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

by Julie Johnstone

  Jemma shook her head. She knew Anne’s leg had been paining her today, and she didn’t want to make her sister feel any worse. “What if Philip comes while I am out?” Jemma asked.

  “He’ll speak with me first, as is proper,” Grandfather supplied.

  “But what if I’m not back by the time the two of you are finished discussing things?”

  Grandfather quirked a bushy eyebrow. “I imagine he’ll wait for you, as you’ve done for him all day.”

  Jemma detected a note of amusement in her grandfather’s tone, and maybe even a tinge of vengeance. Was he trying to pay Philip back for making her wait? Still, she didn’t want to go. “I think I’ll stay and—”

  “I insist you go,” Grandfather demanded in a tone that allowed no rebuttal. “Your fretting has increased by the hour and is making my own nerves sing. And the cook vows that there is no more counter space in the kitchen for all the cookies you’ve baked. Take a short ride. You needn’t be here when Lord Harthorne arrives. And if he tries to leave before you return, we’ll chain him in the dungeon.”

  “You don’t have dungeon,” she grumbled as Anne’s laughter rang out through the study.

  “I knew I should have built one,” Grandfather joked, but then he grew serious. “I do not care to see you made nervous by Lord Harthorne. Are you sure that you are certain of him?”

  Her heart expanded at his protectiveness of her. “I’m certain.”

  “Excellent,” he said, clapping his hands. “Off you go. Allow me the pleasure of securing a marriage of love for you, as I failed to do with your mother.”

  Jemma caught her breath. So this was the true heart of the matter. She could not deny him that.

  “All right. I’m off. I’ll take Eliza with me.”

  Within minutes, Jemma was riding in the carriage to Hyde Park. She had to admit that she was feeling much more relaxed by the time they arrived at the park. The sun filled the sky, almost blindingly so, and the scent of roses and fresh grass swirled in the air. She decided to take a walk around the Serpentine, so she and Eliza set out on foot.

  As they approached the water, she spotted a couple facing each other. They appeared to be arguing, and Jemma was about to turn away when she realized it was Mr. Frazier and Lady Beatrice.

  Jemma smiled with grim satisfaction that the note she’d sent around to Lady Beatrice this morning had apparently worked to awaken the lady to the scoundrel before her, but Jemma’s heart also twisted for poor Lady Beatrice. Jemma, grabbing Eliza’s hand, scuttled back behind the tree, afraid if they turned and fled now, Mr. Frazier would see her. She’d wait until he faced the other direction or, better yet, left.

  Soon Lady Beatrice was heading straight toward them with Mr. Frazier on her heels, calling her name. Jemma cringed at the desperation tingeing his tone. She pulled Eliza farther behind the tree and prayed neither Lady Beatrice nor Mr. Frazier would spot them. When Lady Beatrice stomped by without slowing and then Mr. Frazier followed, Jemma let out a relieved breath and waited until both parties had rounded the bend in the path before she ventured out from behind the tree.

  “I’m sorry, Eliza,” she said to her lady’s maid, who was pulling stray twigs from her bun. “That man is odious, and I certainly didn’t want to come in contact with him.”

  “I understand, my lady. He’s the gentleman that hurt your sister, yes?”

  “He’s no gentleman. He’s a blackhearted rake, if ever there was one, and I hope he rots in— Whatever is the matter?” Eliza’s eyes had grown very wide.

  “Ah do believe wha’s th’ matter is me,” Mr. Frazier said from behind Jemma.

  “I’m sorry, Miss!” Eliza hastened. “He appeared like a ghost.”

  Or a devil, Jemma thought, turning to face him. “Hello, Mr. Frazier.”

  “Miss Adair. I dinnot suppose ye ken who might’ve told Lady Beatrice Ah was interested more in her money than th’ fair lass herself.”

  “I’ve no idea to what you are referring,” Jemma lied.

  Mr. Frazier stepped closer to her, threateningly so. “Do ye not, now? Ah beg ta differ. Ah saw ye starin’ at me last night with yer eyes all narrowed and yer face twisted in a grimace as Ah was speakin’ with Lady Beatrice.”

  Mindful of Eliza hovering behind her like a scared mouse, Jemma squared her shoulders to show Mr. Frazier he didn’t intimidate her. “Perhaps, Mr. Frazier, you’re not as clever as you believed. Perhaps each woman you try to trick into marriage will see through your false words to the man you really are. A man who does not want a woman for who she is at all but only for the money she will bring him.”

  His jaw clenched. “Dinnot fool yerself, Miss Adair. All men want a wife first fur th’ money she will bring him and next fur what she will bring ta his bed.”

  She tilted her chin up. “You’re wrong. Only rakes with no consciences think that way.”

  A malicious smile spread across his face. “Then yer Lord Harthorne is a rake with nae conscience. Ah saw ye starin’ at him all dove-eyed last night, thinkin’ he’s so above me.”

  “He is above you,” she spat. “But that has nothing to do with his rank and everything to do with the fact that he is an honorable gentleman.”

  Mr. Frazier’s hand shot out, and he jerked her toward him. Behind her, Eliza shrieked, but a dark look from Mr. Frazier silenced her. Jemma’s heart pounded, but slowly, she raised her gaze to Mr. Frazier’s. “If you don’t unhand me at once I’ll tell Lord Harthorne of your treatment of me, and then I’ll be pleased to watch as he kills you in a duel.”

  “I’m sure ye would,” Mr. Frazier snarled, shoving her away so hard that she staggered into Eliza and they both nearly toppled over. Once she’d regained her balance, she motioned for Eliza to follow her, and Jemma moved to step around Mr. Frazier.

  He blocked her path with his arm. “A moment, Miss Adair. There’s somethin’ Ah think ye ought ta know ’bout the man ye fancy ta be perfect.”

  “And what is that?” she asked, pleased with how cold and strong her voice sounded.

  “If ye think a man wantin’ ta marry fur money makes a man a blackhearted, no good, rotten rake, then Lord Harthorne is the king of rakes. He’s certainly fooled ye.”

  A wave of uneasiness rippled through her. Mr. Frazier was wrong. Of course, he was. But he’d said it with such conviction. “You’re wrong. Lord Harthorne comes from a good family and does not need to marry for money. Besides, if he did, he certainly wouldn’t be pursuing me. My grandfather has never said I would be given any sort of dowry.”

  “Never announced it, no, Ah grant ye that. But Ah told Harthorne it was so. Yer sister told me of the dowry and Ah told him.”

  All her doubts about men, love, and Philip assaulted her at once, but she refused to give in to them. She believed in Philip. Yet Anne had told Mr. Frazier. Jemma’s stomach clenched, even as she tilted her chin up. “You’re lying. He would have said something. He, unlike you, is honorable.”

  Mr. Frazier shook his head. “I’m nae lyin’. And he’d’ve been a fool ta say somethin’ ta ye. He may come from a good family, but he’s got no money. Plenty of debt, aye, but money, nay.”

  “You’re despicable.” Her body trembled, and the doubts beat at her much like the waves had battered the ship she and Anne had sailed on as they’d crossed from America to England.

  “Call me what ye will, but if Ah em despicable, Harthorne is despicable, too.”

  She swatted at his arm to get him to lower it. As he did, she grasped Eliza and fairly dragged her around Mr. Frazier. Jemma’s heart hammered with each step she took, and by the time they were at the top of the stone path and she could see her grandfather’s carriage in the distance, her breaths were coming in short gasps and she could barely think past her doubts to take the next step. She stopped and pressed her back into the trunk of a large tree to catch her breath and gain her composure. Eliza doubled over beside her, panting, as well.

  After a moment, both of them could breathe normally again, but the
uncertainty in Jemma’s mind was a loud, thunderous roar.

  “Miss Adair, whatever are you going to do?” Eliza asked.

  Jemma sheathed her inner feelings. If there was the slightest chance she was once again going to be humiliated, disappointed, and crushed by a man, she refused to let a single soul see it. She’d suffer in silence this time, by God.

  Jemma forced a smile. “I’ll simply ask Lord Harthorne to tell me the truth. He will, and all will be well. I have no doubt.”

  Her legs trembled as she forced her feet to carry her from the path to the carriage that would take her to Philip, who she knew, without a doubt, had the power to destroy her faith in men forever.

  Though it had taken the better part of the day to meet with Scarsdale and conduct their business, Philip left his friend’s house with a new outlook on his future. Scarsdale had readily offered Philip employment in his company, Zephyrus Shipping. He’d even said that once Philip learned the business, they could talk about him becoming a partner, too. It was going to take a lot of hard work to manage his lands and learn Scarsdale’s business, but Philip was looking forward to the challenge. He’d also gotten the names of several experts in irrigation from Scarsdale’s steward, and Philip planned to meet with them to see what could be done to improve irrigation on his land, in case there was another rainy year.

  Philip grinned as he climbed into his carriage. He was turning his future around.

  The ride to the Duke of Rowan’s townhome was quick, and Philip whistled to himself as he exited the carriage and ascended the steps, anticipating seeing Jemma and officially asking for her hand.

  He was quickly shown to the library, and when the door creaked opened, he expected to see Jemma stroll through, but it was her grandfather. Philip started to stand, but the duke waved a staying hand in his direction.

  “If you stand,” Rowan said, “I’ll be compelled to remain standing, and it’s been a long day.”

  Philip nodded. “For me, as well.”

  Rowan moved to the sidebar and held up a crystal decanter full of amber liquid. “Care for a drink?”

  What Philip cared for was to settle matters quickly, see Jemma, and ask her properly to marry him. Yet, he knew how things were done. “Brandy?”

  Rowan nodded, filled two glasses, strode over to Philip, and handed him one. “Jemma is out, but she’ll be home shortly. I suspect you’ve something to ask me first, at any rate,” Rowan said with a slight smile.

  Philip set his tumbler down. He wanted Rowan to understand his financial circumstances—what they had been and that he would be improving them—but he also wanted to make clear that he’d take no dowry. “I’ve come to request your granddaughter’s hand in marriage—”

  “Excellent!” Rowan boomed, cutting Philip off.

  Philip couldn’t help but grin at the man’s enthusiasm. “I’m glad you seem agreeable to my—”

  “Agreeable?” The duke placed his drink on a table and clapped his hands together. “I’m thrilled. I almost ruined my granddaughter’s life trying to match her with Glenmore, and I’ve slept terribly ever since learning what the man was really like. I’m just glad my granddaughter has more sense than I do.” Rowan clapped his hands. “Now, let us talk dowry.”

  Before Philip could reply, the door behind him creaked. He turned to see Jemma with her hair unbound in lovely red curls and wearing a dress of sapphire blue that brought out the blue in her eyes. She stepped all the way into the room.

  “Talking about the dowry already, I see,” Jemma said in a strained voice he’d never heard from her before.

  Philip frowned. “No. We were just—”

  “Grandfather, I need to speak to Philip alone.”

  The Duke of Rowan looked between Jemma and Philip, deep lines creasing his brow. He nodded. “If you wish it, but we were not finished.”

  She smiled, but Philip could tell it was forced by the tremble of her lips. “Perhaps after I speak with him.”

  Perhaps? What the devil was going on?

  Rowan gave a terse nod, shot Philip an accusing look, and left the room. Philip stood and went immediately to Jemma. As he neared her, she backed up a step, and his gut twisted. Something was certainly wrong.

  He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to make matters worse. “What is it?”

  “I saw Mr. Frazier at the park a bit ago.”

  Concern for Jemma consumed Philip. He swiftly closed the distance between them and reached for her, but she backed up yet again. This time until she was pressed against the door.

  “Did he do something to you?” Philip asked sharply, blood roaring in his ears.

  “He said some things to me,” she whispered. “Awful things. And I know they cannot be true, but I have to ask, Philip. I’m sorry.” She raised her hand to her hair, and Philip’s chest tightened at the sight of her quivering movements.

  “You can ask me anything,” he said, aching to touch her but forcing himself not to move.

  “Are you—” She broke off and licked her lips. “That is, I mean to ask you—” She tugged her hands through her hair, her eyes almost pleading. “Philip, were you searching for a wife that would bring you a great dowry?”

  The question, asked barely above a shaky whisper, was like a punch in the gut. He couldn’t deny it, yet the minute he confirmed it, would he lose Jemma forever? Would she let him explain?

  “Oh, Philip!” Jemma cried out, tears pooling in her eyes.

  “Jemma, please.” He grasped her in his arms, afraid she’d simply leave the room—and him. He’d not even answered and she knew. “Let me explain,” he begged against her ear, his heart thundering.

  She twisted in his arms, but he could not make his fingers release her. “I convinced myself I had to marry for money, you see. I didn’t want to.”

  Her blazing eyes locked with his. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Damnation, but his explanation had come out wrong. “No. Of course not. What I’m trying to say is I—”

  Jemma’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t,” she spat coldly. “Don’t lie to me anymore. Mr. Frazier told me he informed you of the dowry.”

  Philip stilled, flashes of Frazier’s drunken words coming to him. “Yes, but I thought the man an imbecile who didn’t know what he was talking about.”

  Jemma’s face turned to stone. “Don’t lie to me.” Her voice, when void of emotion as it was now, was more terrifying to Philip than the coldness of a moment before.

  Philip’s heart pounded viciously. “I didn’t even truly believe about your damn dowry until your sister said something about it, and I can assure you—”

  “She did what? When?” Jemma demanded.

  Philip frowned. “When, what?”

  Her jaw clenched and unclenched before she spoke. “When did Anne tell you of my dowry?”

  Hellfire. A warning voice whispered in his head to lie, but he could never lie to her. “At Vauxhall Gardens.”

  Jemma’s eyes widened for a brief second before drawing into twin slits of darkness. “But of course. And then I suppose you conveniently came to find me and decided you cared for my attentions, after all.”

  “No. Jemma, you’re wrong.”

  “Release me.”

  “Jemma.” She was slipping away. Though he held her still, she was slipping away.

  “Release me or I’ll scream. I’ll scream so loud your ears will split.”

  “Please. You must let me explain.” Desperation made him tighten his hold.

  She eyed him with cold, unbending contempt. “I’ve let you do quite enough. There’s no explanation you could offer that I’d believe. Congratulations, Philip. You are the greatest rake I’ve ever met. You tricked me, and I fell right into your trap like a blithering fool. Make you a rake—ha! Very nice ploy, Philip. It worked supremely in making me believe you were anything but a rake. A poet trying to turn himself into a rake to find love among a bunch of foolish women of the ton, yes, but not a real rake. I never suspected you want
ed to marry me for money and not love.”

  Shame rioted through him. He’d not wanted that, but he’d planned for it, accepted it, and even plotted for it. How could he explain away his failure? He had to try. “I thought it was my only choice. Then I met you, and I realized it was not a choice I could ever make.”

  “Lies,” she hissed. “You men spout nothing but lies. If you have an ounce of decency in you, you will release me at once and leave.”

  He knew he had to step away, and he would. He would leave and give her time. She would never hear him now in her current state. But first, first... He pressed his lips to her forehead, and though she stiffened under his touch, he savored the feel of her. Desire and love mingled together as his heart crashed against his ribs, and he slid his hands up her spine to memorize the way her back felt just in case. What if this memory, this moment, was all he ever had of her again? Could this hold him for a lifetime? There was no possibility he’d ever feel this again. This came only once, he was sure. His fingers curled to hold her closer for one last second, though the second was painfully fleeting. This burning quickening in his veins was what drove poets to drink and painters to madness when the object that caused such delirious joy was gone.

  Philip inhaled sharply, trying to suck her essence into his lungs, the very fiber of his being, and then he released her and stepped away. “I’ll come back tomorrow when you’re calmer.”

  “Do not,” she said, her voice icy.

  “I’ll be back, Jemma. I’ll be back day after day until you will listen to reason and hear the truth.”

  “Get out!” she shrieked as she stormed past him and threw open the door. It banged against the wall as she strode through it and into the corridor.

  Philip followed her, his gut turning and his lungs aching to try to reason with her, to make her understand that he loved her. Would die for her. Would never marry another, even if she never forgave him. He caught her by the elbow in the main hall and swiveled her toward him. “I love you.”

  The blue and green in her eyes met his, and the colors seemed to clash and shine with anger that reminded him of lightning illuminating a sky during a storm. “Even if it were true, how am I ever to believe it?” The tears that filled her eyes robbed him of the ability to breathe. “Is this what you wanted to see?” she demanded, her voice sharp and bitter. “Did you want to see that you hurt me?”