When Harry Met Molly

Chapter 28

A half hour later, after following detailed instructions on the paper she and Harry had found at the pub, Molly found herself in a fallow field, counting fence posts to find the place where Prinny’s advisors had buried the treasure.

“Here,” she said, pointing at a tuft of grass at the base of the fourth post to the right of a twisted oak tree.

Harry lifted the tuft right up, revealing a neat hole in the ground containing a small red leather box. “Shall I?” he asked her with a grin.

She clasped her hands and nodded.

He lifted the lid.

“Oh!” Molly was surprised to see a scroll inside. “I thought the actual treasure would be in the box.”

“Maybe it’s too big.”

“Really.” She imagined all sorts of possibilities: a chest filled with gold—a horse, perhaps! Or…or—

A monkey! She’d always wanted one of those. The kind with a little red hat and a striped shirt that rode along on your shoulder.

But she had no other ideas. She was simply too excited to think.

Harry seemed to read her mind. “Why don’t we relax and read it together?” he asked her.

“Brilliant idea.”

So they sat together, Molly between Harry’s knees, and Harry leaning back on the fence post that had led them to the treasure.

Their fence post, she thought, smiling softly to herself.

Their treasure.

She sighed and closed her eyes and listened to Harry open the scroll. He felt so good. And he smelled divine. Like the peppery scent of green grass baking in the sun. And the scent of fresh linen. And…and man.

But then she sat bold upright. “Tell me, Harry! What’s the treasure?”

“A night together,” he said, his voice husky. “An Arabian night, actually.”

“What’s that?”

He looked at her with an inscrutable expression. “Prinny’s arranged to have a Moroccan tent set up by the lake and stocked it with a lavish feast, and we shall be waited upon by exotic servants.”

“And—and we shall spend the night together in this tent?”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, and rolled up the scroll again.

Her body flooded with all sorts of feelings—fear, worry, and…and if she were honest with herself, excitement. She would love to be held in Harry’s arms all night.

But she couldn’t spend the night with him!

By society’s standards, she was already compromised, of course, but she was coming to believe there were degrees. At least in her bedchamber at the hunting box, she’d pushed that bureau in front of the door connecting her room to Harry’s. But in the tent…

There would be nothing separating them. Nothing at all.

“We—we’ll have to mark a line down the middle of the tent,” she said.

Harry nodded slowly. “All right, if that’s what you want.”

Oh, dear, he’d left that sentence hanging. “You mean”—she dared to look up at him—“that’s not what you want?”

Harry chuckled. “What do you think? But what I want and what I can have are two very different things.”

Molly looked at her fingers. She was too embarrassed to look at him.

The man she loved.

He stood, and she was at eye level with his muscular thighs, encased in buffskin breeches. She forced herself to look away, to concentrate on the beautiful country scene in front of her.

“We’ll make the best of it tonight,” Harry said. “We worked hard for this, and there’s really no way out without everyone figuring out our ruse. So let’s enjoy it—we’ve won many points, after all—and I promise, I won’t allow anything…unworthy of you to occur.”

Points.

Yes, that’s what this treasure hunt was all about, wasn’t it? She mustn’t forget that, even though in every other way his speech was noble. Endearing, even.

He held out his hand. She took it—and smiled wanly as he pulled her up.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, close enough to his face that he could kiss her with ease.

But he turned away instead and fiddled with the clasp on the leather box.

She suppressed her need to touch him and told herself to be glad. Harry was being wise. Prudent.

And she should follow suit.

“And I thought you were all brawn and no brains, Traemore!” The nasty voice rang out from somewhere to Harry’s left.

He felt a huge black cloud of resentment when he turned and saw Sir Richard walking briskly down the field toward him and Molly, Bunny not far behind.

“Think again, Bell,” Harry returned. “We beat you here, did we not?”

“Yes, well, no doubt luck played a role.” Sir Richard stalked off to a nearby shady tree. He sprawled on the ground, opened a flask, and drank deeply from it.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Congratulations, you two,” said Bunny, a sweet smile on her face, a smile that couldn’t disguise the signs of strain around her eyes.

No wonder. Sir Richard was an ass. And Harry would like nothing more than to kill him.

Molly hugged Bunny. “Thank you. We had such fun.”

“De-li-lah!” Sir Richard called to her. His nasal voice was quite annoying.

Molly looked at Harry, then Bunny. “What does he want of me?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Harry. “And you can ignore him if you’d like.”

“I’m sure he means to insult you in some way,” said Bunny. “And he is already calling you over as if you’re a pet dog. Do ignore him, Delilah.”

Molly pressed her lips together. “I think not. I’m going to tell him a thing or two.”

And she strode off.

“He’d better watch out,” Harry said with a chuckle, then turned and kissed Bunny’s hand. “I hope you know I’m always glad to see you.”

Bunny smiled. “Thank you for saving me from him last night. Although I don’t feel I deserved your help. He insisted I tell everyone Delilah was napping, when she wasn’t.” Her mouth began to quiver. “Please tell her I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Harry said. “We both know Sir Richard gave you no choice.”

Bunny sighed. “That’s no excuse.” A tear trickled down her face.

He took her hand. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I can stop him if he ever attempts to harm you again, but I can’t convince you to believe you deserve better. Please know Delilah and I both think you do.”

Bunny blushed. “Thank you. I—I never realized how…lost I’d become until I met Delilah. She’s helped me think about my life. And what I want.” She looked furtively over at Molly and Sir Richard. “There’s one way I’d like to repay you both. Something I stumbled upon this morning. You must know that Sir Richard wants to ruin any chances Delilah might have of being crowned Most Delectable Companion.”

Harry pretended to be unperturbed. “What’s he doing exactly?”

“I heard him speak to one of the servants. He said he wanted to send him to town with a letter for his ailing mother. I suspected he was up to no good, as he’s been commenting this whole week on Delilah and how ill-suited she is to be in the running for the title. So I intercepted the letter before it went out. “

She reached into her reticule and pulled out the note.

Harry stuffed it in his pocket. “You’ve been a true friend to Delilah, and I appreciate that very much.”

“I care for her,” said Bunny, following Molly’s movement about Sir Richard’s resting place.

Harry watched her shake her finger at Sir Richard. She was telling him off about something. Even now, after his threats, she wasn’t afraid of him.

“She’s truly one of a kind,” said Bunny with a laugh.

“That she is.” He’d always known that about Molly. And he’d always thought her being one of a kind was a bad thing. A lady shouldn’t be so memorable, should she?

Especially when you’d made a promise to forget her.

“Tell me, Delilah,” Sir Richard was saying, “will Harry’s soon-to-be-wife object to his keeping a mistress, or will you be seeking new employment after he loses the competition?”

“None of your business.” Molly put her fists on her hips. “And I’m sure Harry wouldn’t like to hear you speaking ill of him behind his back.”

Sir Richard chuckled. “No need to be offended on his behalf. If Traemore must let you go, at least he’ll have some compensation for your loss in the wit and beauty of his future wife.”

Lovely.

Molly didn’t need to hear how easily she’d be replaced after she and Harry parted ways. So she said nothing.

“Don’t despair,” Sir Richard said. “You may call on me if you’re seeking a new protector. And I always pay a fair wage.”

“Never in a million years,” she returned blithely. “You’re a despicable man, and I quite look forward to never seeing you again after this week.”

She gave him a charming smile.

He stood up. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? You think Traemore will protect your interests.” His voice was smug. “But I assure you, he’s never shown loyalty. To anyone.”

“Be quiet about Harry. You know nothing of him.”

Sir Richard gave her a pitying look. “You sound like all the females who fall under his spell. Trust me, Delilah. Your illusions will soon be shattered. How do you think he came to be known as a ruthless ne’er-do-well? Mere rumor?”

“I said I’m not interested in listening to you!”

He laughed. “You may have heard he discredited himself in the army. Do you know how?”

“No. No one with good taste discusses it. I just know that he was doing very well in the army, and then suddenly…he was disgraced. But he continued on and made a splendid show of bravery at Waterloo.”

“So what? A man can never shake off a truly despicable act, Delilah. Traemore was in the colonel’s tent—seducing the colonel’s wife—when his regiment was ambushed. No one could prove anything, however. He showed up at the ambush at the last minute, when it was too late to help. But for the remainder of his military career, he won no distinctions for meritorious service. He became known as a profligate woman-chaser, gambler, and drinker. Do you see now why he’s called an Impossible Bachelor?”

She shook her head. “Why should I believe what you say? You hate him. And you make it obvious.”

“Of course you wouldn’t believe me,” Sir Richard said. “You’re as charmed by Lord Harry as the colonel’s wife was!” He paused, pulled a small object out of his pocket, and carefully unfolded a layer of linen to reveal a cameo of a beautiful woman with burnished curls the same color as his own, and large gray eyes.

He handed the cameo to Molly. “You would hate him, too, if the colonel’s wife were your sister.”

Molly’s lungs seemed to empty of air. She turned the cameo over—it had been painted on the first anniversary of the marriage of Colonel Frederick Smith to a Miss Abigail Bell.

“I just wish I had been there to protect her in her time of vulnerability,” Sir Richard whispered. “Her husband divorced her. She’s been alone ever since that hour she spent alone in the tent with Traemore.”

Molly fought against the light-headedness threatening to overwhelm her. Sir Richard’s sister looked so happy in her portrait!

“How…how sad for her,” Molly murmured, handing the cameo back to Sir Richard with trembling fingers.

He replaced it in his pocket with great care.

Molly couldn’t help but note that his obvious soft spot for his sister was in stark contrast to the cruel way he treated Bunny.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Molly asked him coolly.

“You’re linked to Traemore, and you two are obviously harboring a secret. If I can get to him another way—a way that has nothing to do with my sister—I will. Confess all to me, and we can bring Traemore down together. We’ll get him legshackled, a fate which will bring him at least some misery. That alone would give me great pleasure.”

Abruptly, Sir Richard strode away, back to where Bunny and Harry were talking. Molly stared after him. She still despised the man, but it seemed he had a legitimate reason to hate Harry.

Harry.

She turned her gaze to him. He was talking to Bunny, laughing at something she said.

Molly couldn’t imagine him seducing the colonel’s wife while the colonel was away. It was such a dishonorable thing. But he’d never claimed to be honorable, had he?

Perhaps the colonel’s wife had lured him into her tent. He was a handsome man. Why wouldn’t she?

But he should have said no if that were the case, a no-nonsense voice in Molly’s head reminded her.

At this very moment, he was being a gentleman, speaking to Bunny with respectful attention. But try as she might to focus on the Harry she’d come to know, Molly’s old distrust of him came back in suffocating waves. Women did fall under his spell. Even Penelope had—two weeks before her engagement!

Molly had proved to be no exception. This whole week her heart had been leading her head, she realized. It was time to get her head back into its rightful position.

Perhaps she didn’t truly love Harry. Perhaps, like Penelope and myriad other women, she’d fallen for a man who had nothing more to recommend him than loads of empty charm and…and a family name that turned heads.

He was nothing more than a spare, her head told her decisively. A spare who’d gone to rack and ruin, whose heroics at Waterloo were probably as short-lived and insubstantial as a curl of smoke from a fired musket.