My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3)

by Julie Johnstone

  “If you run off to Gretna Green you will destroy any chance of your sister making an acceptable match,” Amelia explained gently. “Society will shun her for your choice. Is that what you want?”

  Miss Anne thrust her chin out stubbornly. “Jemma would welcome that,” she retorted. “She doesn’t want to marry. Ever. She doesn’t trust men.”

  A strange, confusing sadness gripped Philip with the admission. There was no reason he should care so much that Jemma didn’t trust men and never wanted to marry, but apparently, his heart didn’t need a reason. He had no right to care, but he did.

  Amelia tsked. “You don’t seem the selfish sort,” she said to Miss Anne. “What if your sister meets a man that changes her mind and her heart?”

  Suddenly, Amelia was staring at Philip. What the devil? He yanked on his cravat. He could not change Jemma’s mind or heart. He had no right to ask a lady such as her to live in poverty with him, and that wasn’t even thinking of his mother and cousin. He returned his sister’s stare with a scowl.

  She smiled and looked back to Miss Anne. “Are you truly telling me you’re willing to bet your sister will never fall in love?”

  “Well, no,” Miss Anne said quietly. She nibbled her lip a moment. “I hope she does fall in love one day.”

  “Anne,” Frazier began, but Amelia swiveled toward him and gave him a look that would have frozen the Thames.

  Philip grinned. He rather enjoyed seeing his sister as the fierce duchess.

  She squared her shoulders, raised her slender arm, and poked Frazier in the chest. “You are a foolish man,” she said without preamble. “And you obviously don’t know the Duke of Rowan very well or his history with his daughter.”

  “Ah ken the history,” Frazier stated. “But he’ll nae want his granddaughter ruined as his daughter was by turning her out with nothin’. He’ll bless the marriage and give Anne a proper dowry.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Amelia demanded.

  Frazier shifted from foot to foot, and as he did, Miss Anne caught her breath sharply.

  Damn the man. Philip would gladly kill him if he were the murdering sort. He wasn’t, but threatening wasn’t below him. Philip caught Frazier’s eye. “I’ll hunt you like the dog you are if you don’t either come back to Rowan’s and properly ask for Miss Anne’s hand or tell the lady the truth of how you really feel about her.”

  “He’ll nae give his consent,” Frazier growled.

  Philip nodded. “Probably not, but if faced with his granddaughter running off or a proper wedding, perhaps he’ll agree a proper wedding is the best choice.”

  “And what of her dowry?” Frazier grumbled.

  “There is no dowry!” Philip snapped.

  Frazier simply stared through him, as if lost in his own thoughts. “I’ll nae be holdin’ any cards in mah favor if Ah do as ye say.”

  Philip winced as Miss Anne’s face went white. She swallowed audibly. “Why does a dowry even matter? I love you, Ian.”

  Frazier pressed his lips into a thin line. “Ye’re bonny enough, Anne, and we would’ve rubbed along fine, but marriage is business fur me. Ah need the dowry.”

  Tears leaked down Miss Anne’s face as she nodded. “I understand. You’ll not marry me unless you know you’ll get a dowry?”

  He shrugged. “Aye.”

  Then she surprised them all as she slapped him. The contact of her palm against his face broke the momentarily silence like a clap of thunder. Philip went to her and took her arm as she leaned heavily against Amelia.

  Jemma’s sister turned her tearstained face to him. “Please take me home,” she said in a calm voice. Philip gazed at Miss Anne, not so very different from Jemma, after all. Miss Anne was strong. Stronger than she knew. Bold, too, just like her sister.

  He nodded and caught Amelia’s eye. “Take her to the carriage. I’ll be right there.”

  After the coachman helped Amelia and Miss Anne into the carriage, Philip faced Frazier once more. “You’re a bastard,” he swore.

  “Aye,” Frazier returned. “In more ways than ye ken. I’m just tryin’ ta survive, Harthorne. Something ye ken all too well.”

  Philip’s nostrils flared. He did ken it, as Frazier had said, but he hated that he did. “Stay away from Miss Anne or you’ll find yourself staring at the barrel of my pistol.”

  Frazier grinned. “Fair enough. And Miss Adair?”

  “I will rip your heart out if you go near Jemma,” Philip growled.

  “And ye say the lady is nae but a friend.”

  Philip turned on his heel without responding and strode back toward his carriage. The way he was feeling about Jemma was a problem. He had to get himself under control, and he meant to do just that before he saw her again. He’d keep a coolness about him this time, too.

  Jemma sat across from her grandfather at the dinner table, Anne’s chair empty beside her. Grandfather stared at Jemma over the rim of his wineglass. “Why is your sister not present?”

  Jemma cast her eyes down and patted her stomach. “Her time is giving her—”

  Grandfather coughed. “I see. I see. Tomorrow, I think we should go to the museum.”

  Jemma smiled and nodded as she stuck a bit of ham in her mouth and chewed. It was a good thing the idea of conversing upon a woman’s monthly flow left Grandfather acting like a ninnyhammer. She was entirely too worried to come up with another excuse as to why Anne was absent.

  The rest of dinner ran smoothly, if one could call barely being able to get down food because of one’s nerves smooth. By the time Jemma crawled into her bed, she was certain her anxiety would keep her up, but when she awoke late the next morning, she could not recall actually ever laying her head upon the pillow.

  She supposed her worry must have truly exhausted her. She glanced over at Anne’s empty bed, and her chest tightened painfully as she silently prayed that Philip had caught up with Anne before she’d become Mrs. Ian Frazier. She did not think Grandfather would simply hand over the dowry, though she was sure this time he’d make certain Anne knew he cared for her. And as for Frazier, Jemma suspected he did not love Anne.

  She lay in bed for some time, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of another reason why Anne was not out and about. She would try the same one she’d been using, but she suspected Grandfather would only accept that for so long before he simply demanded to see Anne to make sure she was all right.

  When Eliza came in to help Jemma dress she informed her that Grandfather was in an astonishingly bad mood, as he’d paid a call on Lord Glenmore and threatened to shoot the man if he ever came within spitting distance of Jemma again. Despite her stomach turning with worry, she had to grin at the image of her grandfather marching over to the Wynfells’ estate and threatening Lord Glenmore on her behalf. But what was Grandfather thinking? He was supposed to stay calm for his heart, not work himself up! He couldn’t go about putting himself in danger for her.

  For her! She paused with her hand on the doorknob of her bedchamber and turned to Eliza. “My grandfather put himself in harm’s way for me?”

  Eliza nodded and gave her an odd look. “Yes, Miss Adair.”

  He loved her. In that moment, it sunk in all the way to her heart and settled there.

  Eliza glanced at her and opened her mouth as if she was going to speak, then shut it.

  “What is it, Eliza?”

  She bit her lip. “His Grace specified we not say anything because he wanted you to come to be fond of him on your own, but...”

  “Go on,” Jemma urged.

  Eliza nodded. “Before His Grace left to retrieve you and your sister from America, he had your bedchamber redone and spent hours at the dress shop looking at material and demanding the finest fabric be ordered from Paris for the two of you. He had the gardens planted with fresh flowers in colors two young ladies would appreciate. He even had dinners here for acquaintances he’d not bothered with in years so he could ensure, as much as he could, that the ton would accept the two of you
back into Society.”

  Jemma’s breath hitched with the newfound knowledge of all her grandfather had done. “I had no idea,” she murmured, awed, moved, and incredibly remorseful that she had wasted so much precious time being angry with him when if she had just talked to him, so much misunderstanding and confusion would have been resolved. Sadness pressed down on her chest when she thought of her mother and how she had truly thought Grandfather had not loved her. Jemma’s heart raced. She wanted to see him and tell him again how glad she was that they had talked before it was too late, but she didn’t know what to say about Anne yet.

  She nibbled on her lip. She could say Anne had taken a walk, for now, and come up with something else later. She flung open the door and hurried down the stairs.

  She located him as he was coming through the terrace doors, crop in hand and the smell of horse lingering on him.

  “Have you been riding?” she asked incredulously.

  “Of course. I ride every morning. Why wouldn’t I ride this one?” His brow had come together in a quizzical frown, which utterly frustrated Jemma. He knew why he shouldn’t ride!

  “Your heart,” she said, not that he truly needed the reminder.

  “My heart?” His frown deepened as his eyes popped wide. “Yes, my heart!”

  Jemma eyed him suspiciously. Whatever was going on? “Surely you did not forget your heart.”

  “Er, I hardly think of it when I’m feeling well.” He patted his chest. “I feel healthy as a young lad today.”

  She hooked her arm through his and led him to the nearest chair, which was a high, dark-wood-and-leather elbow chair placed against the wall near a tripod table. Once he was seated, she knelt down beside him. “I insist you take care of yourself! I want you around for years and years to come.”

  He blinked in obvious surprise. “Er, why, thank you, Granddaughter.” He patted her on the arm clumsily. She knew he was uncomfortable with showing emotion, but she was determined to get him used to it, little by little.

  “Eliza told me all you did for me and Anne before we came to England, and I want to thank you.”

  He frowned. “She was instructed to say nothing.”

  Jemma grinned. “I’m so glad she did. Please take my heartfelt thanks.”

  “No need.” He waved a hand at her.

  “There is a need,” she insisted vehemently, her chest burning with the words she needed to say. “If only I’d talked things through with you sooner, it would have saved us both heartache, I do believe.”

  He smiled, a large warm smile. “I feel the same, Jemma, my dear. I was not raised to show emotion but to be stoic and proper, ever the duke. The only exception I ever made was when alone with your grandmother, and I know that has hurt people. I will try to change for you and Anne. Speaking of Anne, where is she?”

  “Here I am!” Anne called from behind Jemma, making her almost fall on her bottom in shock. As she teetered on the back of her heels, trying to catch her balance, Grandfather looked up at Anne and actually grinned. Jemma’s heart swelled with happiness. Until she gained her feet and came face-to-face with Anne, that was.

  Heartbreak etched fine lines on Anne’s normally flawless skin. Did Grandfather notice anything different? She glanced sideways at him and found him studying Anne, as well.

  “I can see that you have not been feeling well at all, as your sister said.”

  Anne’s gaze shot to Jemma, and Jemma gave Anne a discreet, encouraging look.

  Anne nodded, her bedraggled hair hanging limp around her shoulders and confirming the story that Anne had been abed all day yesterday. Jemma wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the shudder as she held Anne’s gaze. Dark circles shadowed the delicate skin under Anne’s eyes. Yet it wasn’t just that. Jemma’s pulse ticked up an angry beat as she searched Anne’s eyes and found them glazed, almost dead. The sparkle that had always been present was simply gone. The periwinkle blue no longer shined. Her eyes were dull, flat, and sad.

  Jemma curled her hands into fists by her sides. She wanted to kill Mr. Frazier. Speaking of the devil, where was he? And where was Philip?

  As the thoughts entered her mind, Mr. Sims appeared. He gave a quick inclination of his head and looked at Jemma. “Lord Harthorne is here to see you. I have situated him in the parlor.”

  She did not miss Grandfather beaming at her, nor did she miss the way Anne’s shoulders slumped. Jemma knew, without a doubt, that she would not see Mr. Frazier in this house today or any other day again. What she didn’t know was what had happened, and though she was loath to leave Anne alone in her obviously heartbroken state, perhaps it was better to hear the sordid tale from Philip, rather than compelling Anne to relive the mess.

  Jemma held her sister’s gaze. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Don’t be a silly hen,” Anne replied in an overly bright, strained voice. “I think I shall lie back down. My, er, sickness has left me feeling rather weak.” Without waiting for a reply, Anne turned on her heel and walked toward the main room where the stairs led to the second floor.

  “Is it normal for a lady to feel so wretched when it’s, well...you know what I’m asking,” Grandfather finished, his neck turning red.

  Jemma simply nodded. It was normal to feel so wretched when one’s heart had been broken, but Grandfather didn’t need the particulars.

  He nodded and waved her away. “Go see your Lord Harthorne.”

  Instead of arguing that Philip was not hers, she frowned and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. He stiffened slightly but smiled.

  “Perhaps tomorrow morning you could ride with me, Granddaughter?”

  “I’d love that,” she replied before making her way to the parlor.

  Philip was wearing exactly what he’d had on the last time she’d seen him. He rose from the leather chair he’d been sitting in and strode across the room toward her with easy, butterfly-causing grace. Her pulse quickened as she turned and closed the door behind her. It shut with a soft swish. Of course, it flew in the face of every rule of etiquette that had been hammered into her by her mother, ever so slightly, and by Mrs. Young, to a megrim-causing extent, but Jemma couldn’t make herself care. She needed privacy. When she turned back, Philip was gazing at her, his eyes full of concern and a shadow of copper beard growth on his face, reminding her he had been traveling nonstop for her and Anne.

  Suddenly, she wanted to throw caution to the wind, forget her secret, fling herself into his arms, and kiss him. Instead, she swallowed and said, “Thank you so very much, Philip, for all you have done!”

  “No thanks necessary. Let’s sit,” he replied, his deep, strong voice calming to her, even if the words heralded that what had occurred was very bad, indeed.

  Once they were seated on the settee, she faced him, acutely aware of his powerful thigh pressed against her leg, his broad shoulders turned so that his overcoat strained in protest, but most of all she was aware that Philip was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and that no matter how much she didn’t want to be aware of him, she was. All too aware.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face, his fingers rubbing against his stubble and making a soft scratchy sound. Then he told her what had occurred. His burning gaze held hers. “Frazier is despicable.”

  Emotions warred within her. Philip had saved Anne from a disastrous marriage but not from heartbreak. That had been impossible. Jemma ached for her sister, and when Philip ran his fingers over her right cheekbone, she realized she was crying. His touch, so gentle, made her scalp prickle with awareness and her heart constrict with fright. That same yearning she had felt for him, the urge to kiss him, flooded her once again but a thousand times stronger. It pulsed within her, and she could not deny it. Without thought to etiquette, her fear, his plans, or the consequences, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

  For one moment, it was a perfect kiss. The sort her dreams had been made of before Will had stolen those dreams. Philip’s lips were soft yet strong, de
manding yet gentle, warm and throbbing with a passionate message she wanted to understand. She slid her hands around his neck and pressed closer, until her chest met his, and he lurched back with such force that they both toppled off the settee and to the carpet. She hit hard, but the sting on her bottom didn’t compare to the sting in her heart. He didn’t want her, and he didn’t even know her secret.

  “Good Christ,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice ravaged by...what? She didn’t know, though she longed to. He gained his feet and held out a hand to her. She took it, the contact of his warm skin on hers making her shiver.

  “Jemma.” He breathed her name as if it pained him.

  “Please, don’t say a word,” she begged. “I have no idea what just came over me.” That lie was so enormous she was surprised lightning didn’t shoot into the room and strike her down. She had the most dreadful fear that she truly cared for Philip. “I think I was just so grateful for all you did for Anne.” She grasped for another truth to replace the one that said she cared for him. That would be foolish considering his plan and her secret.

  She balled her hands into fist. She didn’t want to love again, to feel this rejection. She wanted to run her bakery and forget about all men. Didn’t she? Doubts hammered at her, and the knowledge that Philip had slipped into her heart without her even realizing it was sinking in so fast she thought she could easily drown in her heartache. Her throat constricted with the horror of what she’d let happen.

  “Jemma.” Her name came out as a plea this time. Was he begging her to quit talking?

  Her words came out faster in her embarrassment. “Let’s just forget this kiss, shall we?” she mumbled.

  His gaze raked over her, and she prayed she wasn’t as red as she felt. She plunked her hands on her hips. “I insist we forget that ridiculous kiss.” She spoke clearer this time, determined to take back control of her heart. Her cheeks burned as if on fire. She grabbed him by the arm and tugged at him. “I think you better go.”

  “Jemma—”