My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3)

by Julie Johnstone

  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.”

  Miss Anne opened her mouth, but Jemma cut her off. “We are, and I thank you. And Mr. Frazier, I may be a woman, but if you approach my sister improperly again, Lord Harthorne will not be the only one to demand your presence on the field of honor.” She had drawn her petite form up and tilted her chin in a defiant manner.

  Philip felt his jaw drop open. He’d never encountered a woman as bold as the fiery thing before him. Jemma truly was utterly fascinating.

  Frazier inclined his head. “Understood, lassie.”

  Philip grabbed Frazier by his lapels. “Miss Adair. She is Miss Adair to you. Do not use such familiar terms with her.”

  Frazier jerked away. “Ah meant no harm. But Ah ken ye. Good-bye for now, Anne,” Frazier said before turning away.

  Philip noted how Jemma’s hand went immediately to her sister’s arm and gripped her. He suspected it had been to keep her in her spot.

  “Good-bye, Ian,” Anne said in a hushed, enamored tone that made the sisters’ chaperone cry out and Jemma flinch.

  Philip cursed inwardly. It was abundantly clear that Miss Anne had fallen hard for Frazier. They stood in silence for a moment, Jemma gazing at her sister with such worry that Philip’s gut twisted.

  Mrs. Featherstone wrung her hands and muttered. Finally, she pressed her hands to her cheeks, then grabbed Miss Anne and pulled her close. Mrs. Featherstone glanced askance at him. “This is not what it appears, Lord Harthorne.”

  “It appears to me,” he said in the most soothing tone he could muster, “that what we have here is a case of two people who wanted to gaze at the stars and simply failed to consider the consequences. No harm at all. I’ve already forgotten I saw the two of them together.”

  The woman looked as if she was about to burst into grateful tears. “You are a true gentleman, Lord Harthorne.” She started up the path with Miss Anne
close at her side.

  Philip stood there a moment, very uncomfortable with her obvious gratitude, especially in light of his decision to marry for money. He suspected she’d not think him such a gentleman if she knew that, regardless of the fact that it was to save his mother and cousin. It was also to save his honor, but devil take it, didn’t the action itself make him lose a bit of the honor he was trying to preserve? He shoved the doubt away. His mother and cousin came first, above all else.

  Suddenly, he was very aware of Jemma’s heat encroaching on him. He turned his head and found her studying him once again, as if he were the most exceptionally odd thing she’d ever seen. “I just don’t know,” she murmured and shook her head.

  He frowned. “What is it you just don’t know?” he asked, falling into step beside her as she started up the path behind her chaperone.

  “Never mind,” she replied, her gaze downward.

  They walked up the path in silence until they were at the steps to the terrace, and then Jemma turned toward him. “I cannot express how grateful I am to you.”

  “No need,” he said, meaning it. “I am glad I was there to help.”

  She nodded, her eyes going suddenly wide, as if she was surprised by something. “I am glad you were there, too. Will you escort us to my grandfather? I’ll claim a megrim so we can depart immediately, and I daresay escorting two debutantes into a ballroom can only be a boon to a man wanting to cultivate a rakish reputation.”

  “I daresay you’re right.” Not that he gave a damn about his rakish reputation at the moment. He didn’t. He should. He most definitely should. But he couldn’t muster the appropriate feelings. All he felt was bewildered that he should care so very much that she was glad he had been there.

  The feeling lingered as he handed her over to her grandfather and even half an hour later, as he was speaking to Lady Margaret, one of the eligible debutantes on his list. He asked Lady Margaret to dance, as he should, as he needed to, but while he was twirling her around the floor, he couldn’t help but recall the feeling of Jemma in his arms, and he realized with dismay that though Lady Margaret obviously danced with the controlled expertise of a lady who had years of lessons, he much preferred the exuberant way Jemma had danced, the way she seemed to do everything.

  Still, that was no reason to discount someone as a bride. When the music ended, he asked Lady Margaret if she would like a refreshment. After getting her a glass of lemonade, they stood to the side of the dance floor and faced each other.

  Lady Margaret took a slow sip of her drink, then lowered it. “Might I ask you a direct question, Lord Harthorne?”

  Hellfire. He must have the look of a fortune hunter. He would tell her the truth, but he suddenly felt as big as an ant, and about as significant. He nodded.

  “What is your given name?”

  He exhaled a relieved breath that made him feel even smaller than an ant at being so relieved not to have to speak the truth of his situation quite yet. “Philip.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Oh. Oh dear. That won’t do.”

  He frowned. “It won’t?”

  She shook her head. “I was betrothed to a man named Philip, and he died. If you were to court me, I would forever think of him when looking at you. I am sorry.”

  “No, that’s quite all right,” he rushed out, oddly relieved again.

  She thrust her punch glass at him. “Good evening to you.”

  He took the glass, and she immediately departed. As he stared into the crowd in the direction that he’d last seen Jemma, Sophia appeared at his side and gave him a questioning look. “So will you be calling on Lady Margaret tomorrow?” she asked in a low tone.

  “No. Did you know she was betrothed previously to a man who had died?”

  Sophia’s lips parted in surprise. “Er, no.”

  Philip glanced down at Sophia. “His name was Philip, and Lady Margaret could not possibly let me court her because my name would remind her forever of him.”

  Sophia burst out laughing, and Philip frowned. “I don’t think it’s very funny,” he grumbled. “That’s a rather odd reaction.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Er, yes. Sorry. I laugh when I’m nervous sometimes. Are you terribly disappointed?”

  He shook his head as he glanced once more in the direction that he’d last seen Jemma. He should be disappointed about Lady Margaret, but he wasn’t. He scowled into the half-empty glass of lemonade, confused by his inappropriate reaction.

  Jemma lay in her bed, biting down hard on her lip as she watched her sister hobble from her dressing table over to her own bed and awkwardly climb in. Jemma needed to find the exact right words to say to Anne regarding Mr. Frazier. Three times already she’d tried to bring up the matter of her, Mrs. Featherstone, and Philip discovering Anne and Mr. Frazier coming up the garden steps with their hands entwined as lovers’ would be, but Anne had cut her off each time and refused to speak of it. But speak of it they must.

  Anne tugged on her covers, settled into bed, and gave Jemma her back.

  Jemma cleared her throat. “Was Mr. Frazier’s kiss wonderful?” She held her breath and prayed that Anne would say she had not kissed Mr. Frazier. Yet, if she had, hopefully Jemma showing an interest would make Anne finally open up.

  “Oh, Jemma!” Anne breathed before turning to face her.

  Jemma’s stomach flipped. Well, now that she had confirmed the worst, she would proceed with caution, knowing just how much Anne’s heart must be engaged. The question was, when had it become engaged? Tonight? Some other night when Jemma had not paid enough attention? She felt a tad bit guilty for deceiving Anne, but she was trying to save her sister, after all.

  Anne’s face shone with happiness. “I know I shouldn’t have gone with him to the gardens, but I simply couldn’t help myself,” she whispered.

  Jemma nearly groaned aloud. She had thought something very similar after giving her innocence to Will, which Anne didn’t even know about because Jemma had been too ashamed to tell her thus far. She clenched her teeth and nodded. “I do understand, Anne, but dearest—”

  Anne bolted up in bed. “You could not possibly comprehend how special he makes me feel,” she said, fixing a glare on Jemma.

  Jemma drew in a sharp breath. Anne was never cross, but she was most certainly angry now. “I think I can,” Jemma said carefully.

  “No, you cannot. All my life I have gone unnoticed, first by boys and then by men, except for grimaces when I limp, followed by looks of pity. You...you get admiring glances everywhere we go, so there is no way you can understand how I feel!” Anne smacked a hand against the covers. “Do you know how I have longed for a man, just one, to see me and not my limp?”

  “No,” Jemma choked out. Hollowness filled her stomach. How utterly selfish she had been to not see Anne’s pain, to not know how deep it ran and reach out to help.

  “I have dreamed of it every night for years, and now my dream is coming true. When Ian looks at me—”

  “When did he become Ian?” Jemma gasped, recalling Anne had used his first name in the garden, as well. “When did this all start?”

  Anne smiled a secret smile that Jemma wanted to groan at but did not. “Months ago,” Anne admitted. “At the garden party we attended after Grandfather’s ball. Ian was in my group for the scavenger hunt. When everyone else raced ahead to find the things on our list, he stayed behind with me. He is such a gentleman.”

  “That word is a lie,” Jemma grumbled, though her mind went immediately to Philip. After all he’d done tonight, she couldn’t help but think that perhaps, maybe just possibly perhaps, Philip really was a gentleman. She was so confused.

  Anne shook her head. “It’s not, and you are beginning to realize it.” Anne smirked at her. “I saw the way you looked at Lord Harthorne.”

  Jemma frowned. “I looked at him with nothing but gratitude for helping me find you and offering his silence about how we found you. That does not mean I trust him.” Did it? Her thoughts tumbled around
in her head. She rubbed at her temples. “Anyway, we are not discussing me. We are discussing you.”

  Anne nodded. “For now. I don’t want you to be angry. I want you to be happy for me. Say you will be happy for me,” Anne pleaded.

  “I don’t even know what I’m to be happy for!” Jemma exclaimed, her voice raising a notch. “Am I to be happy that the rake squired you away to the gardens and kissed you?”

  “Yes,” Anne said in a bubbly voice. “He is the first man to ever look at me with desire and not pity. My heart feels full, as if it might burst! Better to have a brush with love than never to have been loved at all.”

  “Oh, Anne!” Jemma cried out. She had to tell her sister of her shame so Anne would not foolishly make the same mistake. Heat burned Jemma’s cheeks, neck, and chest, but she swallowed and spoke. “I thought that same thing until I gave my heart and innocence to Will and then he married another. I don’t want you to be hurt as I was.”

  A hiss of breath filled the air, followed by Anne jumping out of her bed, rushing to Jemma, and throwing her arms around her sister. “Oh, darling! You poor thing.” Anne plopped onto the bed beside Jemma and brushed back the hair hanging along the sides of Jemma’s face. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Why didn’t you say something? Did Mother know?”

  Jemma shook her head, suddenly too choked up to speak. “Mother died the day I learned Will was marrying another, and I was too ashamed to admit how stupid I’d been to you.” The bitter sting of loss for Mother and for Will swelled inside her, and the need for someone to appreciate how great her loss, her mistake, pushed tears to the surface. They flowed fast and free. She couldn’t stop them.

  Anne held her in her arms as the tears racked Jemma’s body, and all the while, her sister smoothed her hair and whispered calming words in her ear. Jemma had no clue how long she’d been crying, but when she was done, her nose was stuffy, her eyes swollen, her head pounding, and her body so very tired. Yet, oddly, she felt as if a weight, the burden of carrying the secret of her lost innocence, had been lifted.