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

by Julie Johnstone

  Jemma laid her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Even if I wanted to marry, I couldn’t. Who would have me? Who would want me?” The heavy, tear-soaked words shocked her as she heard herself admit them.

  Anne pulled back and grabbed Jemma by her arms. “A man who loves you will want you despite your lost innocence. He won’t care. Just as Ian doesn’t seem to care about my limp.”

  Jemma blinked away the blurriness her tears had caused. “For a woman who has hardly spent any time with this man you seem awfully certain of your heart.”

  Anne averted her gaze for a moment, and Jemma knew, she just knew without Anne saying a word, that her sister had been secretly meeting Mr. Frazier. She had not just seen him here and there at parties as Jemma had originally assumed Anne had been doing for the last several months.

  Jemma swallowed hard. “Where have you been meeting him?”

  Anne whipped her gaze up to meet her sister’s. “How did you know?”

  “You said you had a secret, remember? I’m assuming this is it. So where? It cannot be too far. I would have noticed your absence.”

  Anne shifted. “The chapel Grandfather never uses.”

  Jemma gritted her teeth against allowing the anger she felt at Mr. Frazier to come out in her tone. If it did, Anne would immediately become defensive. “Anne, if you continue this and get caught, you will be ruined. And what then? What if he does not ask you to marry him? If he loves you, he would be courting you properly, not behaving so scandalously.”

  “He does love me,” Anne said, her tone mutinous. “He said so last night. We’re going to have a splendid life. You’ll see.”

  Jemma’s pulse beat furiously behind her eyes, making her head ache. “If he loves you, he will ask Grandfather for your hand, and he will quit asking you to meet him alone. Please, Anne, for me, because I’m a silly worrier, don’t meet him at the garden or the chapel or anywhere alone again—” Jemma held up her hand when Anne opened her mouth, no doubt to protest. “Hear me out,” Jemma begged. “Don’t meet him there at least until a betrothal is set. Please?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I promise.” Anne patted Jemma’s hand, got up, and crawled back into her own bed. She pulled up her coverlet, lay on her side facing Jemma, and shut her eyes. “You’ll see. Ian said he’ll ask Grandfather for my hand this week.”

  Jemma bit down on her lip. There was no way Grandfather would approve of Mr. Frazier. All he cared about was that she and Anne marry rich, titled lords of his choosing. Mr. Frazier was rich—though Sophia was convinced the man was a social climber after more money—but he was certainly no lord, and he definitely had not been chosen by Grandfather. Grandfather would hate that.

  Jemma’s stomach ached with worry. She was facing a terrible dilemma. If Sophia was right, it was possible that Mr. Frazier was only pursuing Anne because he assumed she would be getting a large dowry as the granddaughter of a duke.

  “Anne,” she said hesitantly. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her twin, but if she didn’t voice her concern and later found it was valid and Anne was irreparably ruined, Jemma would never forgive herself.

  “Hmm?” Anne said, fluttering her eyes back open.

  “What if Mr. Frazier expects Grandfather to dower you and that is why he is sniffing around?”

  The most horrid, heartrending, wounded look crossed Anne’s face, then twisted into a pained smile. “Is it so hard to believe any man would want me for me?”

  Anne’s voice throbbed with so much sadness and hurt that Jemma wished she could take back the words, no matter what came to be. She shook her head and swallowed the enormous lump in her throat. “No, dearest. No. I’m just being overprotective. I’m sure he will ask for your hand this week, just as you’ve said.”

  Anne smiled. “Thank you. I need your support.”

  Jemma nodded, her heart thumping. Anne also needed her protection, but she dare not say that. Anne closed her eyes and murmured, “Now, let’s get some sleep. I want to look my best for the theatre tomorrow night. Ian will be there, and I told him to stop by Grandfather’s box to see me. I overheard Grandfather tell Mrs. Featherstone he’ll not be attending tomorrow night, so it should be easy enough for Ian to sit with us in the box.”

  Before too long, Anne’s noisy snoring filled the room. Jemma lay on her back and stared up at the ceiling. She couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. But what could she do? She had precious few options. If she enlisted Amelia or Sophia to help that would be two more people privy to Anne’s disgrace, if it came to that. No, that would not do at all. She adored her friends and she trusted them, but from her own personal experience with disgrace, she was heartily glad no one had known at the time. That would have made it unbearable.

  She needed someone to learn of Mr. Frazier’s true intentions without him suspecting a thing. And her best hope of accomplishing that was a man. The only man she knew who could possibly help her, if he agreed to do so, was Philip. He already knew a great deal of what was occurring, and he likely assumed more. Jemma nodded to herself. But where could they meet without looking suspicious themselves? Or perhaps being seen with her would be good for Philip, help foster his reputation as a rake. Yet, what if Lord Glenmore got word and his thinking Philip was interested in her made Lord Glenmore want to pursue her more?

  She sighed. She couldn’t worry about Lord Glenmore at this moment. Anne came first.

  But Jemma did need to worry about Grandfather. She had to continue her routine so he wouldn’t become suspicious. She took a stroll in Hyde Park every day. She’d ask Philip to meet her there. She could give him his first lesson on becoming a rake while asking for his assistance with Mr. Frazier. Yes, first thing in the morning, she would send Philip a note requesting he meet her there.

  The next day, Jemma sat on a bench in the bright sun as a surprisingly cool breeze wafted through the air. She stared out at the Serpentine, hoping Philip would come. She’d sent the note in plenty of time, but maybe he had plans for the day. Mrs. Featherstone dozed beside her, having nodded off a good half hour ago while reading. Her book lay half-open in her lap, and a line of drool ran down her cheek. For herself, Jemma could not have handpicked a more perfect chaperone, but for Anne, Jemma heartily wished Mrs. Featherstone was more attentive.

  Jemma glanced behind her several times to see if Philip was walking her way, but after a bit, her hope waned. Finally, she stood, intent to stretch her legs with a brisk walk and then to wake Mrs. Featherstone so they could return home, but as she glanced up, there he was, striding toward her. Her breath caught in her chest as she stared at him. The sun glinted off his russet locks and made them shine like copper. The long overcoat he wore flapped in the wind behind him with the speed of his steps. He would have looked fierce, almost dangerous, except he wore an easy, welcoming smile on his face. As he drew near, she realized not only did he have those dimples on his cheeks but he had a perfect one on his chin, to which she suddenly had the urge to press her finger. Instead, she held her finger to her lips in a signal for him to be silent.

  His brow creased, but when she motioned to the still-sleeping Mrs. Featherstone, he grinned and held one elbow out to Jemma while indicating they walk toward the water. She nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, her body tensing as his heat invaded her. She’d not willingly taken a man’s elbow and allowed him to lead her since Will. But somehow, with Philip, she felt different. He was not a threat. They were simply two people trying to help each other.

  Once there was a safe distance between them and Mrs. Featherstone, Jemma turned to Philip to thank him for coming, but the words became jumbled as she stared at his strong jaw and slightly crooked nose. Will had possessed a perfect nose, but she much preferred Philip’s imperfect one. It gave him character. Will’s nose should have been a warning that the man was not of good character.

  “You are staring, Jemma,” Philip said with a chuckle.

  She jerked her gaze to his. “I’m sorry.”

  �
��Don’t be.” His voice was as smooth as silk. “I find I rather like having a beautiful woman stare at me.”

  Jemma gulped as heat coursed through her body from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. “Are you already practicing acting like a rake?”

  He blinked and surprise registered in his eyes making them several shades lighter. “No.” A grin spread across his face, causing all his appealing dimples to appear again. “Are you saying I sound like a rake?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t sound so happy about it. Rakes are not happy.”

  He gave her an expression of mock horror. “Never?”

  Immediately, she thought of Will, who used to always laugh and joke. “No,” she said begrudgingly, “not always.”

  “Excellent. I’d hate to have to go around being morose all the time.”

  He led them onto a stone path that wound in front of the Serpentine, maneuvering them around other couples as they strolled. After several people gave them curious glances, Philip nudged her. “They may think I’m courting you.”

  She nodded. “I thought of that. That would do nicely for making you appear a rake.” She glanced sideways at him to see what he thought of it. He was frowning. “Do you disagree?”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re likely right.”

  Now she frowned. “Then why are you frowning?”

  He paused by some blooming primroses and turned to face her. “Actually having my plan come to fruition is quite different from it just being in my mind.”

  She caught her lip between her teeth. He truly seemed so nice. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “No.” His answer was swift and decisive. “I can’t have second thoughts.”

  Whatever did he mean by that? Was it her place to ask?

  He sighed and spoke before she could make up her mind. “I assume you called me here to start my lessons and to get my help strategizing on how to rid yourself of Glenmore.” He shot her a boyish grin that gave an odd little tug at her heart.

  Jemma released Philip’s elbow and stepped back a bit. Standing so near him was making her thoughts scatter with the wind. That had to be it. It didn’t help her concentration that he smelled so divine. And the way he looked at her... Her skin prickled. He gazed at her as if he truly cared about what she had to say. Had Will ever gazed at her that way? She couldn’t recall. All she could recall now was how she had been so enamored of Will that she had been content much of the time to listen to him talk, and talk he had. He could drone on for hours over the injustice of the poor and how he would change things one day. She’d thought Will gallant and that he’d intended to improve the lives of others. More the fool she was to not have realized he’d intended only to alter things for himself. How blinded by love she’d been. Never again!

  “Is that not why you called me here?” Philip asked, jerking Jemma’s thoughts back to the moment.

  “Yes, yes. But I also have a small favor to ask.” Or at least she hoped he’d consider it small.

  “Anything,” he said immediately.

  She couldn’t help but grin. “Rakes are not usually so accommodating.”

  “I’m a rake in training,” he said solemnly. “You cannot expect me to know everything.”

  “It’s a good thing you have me to help you,” she teased.

  His mouth tilted up at the corners in a heart-stopping smile. “I’m inclined to agree. Now, how can I help you? What is this favor you need?”

  “I was hoping you could help me discover Mr. Frazier’s intentions when it comes to my sister. She thinks he intends to ask for her hand, and I’d like to know for certain if this is true, and if so, when.”

  “I’ll help you in any way I can, but I’m not friends with Mr. Frazier so I’m not sure when I will even see the man again.”

  “He’ll be at the theatre tonight,” she said. “My sister plans to allow him to sit with us.” Jemma took a deep breath. “Would you care to take me to the theatre?” She hadn’t intended to ask him, but it seemed the best way to ensure he was in the box when Mr. Frazier was, and if Lord Glenmore happened to stop by, having Philip there would be a nice buffer to that odious man.

  When Philip’s lips parted in surprise and he didn’t immediately answer in the affirmative, her cheeks, neck, chest, even her ears, burned with embarrassment. “That was a silly idea.” She waved her hand between them, though what she really wanted to do with her hand was cover her face. “Of course you have better things to do than accompany me to the theatre to help me with my sister. Please forget I asked you.”

  Philip grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. Though her gloves separated his mouth from her bare skin, the heat of his touch and the way his gaze held hers made her toes curl in her slippers. He held the tips of her fingers in his strong grip as he spoke. “I can assure you I could never forget such an invitation. It would keep me up at night were I to say no to a lady in need,” he teased. “Would you like me to bring my carriage around to fetch you?”

  “That would be lovely,” she managed to reply in a slight daze. She knew Philip was partly agreeing because it would help his cause, but there was a part of her that, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, thought he was also agreeing to help because he was simply that nice. And what he’d said about never being able to forget her invitation, well... Her toes curled in her slippers once again at the thought of those words, and that bothered her. Did she truly still desire love? Would a man such as Philip ever consider her if he knew about her lack of innocence? Of course he wouldn’t, her inner voice answered. Love was out of her grasp. So it was best not to want it at all and stick to her plan of the bakery. It was good enough for her mother; it would be good enough for Jemma, too.

  After parting ways with Jemma, Philip headed to call on another eligible debutante on his list, Lady Barbara. He trudged up the steps to her home, not feeling at all like being at there, but knowing he must. He took a deep breath and rang the brass knocker against the shiny red door.

  By the time he had been shown into the parlor, he had managed to remind himself that he was doing what he must and that he might, indeed, find love today. Though it seemed the remotest possibility.

  Lady Barbara entered the room, a tall, willowy brunette in a lilac day gown. Her hair was a lovely shade of chestnut, and her eyes—a dark, chocolate brown—were also lovely. When she smiled, it was polite, in addition to being lovely. She sat on the settee and motioned for him to do so on the opposite chair.

  “I was pleasantly surprised when Mother told me you were here to call on me, Lord Harthorne.”

  “I’m glad,” he replied. He was trying to think of something to talk about but his mind kept coming up empty.

  “Would you care for some tea?”

  He nodded. “Nothing in it, though, please.”

  She grimaced and giggled, a high-pitched sound that made him flinch. She covered her mouth, as if she knew how she sounded, before lowering her hand and smiling. “I cannot abide tea without a great deal of cream, but my mother has always said she knew Father was for her because he took his tea with nothing in it, which meant he had a hearty constitution.” She leaned toward him and handed him his cup. He went to take it, and she grasped his hand with her fingers. “I daresay that means you have a hearty constitution and that we would suit!”

  “Er, based on how I take my tea?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I’m to get a grand house in Gloucestershire. You need to be hearty to live there. It’s very barren. I love it. I want to live there and never come to London again. What do you think?”

  He thought she was dicked in the nob. She was proposing they marry based on how he took his tea. He set his cup down. She clearly could care less about having love in a marriage if she was willing to marry based on his tea preferences. He could not marry someone who held so little regard for getting to know someone...and for love. “I’m terribly sorry. I must depart.”

  “Oh.” Her mouth puckered and then drew into a
dark scowl. “I see. Well”—she stood and violently shook the folds of her dress—“I expect you back here tomorrow at ten so we can make plans.”

  Plans? She was most definitely dicked in the nob. “I’m afraid tomorrow is out of the question.”

  “But—”

  “Good day, Lady Barbara,” he interrupted before rushing out the door. He didn’t even care what he must look like scrambling out of the house. Lady Barbara was not the woman for him.

  The footman opened the door, and Philip moved through it so quickly that he almost barreled into Sophia as she was coming up the steps. He paused and glanced down at Scarsdale’s wife.

  He pointed a finger at her. “Your friend Lady Barbara is...odd.” That was the nicest way he could put it.

  Sophia frowned. “How so?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the door was still shut. “I vow she wanted to marry me because of how I take my tea.”

  Sophia raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not. She as much as told me.”

  Sophia shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. “You men are all so pompous.”

  “It’s not that!” he said, irritated.

  “Please! I’m sure you misunderstood. Come, we’ll go in and visit her together.”

  “Oh no!” He maneuvered around Sophia, toward his awaiting carriage. “She is not the woman for me.”

  “You’re marking her off your list?” She gasped.

  He nodded. “Most definitely. I need a woman who is more, more...”

  More like Jemma.

  The thought froze him. Devil take it. Why had she come to mind? Well, he had just been with her, and she was sane, so it made perfect sense.

  Sophia was staring at him expectantly.

  “I need a woman who needs to know more than how I take my tea before she wants to marry me,” he said.