When Harry Met Molly

Chapter 24

Blast it all. Ever since the fencing contest, Harry had wanted to see Molly for conflicting reasons: to wring her neck for torturing the men so, and to bask in her admiration for winning the tournament. When he’d heard she’d gone straight to her room for a nap, he’d been sorely disappointed, but he’d curbed his impatience and waited a good while for her to come down. He and Arrow had gone out to practice their skills at archery, while the other bachelors and mistresses had gone about their own business.

But Harry had never been good at waiting, so he’d abandoned Arrow when Maxwell had shown up for a turn with the bow. And as Harry strode toward the house, feeling quite impatient to see Molly, he determined the three reasons he felt a particular need to have her near him as often as possible during the week.

One, to keep her out of trouble, of course.

Two, to protect her from Sir Richard.

And three, to keep up the pretense that they were lovers.

There were other reasons he kept her near, of course, which he brushed off as being inconsequential. She was very good company. He also enjoyed peering down her neckline when she wasn’t looking. And then he also took pleasure in imagining his lips upon, oh, every part of her body.

But amusing pastimes aside, she was still his charge. And now she was missing.

He walked briskly into the drawing room, where Joan, Athena, and Hildur were idling on various sofas. “Where’s Delilah?” he asked them without even a reference to their beauty or the mildness of the weather.

They looked at each other rather helplessly.

“I thought—” said Athena.

“She’s sleeping,” Hildur interrupted.

“No,” Harry said, perhaps too firmly. “I just checked. She’s not in her room. And her bed appears unslept in.”

Joan’s eyes widened. “But Bunny said she was napping.”

Damn Sir Richard. Harry would like to kill him right now. He’d obviously misled Bunny.

“We shouldn’t worry,” said Athena. “Maybe Bunny and Delilah are together.”

“But Sir Richard’s absent, as well,” said Joan.

“Oh.” Athena put her hand to her cheek. “Then he’s probably with Bunny.”

Harry clenched his jaw. Sir Richard had damned well better be with Bunny and not Molly.

Joan gasped. “Could Delilah still be in the tree?”

“The tree? What tree?” Worry was making Harry rather impatient.

“The tree she sat in to observe the tournament and make sure all of you followed the rules,” Joan said.

Athena put her hand to her mouth. “I had a cat once who got stuck in a tree. He didn’t come down for two days.”

Harry realized how inappropriate it would be under normal circumstances for a bachelor to rescue a young lady from a tree, presuming the lady in question were naked. But these were not usual circumstances. Everyone here expected that he’d seen Molly with no clothes on many times.

“I’m going after her,” he said grimly, and left the women to their lounging.

On his way out the terrace door, he saw Bunny and Sir Richard striding at a bold pace across the lawn toward the front of the house. Bunny’s face was bright red. When she wiped at her eyes, her fingers trembled.

Sir Richard’s brow was lowered dangerously over his eyes; his mouth appeared twisted in a cold rage.

Harry thought it looked to be more than your typical lovers’ spat. Bunny was frightened, he could tell. Everything in him wanted to beat Sir Richard into a satisfying pulp, stuff him into a barrel, and drop him down a great river, someplace far from England, to float aimlessly forever.

But he couldn’t do that. Ridding the world of the likes of Sir Richard would require a sterling sense of duty. And everyone knew Harry lacked that.

Besides, he had to rescue Molly at the moment. Hers was a problem he could solve easily—if she would let him help. That was always the question with her.

He made the turn to the grassy yard where they’d held the fencing contest.

“Delilah?” he shouted, and looked toward the treetops.

But there was no movement.

What the devil?

He strode to the tree and gazed up. It was impossible to see to the top from where he was. “Delilah?”

No answer was forthcoming.

He hitched himself up to a lower branch and made his way up.

What if she’d fallen asleep up there? One wrong movement and she could fall to her death! He’d best not call her name anymore, just in case he woke her.

He kept climbing, his muscles tensing.

But no. There was no one in the upper branches of the tree. Which meant Molly was still missing.

He climbed higher anyway and took a moment to look out at the grounds, hoping he might be able to see her. But there was nothing unusual. All was quiet, in fact.

Where was she?

He refused to panic. It wouldn’t help the situation. But then he caught a slight movement near the house out of the corner of his eye. One of the bushes moved. And it had a tail, a pale blue tail.

Molly’s gown! So that’s where she was! But what was she doing? Harry allowed himself a small curve of a smile. Whatever it was, at least she was safe.

The bush hopped a few feet farther and stopped in a corner of the house, an inverted corner shaped like an L, forming an alcove of sorts. No one would be able to see her there.

The clump of leaves wavered, then somehow fell apart. Harry saw it was a collection of small branches, really. And then there was Molly, crouched low, her long brown hair covering her—

Her nakedness?

Why on God’s earth was she still naked? The other women had donned their gowns long ago. Why hadn’t she? She’d obviously been able to get down from the tree. Why hadn’t she retrieved her clothes?

And then the answer dawned on him. Someone must have taken them. And she’d been forced to go after them herself, covering her form with a ridiculous—but serviceable—homemade bush.

Blood thrummed in Harry’s ears.

Sir Richard.

But Harry wouldn’t think about killing him now. He must wait until the wager was over, which would give him time to work up his fury into a healthy rage. Besides, at the moment he mustn’t come crashing out of the tree and terrifying Molly. She shouldn’t know he was here, watching her.

She leaned forward, seemingly looking to see if she had privacy.

A wave of guilt washed over him. He wouldn’t think about her nakedness. Not yet. First, he’d acknowledge with a sort of pride that beneath her rather naïve exterior, she was a clever girl, the cleverest he’d ever met. Had she always been this resourceful as a child? Yes, she had, but he’d never wanted to acknowledge it, being the older, wiser neighbor. He’d always classified her as a young pest who made an occasional playmate when he’d nothing better to do—and nothing more.

Now she slowly stood, and he drew in a breath. All thoughts of her cleverness left his head. She was seashell pink. All over. And she was—he swallowed—absolutely breathtaking.

The kind of breathtaking that makes one ache deep inside.

He knew he shouldn’t be watching her get dressed. But he—he couldn’t help himself. And he couldn’t help what he was doing to himself as he watched her.

God, he was an animal! But—

The whole world became Molly in the corner. She was what he wanted. More than anything.

He needed her.

He wanted her. More than anything he’d ever wanted before.

He—

He—

Was spent.

The birds twittered their frivolous song. Harry breathed in and out, stunned at the intense yearning he’d had for Molly. Not just for any woman—but for her.

When he looked up and saw her walk out from the corner of the house, fully dressed, her lovely head held high, he drew in a deep breath.

He was so confused.

And so very, very wicked.

Molly could hardly bear the thought of being in the same room with Sir Richard!

But she must.

She forced herself to smile when she entered the drawing room. Everyone was gathered there, save Harry. The men were playing cards, and the women, all in fresh gowns, were studying their dramatic readings, the only acceptable form of work this week for those who had to pretend indolence otherwise.

Athena stood, her expression stricken. “Delilah! Were you stuck in the tree?”

Molly caught Sir Richard’s gaze and held it, just for a moment.

“Not at all,” she said. “I was walking.”

“That was rather a long walk.” Sir Richard’s lips were pursed in an ugly smirk.

She graced him with a small smile. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” She sank into a chair. “But I find the outdoors so bracing. Don’t you?”

There was a chorus of assents from men and women alike, except, of course, from Sir Richard.

Bunny barely looked at her. And no wonder. Molly wished she could take her friend’s hand and squeeze it, tell her everything was all right. But she couldn’t because things were far from all right. Molly really couldn’t speak to Bunny until Harry helped her solve the problem of Sir Richard.

Speaking of which, where was Harry? She opened her mouth to ask, but he walked in, saving her the question. His gaze was usually direct, but at the moment he couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. Frankly, he appeared…guilty. But why should he? He’d had no idea she’d been without her clothes for so long and stuck in the tree!

She was curious, but when he kissed her hand, her curiosity dissolved in a charge of pleasure.

“I lost track of your whereabouts.” His voice was apologetic but velvety warm.

When he released her fingers, she was sorry. She so wanted to tell him how handsome he’d been wielding that foil, how magnificent his form, when he’d been winning points for their cause—their separate causes, she must admit, but theirs, nonetheless.

At the very least she could tell him she was pleased he’d won. The other, giddier thoughts she would keep to herself.

“You needn’t be sorry. I was out and about…enjoying the day. Perhaps we could take our own walk around the grounds?”

His eyes lit up. “Certainly. I would like that.”

So would she.

“You just went on a two-hour walk, Delilah,” said Sir Richard in a grouchy voice.

“One can never have too much of the outdoors, Sir Richard,” she said. “Why, when I was small, I spent hours at a time sitting in trees.”

“Is that so?” he said nastily.

She turned away before she stuck out her tongue at him.

When she and Harry got outside, she immediately took his arm and began to stroll with him. They must appear to be having a cozy tête-à-tête, she told herself, and brushed aside any other reasons she could think of to explain her need to touch him.

“We’ve some important things to discuss but, first, I must congratulate you.” She smiled up at him. “You won us a lovely number of points in the fencing tournament.”

They stopped walking.

“I did, didn’t I?” he said.

His eyes were that golden brown again. She was so tempted to reach up and kiss him. He was hers, after all.

“Molly—”

“Harry—”

They both spoke at once. The air between them was full of something invisible, tantalizing, out of reach—something that made her forget to breathe.

“I’m so sorry about what happened to you after the tournament was over.” Harry brushed a curl from her face.

She blushed. “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t napping.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure where you were, but I know you were in trouble and that Sir Richard had something to do with it.”

And then he moved closer, bent his head. She stood on tiptoe, and when their lips touched, it was like fire between them.

He pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss until she could barely stand. He tasted so good!

But they were playing a game, her common sense reminded her. Fooling the other participants in the wager with their kisses. Focused on winning points. Trying to reach goals that had nothing to do with each other.

And those goals were in jeopardy.

She forced herself to pull her lips away.

“What is it?” Harry whispered. His eyes, half lidded with passion mere seconds ago, were now wide open. Questioning.

She cleared her throat. “I—I’m doing my best to be a good mistress,” she said, “but Sir Richard is unceasingly suspicious and getting worse each day.”

“I know,” said Harry. “At every nightly vote, he mentions how unusual you are, as if he can’t quite believe you’re a mistress.”

She sighed. “I was sitting in a tree, watching you being carried into the house after the fencing tournament, when Sir Richard stole my clothes. He promised to give them back to me if I came down, but when I refused, he grew more suspicious than ever that I’m no lightskirt. I told him I was stuck on a branch.”

Harry’s lips became a thin line. “I’ll make him regret his rudeness next week, after the wager is over, when you’re safely home and he can no longer jeopardize our standing in the wager. It riles me that he knows my hands are tied behind my back until then.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “Harry—” How was she to say this? “I don’t know if you can wait until next week to speak to him.”

Harry stopped walking and gripped her shoulders. “Out with it, Molly,” he said sharply. “What else has he done to you?”

She sighed. “It’s not what he did to me. When I was, um, solving my problem and retrieving my clothes, Bunny came outside. I was hidden, so she didn’t see me. But she went running to the tree, and I could tell she was looking for me.”

“And you didn’t call out to her?”

“No. Because right behind her came Sir Richard. He yelled at her for leaving the house. She told him she was worried about me, and angry at Sir Richard for making her tell everyone I was napping”—Molly looked down, still upset by the memory—“and he grabbed her by the hair. He pulled. Hard. Bunny cried out—”

Molly bit her lip. She had to stop talking.

“He’s such a coward.” Harry’s eyes were stormy. “I saw them walking into the house. Bunny looked as though she’d been crying.”

His agitation encouraged Molly. “We must do something, Harry, mustn’t we? We can’t stand by, even though Sir Richard may somehow find a way to unveil me—”

“There is nothing we can do,” Harry interrupted her. “Nothing. As much as we hate what’s going on between him and Bunny, it’s not our business. She’s chosen to stay with him. They’ve been together for years.”

“It’s not right.” Molly felt her eyes pricking with tears. “It’s…despicable.”

“I know.” Harry’s tone was gentle but firm. “She isn’t the only mistress treated this way. And you must know it happens to wives, as well.”

Molly felt a raw ache in her middle. “So you’re saying we do nothing.”

“Exactly.” Harry’s gaze was unyielding. “We can’t save the world, Molly. And we must protect our own interests. Do you want to leave here with your identity protected? And do you want to marry well?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you must do your best not to antagonize Sir Richard further. Try to win the title of Most Delectable Companion. And accept the way things are.”

Molly felt she couldn’t breathe. How could she have wasted a single minute this week having tender feelings for Harry?

“I’m disappointed in you,” she said, her voice hoarse with a jangle of emotions. “I—I thought you were better than that, no matter what everyone else said. But now—”

“Yes?” he challenged her.

“Now I don’t want to speak to you.”

Harry didn’t say a word. His eyes were hooded now; his mouth, grim.

And as he strode away, back to the house, Molly felt the truth lance her heart: she would never, ever make the mistake again of believing he could be—she swallowed and blinked back a tear—her hero.