord while looking as sultry as only you can do.”

  “I look sultry?” she teased, batting her eyelashes at him.

  “Minx.” He tweaked her chin with one hand and entwined the fingers of his other with hers. “I’ll have your promise.”

  “I promise,” she vowed and then kissed him, unabashedly and most improperly, on the mouth.

  They made their way back toward the party and hovered in the shadows for one last second. Philip squeezed Jemma’s hand before releasing it. “You go first. I’ll follow in a few minutes from the opposite direction so that no one thinks anything should someone see us both coming from this path.”

  Jemma nodded, though she was loath to leave Philip. “Will you come find me?”

  “Always,” he said with such emphatic assurance that her chest tightened at the emotion in his voice. She recognized it as the same one in her heart.

  She locked gazes with him and smiled before turning and slipping into the crowd to begin her search for Anne and Grandfather. She wasn’t that concerned with finding them quickly. The night was a dream she never wanted to awaken from. It was perfect.

  She hummed to herself as she walked. Near the fountains, she spotted Anne standing beside Grandfather, who was talking animatedly to someone. Anne stood silent, her lips pressed tightly together. Jemma followed Anne’s gaze to the edge of the rotunda, and Jemma’s perfect night abruptly ended.

  Her first thought was to march up to Mr. Frazier, standing without a care in the world so cozy and close to Lady Beatrice, and warn the lady away from the scheming man. That wouldn’t do, though, because then Mr. Frazier would just be more careful. In addition, Lady Beatrice may question how Jemma knew Mr. Frazier was searching for a rich wife. Jemma quickly decided she’d write the lady an anonymous note in the morning and send it straight round. That way, Lady Beatrice would be warned, but there’d be no way to trace it to the incident of Anne running off with Mr. Frazier.

  When Jemma reached Anne, her sister grabbed her arm and drew her near. “Where have you been?” she whispered under her breath.

  Jemma smiled. “With Philip.”

  Anne grinned even as her brow furrowed. “I do hope Lord Harthorne will be around tomorrow to call on Grandfather.”

  “He says he will,” Jemma replied, unable to keep the hopeful excitement from her voice.

  “Then he shall. He’s a gentleman and true to his word.”

  “Yes,” she agreed.

  “Jemma, would you mind terribly if I claimed a megrim? I don’t think I can bear watching Ian flirt with other women knowing how little I really meant to him and how he was but using me.”

  Jemma immediately nodded, though Anne claiming not to feel well meant they would all have to leave and the night with Philip would end. Yet, there would hopefully be a thousand such perfect nights with Philip in her future. Being there for Anne was the most important thing in this moment.

  The sisters moved toward their grandfather, who was just parting ways with his friend. Anne touched Grandfather’s arm. “I’m not feeling well, Grandfather. Do you mind if we leave?”

  “Of course not,” he said, patting Anne’s hand.

  Jemma gazed through the crowd, hoping Philip would appear so she could say good-bye, but she didn’t see him anywhere. Instead, she followed Anne and Grandfather toward the lane that gave access to the land entrance to the gardens, all the while glancing over her shoulder for Philip. As the entrance came into sight, she let out a sigh, but as she exhaled, his deep, velvet voice called out her name.

  “Miss Adair!” />
  She swiveled on her heel toward him, not bothering to conceal her delight at being able to speak to him once more before she departed. Philip jogged toward them and didn’t slow until he stood before Jemma, Anne, and Grandfather.

  “Duke, Miss Anne, Miss Adair,” Philip greeted properly, though his appearance had been wonderfully improper. “I hoped to catch you, Duke, before you departed to ask if I might have a moment of your time tomorrow?”

  Grandfather looked at Jemma, and she nodded emphatically. He turned to Philip. “I do believe that would be acceptable.”

  Philip’s grin made Jemma’s stomach tighten with happiness.

  Grandfather motioned to Anne. “Come here, Granddaughter, and look at the stars with me for a moment.”

  Jemma could have kissed her grandfather for his kindness in giving her a few treasured seconds for a semi-private good-bye, but she knew how uncomfortable such a show of affection would make him.

  She and Philip faced each other, so near but not touching. “When do you think you might call?” she asked, not giving a whit that she sounded overeager.

  Dipping his head slightly, he said, “Early. Probably before you are even out of bed,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. “I’d call tonight if I didn’t think your grandfather would throw me out.”

  “Likely wise to wait until morning,” she agreed with a giggle.

  He nodded. “I’ll be there as soon as—”

  “Jemma,” Grandfather called, signaling her time was up.

  “Sweet dreams, Philip,” she whispered.

  “They’ll be of a certain red-headed minx with brilliant eyes of turquoise and a smile that lights my heart. What will you dream of?”

  “A gentleman,” she said simply before turning and walking toward her grandfather and Anne. When she looked back, Philip was staring intently after her, and she mouthed the word you.

  Chapter Seventeen