“Are you sure?” He couldn’t believe how much he longed to make love to her.
“I’m quite sure,” she said.
Of course, a coupling was out of the question. But there were compensations for his restraint, nonetheless. Compensations in the form of an enthusiastic girl who seemed to care very much that he feel the same intense pleasure she’d felt a moment before.
When the inevitable approached, he rolled to the side so as not to muss her gown.
Afterward, they both lay on their backs again and stared at the sky.
“I don’t know what to say,” Molly said.
Harry turned his face to her. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I’ve thought of something.” Her smile was slow but real. “Can we do it again?”
Harry laughed. “No, you minx. We should probably get back to the house. We’ve several cantankerous couples to restore to good humor.”
She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at him. “I’m going to remove the bureau in front of that dressing room that connects our two bedchambers. You can come in whenever you like.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“But why?”
He pulled a lock of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “Because it’s nearly impossible to stop progressing once you get started doing what we did today. And we can’t have you fully compromised, my girl. That leads to babies and”—he hesitated—“marriage.”
Her face fell. “You’re right.” She laced up her bodice, smoothed her skirt, and stood up.
“You understand that having a child out of wedlock would be disastrous for you, don’t you?” He clambered up and put his hands on her shoulders.
She wouldn’t look directly at him. “Of course. It means you’d have to marry me. And that’s an outcome to be avoided.”
She stood back from him, and suddenly, the air was thick with awkwardness.
The whole way home from the lake, the awkwardness didn’t leave them. Molly kept several paces ahead of him, walking steadily, never looking back.
Harry followed close behind, but he had no desire to speak, either. What could he say? They both knew that no matter what happened between them this week, they had no future together. Molly understood that. She was a willing partner in the dangerous pleasure game they were playing together.
So why did he feel so despicable?
Chapter 21
A lady should be able to conduct conversation anywhere, a voice in Molly’s head said.
A lady is not afraid.
Often Molly pretended she was hearing the voice of her mother, saying things she wished Lady Sutton really had told her. But obviously, her mother hadn’t. She’d died before she could give her daughter advice about life.
Which might explain why Molly usually made up things as she went along. She was at supper now with the rest of the company. Somehow, she’d muddled through this week.
It came to her then: a lady always muddles through.
There. Another homemade proverb to add to her repertoire.
“Wine,” Athena was saying in that sultry voice of hers, “is the summation of all that is…eternal.” She cast a mysterious glance around the table and smiled.
The table’s occupants—save Harry, who was brooding, it seemed—appeared suitably impressed.
Indeed, Athena tended to spout inane sayings that Molly was sure that—being a muddler herself—her actress friend made up on the spot. Were her tablemates to review what Athena said, rather than be impressed by her tone of voice and nuance of expression, they would see that she was actually saying nothing.
Molly cleared her throat. “Tell me, Athena, what exactly do you mean by saying wine is the summation of all that is eternal?”
Athena clutched at her pearl strand. “Exactly what I said.”
There was a silence.
“Then you mean that wine is…God?” Molly took a swig of her own wine for courage.
Athena’s eyes widened.
“I’d rather not discuss religion,” Joan said.
“I quite agree,” said Sir Richard.
Of course he would. He was the devil himself, as far as Molly was concerned.
Athena opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Lord Maxwell’s mouth turned up, as if he himself had been aware of Athena’s game and was amused that she’d been caught out.
Athena glared at Molly.
But Molly refused to be cowed. She smiled warmly at Athena in apology for understanding her too well. “Let us sidestep your remark. But perhaps everyone will consider mulling over this saying”—she looked around the table boldly, without any of the nuanced air of her actress rival—“‘All’s fair in love and war.’”
Harry put down his wine glass. “Why should we consider that?”
Molly mentally crossed her fingers. She’d figured out what had been bothering her so much about this week.
What felt…wrong.
What was making her peevish.
Even more so than the risqué nature of the wager.
She took a breath. “I believe this game you gentleman have been playing with us ladies as your pawns is a trifle one-sided. It’s time to make the men competitors this week rather than observers. And we women will vote among ourselves to see who wins.”
The other women gasped. The men were silent as stone. But Molly certainly had everyone’s attention now.
“The men, competing?” Athena said, her brows arched high.
Molly nodded.
“And the women, voting?” Joan curled her lip.
Molly nodded again.
Hildur stared at her. “They shoot you in my country!”
“In this one, too,” murmured Harry.
Molly cast a quick glance at him and was glad to see he didn’t appear too terribly vexed with her. He actually had a little twinkle in his eye.
“Are you a bluestocking, Delilah?” Athena said with a bit of scorn, even though mere hours ago she’d been thrilled that Molly had wangled that hundred-pound purse.
“No, I’m not. I’m just a woman here for a week who would like to have more…fun.” She smiled at Harry, then took another sip of wine. “If the men dare allow it.”
There was a warm, vibrant silence. She felt all the men’s eyes upon her.
Oh, dear heavens. She believed she was flirting successfully with the entire table of bachelors. On her terms, too. She sensed that the women, as well, were finally aware that perhaps there was more to her than they’d assumed.
She took a large sip of wine. There was more to her than she herself had assumed!
It was those sayings of hers. They were helping her out. Especially the new one, the one about muddling through.
Harry finally spoke. “Delilah, need I remind you, the goal of this contest is to crown the best, er, companion.”
“Yes,” she said, hardly able to restrain her excitement. “And you can win points for her in the men’s game. An excellent mistress would choose no less than a skilled protector, would she not? So if everyone agrees, we can choose a game for the men now.”
“Archery?” suggested Joan.
“A horse race, perhaps,” Viscount Lumley said.
Several more suggestions were offered to mildly enthusiastic responses.
“How about fencing?” Molly remembered how often she’d seen Harry and Roderick fence as boys, with large sticks rather then real weapons. “I saw a collection of foils in a case in the library.”
“Oh, yes!” said Athena, folding her hands in front of her bosom. “A fencing tournament!”
All the women clapped. “The gentleman who wins shall receive points for his lady,” Molly suggested, “but the women will also be allowed to cast a vote for their favorite gentleman of the day, other than their own consort, of course.”
Biting her lip, she wondered what the men would think. Lumley and Arrow shifted in their chairs. Lord Maxwell cleared h
is throat. Sir Richard stared at Molly as if she were the most fascinating creature on earth. Harry rubbed his chin and watched her with a small smile quirking his mouth.
“A fencing tournament, eh?” Harry said. “And a woman’s vote at the end of the day? I believe this is a matter for our arbitration committee to discuss.”
While Arrow and Lumley put their heads together, Molly discussed the possibilities with the other mistresses, all of whom were clearly as excited at the idea as she was.
After a moment, Lumley looked up, a big grin on his face. “As Prinny’s arbitration committee, we declare that a slight change in the rules would be welcomed by His Royal Highness, who’s not one to shirk a dare himself. Upon a show of hands signifying a majority, the fencing contest and women’s vote will become an official part of the week’s events, Lord Maxwell to record said changes.”
“What he said,” remarked Arrow with a lazy grin, and inclined his head at Lumley.
“All in favor?” Harry looked about the table.
Everyone raised his or her hand, even Sir Richard, who declared he could outfence everyone.
“Shall we adjourn to the library to cast our daily votes, gentlemen?” Harry asked the other Impossible Bachelors.
For the first time, Molly had hopes that she might receive one or more of those votes.
“No,” said Hildur. “We waltz.”
“That’s right,” said Viscount Lumley. “The ladies have been clamoring for a dance. Joan, shall you play for us? We can vote afterward.”
Everyone stood up, even Sir Richard, who was rather pulled up from his seat by Lumley, and went to the drawing room. Joan scowled, but she moved to the piano and began to play.
Molly looked for Harry. She felt rather like a dying plant that needed water. Immediately.
He came straight to her side. “Shall we?” he asked her, his eyes a warmer brown than she had ever seen them.
She nodded, unable to speak. She’d always longed to waltz.
He took her waist and they clasped hands. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Especially when you’re causing trouble.”
“Really?” She could barely get the word out. All she could think about when he was near was what magical things he’d done to her with his fingers and lips. And the odd effect he had on her thoughts.
In short, she had no thoughts when he was holding her.
Yet at the same time, she had so many thoughts when he held her that she was fairly bursting to share them with him and to ask him his thoughts, too, about the silliest things, such as what his favorite color was—hers was the fresh spring green of new leaves, of course—and what animal he’d be if he had to choose; she’d be a bird so she could fly, although she despised worms and wouldn’t want to eat them, which meant she might choose to be a squirrel because they leaped through trees and lived off acorns, which weren’t too terribly bad. She’d tasted one once and had never told a soul.
Harry gave her a slow grin, then said, “What? No clever retort?”
She held on to him tighter and shook her head.
All she knew was that she felt…happy.
Free.
And herself.
With him.
Chapter 22
The next morning, while the mistresses worked on their dramatic readings in the drawing room, Joan rose from her seat after a few minutes and began to pace by the large bay window.
No one else seemed to notice at first. Molly continued helping Hildur learn to read and recite her Byron poem in English, but all the while, she watched Joan out of the corner of her eye. After a few minutes, Bunny quit rehearsing her passage and looked up, as well.
Joan was still pacing.
“What do you think she’s doing?” Bunny whispered to Molly.
“I don’t know. But she certainly appears more agitated than usual.”
“She’s not exactly the sunny type as it is,” Bunny quipped.
“No. But she’s worse today, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Something’s amiss.”
Molly gathered her courage. “Joan,” she said in a clear, polite voice, “is everything all right?”
Joan whirled around. “I thought I told you—I don’t want to be friends.”
She went back to her pacing.
Athena and Hildur were watching her now.
Joan stopped. “Would you all leave me alone? I’m simply taking a turn about the room.”
“But you’re not turning,” said Athena.
“You are a fish,” said Hildur. “Flopping on the deck.”
Joan made a noise. “So?”
“In Macbeth there’s a great deal of pacing,” said Athena. “On stage one paces when one is thinking deeply about something important. And it’s usually troublesome.”
Joan drew in a deep breath. “Whatever is important to me shouldn’t matter a whit to any of you.”
“But your reading,” said Molly. “You must work on it for the finale.”
Joan blew out a breath. “I don’t care about the finale!”
There were gasps from Hildur and Athena.
“Why don’t you care?” asked Bunny.
Joan trembled visibly. “Because as Athena said, I have other things on my mind, and they’re burdensome.”
“Joan,” said Molly, “can you not tell us? I know you don’t want—”
“Leave—me—alone.” Joan’s cheeks were bright red. She began to gather her reading materials, but in her haste to depart the room, she kept dropping things. First, a lovely red shawl. And then all her papers.
“Oh, bother!” she said and threw everything onto the floor.
Everyone was silent. No one dared move.
And then Joan collapsed in a chair. She inhaled and exhaled loudly, as if she couldn’t catch her breath.
Molly flung aside her book and jumped up to go to her. Bunny did the same, even putting an arm around Joan’s shoulders and saying, “There, there.”
“You must tell us.” Molly knelt before her. “Something’s wrong, and we want to help.”
“All right.” Joan’s hands were tightly clenched. “I’m going to be honest with all of you because”—her shoulders sagged—“as you said once, Delilah, we could be thrown over. At any time. There’s no real security, is there, in our occupation?”
Her eyes looked so sad.
“Unfortunately not,” Molly said. “But what security is there for women in any position?”
She felt a pang of guilt lying so handily. After all, she was no mistress and had no idea how Joan truly felt. But she had a good idea because she felt somewhat of a commodity herself. If her father weren’t so preoccupied with his passion for treasure hunting, he could barter her through marriage to any man he saw fit.
“It’s a man’s world,” said Athena.
Hildur and Bunny nodded their heads.
“It is,” agreed Molly. “But we have this one week together. Let’s use it to help each other. If we can.”
She waited for Joan to speak.
Joan’s brow was deeply furrowed, her mouth pressed in a long, thin line.
“My sister,” she finally said, “lives in a small hamlet several miles to the north of the village nearest here. I haven’t seen her in five years.” She swallowed. “Five whole years.” She looked up at Molly with large, unguarded eyes. “I’ve been in London all that time.”
“How difficult for you.” Molly would hate going that long without seeing Penelope.
Bunny rubbed Joan’s shoulder.
“It’s worse,” said Joan. She took a deep breath. “My sister has had to be mother to…my baby boy.”
Molly’s heartbeat quickened. “A baby boy?”
Joan gave a little cry and nodded.
Bunny rubbed her shoulder even harder.
“Is he Lumley’s?” Athena asked.
Joan shook her head. “A previous lover’s. But I would like to see him. And my sister.” She wiped at her eyes. “It’s why I have been so wicked this week—I
mean, more wicked than usual. I can hardly bear being here. It’s torture to be so close and yet so far away.”
“Oh, poor Joan!” Hildur squeezed in between Bunny and Molly and gripped Joan’s hand.
Athena’s jaw worked. She appeared to want to help, Molly noticed, but she didn’t move.
“We must make a plan,” Molly said. “We must get Joan to her child.”
“If I could just touch him,” Joan said. “Even for an hour. To hold him in my arms.”
Hildur began to howl.
“Ssh,” Molly soothed her. “We don’t want the men to hear.”
Hildur sniffed loudly and rubbed her nose.
“But how can Joan leave here?” Bunny asked, her beautiful almond eyes filled with worry. “Sir Richard watches my whereabouts very closely.”
“The men have big eyes,” said Hildur, shaking her head sadly.
“We’ll have to make something up,” said Molly. “Any ideas?”
“She can’t take a horse,” Athena finally contributed, her manner a little less stiff than a few minutes previous.
“It will take me over an hour to walk the trail to the village close by,” said Joan. “And then another two hours to get to my sister’s village. If I leave early in the morning, I can stay until early afternoon. Then I can make it back by nightfall.”
“We still need a good story,” Molly said.
They sat and thought. But no one could come up with anything.
“Can you not tell Lumley?” Bunny eventually asked.
Joan shook her head. “Never.”
“He seems very kind.” Molly waited for a sharp retort.
But Joan was quiet. “He is,” she said eventually. “Which is why I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want him to have any excuse to”—she swallowed—“to get rid of me. He’s the kindest protector I’ve ever had.”
“I understand.” Molly sighed. “Now, today we’ll be doing other things, but don’t despair. Everybody will be thinking. We’ll come up with a plan for you to be gone tomorrow, all day.”
Everyone murmured their agreement and went back to work on their dramatic readings. The atmosphere was noticeably charged, yet it was also a happier one.
When Harry Met Molly Page 16