Jemma’s jaw dropped open. She was not imagining things. His black-clad figure consumed the doorway with his broad shoulders and towering height. He moved into the room with easy grace, greeting her grandfather, then Anne, and finally, his gaze locked on her. She stilled, unable to tear her eyes away from him.
“Miss Adair,” he said properly, but somehow, somehow, her name rolled off his tongue in a way that made her toes curl in her slippers. Blast him. A longing to touch him consumed her so she forced her anger and hurt to the surface. She needed to be strong and protect herself.
“Lord Harthorne,” she replied, nodding her head. “I must say, I am surprised you have the audacity to come here when I expressly asked you not to.” She cringed when she saw him flinch at her words. Anne gasped beside her and rose quickly.
“Please forgive my sister’s tart tongue,” Anne chided and moved as if to greet Philip.
In a blur, Anne flew forward, and Philip caught her in his arms. Jemma jumped to her feet to go to Anne and see if she was all right when her grandfather grasped his chest.
“The pain!” he moaned.
Jemma rushed to her grandfather’s side at the same moment as Dr. Talbot. “Mr. Sims, have the footman carry Rowan to his bedchamber,” the physician demanded.
A moment later, the two footmen were there, one scooping up Grandfather and carrying him out of the room while Philip helped a wincing Anne into the arms of the other footman, who would assist her upstairs. Jemma’s heart pounded as she followed them, Dr. Talbot, and Mrs. Featherstone up the stairs. When the footman carrying Grandfather turned to the side to open Grandfather’s bedchamber door, Jemma caught a glimpse of her grandfather’s face. He was smiling. She frowned. For a man who had just been moaning, it seemed odd that he was now smiling.
The footman and the physician went into the bedchamber and shut the door, and Mr. Sims stationed himself before the threshold.
Jemma paused in front of Mr. Sims. “I’d like to go in, please.”
Mr. Sims’s face turned red. “I’m sorry, Miss Adair. Dr. Talbot said for me to keep everyone out for the time being.”
Jemma sighed but nodded her understanding. She glanced toward her bedchamber door from where the second footman and Mrs. Featherstone were emerging. “Is Anne all right?” she asked Mrs. Featherstone.
The woman nodded. “Yes, but I do believe her leg hurts too much to attend the ball.”
Jemma nodded. “Of course, I’ll not go, either. I’ll stay here with her and Grandfather. Please inform Lord Harthorne and his mother that the physician is still in with Grandfather.”
Mrs. Featherstone nodded and proceeded down the stairs while Jemma stood outside her grandfather’s door and tried not to think about Philip. When the physician opened the bedchamber door, she rushed to him. “Is my grandfather all right?”
Dr. Talbot nodded, and his face seemed to turn a shade pink, as if something was embarrassing him. “He’s going to be fine,” he said, waving her through the sitting room toward her grandfather’s main bedchamber.
Jemma exhaled a relieved breath. “That’s so good to hear. Is it all right if I talk to him?”
“Certainly,” the physician answered hurriedly.
Jemma scowled at the man. She was not imagining things; his tone had sounded relieved. She paused, considering if she should ask him what was amiss, but decided she would see her grandfather and uncover what was occurring herself.
Grandfather was reclined on the top of the bed with pillows behind his back. Jemma studied him. His color was excellent. His eyes bright. Yet when he saw her, he let out a moan and clutched his chest.
She drew near with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re unwell?” she demanded, a slight suspicion forming. A wounded look crossed his face, and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she quickly mumbled. “I shouldn’t have accused you of lying.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” he agreed. “I forgive you, though. I know you have your reasons to be suspicious of men.”
That was true enough. She sat by her grandfather and took his hand. “Anne’s leg is paining her so she won’t be going to the ball. I’ll stay, as well.” Then she’d not have to face riding in the carriage with Philip. She was a coward.
Grandfather shook his head. “You most certainly will not. The only thing that will make me feel better is knowing you’re out enjoying yourself, no longer heartbroken.”
“But—” She snapped her jaw shut. She didn’t want to announce that she was most definitely still heartbroken.
“No objections,” he said sternly. “I insist you go. If you stay, I will feel worse, as if I’m ruining your night.”
Jemma begrudgingly nodded, rose, and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll go. For a very short time.”
“That will do nicely,” he said, his voice tinged with an odd note of excitement. She turned to leave but paused halfway across the room. Was her grandfather trying to meddle on Philip’s behalf? But no. What reason would he have to do that? He knew what Philip had done. She continued out of the bedchamber, yet the feeling that she was somehow being duped would not go away.
As she entered the hall, she stopped short at the sight of Anne, whose leg was supposed to be paining her so very badly that she could not go to the ball, standing in their bedchamber doorway chatting with Lady Harthorne.
Jemma glared at her sister, even as Anne made a show of wincing, grabbing her leg, and hobbling back into their bedchamber. Jemma started toward the door, intent on confronting her sister, but Lady Harthorne raised her eyebrows high, strode toward Jemma, and held up a staying hand. “A moment, if you please.”
Jemma didn’t please. Something was most definitely afoot. She glanced between her bedchamber door and Grandfather’s. It was too much of a coincidence that Grandfather was only ever ill when it seemed to work in his favor. Jemma clenched her jaw and eyed Lady Harthorne. The fact was, this woman’s being here with Dr. Talbot was too much of a coincidence, as well.
She could play the same game everyone around her seemed to be playing. Jemma pressed a hand to her head. “I think my head aches too much to go. Will you convey the news to your son for me?”
“No,” Lady Harthorne said gently. “I think you need to do that.”
Jemma narrowed her eyes. “You tricked me. My grandfather tricked me. And Dr. Talbot and my own sister duped me, as well. Is my grandfather even ill?”
Lady Harthorne motioned a hand to Mrs. Featherstone. “Will you give us a moment?”
Mrs. Featherstone nodded and started to descend, but Jemma called to her. When her chaperone turned, Jemma took a fortifying breath and said, “Tell Lord Harthorne—” What did she want to tell him? That he’d made her think he was honest when even now it seemed he was involved in some ruse, proving he was anything but forthright. Her stomach clenched. “Tell him that I will not be down to ride to the ball, nor do I want him to attempt to see me ever again.”
The room seemed to sway, but Jemma managed not to budge. This was it. Uncertainty battered her.
Mrs. Featherstone nodded and disappeared down the steps while Lady Harthorne studied Jemma with eyes full of disappointment. A pang of sadness filled Jemma. The woman did actually seem nice and could have been her mother-in-law.
After a moment, Lady Harthorne cleared her throat. “Since you don’t mince words, neither will I. Your grandfather isn’t ill, as you seem to already know.”
“I knew it!” Jemma snapped, then frowned. “Well, I didn’t know it, but I suspected it a second ago.” She sighed. “Men are so deceitful.”
“Your grandfather loves you and wants you to be happy. I can see why you’d be angry that he deceived you, but, my dear, put yourself in his place. He was bred to be a duke, which meant he was raised not to show affection. I’m sure at some point he realized you and your sister needed more than he was capable of giving, but he had no wife to guide him on how to proceed, as your grandmother was gone.” She shrugged. “Men almost always think they know what’s
best for everyone. Especially the women they love and want to protect.”
Jemma nodded. “He did try to match me with an odious man because he thought he was helping me.”
Lady Harthorne sighed. “Yes. I had heard about that. And I also happen to know from George—”
“George?” Jemma asked.
Lady Harthorne smiled. “Oh, dear me. I’m sorry. Dr. Talbot.” She blushed as she held Jemma’s gaze. “George confided in me that your grandfather is not ill at all. He’s the picture of health, but he took it in his head that you were so stubborn and hated him so much that feigning illness would be the only way you would ever go along with anything he said or wanted for you. He thought if you felt sorry for him or were worried for him that you’d possibly capitulate to his wishes, which he was positive were for the best.”
Jemma felt her mouth slide open at the news. “He lied to me.”
“Well, yes, dear, but in his defense, he knew you despised him and he didn’t know how to get through to you. His deception was born out of love, as was my son’s.”
Jemma’s whole body tensed. “Your son—”
“Please let me speak,” Lady Harthorne requested.
Jemma jerked a nod. She couldn’t bring herself to be cold and uncaring to Philip’s mother just because she was Philip’s mother. She obviously loved her son, as a mother should.
“Philip’s ill-advised plan to marry a woman with a large dowry was born out of selflessness and love for his family.”
Jemma wanted to deny it, but the doubt was there. She had believed the best of Philip at one time. What if…what if she had not been wrong?
“Please continue,” she said in a shaky voice.
Lady Harthorne exhaled slowly. “He thought to sacrifice himself to a marriage of convenience, if necessary, so that neither his cousin nor I would suffer.”
Jemma took a breath, ready to argue, but the breath deflated as she thought about what Lady Harthorne had said. Everything Jemma knew about Philip, or thought she knew, reinforced what his mother had just said. Philip was selfless. Or she had thought he was. She pressed her fingers to her temples, the confusion in her heart and mind making her head ache. Still…
“He should have been honest,” Jemma said. “He should have told me he wanted to marry a lady with a large dowry.”
Lady Harthorne narrowed her eyes. “He did not want to marry a lady for money. He felt he had to.”
Jemma’s pulse raced ahead. Philip was the sort of man to do anything, including sacrificing his own happiness for those he loved.
“And then he met you,” Lady Harthorne continued, oblivious of the whirlwind of emotions inside Jemma.
Flashes of all that Philip had done for her played through her memory. Saving her from Lord Glenmore when he’d tried to force himself on her. Beating Will when he’d humiliated her at Vauxhall Gardens. Rescuing Anne from ruination. It was the last—his selfless rescue of Anne—and how he’d pulled back from Jemma when she’d tried to kiss him afterward that sent the doubt crashing in over her head. Except now she was doubting if she’d ever been right to doubt Philip. If he’d believed she was getting a dowry and wanted her only for the money, he could have kissed her that day. He could have ruined her, and she’d not have stopped him. In that scenario, Grandfather would have insisted they marry.
She bit her lip to keep from crying out as Lady Harthorne continued to speak. “I suspect he never told you about his financial situation because when he realized he loved you, he found a solution to his problem so that he could marry you without your dowry.”
Jemma’s heart seemed to stumble within her chest, and the world around her stopped. “What do you mean?” she rasped.
“I’ve said more than I should have,” Lady Harthorne replied. “If you want to know more, you need to ask Philip.” She cocked her head as if listening for something. “Dear me. I do think that Philip’s carriage is pulling away…”
Jemma stilled, and the noise of wheels turning seemed to echo in her ears. Panic exploded in her chest. He was leaving her! Without a proper pardon, she swiveled on her heel and raced down the stairs, desperate to catch Philip.
Philip watched as Mrs. Featherstone made her way back into Rowan’s house and shut the door behind her. He stared at the red door for a moment as he considered what to do. A rake would likely leave a woman who had demanded he go away, because a rake would firmly believe the woman would come to the realization that she was a fool to let him go. A rake would believe the woman would race after him. Rakes were full of themselves, at least Aversley and Scarsdale had been before they’d met their respective wives.
Philip was not a rake. He would never be a rake. And falling in love with Jemma had made him realize that he didn’t want to be a rake, but that didn’t mean he was above scheming to get the woman he loved. Jemma may have asked him to leave, but he wasn’t going to. Not before she heard what he had to say, at any rate.
Decision made, he sent his coach on the way, making it infinitely harder for him to depart. If Jemma still wanted him to go after he’d spoken to her, one of Rowan’s carriages would have to be readied, which would buy him more time to try to convince Jemma he loved her.
As his coachman pulled away from the house, Philip turned and strode back to the front door. He raised his fist to knock, but before his knuckles met the wood, the door flew open and Jemma crashed into him.
He staggered backward, and they swayed for a moment on the edge of the step before he recovered his balance. He took advantage of the moment to pull her closer and lock her in his embrace. Maybe he was a bit of a rake, after all, because in this moment, he didn’t give a damn about the rules of Society. All he cared about was keeping Jemma in front of him long enough to make her listen.
He tensed as he looked down at her, expecting her to demand he release her. Instead, she stilled and her gaze searched his. “Did you plan to ask me to marry you but refuse any dowry my grandfather offered you?”
Philip stilled, keenly aware that he must choose the exact right words. For a man of many words, the task should have been easy, but these words, these, could mean the difference between forgiveness and banishment. His fingers curled against the gentle curve of her back as he moved his other hand to cup her chin. “That is still my plan, if you will but hear me out.”
A very small smile—yet the best smile he’d ever seen—tugged at her lips. “Go on, then, poet. Paint for me with your words the picture of how we came to be standing here in this moment. Make me see you.”
Philip drew in a long breath. “There was a foolish but well-meaning man who had too much pride to ask his friends for help when he found himself in financial dire straits. He wanted to spare his mother and cousin any worry or harm that would likely come if he sought employment, but he also wanted to ensure they had the lives they deserved.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So you decided to marry for money.”
He shook his head. “I thought it was my duty to marry for money. I was tortured by having to find a woman to marry for her dowry. I hoped to find both love and a solution to my woes, but it was an impossibility with the guilt in my heart. And then I met you. And money no longer mattered.” He paused, a pained look washing over him. “I had to do right by my mother, by my cousin, but you…” he trailed off.
“Me?” she asked softly.
“You enthralled me with your strength, your wit. You seduced me with your smile, and I knew I would never meet a woman I loved as I did you. And I decided that no matter what came to pass, I could never marry for money. Only love would do. Only you would do.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her silken lips, and she shivered under his touch. A desperate need to hear her say she forgave him filled him, and a primal desire to hear her say she loved him and belonged to him overcame him. “I love you, and if you had let me explain, I would have told you I would never accept a dowry for you because I know doing so would cast doubt in your mind about my love.”
A gentle breeze blew around
her as Jemma stood there staring at him. When she said nothing, fear that she would not forgive him crept in. “Jemma—”
Her lips trembled. “Forgive me, Philip,” she blurted.
“Forgive you?” Was he hearing her correctly?
She nodded, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Forgive me. Love me. Marry me.”
He bent his head to hers and claimed her mouth in answer. After a moment, he pulled back and cradled her sweet face in his hands. “I’m supposed to ask you to marry me.”
“Then get on with it,” she teased.
A thousand flowery words flowed through his mind at once, but in the end, he simply dropped to his knee and took her hand in his. He turned her palm up and brushed a featherlight kiss to her delicate skin. “I request your hand, your heart, your love for eternity. I give you everything I am and everything I know I will be with you by my side.”
She nodded and tugged at his hand for him to stand. When he did, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Yes. A thousand times yes, and then a thousand more.”
His mouth covered hers hungrily, tasting her sweetness and drinking her in. The need to possess her thundered inside him as he deepened the kiss and she responded with a moan. Behind them, someone cleared his throat, and Philip forced himself to break the kiss.
He and Jemma faced her grandfather, who had a scowl on his face but a twinkle in his eye. “I assume a marriage is to take place?”
“Yes, Grandfather,” Jemma gushed before Philip could answer. He entwined his hand with Jemma’s and squeezed. Her fingers curled tightly around his as she turned her face toward him. His chest lurched at the intensity of the love he saw in her eyes.
“Well,” she said, smiling, “now that you’ve captured me, Philip, do you think you can tame me?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a wink. “You are perfect exactly as you are.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Two weeks later
“What do you think?” Philip whispered in Jemma’s ear as his arms circled her waist.
It Happened One Night: Six Scandalous Novels Page 105
