It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels

by Grace Burrowes

  Frazier stepped forward and offered his escort to Miss Anne. “Allow me ta take ye back ta yer seat,” Frazier offered.

  She took his elbow with obvious pleasure. Jemma moved to accompany them, but Anne shot her a look. “We will go straight to the box. No harm can come.”

  Philip saw Jemma tense but she nodded, and Anne and Frazier also disappeared into the crowd. Jemma faced Philip, and her eyes held his for a long moment. “Thank you,” she finally said. The two words were simple, mundane, but filled with such a depth of trembling emotion that his chest tightened at the gratitude in her voice.

  “There’s no need to thank me. Any gentleman would have done the same for you had you asked.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t agree. But I’ll admit I could be wrong since I do believe you might possibly be the first true gentleman I’ve ever met.”

  It was the single greatest compliment a woman had ever given him, and it made him like her more. Too much more. Far greater than was wise for either of them.

  “Jemma, I—” Hell, how was he supposed to explain to her that he liked her, that his attraction to her was growing? He wanted to learn what made her laugh, cry, and cringe, and that scared the hell out of him. He wiped a hand down his face and tried to rid himself of the vision of taking her in his arms and capturing her mouth with his so he could hear a moan of true desire for him from her lips. These fantasies would never happen because he was in debt, and in order to protect his mother and cousin Eustice, he required a dowry. He couldn’t explain that to Jemma.

  She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you worried I’ve forgotten your rake lessons?”

  No. “Yes.” His first outright lie. Now he really was a rake.

  She tilted her head to the right, threw her head back, and laughed heartily and unexpectedly. A few heads swiveled their way as she smiled up at him as if he were the most fascinating man she’d ever met. Though he knew it was an act, he hardened instantly.

  She licked her lips and batted her eyes. “Smile wolfishly,” she whispered. “And then reach for my face as if you want to touch it and can barely hold yourself back.”

  He complied, immediately coming a hairbreadth from touching the delicate slope of her cheekbone. His entire body so ached with the need to touch her that his fingers trembled and he had to clench his hand into a fist in order to stop himself. He hissed as he snatched his hand back and pressed it to his side.

  Her eyes widened as she looked at him. “That was utterly believable,” she said in low, hushed tones. “You are a very quick learner.”

  Everything about her beckoned him in. “It’s easy to play the rake with a teacher as beautiful as you.” Hellfire. He was out of control. He had to compose himself and remember who he was, who she was, and what could never be.

  “Still practicing?” she asked in a throaty voice.

  No. He nodded. He refused to speak any more lies. “I believe that’s enough of a show for now. Shall we join the others?”

  She met his smile with a glorious one of her own and slipped her hand into the crook of his proffered arm, and for the first time since he’d known her, she leaned toward him as they walked side by side and not away, as if she trusted him to lead her. His chest expanded with the weight of her trust. He would be a good friend to her, even if that’s all he could be.

  Philip guided Jemma through the crowd and back toward her grandfather’s box, but she paused near the steps that led into it and regarded him. “What sort of woman are you hoping to catch by playing the rake, Philip?”

  “Why?” he choked out, his heart thudding in his chest.

  Jemma crooked her mouth. “Well, I certainly plan to keep my side of our bargain and help you master being a rake, but it seems to me that any woman worthy of you would like you just the way you are. You should not have to pretend to be something you aren’t.”

  “Maybe this is the act,” he said. When he thought about how he was going to pick a bride mostly because she had a large dowry, he didn’t think he knew himself anymore. He was not the sort of man who would have ever done that in the past. Desperation changed a man, he supposed.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I believe that.”

  He clenched his jaw. He liked that she saw him as good. He liked it too damn much. But he wasn’t the paragon she was now creating in her mind. “Maybe you should believe it.” His voice came out harsh, and her eyes narrowed in response. Leave it to Jemma to become angry and not wither at his words as most females would have done. “Maybe I want ladies to think I’m good and kind, but deep down I’m bad…with a nefarious plan.”

  “What would this nefarious plan be?” she demanded with a raised, haughty I-don’t-believe-you eyebrow.

  He stilled. He’d promised himself if a lady ever asked if he needed to marry for money he would tell the truth. His conscience was screaming at him. Since Jemma was not a candidate, though, did he have to tell her?

  “Harthorne!” a deep voice boomed from the top of the stairwell. “Mrs. Featherstone is becomin’ frantic that ye abducted Miss Adair,” Frazier said with a chuckle. “Cuid ye kindly bring the lassie up before her chaperone has a fit o’ th’ vapors?”

  Jemma and Philip locked glances. “I guess that’s our cue,” Philip whispered. Jemma nodded, and releasing him, she strolled ahead. Her hips swayed gently as she walked up the stairs, and with each step, his attraction to her was becoming harder to deny. He was a fool. Only fools fell for women they could never have. He ground his teeth and jerked his gaze away from her. Henceforth, he would not allow his thoughts to stray beyond friendship.

  The rest of the play was a blur. Philip spent his energy trying to concentrate on the actors onstage rather than stare at Jemma. Every time she gasped or sighed, or especially when he heard her sniffle, he wanted to study her and commit to memory how each emotion played on her lovely face. But he forced himself to look straight ahead. It was better not to know the varied expressions she wore. It would only be more for him to ponder and agonize over.

  After the play was over and they all strolled out into the warm, starlit night, Jemma turned to Lord Glenmore and held out her hand. “Good night, Lord Glenmore.”

  Philip smiled appreciatively. She had effectively left the man no choice but to go or look the fool. He sketched a quick bow with a tight face. “Might I call on you tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I would so dearly love that, but I’m otherwise engaged tomorrow picking out new gowns in Town.”

  “All day?” His irritation and disbelief were evident.

  She nodded. “All day. I do so love fashion, remember?”

  “How could I forget . . . I suppose all that’s left to say, then, is I’ll see you soon. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  As Glenmore departed in his carriage, Philip’s driver pulled around, and Philip tried to determine the best way to maneuver it so that he was not sitting beside Jemma in the carriage. He was saved from such ridiculous maneuvering when Frazier invited him for a drink.

  Jemma vigorously nodded her encouragement. “Please do go, Lord Harthorne,” she insisted. “Your driver can see us safely home. There is no reason you shouldn’t enjoy the rest of the night with Mr. Frazier.”

  He expected to feel relieved, and yet, he didn’t. Instead, disappointment rushed through him.

  Once the ladies were settled into the carriage, Philip instructed his driver to leave, and he stood staring at his disappearing carriage until Frazier nudged him with his elbow. “Finally free,” Frazier said and clapped Philip on the back. “C’mon, man, here’s mah coach. We’ll go ta Satan’s Den and finally have some fun tonight.”

  Frazier’s words did not bode well for him truly caring for Miss Anne. Philip glanced around the crowded street. Surrounded by people as they were it was not an ideal time to ferret out information. He normally eschewed hellfire clubs, as he disliked the notion of a bunch of men sitting around leering at naked women, exchanging bawdy sexual jokes, and participating in
all manner of lewd acts, but he had promised Jemma to try to learn Frazier’s intentions. Philip ascended into Frazier’s carriage, and they set off.

  Not ten minutes later, they pulled up to a dark street. Frazier climbed out, and Philip followed. After Frazier instructed his coachman to wait, Philip trailed Frazier down a winding path through a courtyard that appeared to have once belonged to a church. Religious plaques, crosses, and statures of saints were scattered about the space. Ahead, the sound of high feminine laughter mingled with men’s deeper tones, and the lively notes of music and smell of swirling cigar smoke in the air hinted at the possibility that the courtyard was the entrance for Satan’s Den.

  Immediately, a poem tickled Philip’s mind as he walked through a large, black, iron gate and past a statue of a naked man peeing, it seemed, on a naked woman.

  Sin of dark, sin of light, cuts her heart with your blight.

  He shook his head. That was bloody awful, which was apropos for this club.

  Frazier and Philip continued through a heavy oak door that seemed to open of its own volition. Several curving, shadowy corridors and one set of creaky, damp steps later, and Philip was in a windowless room that contained one barkeep, four tables, and several mostly naked women strolling around. A haze of white smoke filled the air, and the smells of liquor, dust, and mold swirled around him. As he and Frazier walked to their seats, Philip sidestepped a woman who was crooking her finger at him and gave her a polite shake of his head. Sex with a stranger did not appeal to him in the least.

  Frazier, however, found sex with a stranger vastly appealing if the kiss he was giving the blonde who had her arms wrapped around his neck was any indication. After a minute, Frazier broke away from the blonde and joined Philip at the table.

  “A friend of yours?” Philip asked.

  Frazier raised his eyebrows. “She weel be soon enough.”

  Philip clenched his jaw. He was disliking Frazier more as each moment passed. Within seconds, two brandies were placed in front of them. He eyed the glass while strategizing. Frazier, with his hooded eyes, did not strike Philip as the sort of man to simply confess his intentions. What he needed to do was loosen Frazier’s tongue, and there was no better way to do that—as his own painful experience told him—than with a few drinks. The problem was that Philip knew damn well that if he had more than two drinks, his own tongue would start wagging, and he may lose the contents of his stomach if the drinks went past three or four. And Frazier would insist Philip join him.

  Philip swiped a hand over his face. He’d do it for Jemma. He picked up his tumbler and held it up in the air. “Salute!”

  Frazier raised his glass and clanked it against Philip’s. “Sláinte!” The man downed the entire contents and slammed the glass onto the table.

  Philip gritted his teeth and followed suit, causing Frazier to grin. “Ah dinnot take ye fur a man who liked his brandy. Ah respect ye, more now, ye ken?”

  Ah yes. It is always wise to respect a drunkard. Bloody idiot.

  Philip nodded anyway, keeping up his ruse. “Same to you.”

  Frazier signaled to the waiter to bring them another. As the man came over and set two more full brandies down in front of them, Frazier said, “I’ll be right back. I’ve got ta use th’ privy.”

  The moment Frazier disappeared from the room, Philip grabbed his brandy and walked as inconspicuously as possible over to a shadowy corner. He dumped the contents of his glass onto the floor before strolling back to the table. When Frazier returned, Philip was leaning back in his chair with his legs crossed. “Drink up, Frazier. I’m one ahead of you.”

  The man downed the liquor without question and ordered them two more. This time, when the drinks came, Philip excused himself to go to the privy and took his drink with him. After emptying the brandy on the ground, he came back and announced he’d drank the drink on the way. Frazier chuckled. “Careful, man. Mah own da was like that. Cuid nae go anywhere without a drink in his hand once he started imbibing. He died of th’ drink.”

  “Duly noted,” Philip said.

  When the fourth drink came, Frazier was swaying in his seat and Philip made his move.

  “Seems to me an enamored man wouldn’t care to go to a hellfire club, leer at other women, and certainly not bed them.”

  Frazier chuckled. “Wha’ makes ye think I’m besotted?”

  Philip tensed. “I assumed…”

  Frazier eyed Philip for a long moment. “Ah like Anne well enough. I’ll marry her, for certain. She’ll come with a bonny dowry, and Ah need it fur mah company. Times have been hard lately. But infatuated?” He shook his head. “Only a fool would allow a woman that sort o’ power over him, and Ah em nae a fool.”

  Damnation. Jemma’s fears were well founded; this imbecile was only after Miss Anne because he mistakenly believed she had a dowry. Philip’s chest tightened. She was clearly enamored with Frazier and the man was going to break her heart the minute he realized there was, in fact, no dowry attached to her.

  Philip leaned toward Frazier. “I want you to leave Miss Anne alone.”

  “Why would Ah dae that?” Frazier slurred. “I’m gonna marry her, even if Rowan won’t approve it. I’ll squire her away ta Gretna Green. He’ll have ta accept the marriage.”

  Philip shook his head. “You’re mistaken. He won’t. And there is no dowry from her grandfather.”

  Frazier smirked. “Tha’s wha’ ye think,” he hiccupped.

  “That’s what I know,” Philip bit out.

  Frazier waved an unsteady hand at Philip. “Dowry, flowery, powery.”

  The man was a drunken fool with no conscience. Philip shoved his chair back. He’d gotten the information he needed, and he didn’t care to stay in Frazier’s company one more second. The man disgusted him.

  “Wha’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Philip snapped. “I simply need to go.”

  Frazier pushed his chair back and stood unsteadily. “Ah dinnot take ye fur the sort of lord ta get discomfited over a man trying ta make his way in this world. I’ve heard ye speak before and ye seemed the sort who was fur the betterin’ of the less fortunate.”

  “Through hard work,” Philip clipped.

  “Oh aye? Hard work, is it?” Frazier tilted his head. “Is that what yer doin’ chasin’ after Miss Adair’s skirts? Hard work?”

  “You’re mistaken,” Philip growled. “It’s not like that between us.”

  Frazier shook his head. “Ah dinnot think I’m mistaken. Ah keep an ear ta the wind and mah eyes open at all times.” He pointed at Philip. “Ye’ve the look of a man in search of a bonny bride with a fat dowry yerself. Yer eyes skim the crowds with a pained look of one who must. And I’ve driven by yer land. Ah ken yer crops have failed ye, several years runnin’ now.”

  Philip planted his legs wide, anger pulsating through him. “Why the devil did you drive by my lands?”

  “Because, my lord,” Frazier said with an insolent air while crossing his arms over his chest, “Ah had an eye ta court yer sister, the fair Lady Amelia, so Ah inspected ye.”

  Philip struck before he thought. His fist connected with Frazier’s face with a satisfying crack. The blood that spurted from the man’s nose told Philip he’d not lost his aim or his ability to throw a facer. Philip flexed his fingers as his knuckles throbbed. “You’re very lucky you did not approach my sister. You’d be a dead man now.”

  Frazier cupped his nose. “Mah apologies if Ah mistook yer situation.”

  The hell of it was Frazier hadn’t. Self-disgust ate at Philip. Was he any better than Frazier? The only advantage he had on the man was that he would never try to ruin a woman to force her father’s hand, and he had planned to be honest with any woman he was courting if she asked. But damn it all, he had to do better than that. Be better than that. If things became serious with a woman, he would tell her his situation, no matter what.

  “We are different, you and I,” Philip stated, probably more to affirm it to himself than anything.<
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  Frazier brought his hand away from his nose. “Not se much as ye want ta believe, Ah think. Ye may not be chasin’ after Miss Adair, but yer huntin’ a bride who isn’t poor. Aye?”

  Philip refused to lie or affirm it. He hated himself at this moment. “Good-bye, Frazier.” He was halfway up the stairs toward the exit when Frazier called out to him. Philip glanced down the stairs at the drunkard.

  “I’ll have mah driver take ye home.”

  Philip shook his head. “I’d rather walk.”

  “Suit yerself,” Frazier snapped.

  The walk to Mayfair was long, but it gave Philip time to think. He wasn’t sure he could go through with marrying a woman he didn’t love, and his hope for quickly finding a rich bride whom he loved seemed increasingly unlikely. He needed a different option, a way to care for his mother and cousin without borrowing money he could never pay back, without taking employment, and without having to marry for money.

  When he got to his house, he was no better off than when he’d started walking. He didn’t have one damn idea. He had to keep searching for a bride, but he was going to search for an alternative solution, as well. Maybe he’d talk to Scarsdale again and see if the man had any new ideas. They’d not had a great deal of time to talk previously, after all. There had to be another way.

  Chapter Nine

  Philip rose early the next morning in hopes of breaking his fast alone and then heading off to see Scarsdale before calling on Jemma to tell her what he had learned about Frazier. As he neared the dining room, the distinct quick, merry chatter of women drifted down the hall. He paused outside the dining room door, debating whether to skip the morning meal to avoid having to converse with Mother and Cousin Eustice. He had too much on his mind to make small talk, which would be expected since the footman had informed him that Eustice had arrived at their house last night. Philip had yet to greet her.