It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  “Happens to you, too, does it?” Her voice held a definite teasing note.

  “When I’m not thinking things just slip out,” he said, teasing back with a parody of her words. He tried to school his face to look serious, but he could feel his uncooperative lips tugging into a smile. “I hope I didn’t offend you greatly with the use of your Christian name.”

  She grinned. “I thought you English did so love your wall of propriety.”

  “I never had much use for propriety myself,” he remarked, leaning close to make sure no one around them could hear, though the nearest couple was several feet away. “I’d prefer to call you Jemma, if you don’t mind it. It suits you much better in my mind than ‘Miss Adair.’”

  Her pink tongue darted out to lick her upper, then lower lips. “I find I’m curious as to why, Lord Harthorne.”

  “Philip,” he replied, his gaze fixating on the rapid pulse at the hollow space between her lovely collarbones. That small shadowy space fluttered with each beat of her heart. He was certain that her heartbeats had doubled in speed since they’d been standing there. Could it be because of him? Impossible. And even if it wasn’t impossible, it didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter.

  He forced himself to look at her face. “If I’m going to call you Jemma— Am I?” She’d yet to agree, after all.

  She nodded.

  “Then I insist you call me Philip.”

  “All right. Philip it is…if you tell me why you think ‘Miss Adair’ does not suit me.”

  “Because I could tell from the moment I first met you that you held English rules of decorum in low favor. You wore a green-and-white striped day gown and you were the only lady without a bonnet to protect her skin from the sun. Your hair was down, and one ringlet kept fluttering in the wind by your right cheekbone. You looked lovely.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. “However do you remember with such great detail what I wore the day we met and what my hair was doing? That was over six months ago.”

  He could lie. He could make some casual, caustic remark. Isn’t that what a rake would do? He found he didn’t want to be a rake with her. He didn’t have to be, either. Since she was not a potential wife for him, he could be himself. “I suppose I studied you with the mind to write a poem about you.”

  Her lips parted and pulled into a shy smile he’d not have thought her capable of if he weren’t seeing it with his own two eyes. “And did you?” she almost whispered. “Did you truly write a poem about me?” She grinned. “I mean, of course, before the one you started about my eyes.”

  Philip chuckled. He wished more than anything he could say that he had, but he wouldn’t lie to her. “I started to compose it in my mind, but you said something biting and I lost the thread of it.”

  He expected her eyes to narrow or something of the sort to show anger or hurt, but instead, she chuckled, that compelling throaty laugh of hers. He found himself grinning, probably like a damned fool. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because I could see by the tightening of your face that you didn’t want to tell me, but you did anyway. I admire that, and I never thought to admire anything about a man again.”

  The way her eyes glistened in the bright moonlight and the flaming torches made him feel as if he were lost in their blue-green depths. He could not allow himself to become lost. He had two people relying on him to keep their futures secure.

  “How do you know Glenmore?” he asked, instead of telling her what he was really thinking. He could compose a thousand poems about her eyes, her face, her laughter. He could write an ode this very moment.

  “I don’t really know him,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. A damned good thing. He had to stop allowing his mind to linger on her.

  Philip leaned back against the railing so they were facing each other. “That’s good. He’s a rotter.” He didn’t usually speak ill of anyone, but for Glenmore, he’d make an exception.

  She smirked. “How very improper of you, Lord Harthorne,” she teased. “But I daresay, I’m glad you’re not afraid to break a few rules. Do tell why Lord Glenmore is a rotter.”

  Now he’d gone and done it. There was no delicate way to tell a woman the things he knew about Glenmore. “Just take my word for it,” he said.

  Her mouth turned down, and her relaxed shoulders drew upward. “I don’t mean to sound tart-tongued, Philip, but I take no man’s word for anything. And I have a keen interest in learning what it is you know about Lord Glenmore.”

  He leaned closer. “Why is that?”

  “Well,” she said, looking left, then right over her shoulder to see, he presumed, if anyone was near. It was only the two of them and one other couple out there at the moment. She faced him. “My grandfather expects me to marry Lord Glenmore if and when the man asks, and unfortunately, it seems Lord Glenmore is quite taken with my lack of proper decorum.”

  Philip’s gut clenched at the thought of Jemma possibly having to marry Glenmore. “You can tell your grandfather that you learned Glenmore is a sadistic man who takes pleasure in bending women to his will with violent measures. If your grandfather holds any love for you, he will not expect you to marry that man.”

  Jemma bit her lower lip for a moment before speaking. “My grandfather only cares about my obeying his commands, and what he desires is a match between Lord Glenmore and myself.” She sighed. “I’m afraid it’s up to me to ensure Lord Glenmore decides being married to me would not be worth his trouble.”

  While he had his own problems to deal with and his own bride to secure, how could he not help her? She obviously needed someone, and he liked to think he was the sort of man that would never turn away from a person in need. Hellfire.

  “I can help you with that a bit, I think,” Philip said.

  “How?” she whispered, wide-eyed.

  “I can tell you a bit about Glenmore, for starters. We went to school together and used to be very good friends…until I learned what he was really like.”

  “What can you tell me to help me rid myself of him?” she asked, excitement making her tone waver.

  He shrugged. “Pretend you’re insipid.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Glenmore likes fascinating women.”

  “Oh, I see!” She smiled, but the smile swiftly faded and she gawked. “Did you just call me fascinating?”

  He chuckled. “I suppose I did. Now then, also pretend you’re vain. He’s a preening peacock who wants to be the only bird in the room. Do you take my meaning?”

  She nodded. “I should talk about myself excessively and never ask questions about him. What else?”

  Heat seared his face. This last part was likely the most important, but he couldn’t just blurt it out. Yet, he had to. “There is no delicate way to give this last bit of advice.”

  “Just tell me,” she urged.

  “Er, he likes passionate women.” He hoped it didn’t shock Jemma too much. Philip cleared his throat. “Because he wants to control the passion.”

  Not looking the least bit shocked, she gave a decisive nod. “Yes, I gathered as much from some of his comments.”

  “What the devil did Glenmore say to you?” Philip growled, leaning nearer, definitely too close to be wise but still with a proper space between them. Her scent and heat surrounded him in a heady swirl.

  A blush swiftly stole over her cheeks, showing that she was not immune to embarrassment after all. “Let’s just say I think he views me as a wild horse to be tamed.”

  “Sounds like him,” Philip agreed, trying to shake the image of what it would take to tame her, in the best sort of way. Philip swallowed. “Show him you’re more like an old mare.”

  She frowned. “Or I could show him I’m untamable.”

  The woman would kill him with her direct speech, and she would do so without ever knowing what her words were doing to him. Thank God, he’d removed his coat. He was so hot it was if the sun were beating down on him.

  He cleared his throat before spe
aking. “I admire your spunk, but the wisest path is to stick to displaying the characteristics I suggested.”

  A frown creased her brow. “Why?”

  Philip scrubbed a hand across his face. He could not believe he was having this conversation at a ball with a woman. An innocent, no less. “He’s the sort to feed off defiance. Er, he likes to have control, so if you show him you’re untamable I think he’ll consider conquering you a greater prize.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Well, then I’ll heed your advice. Thank you for everything.” She slipped his coat off her shoulders and handed it to him. “I’d better go back inside. No doubt my chaperone, or even my grandfather, will be looking for me. Hopefully we’ll meet again, Philip. I’m glad you rescued me,” she said in a serious tone. “I’m going to start my plan immediately, and when I’m done with Lord Glenmore, he’ll despise me.”

  She grinned, but Philip’s gut clenched. What had he done pitting this innocent woman against a depraved man such as Glenmore? What if the advice he’d given her somehow backfired? Or worse, what if Glenmore saw through the act and became rough with her, possibly even ruined her? Philip wouldn’t put it past the man. Philip had set her on this path, and now he simply had to watch over her, protect her.

  “I can help you get rid of Glenmore,” he said. “Be an aid in your scheme, if you will.”

  “I never take help without having something to give in return, and I have nothing to give you, Lord Harthorne.”

  Her voice had taken on a hard, reproachful edge, and it took a moment for him to realize she had reverted to assuming the worst about him.

  “I realize,” he said patiently, “that you don’t know me, not really, but I am not the sort of man to expect any sort of payment, scandalous or otherwise, from a woman I’ve assisted.”

  A blush stained her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Still, if I accept your help, I’d like to be able to help you with something in return. I don’t wish to feel indebted. But I can’t imagine you need any information I might have.”

  “Not unless you know how to turn me into a rake,” he joked, surprised he felt comfortable enough to talk so freely to her.

  She gaped at him, but then she slowly closed her mouth and swallowed. “It just so happens, I could tell you exactly what makes a man a rake.”

  “You’ve experience?” He quirked an eyebrow at her in an attempt to lighten the question, though her hard tone of seconds ago made him think her answer would be a firm confirmation.

  She tilted her head and assessed him for a long, silent moment. “Why do you want to become a rake?”

  “Because men who are rakes always get the women they want.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you wanting one particular woman, or many?” Her voice had become cold and hard again.

  “One will do nicely for me,” he replied.

  “Then it’s a deal,” she said with a curt nod. “You assist me in ridding myself of Lord Glenmore, and I will help you become a rake. Albeit a nice one.”

  He frowned. “The words rake and nice seem to contradict each other, but that suits me perfectly. I’ll be England’s first nice rake, though I do think I mustn’t appear too nice.”

  She laughed. “If you say so.”

  “I do, and we have an agreement. How shall we get in contact with each other?”

  Before Jemma could reply, a silver-haired woman in a purple gown came rushing through the terrace doors, her chest heaving and her eyes franticly searching the balcony. “Miss Adair!” she cried out in a high-pitched voice as she scurried over to them.

  Philip glanced over Jemma’s shoulder as she turned toward the woman.

  “Mrs. Featherstone, whatever is the matter?” Jemma asked.

  “What’s the matter?” she repeated in a hushed, panicky tone. “What’s the matter is that I’ve been searching everywhere for you!” The woman glanced around, her mouth pinching. “And now it seems I must search out your sister, as well. Your grandfather will dismiss me if anything happens to either of you.” The woman wrung her hands as she looked from Philip to Jemma.

  Philip cleared his throat. “I assure you, Mrs. Featherstone, nothing untoward has occurred with your charge and myself. We strolled the balcony where other couples were in clear view.”

  Jemma patted her chaperone on the arm. “All your worry is for naught. I was being perfectly proper.”

  The woman clucked her tongue. “Such plain conversation!”

  Jemma gave Philip an amused glance. “Mrs. Featherstone, this is the Earl of Harthorne, the Duchess of Aversley’s brother. He has no designs on me, nor I on him.”

  Philip barely restrained his frown at that statement. It was true enough what Jemma had said, but he’d rather like to think she did have some sort of attraction to him, as he did her, whether they could act on it or not. Not that she’d announce it.

  He growled, and both women glanced at him. Damnation, but Jemma made him act unreasonable, and he barely knew her. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “Something’s in my throat.”

  Jemma nodded, then turned her attention back to her chaperone. “Where did you last see Anne?”

  “She came to me and asked if she could stroll on the terrace with Mr. Frazier, and I told her she could.” The woman swept a hand around in the air and shook her head. “Clearly, she is not here.”

  Philip glanced at Jemma, who was now wringing her own hands as her chaperone had been. Was she thinking what he was? Did she know Frazier, or had she simply heard the talk in the ton that the man was a rake through and through. Philip and Jemma had been on the terrace awhile now, but Jemma’s sister hadn’t been there. He didn’t like the sound of this at all. The little he did know of Mr. Frazier was that the man was ruthless and reckless in business. The first had made him successful, but rumors had been swirling that the second had hurt his company as of late. He didn’t give a damn what the man did with his business, but if he was playing recklessly with Jemma’s sister’s reputation, he would pay. Philip didn’t make a habit of dueling, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a damn good shot.

  Mrs. Featherstone let out a loud sniff as if she was about to cry, and then tears shimmered in her eyes. Jemma’s mouth fell open.

  “I need this job desperately,” Mrs. Featherstone whispered. “My husband died last year and left me and my girl with nothing. I hadn’t been a chaperone in years. I married late and was near a spinster when my husband came along.” Her voice wobbled as she spoke. “I might have embellished my recent experience, but I vow I was a good chaperone before. What am I going to do? What—”

  “Enough,” Jemma interrupted and then placed a hand on the distraught woman’s arm. “You are a perfectly acceptable chaperone. If Anne is not where she said she would be that’s not your fault. It’s Anne’s and Mr. Frazier’s. You aren’t going to lose your position, and we’re going to find her as soon as I figure out where to look.”

  “If I were Mr. Frazier and I wanted to be alone with a woman I’d take her to the gardens,” Philip suggested. “It’s easy to get there unnoticed under the cover of the full foliage and dark night, and you can hear the music from the ballroom, which enables you to count—if you are paying attention—how many songs for which you have been absent.”

  Jemma’s gawk made his neck heat with the realization of how his words must have sounded. “I was betrothed for a short time,” he said by way of explanation.

  She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, then shook her head. “You may not need as much help with your goal as you led me to believe.”

  Despite the tense circumstances, he laughed. Maybe she was right.

  “Would you tell us the quickest way to get to the gardens?” she asked.

  Philip shook his head. “No.”

  “No?” Her brow furrowed.

  “I’ll lead you both there.”

  She looked as if she was going to argue, but then she nodded. “I suppose that will be the wisest thing since you know the way.”

  He thought he
understood her concern. “I vow my complete discretion, Miss Adair.”

  Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Thank you. Please lead the way.”

  He nodded and then motioned toward a spiral staircase at the left side of the terrace. “Follow me.”

  Within moments, they were winding down a dark, pebbled path lit by glowing torches.

  “Where shall we check first?” Jemma whispered to his back.

  He was about to answer her when a giggle erupted from up ahead, and suddenly, Miss Anne appeared under a torch, hand in hand with Frazier.

  Philip clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes. If it had been anyone other than him or Jemma to come upon the two of them, Miss Anne would be ruined now. “Release her at once,” Philip snapped and strode ahead to physically make Frazier do it if the man didn’t obey.

  Frazier let go of her hand and held up his palms. “Calm down, Harthorne. We only looked at the stars fur a moment.”

  Philip had to take but one look at Miss Anne’s disheveled hair and swollen red lips to know Frazier had done much more than simply stargaze with Jemma’s sister. And judging by Jemma’s burning expression as she came to stand next to Philip and Mrs. Featherstone’s pinched lips, both women held the same opinion as Philip did.

  Jemma grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her near. “Stay away from my sister,” Jemma spat at Frazier.

  He shook his head. “I’ve the best intentions when it comes ta yer sister.”

  “He does, Jemma, truly,” Anne hurriedly agreed.

  Jemma looked as if she could gladly throttle Frazier with her hands balled into fists, and Philip didn’t blame her one bit. He stepped toward Frazier. “I don’t know how things are done where you’re from, but I highly doubt the proper rules of courting are that much different in Scotland than they are here. If you risk the lady’s honor again, I’ll meet you on the field with pistols. Understood?”

  “Aye,” Frazier grumbled. “Understood.”

  “Excellent,” Philip said calmly, though his blood rushed through him with anger. “I suggest you go now so your presence won’t invoke any gossip, and I’ll escort all three ladies back to the ballroom to find their grandfather. I’m sure they’re ready to go.”