She’d gotten sweet revenge.
But no time to bask in it. Yet.
She’d told the other mistresses she’d be the lookout in the tree to ensure that the men played by the rules. But she’d had to throw her clothes out in the grass just like everyone else. Harry had sharp eyes. He would have noticed if she hadn’t.
From her perch, which had been quite dangerous to arrive at safely without being poked in the wrong places by twigs, she’d arranged her body strategically so that the leafy branches below her masked her vulnerable state in much the way that Eve covered herself in the Garden of Eden.
As a crowd of men and women alike surged toward the house, Harry held aloft by Lumley and Arrow, Molly felt a thrill of happiness. She couldn’t wait to tell him how proud she was of him! Of course, he’d done his best to triumph so he wouldn’t have to get married, but—
She wouldn’t think about that right now.
She’d be sure to kiss him in front of the others to celebrate his win. They’d expect that of her, wouldn’t they? She must oblige. And truth be told, she’d be glad to oblige. Even now, watching him from behind, she grew breathless at the memory of his intimidating style in the tournament—his easy grace, his broad shoulders and muscular back, his fierce thrusts with the foil.
Wait a minute. How could she congratulate him while she was stuck up in this tree?
“Bunny? Athena? I need my clothes, please!” she called.
But no one answered.
Certainly, the other mistresses hadn’t forgotten about her!
She’d try again. “Hello! Isn’t anyone still down there?”
A few birds chirped, the wind blew through the branches—and a sick feeling grew in her middle. She’d been so wrapped up in enjoying her little prank and then being distracted by Harry’s superb form that she’d lingered in the tree too long.
But she wouldn’t worry. Surely her clothes were on top of the bushes.
Determinedly, she began her slow descent. Once halfway down the trunk, she peered below, hoping to catch a glimpse of her things. She bent out as far as she could to get a better view, but—an awful buzzing sensation began in her head and found its way down to her toes—her garments were nowhere to be found.
And everyone, absorbed as they’d been in rehashing the tournament and exclaiming over the women’s mischievous role in it, had left her behind. Even Harry. Of course, he’d had little choice, being carried off like that. No doubt when he got put down, he’d realize she was missing.
But, still. She was alone.
The wind picked up, and her branch began to sway. To tell the truth, she was feeling a bit…vulnerable.
She dared another peek below to see if somehow she’d overlooked something.
And saw a masculine boot.
“Delilah,” called Sir Richard in that oily voice of his. “I know you’re in the tree. And I have your clothes.”
Molly shook a branch in frustration. “Just leave them there, Sir Richard! And walk away.”
“I don’t see why I should,” he said. “Everyone else forgot about you, after all. I’m the only one who noticed you were missing. You should be grateful.”
“I’d be grateful,” she bit out, “if you weren’t such an ass.”
He chuckled. “What’s keeping you from coming down, Delilah, and taking them from me right now? All the other mistresses would prance before me naked. But then again, you’re not like the other mistresses, are you?”
“I—I would take them from anyone but you,” she said. “And I’m rather stuck on this branch.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I wonder, Delilah, what your real story is.”
Oh, dear.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she forced herself to say lightly.
Sir Richard laughed. “I have a proposal to make. I’ll leave your clothes here, if—” He paused.
“If what?” she snapped.
“If you’ll remember that you owe me a favor. And when I call it in, you must comply.”
“I’d rather sit naked here all night than comply with your wishes, you beast.”
“Then I shall leave you,” he said. “Without your clothes.”
“Fine,” she said, suppressing her panic. “Someone else will find me soon enough.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Bunny’s telling everyone you repaired to your room for a nap because you had a headache. Your paramour is sitting in the dining room, eating and drinking and talking, quite oblivious to your actual plight.”
“You rat. And how dare you involve Bunny in your sick games! She’s much too good for you, you know.”
“Just remember this,” he said silkily, ignoring her jibe, “that I will have you someday. And you’ll be obedient and respectful when I do.”
She shook her branch again. “I’d rather die before I’m respectful and obedient to the likes of you.”
Sir Richard laughed and walked away, dropping her garments on the far side of the lawn. She could never retrieve them without risking being sighted. But she’d rather catch cold than be caught naked by a footman or, God forbid, Sir Richard himself, who’d probably be watching her from a window somewhere to see if she’d dare to go after her clothes.
A bird twittered. The wind moaned low through the trees. A squirrel scampered up the tree trunk, saw Molly, and ran back down.
She shivered and wondered how long it would take Harry to realize she was missing—and how long it would take for Sir Richard to prove his suspicions that she was an imposter at the house party.
Chapter 24
Blast it all. Ever since the fencing contest, Harry had wanted to see Molly for conflicting reasons: to wring her neck for torturing the men so, and to bask in her admiration for winning the tournament. When he’d heard she’d gone straight to her room for a nap, he’d been sorely disappointed, but he’d curbed his impatience and waited a good while for her to come down. He and Arrow had gone out to practice their skills at archery, while the other bachelors and mistresses had gone about their own business.
But Harry had never been good at waiting, so he’d abandoned Arrow when Maxwell had shown up for a turn with the bow. And as Harry strode toward the house, feeling quite impatient to see Molly, he determined the three reasons he felt a particular need to have her near him as often as possible during the week.
One, to keep her out of trouble, of course.
Two, to protect her from Sir Richard.
And three, to keep up the pretense that they were lovers.
There were other reasons he kept her near, of course, which he brushed off as being inconsequential. She was very good company. He also enjoyed peering down her neckline when she wasn’t looking. And then he also took pleasure in imagining his lips upon, oh, every part of her body.
But amusing pastimes aside, she was still his charge. And now she was missing.
He walked briskly into the drawing room, where Joan, Athena, and Hildur were idling on various sofas. “Where’s Delilah?” he asked them without even a reference to their beauty or the mildness of the weather.
They looked at each other rather helplessly.
“I thought—” said Athena.
“She’s sleeping,” Hildur interrupted.
“No,” Harry said, perhaps too firmly. “I just checked. She’s not in her room. And her bed appears unslept in.”
Joan’s eyes widened. “But Bunny said she was napping.”
Damn Sir Richard. Harry would like to kill him right now. He’d obviously misled Bunny.
“We shouldn’t worry,” said Athena. “Maybe Bunny and Delilah are together.”
“But Sir Richard’s absent, as well,” said Joan.
“Oh.” Athena put her hand to her cheek. “Then he’s probably with Bunny.”
Harry clenched his jaw. Sir Richard had damned well better be with Bunny and not Molly.
Joan gasped. “Could Delilah still be in the tree?”
“The tree? What tree?” Worry was
making Harry rather impatient.
“The tree she sat in to observe the tournament and make sure all of you followed the rules,” Joan said.
Athena put her hand to her mouth. “I had a cat once who got stuck in a tree. He didn’t come down for two days.”
Harry realized how inappropriate it would be under normal circumstances for a bachelor to rescue a young lady from a tree, presuming the lady in question were naked. But these were not usual circumstances. Everyone here expected that he’d seen Molly with no clothes on many times.
“I’m going after her,” he said grimly, and left the women to their lounging.
On his way out the terrace door, he saw Bunny and Sir Richard striding at a bold pace across the lawn toward the front of the house. Bunny’s face was bright red. When she wiped at her eyes, her fingers trembled.
Sir Richard’s brow was lowered dangerously over his eyes; his mouth appeared twisted in a cold rage.
Harry thought it looked to be more than your typical lovers’ spat. Bunny was frightened, he could tell. Everything in him wanted to beat Sir Richard into a satisfying pulp, stuff him into a barrel, and drop him down a great river, someplace far from England, to float aimlessly forever.
But he couldn’t do that. Ridding the world of the likes of Sir Richard would require a sterling sense of duty. And everyone knew Harry lacked that.
Besides, he had to rescue Molly at the moment. Hers was a problem he could solve easily—if she would let him help. That was always the question with her.
He made the turn to the grassy yard where they’d held the fencing contest.
“Delilah?” he shouted, and looked toward the treetops.
But there was no movement.
What the devil?
He strode to the tree and gazed up. It was impossible to see to the top from where he was. “Delilah?”
No answer was forthcoming.
He hitched himself up to a lower branch and made his way up.
What if she’d fallen asleep up there? One wrong movement and she could fall to her death! He’d best not call her name anymore, just in case he woke her.
He kept climbing, his muscles tensing.
But no. There was no one in the upper branches of the tree. Which meant Molly was still missing.
He climbed higher anyway and took a moment to look out at the grounds, hoping he might be able to see her. But there was nothing unusual. All was quiet, in fact.
Where was she?
He refused to panic. It wouldn’t help the situation. But then he caught a slight movement near the house out of the corner of his eye. One of the bushes moved. And it had a tail, a pale blue tail.
Molly’s gown! So that’s where she was! But what was she doing? Harry allowed himself a small curve of a smile. Whatever it was, at least she was safe.
The bush hopped a few feet farther and stopped in a corner of the house, an inverted corner shaped like an L, forming an alcove of sorts. No one would be able to see her there.
The clump of leaves wavered, then somehow fell apart. Harry saw it was a collection of small branches, really. And then there was Molly, crouched low, her long brown hair covering her—
Her nakedness?
Why on God’s earth was she still naked? The other women had donned their gowns long ago. Why hadn’t she? She’d obviously been able to get down from the tree. Why hadn’t she retrieved her clothes?
And then the answer dawned on him. Someone must have taken them. And she’d been forced to go after them herself, covering her form with a ridiculous—but serviceable—homemade bush.
Blood thrummed in Harry’s ears.
Sir Richard.
But Harry wouldn’t think about killing him now. He must wait until the wager was over, which would give him time to work up his fury into a healthy rage. Besides, at the moment he mustn’t come crashing out of the tree and terrifying Molly. She shouldn’t know he was here, watching her.
She leaned forward, seemingly looking to see if she had privacy.
A wave of guilt washed over him. He wouldn’t think about her nakedness. Not yet. First, he’d acknowledge with a sort of pride that beneath her rather naïve exterior, she was a clever girl, the cleverest he’d ever met. Had she always been this resourceful as a child? Yes, she had, but he’d never wanted to acknowledge it, being the older, wiser neighbor. He’d always classified her as a young pest who made an occasional playmate when he’d nothing better to do—and nothing more.
Now she slowly stood, and he drew in a breath. All thoughts of her cleverness left his head. She was seashell pink. All over. And she was—he swallowed—absolutely breathtaking.
The kind of breathtaking that makes one ache deep inside.
He knew he shouldn’t be watching her get dressed. But he—he couldn’t help himself. And he couldn’t help what he was doing to himself as he watched her.
God, he was an animal! But—
The whole world became Molly in the corner. She was what he wanted. More than anything.
He needed her.
He wanted her. More than anything he’d ever wanted before.
He—
He—
Was spent.
The birds twittered their frivolous song. Harry breathed in and out, stunned at the intense yearning he’d had for Molly. Not just for any woman—but for her.
When he looked up and saw her walk out from the corner of the house, fully dressed, her lovely head held high, he drew in a deep breath.
He was so confused.
And so very, very wicked.
Molly could hardly bear the thought of being in the same room with Sir Richard!
But she must.
She forced herself to smile when she entered the drawing room. Everyone was gathered there, save Harry. The men were playing cards, and the women, all in fresh gowns, were studying their dramatic readings, the only acceptable form of work this week for those who had to pretend indolence otherwise.
Athena stood, her expression stricken. “Delilah! Were you stuck in the tree?”
Molly caught Sir Richard’s gaze and held it, just for a moment.
“Not at all,” she said. “I was walking.”
“That was rather a long walk.” Sir Richard’s lips were pursed in an ugly smirk.
She graced him with a small smile. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” She sank into a chair. “But I find the outdoors so bracing. Don’t you?”
There was a chorus of assents from men and women alike, except, of course, from Sir Richard.
Bunny barely looked at her. And no wonder. Molly wished she could take her friend’s hand and squeeze it, tell her everything was all right. But she couldn’t because things were far from all right. Molly really couldn’t speak to Bunny until Harry helped her solve the problem of Sir Richard.
Speaking of which, where was Harry? She opened her mouth to ask, but he walked in, saving her the question. His gaze was usually direct, but at the moment he couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. Frankly, he appeared…guilty. But why should he? He’d had no idea she’d been without her clothes for so long and stuck in the tree!
She was curious, but when he kissed her hand, her curiosity dissolved in a charge of pleasure.
“I lost track of your whereabouts.” His voice was apologetic but velvety warm.
When he released her fingers, she was sorry. She so wanted to tell him how handsome he’d been wielding that foil, how magnificent his form, when he’d been winning points for their cause—their separate causes, she must admit, but theirs, nonetheless.
At the very least she could tell him she was pleased he’d won. The other, giddier thoughts she would keep to herself.
“You needn’t be sorry. I was out and about…enjoying the day. Perhaps we could take our own walk around the grounds?”
His eyes lit up. “Certainly. I would like that.”
So would she.
“You just went on a two-hour walk, Delilah,” said Sir Richard in a grouchy voice.
&nb
sp; “One can never have too much of the outdoors, Sir Richard,” she said. “Why, when I was small, I spent hours at a time sitting in trees.”
“Is that so?” he said nastily.
She turned away before she stuck out her tongue at him.
When she and Harry got outside, she immediately took his arm and began to stroll with him. They must appear to be having a cozy tête-à-tête, she told herself, and brushed aside any other reasons she could think of to explain her need to touch him.
“We’ve some important things to discuss but, first, I must congratulate you.” She smiled up at him. “You won us a lovely number of points in the fencing tournament.”
They stopped walking.
“I did, didn’t I?” he said.
His eyes were that golden brown again. She was so tempted to reach up and kiss him. He was hers, after all.
“Molly—”
“Harry—”
They both spoke at once. The air between them was full of something invisible, tantalizing, out of reach—something that made her forget to breathe.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to you after the tournament was over.” Harry brushed a curl from her face.
She blushed. “What do you mean?”
“You weren’t napping.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure where you were, but I know you were in trouble and that Sir Richard had something to do with it.”
And then he moved closer, bent his head. She stood on tiptoe, and when their lips touched, it was like fire between them.
He pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss until she could barely stand. He tasted so good!
But they were playing a game, her common sense reminded her. Fooling the other participants in the wager with their kisses. Focused on winning points. Trying to reach goals that had nothing to do with each other.
And those goals were in jeopardy.
She forced herself to pull her lips away.
“What is it?” Harry whispered. His eyes, half lidded with passion mere seconds ago, were now wide open. Questioning.
She cleared her throat. “I—I’m doing my best to be a good mistress,” she said, “but Sir Richard is unceasingly suspicious and getting worse each day.”
When Harry Met Molly Page 18
