Dinner came swiftly, which was a very good thing. Jemma attacked her plate of chicken, ham, and salad as if she hadn’t had a meal in years. When she was done, she felt slightly better and the world was no longer spinning. Once Grandfather and Anne were finished eating, Anne—the traitor—wasted little time reminding Grandfather that he had promised to accompany her to watch the acrobats, and they departed the box, leaving Jemma and Philip sitting there alone.
The orchestra was commencing the notes of the next song when Philip cleared his throat. Jemma just knew he was about to say something more that would make her feel worse than she already felt. She spoke immediately to cut him off. “This is the perfect opportunity for you to spread your rakish wings.”
“Is it?” He arched his eyebrows.
She nodded, hoping she appeared enthusiastic. “Absolutely! Go ask the most beautiful lady you see to dance, and when you are done dancing with her, ask another fair lady, and another. Spend the rest of the night dancing with only beautiful women but never the same woman twice. I guarantee you the other ladies will take notice and wish they were in your arms.” She cringed. She’d not meant to say that last part at all.
He leaned toward her, his eyes becoming intense and boring into hers. “Will you dance with me?”
“Certainly not,” she snapped.
A smile tugged at his lips, and she would swear on her life it appeared to be a smile of admiration. He came closer to her, his fingers tracing a line back and forth on the table very near where her arm rested. “But you said to ask the most beautiful lady to dance.”
“Well, of course—” Her breath caught as his words sunk in to her Attack Punch–hampered brain. She reclined in her seat until the wood of the chair dug into her back. She needed to put a safe distance between her and Philip, though she suspected all the distance in the world would not matter at this point. “Very good, Philip. It seems you don’t need my help to become a rake, after all.”
“I don’t?” His brow creased.
She shook her head. “No, indeed. I’d say any man who can lie as you just did with such a smooth, silky tone is quite the rake already.”
“No, Jemma, you’re wrong. I—”
“Jemma Adair!” a male voice rang out from a distance.
She glanced toward the crowd and searched for who had called her. Her gaze landed on Will.
Will!
The Attack Punch must surely be getting to her. She blinked, but, no, heaven help her, Will was still there. She knew good and well that he had taken that ship, which seemed so very long ago now, to go to England with his future wife, but for heaven’s sake, England was an enormous place! Did he have to be here, now, when she was so very vulnerable?
He strode toward her with the same gait he always had, but instead of finding it commanding, she saw it for what it truly was—arrogant and overly proud. He stopped, grinning from ear to ear, in front of her table.
“Jemma.” He breathed her name just as he used to, just as she last remembered him saying her name when he was apologizing for marrying another. “I cannot believe it’s you.”
“You always were one to miss what was right in front of your face,” she said, allowing the disdain she felt for Will to color her voice. Philip shifted beside her and cleared his throat. She motioned to him. “Mr. Collins, this is Lord Harthorne.”
Philip stood, greeted Will, and asked him where he was from and how he knew Jemma. As Will answered, Jemma watched him, expecting her heart to tug, or twist, or do something to remind her just how much she had loved Will and how much he had hurt her. But nothing happened. Nothing. Her heart beat a normal rhythm as she stared at him.
He looked the same for the most part, except he was dressed in much more expensive clothes than last she’d seen him, and his hair... She squinted to make sure she was seeing correctly. Hadn’t his hair been a richer brown before? It seemed dull now. And hadn’t it been thicker? He caught her gaze and smiled, and her heart didn’t do a thing. Her breath did not catch. Her body did not heat. She was over Will and all he had ever meant to her. Giddiness for that small gift filled her.
She grinned, and Will grinned back. Lord, but the man was conceited to think she was smiling at him. She moved her gaze to Philip, who returned her stare with a brooding, probing one of his own. Her breath caught, heat suffused her face, her heart tugged, twisted, and did every blasted thing she wished it wouldn’t do. But it did. And it was a thousand times more painful than it had been with Will.
It was too much to bear. She needed an escape from Philip, a way to get away from him without him realizing she was fleeing him. She gazed wildly around at the sea of faces in the distance, the shadowy paths, the dancers gliding under the pavilion. What could she do?
“Jemma, would you care to dance?” Will asked.
She whipped her gaze to him. No was on the tip of her tongue. No, she wouldn’t care to dance with him. He should be dancing with his wife.
“You should call her Miss Adair,” Philip said coldly. “It’s not proper to call her by her given name.”
“I’d love to dance,” she lied as she scooted out of her seat. She paused and faced Philip, who was gaping at her. “Lord Harthorne, you need a dance partner, as well.” Jemma made a quick perusal of the ladies around them. Lady Beatrice was so close-by Jemma could have called her name and the woman would have heard. Jemma waved her hand toward Lady Beatrice.
“How lucky you are!” she exclaimed. “There’s Lady Beatrice, and I know you have a particular affection for her.”
With that, she brushed past Philip, took Will’s proffered elbow, and tried, even with her heart hammering, to hold her shoulders back, her head up, and look as unaffected as possible.
Watching Jemma walk away from him on the arm of another man, a man who had known her since she was a child, made Philip’s chest tighten with jealousy and his blood burn with longing. It was as if she were walking out of his life forever. Suddenly, he knew two things for certain with a clarity he had been trying to deny: he could never marry a woman he didn’t love, and he loved Jemma but couldn’t marry her. Yet.
Hellfire. Maybe not ever if she wouldn’t have him, but if she would—he curled his hands into fists—he would find a way. Damn the ton. Damn a marriage of convenience. Damn his pride. There had to be a way to solve his financial woes. The thought again occurred that he could ask Scarsdale if the man needed a partner at his shipping company. Philip yanked his hand through his hair. The two people he could not forget, could not damn, were his mother and Eustice. Could he really ask them to endure the ton’s scorn?
An image of Jemma with her belly swollen with his child filled his mind and settled his soul unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t not ask it. He loved her. At some point his feelings had gone from interest and admiration to love, and now he didn’t want to live without her. She made his world right, and trying, even for a moment, to imagine his life without her in it was impossible to do. As soon as Scarsdale returned to Town, Philip would go see him. He’d need to speak with Eustice and his mother, as well, so he could try to explain and beg for their understanding and forgiveness.
Philip sat down at the table again and leaned back against the chair with his eyes trained on Jemma, but after a few moments, the crowd of dancers thickened and he lost sight of her. He started to stand to move closer to the pavilion when Miss Anne appeared in a part in the crowd. He gained his feet and sketched a quick bow.
She frowned. “Where’s Jemma?”
He waved a hand toward the pavilion. “Dancing with some gentleman she knew from America.”
Her frown deepened. “Who?”
“A Mr. Collins.”
“What?” Miss Anne’s gaze darted wildly to the crowd.
As Philip frowned at her unexpected reaction, the realization that she’d come back from the acrobats alone struck him. “Where’s your grandfather?” he asked, eager to move closer to the pavilion to try to locate Jemma but not wanting to be rude
and leave Miss Anne standing without an escort, especially since she was acting so oddly.
She motioned to her left where the fountains were. “Grandfather is speaking with a friend,” she said without looking at Philip. “Did Mr. Collins happen to say where his wife was?”
Philip shook his head, a feeling of relief filling his chest. He could relax more now that he knew the man was married. “No, he didn’t. He just told me he’d lived near you and your sister, and had known the two of you since childhood.”
Miss Anne turned toward him, her brows drawn together in a deep frown, but then she smiled slightly. “So you were watching her?”
“I—” Philip yanked on his cravat. There was no way to explain away why he’d been watching Jemma other than lying and saying he’d simply wanted to keep an eye on her, and he did not want to lie to Jemma’s sister.
Miss Anne studied him for a long, silent moment. “Are you not supposed to be making yourself into a rake?”
“Jemma told you?” he asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice.
She nodded. “We are sisters, Lord Harthorne. Sisters share many secrets. I admit I don’t know much about rakes, except they tend to break hearts, but I feel certain that your watching my sister dance with another man is not the way for you to accomplish your goal of becoming a rake and capturing the woman of your dreams.”
“And if I’ve already found the woman of my dreams?” he asked, turning his gaze back toward the pavilion where he’d last seen Jemma.
“Well, then,” her sister replied, “that would be a very different story, especially if the woman of your dreams has red hair and blue-green eyes.”
“What would you say if I were to say that was the case?” he asked, glancing once more at Miss Anne. He was dangerously close to blurting it all out to her, but he had to contain himself.
She gave him a knowing smirk. “I’d have to say I was not surprised in the least.”
“Truly?” He’d not thought he’d been obvious at all.
“Truly.”
He could not admit his feelings to Jemma’s sister when he hadn’t even admitted them to Jemma, nor before he was certain he’d secured a solution to his financial problems. “I’m not saying you’re correct.”
“You needn’t,” she said in a flippant tone. “You’d never have to say a word for someone who was observant to see how you feel. It’s in your eyes.”
He blinked. “My eyes?”
She tilted her head as she stared into his eyes. “Mm-hmm. They never leave my sister; you track her wherever she walks.”
“I see.” He shifted, slightly uncomfortable with how keen Miss Anne was.
“Do you?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I daresay you do not see, and neither does Jemma. I see, but the two of you seem blind.”
Philip desperately wanted to know if Jemma had voiced how she felt about him to Miss Anne. “Has your sister indicated she cares for me?”
She dropped her hands onto her hips. “In just about every way possible. She indicated it to you, too, you daft fool.”
He drew back sharply. The kiss. A grin tugged at his lips as the memory sent a shaft of desire through him.
Miss Anne shook her head as she clucked her tongue. “Do you think Jemma goes around kissing every man she knows?”
He barely managed to contain the happiness that exploded in his chest. When Jemma had kissed him he’d thought it meant she was revealing her feelings, but then she’d denied it so adamantly. It had been easier to go along with her denial for her sake and his own. But now... He took a steadying breath. “No, but I—”
“But nothing.” Miss Anne was glaring at him now. “What are you waiting for? Tell her how you feel! She’ll only believe it from your mouth to her ears.”
He tugged a hand through his hair. “It’s not as simple as that.”
Her mouth pursed. “It never is.”
“You don’t understand. I— That is— I mean to say, my financial situation is rather precarious right now. In my current state, I’m not sure I’ll be able to support my mother and cousin next month, let alone marry a woman who has no money.”
Miss Anne’s eyes drew to slits. “Are you trying to tell me you need to marry a lady who will bring with her a large dowry? Is that why you wanted to become a rake?”
He deserved the scorn and condemnation she aimed at him with her sharp words. The plan had been ludicrous and despicable, no matter how good his intentions. He glanced down at his feet, embarrassed. “It was. Until I met your sister, and well, I know I could never follow through with my plan.”
“I’m very relieved to hear you say that, Lord Harthorne. After what Ian did to me, it would be easy to denounce all men as dastardly, but I thought of you and how you came for me and saved me out of love for my sister.”
“I never said—”
She wagged a finger in his face. “Please.” She arched an amused eyebrow at him. “We both know you do. The question is what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” he said in all seriousness, but he relented a bit when Miss Anne looked as if she could gladly strangle him. “For the moment. Once I secure another solution to my problems that will enable me to support myself, my family, and your sister one day, should she agree to have me as a husband, I will immediately profess myself.”
Miss Anne nodded. “Do you have a solution in mind?”
“I do. I was planning to see the Duke of Scarsdale and ask him if he might have a position for me in his shipping company.”
“You’d do that? For Jemma? Take employment for my sister?”
The way she said the word employment, as if she thought it beneath him, made him feel the need to clarify. “I would have sought employment before instead of—” he shifted, not wanting to voice aloud once more his plan to marry for money “—but I was concerned for my mother and cousin and how the ton would treat them.”
Miss Anne furrowed her brow. “And your concerns have changed?”
“Well, no,” he admitted. “But if I could partner with Scarsdale...” He left the thought with her, not wanting to complete it. “Besides, I cannot follow through with my initial plan. I simply cannot. I thought I could...”
She smiled. “And then you met my sister.”
He exhaled slowly and returned her smile. “And then I met your sister.”
They stared at each other in silence until he said, “I suppose that makes me a selfish man.”
She shook her head. “I suppose that makes you human.” She gazed into the distance for a second, before focusing on him once more. “I do believe I have a solution, other than securing a position, that will enable you to provide for your mother, cousin, and my sister, if she will have you, and if, that is, you were to ask her.”
He leaned closer. “What would that be?”
“That would be my sister’s dowry,” she said, eyeing him as she quirked her mouth.
His brows dipped together as confusion blanketed his mind. “I don’t understand.”
She heaved a breath. “Grandfather is providing Jemma a very large dowry when she marries, as he is me.”
Good Christ. Frazier had tried to tell him, but he’d thought the man a blithering idiot.
Miss Anne shrugged. “He asked her to keep it a secret to ensure the man who requests her hand is doing so because he wants her and not the money.”
Philip stilled, the news rolling around in his mind. His gut told him not knowing this for certain would have been far better. “Yes, but now that you’ve told me of Jemma’s dowry, she’ll never believe I want her for her if she’s so distrustful of men.” He shook his head. “I’d never risk her doubting my love by accepting a dowry for her.”
Miss Anne caught her lip between her teeth. “I hadn’t thought of that. Oh dear.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “But no. That’s silly. You love her! I know it.” Jemma’s sister wrung her hands together. “Don’t let on you know about the money. It’s the only solution. You are
quite right in that she may very well not believe you love her if she thinks you knew of the money first.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Philip said. “I cannot lie to her.”
“But you must! You don’t understand the depths of her distrust. She was hurt terribly by Mr. Coll—er, a man.”
Philip whipped his gaze to the forgotten pavilion and swept over the few remaining dancers, searching for Jemma and Mr. Collins. When he didn’t see them among the couples, his gut tightened and he faced Miss Anne once more. “Who is Mr. Collins to your sister?”
Jemma’s sister nibbled on her lip for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you. I think perhaps Jemma should—”
Philip’s patience snapped like a line drawn too tight. He swept his hand toward the pavilion. “Your sister was there dancing with a man you’ve just told me hurt her, and now she’s gone.” He saw Miss Anne’s eyes growing wide, but he refused to mince words to spare her sensibilities, especially when doing so might provide the chance for Jemma to be ruined. Whether the man was married or not, it would hardly matter if he and Jemma had gone off somewhere alone. “They are not anywhere I can see now, and if the hurt he inflicted on your sister was in any way dishonorable, what’s to say he won’t try to repeat his actions?”
Miss Anne didn’t have to utter a word. Her face went pale as the moon, and the muscles of Philip’s neck tensed one by one. He’d beat Collins into the dirt if the man touched one hair on Jemma’s head.
“Go to your grandfather at once,” Philip ordered, already scanning the area to decide where to look first.
“But I can help you find her,” Miss Anne protested.
Philip shook his head. “That would alert your grandfather, and if anything untoward has happened, can you say for certain he’d not demand a duel? He’s far older than Collins.” Philip didn’t need to explain further. Jemma’s sister gasped, gave a quick nod of her head, and shot off in the direction of her grandfather.
My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) Page 20
