Lady Olivia nodded, as did his sister. Philip sketched a quick bow and strode toward Miss Anne, who was speaking with Lady Pembrook. Both ladies greeted him warmly, and after a moment of trivial conversation, he thought it safe to ask after Jemma without appearing overly concerned.
“Did I not see your sister come in the room with you?” he asked Miss Anne.
She nodded. “Jemma needed a breath of fresh air and went to the gardens for a moment. She’ll be back presently.” Miss Anne glanced at Lady Pembrook. “Jemma has had a megrim all day, but she did so want to attend your dinner tonight. We had such a lovely evening the last time we were here.”
“The poor dear!” Lady Pembrook cried. “I suffer terrible megrims.”
After listening to the two ladies discuss megrim remedies for a moment, Philip excused himself and slipped from the room as discreetly as possible. Having been to the Pembrooks’ at least a dozen times in the last five years, Philip was acquainted with the location of their gardens, so he headed there, luckily passing no servants along the way. He strode out the double doors that led to the garden and paused, glancing around the small, orderly space.
The sun had set, illuminating the sky with an orange glow, and all around the garden torches blazed. He scanned the shadowy perimeter but didn’t see Jemma or Glenmore. Uneasiness crept up his spine and he advanced down the six steps to the ground. The water fountains filled the silence with a soft trickling sound and his heart ticked an ever-increasing beat in his ears. Was she no longer here? Had she gone in? He glanced around the garden once more and was just about to turn to head back inside when he heard a distinct outraged gasp, followed by Jemma’s angry voice.
“Unhand me at once, Lord Glenmore.”
Philip turned toward the gazebo from where Jemma’s voice had come, and that’s when he saw two silhouettes—one tall and one short—face-to-face.
Heat surged through Philip as he envisioned Glenmore grabbing Jemma and trying to force himself upon her. His muscles tensed as he bounded across the garden.
Jemma’s pulse beat frantically in her neck, but it wasn’t in fear. It was in anger. How dare Lord Glenmore think to follow her and try to force himself upon her?
“Unhand me!” she demanded again in a stern voice.
Lord Glenmore leered at her and gripped her arms harder. “I knew you had spirit.”
Yes, that ruse was up. She was about to show him just how spirited she could be. She reared her knee back, his eyes widening in understanding just as her kneecap connected with his groin. The man went down, becoming a stuttering, gasping heap at her feet just as footsteps pounded toward them. She twirled around to find Philip racing in her direction before coming to a stop.
He glanced between her and Lord Glenmore, who was now whimpering and curled in ball. Philip stepped close to her, his presence comforting. He touched her arm. “Are you unharmed?”
She nodded. “Though I cannot say the same for Lord Glenmore.” She gazed down at the man. “I daresay he’s regretting trying to grope me now.”
Philip’s nostrils flared, and a dark look passed over his face. “Not nearly as much as he’s going to regret it.” He bent over, grabbed Lord Glenmore by the lapels, and yanked him halfway to a stand. The man hung there, the lower half of his body still sprawled on the ground, his arms dangling.
Philip leaned over him. “Get up now or I’ll aim my very solid boot into your very sore groin.”
Lord Glenmore staggered to his feet. His face was twisted in a grimace, and his hands covered his manhood. “She tried to unman me.” He glared at Jemma.
The nerve of the man!
“Only after you tried to take advantage of me,” Jemma spat.
A deep growl came from Philip that made Jemma stare at him in shock. He seemed outraged for her, as if he really cared, as if he was, indeed, a true gentleman.
He closed the distance between himself and Lord Glenmore and stared down at the man. “You will leave this house at once, and you’ll never approach Miss Adair again.”
“Why would I do that?” Lord Glenmore snapped, though his cowed stance did take away from the threat of defiance he was trying to display.
“You will do that.” Philip seethed, yanking the man to him by his lapels once again, “because if you do not, I will call on your father and tell him you are a sexual deviant who likes to beat women for pleasure. I’m quite sure that your father, who is a well-known honorable paragon of nobleness, would be dismayed to hear of your proclivities. I’d venture to say he may even disinherit you. I’ve heard him talk of sin before, mind you.”
“You arse,” Glenmore snarled.
Philip grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You cannot prove anything.”
“I assure you I can,” Philip replied. “Shall I tell you how?”
Glenmore’s burning gaze swung between Jemma and Philip. “No,” he snarled, motioning toward Jemma. “She’s not worth all this trouble. If you want her so badly, you can have her.” With that, he staggered past them and disappeared from view.
Jemma stared at Philip for a long moment, too overcome with gratefulness to find words. He’d saved her. He’d gotten rid of Lord Glenmore!
She swallowed. “Philip, could you have really proven what you said?”
He smiled. “I think so.”
“You think so.” She gawked at him.
He shrugged. “I was willing to chance it. If he didn’t agree, my alternative plan was to challenge him to a duel. He’s a coward. I sincerely doubt he would have accepted.”
Jemma sucked in a breath. “You would have done that for me?”
His eyes widened slightly, as if he only just realized what he’d been about to do. “I suppose I would have. You needed me.”
“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 y
ears. 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.
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 matter?” 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 fe
lt 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.
My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) Page 14