by Wendy Vella
Her skin seemed to glow in the ivory dress. The overskirt appearing to float around her lush body, and her hair was arranged in soft curls with tiny diamonds that looked like stars dotted throughout. She’d taken his breath away when he’d first seen her enter the room.
How had he never seen this woman before—really seen the beauty inside and out?
“Please call me Miss Partridge.”
Her words were a plea, and Harry felt helpless as he watched her walk away from him. He didn’t often feel excesses of emotion, but when she moved to her fiancé’s side, rage consumed him. Rage, and despair.
Chapter Eight
The dinner was long and laborious, with multiple courses, and Harry spent a great deal of it ignoring those to the left and right of him and watching Jemma. She barely ate or smiled, and when she did it was forced. She never looked his way even once. He stood when she got to her feet to signal that the women would leave the room, and nearly followed when she briefly found his eyes.
Unable to sit, he walked around the room, looking at the paintings, all of which were horse racing scenes.
“Lucky devil, wouldn’t you say, Harrington?”
Lord Oakley joined him where he stood looking at but not really seeing the painting before him.
“To whom are you referring, Oakley?”
The man had a ridiculously long gray mustache that he seemed to constantly dip in whatever drink he was imbibing.
“Crickley.” He nodded to the end of the table where their host was regaling those closest with a story that Harry could not hear. “Nubile young thing like that, can’t help envying the man, especially at his age. Let’s hope his heart doesn’t give out in bed.”
Harry remembered the conversation he’d had with Jemma earlier. She’d said there were many unhappy women in society, and he would not allow her to become one of them.
“It’s extremely vulgar to discuss Miss Partridge in such terms, Oakley.”
The man didn’t look offended.
“Come now, Harrington, the women have left the room, it is just we men. Surely you do not deny how splendid her breasts are?”
“Harry, will you come and settle an argument for me, please? Thomas is trying to tell me his grays are faster than mine.”
Phillip’s voice infiltrated Harry’s rage. He stepped closer to Lord Oakley, his words spoken in a soft growl. “Never again speak in such an insulting manner of Miss Partridge, Oakley, or I shall be forced to make sure they are your last words.” He then walked away from the man and joined his brother.
“What was that about, Harry? Oakley looks to be having some kind of fit,” Phillip said.
“What?”
“You looked like you were about to plant your fist in Oakley’s face.”
“The man’s a fool.” Harry did not elaborate because Thomas would not like to hear the way his cousin had been discussed.
“That is not under dispute. However, I should like to hear what you were discussing, as you never show emotion in public.”
“I am not such a cold fish, surely?” Harry remembered Miss Partridge’s comment about his haughtiness.
His brother’s silence was confirmation enough.
“I have much on my mind,” Harry defended himself.
“Of course, but perhaps when you enter society you could make the effort to leave some of it in your office.”
Phillip had a pleasant look on his face; to those observing them, they would appear to be conversing over nothing serious.
“How do you do that?”
“What?” Phillip frowned.
“Look like you are enjoying yourself all the time, when you can’t be.”
“I think of something that makes me smile, and it usually does.”
“I don’t want to know,” Harry muttered.
“You look in need of this, Harrington.” Jemma’s cousin handed him a glass of whiskey.
“Spending time in the company of idiots can do that to a man, Radler,” Harry said as he took the glass of amber liquid.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Why must you believe that every conversation I have is related to you, brother?”
“Because in fairness it usually is. I am an interesting man, it’s natural to presume, surely?”
“Vanity will be your downfall,” Harry said.
“I have often thought it would be nice to have a brother, but then I spend time with them, and realize that actually, I’m happy with things the way they are, although right at this moment, my cousin is not aiding my digestion,” Lord Radler said.
“Brothers are handy sorts of things upon occasion, Thomas. Although this one tends to be a trifle stuffy and moralistic.”
Harry rolled his eyes but refused to bite.
“Your cousin is not happy, Radler.”
“This I now know, Harry, but what I don’t know is how to help her, as she will not talk to me.”
“Which just goes to show she must be distressed, as all women like to talk about themselves,” Phillip said.
Harry thought about Jemma while Phillip and Thomas fell into a conversation about women. Minutes later he began to wander around the room once more. Unsettled and needing an outlet for his frustration, he studied the cold gray walls. His Hero should not be forced to live out her days in such a hideous place.
“Gentlemen, we shall join the ladies now.”
Lord Crickley’s pompous voice had the men filing from the room. Harry kept his distance from the man, as just looking at him made him want to howl with rage. The thought of Crickley touching Jemma was not a pleasant one, and could not be allowed to happen. Would not!
The distant sound of music accompanied their steps as they climbed. The ladies, he guessed, were playing the pianoforte and his head literally hurt at the prospect of a night spent listening to music and singing.
“I shall join you shortly,” he told Phillip when they reached the room. Harry continued on down the hallway, happy to be stretching his legs and moving away from the music. He strolled slowly, needing quiet to think of how he was to get Jemma away from her betrothed.
She was a sensible woman, and he knew would not marry a man for either status or wealth. Having thought about this constantly Harry had come to the conclusion that Crickley was holding something over her, but what?
He reached another set of stairs and began to climb. At the top was another hallway, and at the end he found her in a small alcove. Her back was to him, her eyes on the window.
“I am sure the view will be far superior tomorrow, and a white vista will meet our eyes when we rise from our warm beds, Jemma.”
Her shoulders stiffened as Harry spoke, and then she slowly turned to face him. Shadows hid her expression, but he knew when he stepped closer he would see the glisten of tears on her cheeks.
“Indeed, I-I am most excited at the prospect. I have heard only wondrous things about the countryside here.”
“You will find none finer.”
“You must excuse me for not greeting you when you and the other gentlemen joined the ladies, Lord Harrington. I had a small matter that needed my attention.”
Her voice sounded thick with tears. The pain she was suffering made his heart ache.
“The guests will survive your absence, Jemma.”
“Will you escort me back, my Lord?”
“Not before we observe tradition, Jemma.”
Her eyes followed his gaze to the ceiling.
“How strange to find mistletoe here, when surely not many pass this way?
Harry had a fairly sound notion as to why it was here, putting the mistletoe’s placement down to the licentious nature of Lord Crickley and his reputation with the female members of his staff.
“I think as it is only us, Lord Harrington, and we… we don’t even care for each other, that we can ignore such a tradition.”
He stepped closer and she backed away, forced to stop when she was pressed to the window.
“Why are you crying,
Jemma.”
She rubbed a gloved hand over her eyes.
“Merely a silly reaction to the joy I am experiencing at the prospect of my upcoming marriage.”
Reaching behind him, Harry pulled the curtain enclosing them in the small space.
“Now that is a lie, Jemma. Anyone who looked at you would know your tears are of sadness.” He placed a hand around her waist, laying his palm flat on her back as he urged her closer.
“I demand you release me.”
As her voice held not strength, Harry instead pulled her closer.
“Please, you can’t do this.”
“I have kept this in my breast pocket every day since the Cavanagh ball.”
Jemma made a small noise as she looked down at the bracelet he now held in his palm.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“You know why.”
“I’m sure I do not!” She managed to sound outraged, yet she was not fighting him for release, instead her body pressing closer to his.
“Hero,” he breathed the name against her lips.
“No!”
“Yes.” Harry kissed her.
She tried to resist but he simply nibbled on her lips, tracing the bottom one with his tongue until on a sob she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back.
“You are mine,” he rasped.
She didn’t answer, simply let him take her mouth beneath his once more. Harry couldn’t get close enough to her; his blood was on fire, and he was suddenly possessed with a furious need to take her, feel the soft silken walls of her secret places clench around his arousal as he sank inside her.
His hands shook as he reached for her bodice. Tugging it lower, he freed her breasts. Kissing the full flesh, he then sucked the nipples deep into his mouth.
“Harry,” she moaned, urging him on.
He slipped a hand beneath her skirts, sliding his palm up her leg until he could stroke the soft round globe of a buttock. Her skin was warm to touch, inflaming him more. Moving his fingers to the front, he slipped them between her legs and found her dew.
“I need you, Jemma.”
“No! This can never be.”
“Then pull away from me,” Harry rasped.
Her eyes caught and held his. “I cannot.”
Harry picked her up and lowered her onto the window sill. Freeing his arousal, he then stepped between her legs and eased himself deep inside her. She wrapped her arms around him as he drove into her again and again, each thrust hiking his passions to an unbearable height, until suddenly he was there, just as she cried out, her arms gripping his neck hard. Harry shuddered as he poured himself deep inside her body.
He staggered to the seat and fell onto it, taking her with him. She slumped against him; still holding him tight.
“Sweet Jesus, Jemma.”
She didn’t answer, her head buried in his neck, breathing ragged.
“You knew it was me?”
“At the well, when you left, and I inhaled your scent.”
“For me, it was at the pond.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. Her fingers brushed his hair aside and then trailed down the length of his cheek. The touch was so soft, yet he felt the contact through his entire body.
“I won’t let you marry him, Jemma. You belong to me.”
“I must.”
“No.” He reached for her as she climbed out of his lap, but she evaded his hands. He rose and straightened his clothes as Jemma did the same thing.
“You cannot marry him when you love me.”
“I must marry him, and there is nothing you or anyone can do to stop that from happening.”
She did not deny that she loved him.
“Why? What hold does Crickley have over you?” Harry took her arm when he had finished dressing himself. “I am a powerful man, and I will see you freed from him so we can be together, Jemma.”
She cried then, soft silent tears that broke Harry’s heart. He felt the ground beneath his feet move as he looked at this beautiful woman.
“I love you, Jemma.”
“No!” She stumbled back from him. “Oh, please do not say that to me, not now, not when I cannot be with you again.”
“Yes, you can, and you will,” Harry said, hating the fear that was building inside him.
“I can’t, Harry. Don’t you see? If it were possible I would marry you tomorrow, but I cannot as there is more at stake than just you and I. Please, you must understand, there is nothing that can be done to change this. I will marry Lord Crickley, and you must stay away from me.”
“You ask the impossible of me.” He stepped toward her, but she turned and fled once again.
“Jemma!” Harry followed, running too. He nearly had her, but she slipped into a room and slammed the door. His heart sank as he heard the key turn in the lock.
“Open the door!”
“No. Now please leave before someone hears you.”
“I will not; not until you tell me what hold Crickley has over you.”
Harry pressed his ear to the wood to hear Jemma’s reply.
“I cannot, and you will make trouble for me and my family if you do not leave at once.”
Frustrated, Harry banged a fist against the solid door, but it did not open.
“I will return, Jemma, and we will talk.”
“Please go, Harry.”
He heard the desperation even muffled through the door. Making himself walk away, he left the woman he now knew he loved with all that he was. There would be no other for him. No one could ever hope to take the place of Jemma in his heart.
Retracing his steps, he soon found the music room. Entering, he signaled to Phillip his intention to leave, and his brother followed him out to the carriage.
“I can’t say I’m sorry,” Phillip said as the carriage started down the driveway. “Miss Hewbert has a hideous high-pitched voice.”
“I am in love with Jemma Partridge, Phillip.”
For the first time in his life, Harry had silenced his brother completely. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide.
“You look like a simple fool; pray, shut your mouth.”
“I thought you loved this Hero woman?”
“They are one and the same, I have recently found out.”
“Good God, are they really? How perfectly wonderful.”
“It would be if she were not betrothed to another, and refusing to break that betrothal for reasons she will not tell me.”
“And you know this because you have recently conversed with her?”
Harry nodded, remembering the feel of Jemma in his arms as they made love, almost as if they were one person. Now that he’d admitted his love for her, it consumed him. It was all-encompassing, and he knew it would remain so for always.
“If I have to kidnap her I’ll do it, Phillip. I need you to understand that this could become ugly, and I care nothing for that, only that I will end up with Jemma Partridge as my wife, no matter what it takes.”
“Good God,” Phillip said once again. “For years the only thing that inflamed your emotions was tallying your accounts correctly, and suddenly this. You will allow me to take some time to adjust, brother.”
Time, unfortunately, is something I do not have, Harry thought, as four days from now his beloved would be marrying another. He needed to move fast, he was just unsure which direction to take, and what he was dealing with. But one thing he was certain of, and that was his belief Crickley held something over Jemma. Something that had forced her into marriage.
Chapter Nine
Harry and Phillip threw open the doors to Harrington House the following evening. Not literally of course, as it was bloody freezing, but they had invited in their tenants and the villagers as his family had done for generations. The few noblemen to attend were happy to come to such an occasion, where they would rub shoulders with those not born into a title or wealth.
The house smelled of cinnamon and rosemary, and was decorated with huge bo
ughs of greenery. Three long trestle tables were filled with food and drink. Every candle and chandelier was lit and fireplaces roared. Curtains were closed to ward off the evening air, and the musicians were tuning their instruments.
Baskets had been prepared for when the guests left, and Harry knew that his parents would be proud of what he and his brother had achieved. He wished that Jemma were at his side to greet the guests, and vowed she would be next year.
He did not usually invite Crickley, but had sent over an invitation that afternoon, deciding he would rather see Jemma with her betrothed than not see her at all. As yet they had not arrived.
“Jemma and Crickley should arrive soon,” Phillip said as if reading his thoughts. “Thomas, however, left early this morning for Smitherton’s house, and is not due to arrive back until tomorrow.”
“He should not have left her.”
“She is with her parents, Harry,” Phillip said, shooting him a surprised look. “Surely no harm can come to her with him gone but a day?”
“I need his help to convince Jemma to tell us what hold Crickley has over her.”
“Oh, I see.” Phillip nodded. “I believe he returns tomorrow afternoon, and if all else fails, there is always your plan to abduct her.”
“Do you think I was not serious, brother?”
“No. I know you well enough to believe you will do exactly as you say. Of course, you would create a scandal, so it is my hope that you can convince Jemma to break her betrothal before you must resort to such drastic measures.”
“As do I, but I will do what is necessary to ensure she becomes my wife.
“But right now you must attempt to smile, Harry, as this is meant to be a jolly occasion.”
“Sorry, but I am not feeling jolly.” Harry forced his lips upward as more guests arrived.
“We still have time, brother. I promise that she will not wed that man, even if I must aid you in kidnapping her.” Phillip was talking out the side of his mouth.
“You mean a great deal to me, Phillip, I hope you know that, and that if I may seem hard on you, it is because it is my job to be so.”
“I know it, and I feel the same for you. Now, enough of this, or my necktie will be needed to mop up my tears.”
