When Harry Met Molly ib-1

by Kieran Kramer

  “I know.” She hesitated, but then just came out with it. “You won’t be thinking of me naked, will you, Harry? Because I really need to concentrate.”

  “You can rest assured I won’t be thinking of you naked all day,” he said, with what she thought was admirable fighting spirit.

  “Thank you. And I won’t be thinking of you naked, either.”

  There was the tiniest of pauses.

  “Let’s just focus on today,” he finally said. “And remember we’re a team. We want to win big. Think of how we both shall benefit.”

  “Yes,” she said, with equal spirit. “A team.”

  Harry stuck out his arm, and she took it. But not before she looked one last time at the campsite and committed the scene to memory.

  Chapter 34

  Harry made sure the day went by in a flurry of recreational activities. A bit of shooting for the men, some lawn bowls for the women while they were gone, and charades in the afternoon. Molly went upstairs to take a nap after tea, and he made sure he’d be nowhere near, or he’d have been tempted to enter her room and repeat what they’d done last night in the tent.

  All day he’d had to remind himself not to think about what had transpired in that tent, which of course meant the goings-on there—and Molly—were seldom far from his thoughts.

  Now they had about an hour of sunlight left. Harry led the group over the hill to the side of the lake, where Finkle and his two footmen assistants had prepared a crude stage, a rustic dressing area, and a picnic supper to be enjoyed before the dramatic reading.

  Each step of the way toward the site of the finale, Harry felt a pang of longing for Molly.

  There was the tree on the trail where he’d pulled her hair off a twig and they’d been so happy in their own little leafy world.

  And then the campsite Prinny had devised and visited, to his and Molly’s amazement. Although Harry thought the royal welcome paled in comparison to the memories created there after Prinny had left!

  A few minutes later, there was the log at the lakeside where Harry and Molly had sat cozily together, discussed their families, and shared blackberry kisses.

  And when they all filed by the grassy bank where he’d first introduced Molly to the more intimate delights a man and woman could share, Harry could hardly bear the emotions surging in his chest.

  The next day, he and Molly would go their separate ways, and he would miss her. He would miss her very much, but he refused to examine the feeling too closely. He’d immediate responsibilities, after all, as host of this gathering, which was being watched very closely by the Prince Regent himself.

  By necessity, Harry kept his churning thoughts to himself, although during the meal, he watched Molly as often as he could without staring. And he laughed. He laughed quite frequently. Lumley and Arrow were particularly witty that night, and the women were sparkling.

  Especially Molly.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” she whispered in his ear. “Are you all right?”

  “Never better,” he said, forcing himself to grin. She must be in the best of spirits for her performance. “And you?”

  “Prepared to win.” Her tone was brisk, but then her gaze softened. “Thanks for the coaching, Harry. And for all your support this week.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he said, his voice a bit gruff. In the old days, he could always disguise when he wanted a woman. But with Molly, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide his feelings.

  Their gazes locked—and then she ran off because Athena was threatening to pour lake water over her head if she didn’t leave the picnic blankets to ready herself for the entertainment immediately. Their gowns and reading materials awaited them behind the dressing area, which was composed of two blankets tacked onto overhanging tree branches, a small table, and a lantern.

  “Good luck, ladies,” Lumley called out to all of them. “We gentlemen shall be waiting with bated breath!”

  It was, indeed, time for the show. The footmen had already lit the torches. Two velvet curtains were rigged to open between two trees nearby, forming the makeshift stage. The men sprawled out on the linens, awaiting the fate of their mistresses by lighting cheroots and opening flasks of brandy.

  According to the selection of straws, Bunny would go first, followed by Athena, Joan, Hildur, and Molly.

  Harry would have to wait longer than any other bachelor to see how his companion fared. But he had faith in her—he’d seen her perform “Kubla Khan.” He took a thoughtful sip from his flask and thought that victory might very well be the last thing they’d share, he and Molly. But the thought didn’t buoy him as he expected it should.

  Behind the curtain shielding the makeshift dressing area, Molly and the other mistresses were frozen in place, staring at the tree branch that held the women’s special evening gowns. Someone had slashed through Molly’s, apparently with a knife. The skirt hung in tatters, and there was a gaping hole in the bodice and one on the lower back.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Oh, Delilah!” Bunny put her hand to her mouth.

  Hildur held up the ruined gown and looked through one of the jagged holes. “It is a fishnet now.”

  “I know it was Sir Richard,” Molly said without emotion. She’d known all along Sir Richard was after her. And now he’d made his mark.

  Bunny’s eyes were wide. “I saw him over here earlier. But I thought he was simply being nosy, as he always is.”

  “He hates me,” Molly said flatly.

  Bunny squeezed her hand.

  “He hates everyone,” Athena said, her eyebrow raised in a weary arch. “But he does seem to hate Lord Harry especially.”

  “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” Joan put an arm around Molly’s shoulder. “He thinks he’s a coward. But we all know Lord Harry is worth a thousand Sir Richards. I don’t care what people say about his army disgrace.”

  “Do you know what happened there, Delilah?” Athena asked her.

  Molly’s face reddened. She couldn’t tell any of them why Sir Richard hated Harry. Or that Harry was innocent of all accusations. “No,” she said. “But I know Harry. And he is a good man. He’s told me he’s done nothing to hurt Sir Richard, and I believe him.”

  “We kill Sir Richard,” Hildur said. “Right now.” She pulled Molly toward the curtain.

  “No,” said Athena firmly. “Not now. The show must go on. Kill him later.”

  Hildur hesitated, and Molly released her hand. “Thank you”—she smiled at Hildur, then looked at Athena—“but you’re right. The show must go on. And I can wear the gown I have on now.”

  It was the bishop’s blue muslin, the first dress of Fiona’s she’d ever worn. She’d donned it this afternoon especially for Harry, a parting gift to him. Because after tonight, he wouldn’t see her in scandalous gowns anymore! He’d be married to Anne Riordan, and Molly would be on the shelf, still pouring out tea for Cousin Augusta.

  Or he’d be carousing about London with not a care in the world, the winner of the Impossible Bachelors wager—and if not that, at least one of the losing bachelors who’d slipped past parson’s noose by drawing a saving straw at the end of the bet.

  She’d be without Harry, of course. Either way. And wearing modest gowns as the years passed and this week’s contest became a distant memory.

  She bit her lip. She must stay focused on what was happening now. Not depressing thoughts of the future.

  “I know this is probably a silly question, but is the gown at all fixable, Bunny?” Joan asked.

  “No, not even if I were near my sewing box.” Bunny looked sadly at Molly. Then she gazed around at the others. “But I have an idea. And if you’re willing to go along with it, Delilah will have as much a chance as any of us to win the finale.”

  “Then let’s do it,” said Athena.

  Bunny’s face lit up. “I’ll be right back.” And she lifted up her gown and ran to the men. When she reappeared a minute later, she said, “I brought something
that will allow us to remove beauty from the criteria for judging.” Her eyes sparkled. “Or, depending on your perspective—that is, if you’re a male—we might use this tool to accentuate our beauty.”

  She opened her palms to reveal three small knives. “Every man had one on his person, of course. I brought several back and told them some of us needed to clean our fingernails and teeth.” She giggled.

  “None of them particularly enjoyed hearing that, I’m sure,” said Joan with a grin.

  Bunny nodded. “Sir Richard was the most horrified of all. I think it’s because he could see from my expression that I knew exactly what he’d done to Delilah’s gown.”

  “And that we kill him with these knives,” said Hildur between gritted teeth.

  Molly laid a hand on her arm. “It’s all right to hate him on my behalf, but I really don’t think we have to, um, kill him.”

  Hildur’s shoulders sagged.

  “We can cope with this ourselves in the way women do, Hildur,” said Bunny. “We shall simply outsmart Sir Richard.”

  “Yes,” said Joan, her eyes bright with interest. “Are you proposing what I’m thinking you’re proposing with these knives?”

  “I think she is,” said Athena. “And I do believe she’s brilliant!”

  “You mean—” Hildur made a cutting motion with her hand. “To my dress. And yours.”

  Bunny nodded, her mouth curved in a mischievous smile.

  “Goodness, no!” Molly blurted out. “I couldn’t ask that of any of you.” She laid a hand on Bunny’s arm. “Thank you so much for the thought. But…no. I can wear what I have on.”

  “But Delilah,” exclaimed Bunny in the most impassioned voice Molly had ever heard her use, “Lovely as you appear, your gown isn’t nearly as splendid as these creations made by Prinny’s orders! I want us to match, all of us.” Bunny’s eyes grew a bit shiny, and she looked around at all the women. “I haven’t known any of you longer than this week, but I—I feel like we’re sort of…sisters. And—”

  “And sisters, on special occasions, wear matching dresses,” interjected Athena.

  “Exactly,” replied Bunny. “We shall all be almost naked…together.”

  “And no one mistress will look better than the other,” said Joan.

  “They’ll be driven mad with indecision.” Athena laughed.

  “So many tits to choose from!” Hildur threw her arms wide.

  Molly chuckled and wiped her eyes. “You’re too kind. All of you.”

  She’d feel special romping about near-naked with these suddenly dear friends—Athena, Joan, Hildur, and Bunny. They were going to ruin their gowns on purpose—to help her.

  One of their own.

  Molly got a lump in her throat. Maybe she wasn’t a real mistress, but she’d been included in their number, and it felt like the highest honor. She would miss them all deeply, she thought, as she hugged each of them separately, saving Bunny for last.

  Because Bunny was her very special friend.

  Chapter 35

  The men were getting impatient. It was taking longer for the ladies to get ready than they’d anticipated, so they lit more cheroots and drank more brandy.

  Sir Richard leaned over to Harry. “I still believe something’s not quite right with you and Delilah, Traemore, and I shan’t give up trying to find out.” He’d spoken loud enough for all the men to hear.

  Now that Harry knew why Sir Richard disliked him more than he disliked everyone else, he tried to be—maybe not completely kind, but kinder. Especially as he was still not at liberty to divulge the truth to Bell about what had really happened to his sister.

  “Try all you want, “Harry told him. “I couldn’t give a fig, to tell the truth. Would you like a light for that cheroot?”

  “No.” Sir Richard scowled. “Not from you.”

  “Do you really think any of us will be inclined to wish you good luck tonight when you are such a horse’s ass, Bell?” said Maxwell, blowing a smoke ring in his direction.

  “I don’t need your good wishes,” Sir Richard replied. “You are obligated by oath to choose the best mistress tonight. I know how honorable you gentlemen are. You won’t allow personal differences to stand in the way of fairness.”

  “If you mean we won’t let Bunny pay the price for your shortcomings, then I suppose you’re right,” said Arrow.

  “See?” said Sir Richard. “I can count on you fools to be sickeningly honest in your assessments of the women.”

  “We most definitely can’t count on you to do the same,” stated Lumley.

  “An Impossible Bachelor stops at nothing to retain his lofty status as a man among men,” said Sir Richard. “My tactics are perfectly unexceptional and, sadly for you dolts, unidentifiable. They shall remain locked in the vault of my brain, only to be shared perhaps with the occasional by-blow who might seek advice about how to avoid the parson’s mousetrap.”

  “Advice which includes ensnaring respectable virgins and seducing them,” said Arrow, “then threatening to deny everything if they dare tell their mamas how you crawled through their windows past midnight to deflower them.”

  “And you object to that sort of thing?” Sir Richard said in that world-weary voice of his.

  Harry stamped out his cheroot. Sir Richard was an enigma. He was angry because he was sure Harry had seduced his sister, yet his whole adult life he’d prided himself on seducing everyone else’s sisters.

  “I object to any young lady being taken advantage of, Bell,” said Harry.

  “I don’t believe that,” Sir Richard growled. “Your history says otherwise. Prove it by marrying one of those young ladies, Traemore. I’ll be laughing from the back of the church.”

  Ouch. Harry knew he should marry Molly, shouldn’t he? He was suddenly unable to think of a single retort.

  Lumley filled in for him. “Don’t be so sure you won’t be the one at the altar, Bell.”

  Bunny came to the curtain and announced that the ladies were ready.

  Harry stood, vowing not to let Sir Richard disturb his equanimity again tonight. Facing the other bachelors, he held up an envelope. “Tonight we come to our last competition. According to Prinny’s wishes, the women will perform dramatic readings they’ve selected themselves. I’ve a note from His Royal Highness that I must read aloud to you.”

  He took a few seconds to remove the note from the envelope, and read:

  My Impossible Bachelors, you shall judge the ladies tonight on many things: beauty, comportment, originality, charm, and dramatic skills. But, above all, before you cast your last vote for this year’s Most Delectable Companion, you might ask yourself the following crucial question: Which lady, other than my own, is the most unforgettable, and why?

  Of course, at the start of this week, you might have wondered why your Prince Regent takes so much interest in your lives that I would arrange this extensive wager and command you to participate.

  Gentlemen, I write to you in confidence. The people claim the merry path I’ve chosen has exacted a great price not only on my country—but on my very soul. I am ceaselessly urged to bolster the health of both.

  Well, my friends, you must know serious endeavors bore me. But in a nod to my detractors—and with a devilish wish to irk them as well—I created this frivolous bet as a means to share with you, the next generation of English gentlemen, what paltry wisdom I may have accrued in this lifetime.

  You know as well as I how difficult it is to behave. A wastrel they may call me, but I’m not completely addled. And one thing I’ve learned in this wicked life of mine is that women don’t need us as much as we need them.

  Lowering, isn’t it, to find that your own best destinies may very well lie in the hearts of those women who deign to love you?

  My Impossible Bachelors, I leave you to ponder that possibility in your own brandy-soaked hearts. Good luck and Godspeed.

  His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent

  “Ye gads,” said Sir Richard.

>   Harry folded the note and put it in his breast pocket. “I rather like Prinny better when he’s not so acute in his perceptions,” he drawled.

  “Those moments are brief, I assure you,” Maxwell commented dryly.

  Lumley scratched his head. “The woman he was with at the club probably dictated that in his ear.”

  “Must forget the letter ever happened,” Arrow muttered around his cheroot. He waved at Harry. “Let’s move on, as quickly as possible.”

  There was a chorus of affirmatives.

  Harry was glad to know he wasn’t the only bachelor discomfited by Prinny’s words. “Remember,” he said, “at the conclusion of the show, we shall tally the votes, add them to those accrued by the mistresses all week, and if all goes accordingly, present the title of Most Delectable Companion to one of these lovely ladies.”

  He went to the curtain and pulled it to the side. “Let the finale begin!”

  Chapter 36

  Molly was last in the lineup, her stomach in knots. Last night, when she’d let slip that crazy idea that Harry should marry her, and he’d soundly but kindly rejected the notion, she’d faced up to facts. She and Harry were best together as friends. Friends who occasionally removed each other’s clothes and kissed each other senseless.

  It sounded rather like an arrangement between a man and his mistress, didn’t it? A romp between the sheets, a good laugh, and…

  No commitment.

  If she won tonight, his inevitable fate—marrying Anne Riordan—would be delayed. But only for another year. Anne was bound to catch up with him sometime.

  And if Molly lost, he would help her find another man to marry.

  She released a shaky breath. Why was there no good solution? She was damned if she won and damned if she lost.

  Either way, she and Harry would be apart. Forever.

  But friends, she consoled herself, until one of them got married.

  Friends of a special nature.

  He didn’t know it, but that was what she was going to tell him after this week was over, that she would be his mistress. And just as he did last night when she’d suggested the same thing, he would balk, he would say no, and she would simply carry the day by kissing him and getting him to change his mind.