When Harry Met Molly ib-1

by Kieran Kramer

  “Shut up, Bell,” said Lumley, his fists clenched.

  Joan shook her head. “I went to see my sister. And her—her baby.”

  “I didn’t know you had family here,” said Lumley. “I would’ve taken you.”

  “I didn’t want you to know.” Joan gave him a sad smile. “I thought you’d be angry.”

  “Why would I be angry?” Lumley’s brow was puckered.

  “Because we mistresses aren’t supposed to have a life apart from our protectors,” she replied in a low, bitter tone.

  “That’s right,” said Sir Richard. “The other mistresses lied so you could shirk your duties.”

  “Yes,” Joan said. “And I thank them for my few hours of freedom. They knew I wanted to see my family.”

  Sir Richard swiveled to Bunny. “You knew about this.” It was a statement.

  Bunny’s face seemed almost pressed flat, as if she were anticipating being hurt. “Yes,” she said in a soft voice.

  Sir Richard raised his hand as if to strike her.

  And before he could think, Harry grabbed Sir Richard’s arm, right below the wrist. “Don’t you ever lift a hand against Bunny in my house.”

  Sir Richard’s face twisted in a satisfying grimace. “Let go of my arm.”

  “Not until I have your promise,” Harry ground out. “Only cowards strike women.”

  Sir Richard narrowed his eyes. “All right.”

  Harry dropped his arm.

  “Spineless fool.” Sir Richard rubbed his arm, and his eyes glittered. “You’ve made a very bad mistake, Traemore. She’s my property.”

  “I am not your property,” said Bunny softly.

  “What did you say?” Sir Richard was practically purple at this point.

  “I am not yours,” she said. “You pay me for my services, and I can leave whenever I choose.”

  “You whore,” said Sir Richard.

  Right, Harry thought. That’s it.

  He grabbed Sir Richard by the collar and almost lifted him off the floor. “Enough! Do you understand me?” He shoved him against a wall.

  Sir Richard nodded, his eyes fearful—but full of hate.

  Harry knew there was no turning back now. He dropped him with a thud. “If you ever strike Bunny again, or hurt her in any way, not only in this house but anywhere, I shall see to it that you will never do so again, if it means I have to call you out and put a bullet through your heart. Have I made myself clear?”

  Sir Richard’s mouth became a thin line. “Perfectly.”

  Captain Arrow came forward. “Are you still in the game, Bell? Or have you quit? Because if you do, you are by forfeit the next bachelor to marry.”

  “I’m in,” Sir Richard said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re too riled to enter the kissing closet,” said Harry, raking him with a scornful glance. “Joan, as well, is exhausted. I suggest we suspend that game for the remainder of the week.”

  It would be the cruelest joke to insist any woman here ever have to kiss Sir Richard.

  Everyone appeared to understand Harry’s meaning.

  “As one half of the arbitration committee, I make a motion we suspend the kissing closet activity indefinitely,” said Captain Arrow.

  “As the other half of the committee, I second Arrow’s motion,” said Lumley. “Let’s allow the ladies to have an early night, shall we? They need their beauty sleep.”

  “Excellent idea,” said Harry. He took a breath, tried to calm down. “We’ve still the daily vote to do, gentlemen. Cheroots and brandy in the library in ten minutes.”

  There were awkward murmurs of agreement from all except Sir Richard, and then Harry’s guests began filing out of the drawing room.

  But there was Molly, still standing with her hand on the doorknob of the closet. Her eyes held a sheen of tears, and she smiled at Harry, a trembly, little…happy smile.

  A smile he had no desire to resist.

  Molly practically broke off the doorknob of the closet when Harry threw Sir Richard against the wall. Her knees were like water. But Harry was coming toward her now, striding with such purpose she felt a great joy surge through her. It propped up her knees and dried her eyes.

  He’d done something heroic. And she was so very proud of him. He didn’t say a word, just backed her into the closet and shut the door.

  They were in total darkness.

  “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

  “You have nothing to thank me for. I should have done that long before now.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

  She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him. He was like a beast, after all, pent up and fierce after the episode with Sir Richard. She sensed he needed solace, a refuge. So she roped her hands around his neck, smoothed his hair back from his face, and kissed him back for all she was worth.

  “I want you, Molly,” he murmured deep in his throat, and kneaded her hips as he plundered her mouth.

  Inch by inch, he moved his hands higher, up to her waist, and then higher, until he was massaging one breast with one hand and pulling her backside as close to him as possible with the other, against his hardness.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  It simply wasn’t enough.

  With a groan of frustration, he pulled apart from her, but she instantly molded herself back to his body.

  “I want you, too, Harry,” she said. “I know you only have a short time before the vote. But please. Show me the best three minutes you can imagine in a kissing closet. I’ll never be in one again.”

  “Are you sure?” he whispered.

  They were against the back wall of the space now, and he was leaving a trail of kisses down her neck. And somehow, he’d managed to pull down her neckline in the pitch-blackness and rub his thumb over her breast.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Good,” he said back. And then he kissed and suckled her, rolling lazy circles around her nipple with his tongue. It was just enough to drive her crazy with desire, a desire she felt at that hot point between her legs. The thrumming had become full-blown drumming, and her knees were weak.

  While his mouth played with her breast, he moved one hand down her leg and pulled up her gown and shift.

  She held her breath.

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  She would. She would trust him, the way she had at the lake. His warm, rough hand gently parted her legs. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him move lower, his hair brushing lightly against her skin, his lips and that wonderfully scratchy jaw sending chills over her flesh as he left more hot trails of kisses.

  He slung one of her legs over his shoulder, all the while keeping her propped against the back wall. And then she felt it, his warm mouth kissing the inside of her thighs, and his fingers—

  She couldn’t restrain a moan at the sensation of his fingers playing with her softest flesh. Sliding down the wall, she was helpless to stand, until he stopped her descent with a hand slung around her backside and his mouth.

  His mouth.

  He was licking and suckling her most womanly place. She arched her back and writhed with the delicious sensation.

  “Harry.” She could barely get the word out.

  He murmured something back.

  Which sent her to the next level of delight.

  She had no idea what he was doing with his tongue, but whatever it was, she was suddenly caught—over and over—in a wave of exquisite pleasure even more intense, if possible, than what had happened between them at the lake.

  When it subsided, she felt—

  She didn’t know how she felt. Sated. Thrilled. Wanting more.

  Still pressed against the back of the closet, she took deep breaths. How could she ever have thought him selfish? He was always thinking of her pleasure. Always.

  Harry partially stood, laid a light kiss on the fullest part of her left breast. “And that’s the best three minutes in a kissing closet I hope you shall ever have.”

  She he
ard the smile in his voice and let out a shuddering breath. “Once again, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing,” he said warmly. “Leaving a woman speechless is every man’s greatest delight.”

  “Harry.” She giggled. “I want to do it again. It was…fun. More fun than I’ve ever had.”

  He stood up and took her face in his hands. “You’re talking,” he said softly.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “So it seems.” Again, that smile in his voice.

  “Is there a way…I can do that for you?” she whispered.

  “Yes. Not that I expect you to. You’re not supposed to be a true mistress, remember?” He managed to find her nose and tap it with a playful finger.

  And before she could answer, he opened the door. A stab of light from the candles in the drawing room illuminated his face. He turned to gaze at her.

  “I’d give anything for a cameo of you looking the way you do right now,” he said, his voice so gruff and liquidy warm that she could hardly bear to let him go.

  But he shut the door, and she heard his booted footsteps carry him away.

  Away from her.

  Away from her heart.

  Chapter 27

  Harry vowed to enjoy every minute of his last few days with Molly at the hunting box. Today was the treasure hunt, tomorrow evening was the big finale, and the day after that, the Impossible Bachelors and their mistresses were to go home. He knew what that meant—he and Molly would go their separate ways. And if he won the wager, he’d even have to help her find a husband.

  After a filling lunch (with no tarts in sight), he sat on a bench outside the house with Molly and admired the soft, vulnerable tilt of her neck as she smoothed out the first page of directives Prinny’s advisors had devised for the treasure hunt. Each couple had a different set of clues, but they all led to one, final hide site containing the treasure.

  “Here goes,” she said, then looked up at Harry. “First, there’s a long word, a string of random letters that doesn’t spell anything.”

  She held up the paper:

  HTIHSERVOILYLALAHGIGEHNPEUSBS

  “Hmmm,” he said. “Gibberish, followed by a short verse.”

  “Yes,” she said with a laugh. “Shall I read the verse aloud?”

  “Of course. With fervor, please.”

  She cleared her throat:

  A story of love you’re commanded to find

  About Wood house and Knightley and their meeting of minds.

  She lowered the paper. “That’s Emma! You’ve read it, haven’t you? It’s not been out long.”

  “I can’t say that I have,” Harry confessed.

  “Oh, but it’s wonderful!” Molly wriggled in her seat. “It’s all about this girl, Emma, who gets in the middle of everyone’s business because she thinks she knows best—”

  “Wait. Are you sure it’s not called Molly?”

  She gave him a droll look. “I believe I’ll read the rest of the poem now.”

  “Go right ahead,” Harry said, suppressing a grin.

  Molly cleared her throat:

  To whom does The Author dedicate this book?

  Slash through those letters, then take a look

  Your next move forward should be plain to see—

  ’Tis more than a destination—’tis your destiny.

  “Our destiny?” Molly arched her delicate brows. “That’s rather dramatic.”

  There was a tiny pause.

  “And you love drama, don’t you?” Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed.

  “Oh, yes!” She squeezed right back.

  He laughed. Seeing her so happy was his greatest pleasure.

  “I suppose we should find out who Emma is dedicated to,” she said thoughtfully, “and then we’ll eliminate the letters comprising that person’s name from this nonsensical word to find our next destination.”

  “You mean our destiny,” Harry corrected her with a wink.

  She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was enjoying herself immensely, judging from the way she kept clasping her hands and speaking in that breathy way she did whenever she was excited. “I don’t remember the dedication in Emma at all,” she was saying. “I went straight to chapter one and began reading.”

  “Not to worry,” said Harry. “Let’s head to the library and find the book. No doubt Prinny’s advisors have slipped it onto the shelves.”

  They entered the house and searched the library for several pensive minutes.

  “Do you think we’re in last place?” Molly asked in a small voice.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Harry. “But we can’t worry about the others. We must focus if we want to win.”

  Another tense minute passed, and then his jaw relaxed—Emma was squeezed between two books, an older one about farming and the other, a treatise on the rights of man, by Thomas Paine.

  “I’ve found it,” he said, and braced himself.

  Sure enough, Molly practically knocked him over when she rushed to his side. He turned over a page, and she looked over his shoulder. “It’s dedicated to His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent!”

  Harry gave a short laugh. “No wonder Prinny’s advisors chose Emma as a clue.”

  He returned the book to the shelf, and when he turned around, Molly had already dipped a quill in the inkpot on the desk and was poised over the long collection of letters that made no sense. “I shall slash through ‘The Prince Regent’ and see what comes up,” she said.

  “Good idea.” Harry was now looking over her shoulder. He was quite enjoying all the proximity the treasure hunt afforded.

  Molly hesitated. “Wait. There’s no C here, so the solution can’t be ‘The Prince Regent’—”

  “Check ‘His Royal Highness,’” suggested Harry.

  Molly uttered each letter aloud as she scratched through them in the crazy word. “H-I-S,” she began, and then she went on to scratch out R-O-Y-A-L and finally H-I-G-H-N-E-S-S. After she finished, she put her hand to her mouth and laughed. “Oh, Harry.” She turned her impish blue gaze to his. “So we’re to find our destiny at the village pub?”

  Harry grinned. “This is Prinny’s treasure hunt. Are you surprised he might think a man can see his future in a pint of beer?”

  “I suppose not,” Molly replied.

  “We’ve a good walk ahead of us,” Harry said in the calmest voice he could muster. “Three miles at least, and the going isn’t terribly smooth.”

  Molly was like a kettle on the boil. “Then let’s set out immediately,” she insisted.

  “Very well,” he said, pulling her close. “And no stopping to—shall we say—enjoy the scenery.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Absolutely not,” she concurred, then drew back. “Wait. Do you mean—”

  “Yes.” He nodded gravely. “No kissing. Not if you truly want to win.”

  She pursed her lips. “Of course I do. We’ll walk single file. Starting now.”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered, and took up the rear position.

  * * *

  Molly was a bit leery but hopeful when they reached the thatch-roofed pub. It wasn’t particularly large or impressive, but there was the jolly sound of a fiddle playing from within. “How could we possibly know where to look?” she asked Harry.

  “I’ve no idea,” he said. “The only hint we have is that we’ll find our destiny here.”

  “A cryptic clue if there ever was one.”

  “Yes,” Harry agreed. “So obscure that I believe we’re to take it literally.”

  Molly’s face brightened. “I see what you mean. Perhaps it’s someone’s name.”

  “Or a word written on the cover of a book,” Harry suggested. “Who knows?”

  Inside, the pub was packed with people. Molly noticed she and Harry got a few looks of curiosity, but almost everyone was focused on a pretty girl and a young man dancing merrily at the front of the room.

  “Who are they?” Molly asked a smiling woman s
tanding nearby. She was clapping her hands in time to the music, so Molly joined in.

  “A young couple moving to America,” the woman replied. “They sail next week.”

  “Oh, how exciting!” Molly hesitated. “Um, would you know if anyone here goes by the name of ‘Destiny’?”

  The woman drew in her chin and laughed. “Certainly not. What kind of name is that?” And she went back to her clapping.

  Molly looked over her shoulder at Harry, and he shrugged. “So now we look for the word itself,” he said in a reassuring voice. “Written somewhere in this pub.”

  But at that moment, the whole crowd, it seemed, began dancing the reel.

  “It looks like so much fun!” Molly cried over the din to Harry.

  “Then let’s try it ourselves. We can look as we go.” He grinned, led her by the waist, and they joined the two lines of dancers. Eventually, they made it to the top of the line, and together they skipped down the middle of the column and wound up breathless and laughing at the bottom.

  And then they started up again.

  The dancing went on for at least another ten minutes. Several times Harry hooked an arm about Molly’s waist, spun her around, and stepped back again. Each time he did, Molly wanted to kiss him and keep dancing.

  But finally, the fiddle music stopped. Everyone clapped, whistled, and shouted for more.

  Molly could hardly breathe, and she was sticky with sweat. But she couldn’t help it. She threw her arms about Harry’s neck. “I loved that!” she said. “The dancing, the music, and—”

  You.

  She inhaled a little breath.

  The room receded, and all she saw was Harry’s golden brown eyes and the crinkle of a smile around them. She couldn’t look away if someone had set fire to her skirt.

  He wrapped his arms around her, and they touched noses. “You’re…the most amusing companion a man could wish for,” he said, in a warm, scratchy voice that made her melt inside. “Not to mention delectable.”

  “And you,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to his, “you’re—”

  Amazing?

  Wonderful?

  Her one and only true love?

  No. She couldn’t say that. But suddenly, she knew that’s what he was.