My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) (24 page)

“Here I am!” Anne called from behind Jemma, making her almost fall on her bottom in shock. As she teetered on the back of her heels, trying to catch her balance, Grandfather looked up at Anne and actually grinned. Jemma’s heart swelled with happiness. Until she gained her feet and came face-to-face with Anne, that was.

Heartbreak etched fine lines on Anne’s normally flawless skin. Did Grandfather notice anything different? She glanced sideways at him and found him studying Anne, as well.

“I can see that you have not been feeling well at all, as your sister said.”

Anne’s gaze shot to Jemma, and Jemma gave Anne a discreet, encouraging look.

Anne nodded, her bedraggled hair hanging limp around her shoulders and confirming the story that Anne had been abed all day yesterday. Jemma wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the shudder as she held Anne’s gaze. Dark circles shadowed the delicate skin under Anne’s eyes. Yet it wasn’t just that. Jemma’s pulse ticked up an angry beat as she searched Anne’s eyes and found them glazed, almost dead. The sparkle that had always been present was simply gone. The periwinkle blue no longer shined. Her eyes were dull, flat, and sad.

Jemma curled her hands into fists by her sides. She wanted to kill Mr. Frazier. Speaking of the devil, where was he? And where was Philip?

As the thoughts entered her mind, Mr. Sims appeared. He gave a quick inclination of his head and looked at Jemma. “Lord Harthorne is here to see you. I have situated him in the parlor.”

She did not miss Grandfather beaming at her, nor did she miss the way Anne’s shoulders slumped. Jemma knew, without a doubt, that she would not see Mr. Frazier in this house today or any other day again. What she didn’t know was what had happened, and though she was loath to leave Anne alone in her obviously heartbroken state, perhaps it was better to hear the sordid tale from Philip, rather than compelling Anne to relive the mess.

Jemma held her sister’s gaze. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Don’t be a silly hen,” Anne replied in an overly bright, strained voice. “I think I shall lie back down. My, er, sickness has left me feeling rather weak.” Without waiting for a reply, Anne turned on her heel and walked toward the main room where the stairs led to the second floor.

“Is it normal for a lady to feel so wretched when it’s, well...you know what I’m asking,” Grandfather finished, his neck turning red.

Jemma simply nodded. It was normal to feel so wretched when one’s heart had been broken, but Grandfather didn’t need the particulars.

He nodded and waved her away. “Go see your Lord Harthorne.”

Instead of arguing that Philip was not
hers
, she frowned and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. He stiffened slightly but smiled.

“Perhaps tomorrow morning you could ride with me, Granddaughter?”

“I’d love that,” she replied before making her way to the parlor.

Philip was wearing exactly what he’d had on the last time she’d seen him. He rose from the leather chair he’d been sitting in and strode across the room toward her with easy, butterfly-causing grace. Her pulse quickened as she turned and closed the door behind her. It shut with a soft
swish
. Of course, it flew in the face of every rule of etiquette that had been hammered into her by her mother, ever so slightly, and by Mrs. Young, to a megrim-causing extent, but Jemma couldn’t make herself care. She needed privacy. When she turned back, Philip was gazing at her, his eyes full of concern and a shadow of copper beard growth on his face, reminding her he had been traveling nonstop for her and Anne.

Suddenly, she wanted to throw caution to the wind, forget her secret, fling herself into his arms, and kiss him. Instead, she swallowed and said, “Thank you so very much, Philip, for all you have done!”

“No thanks necessary. Let’s sit,” he replied, his deep, strong voice calming to her, even if the words heralded that what had occurred was very bad, indeed.

Once they were seated on the settee, she faced him, acutely aware of his powerful thigh pressed against her leg, his broad shoulders turned so that his overcoat strained in protest, but most of all she was aware that Philip was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and that no matter how much she didn’t want to be aware of him, she was. All too aware.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, his fingers rubbing against his stubble and making a soft scratchy sound. Then he told her what had occurred. His burning gaze held hers. “Frazier is despicable.”

Emotions warred within her. Philip had saved Anne from a disastrous marriage but not from heartbreak. That had been impossible. Jemma ached for her sister, and when Philip ran his fingers over her right cheekbone, she realized she was crying. His touch, so gentle, made her scalp prickle with awareness and her heart constrict with fright. That same yearning she had felt for him, the urge to kiss him, flooded her once again but a thousand times stronger. It pulsed within her, and she could not deny it. Without thought to etiquette, her fear, his plans, or the consequences, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

For one moment, it was a perfect kiss. The sort her dreams had been made of before Will had stolen those dreams. Philip’s lips were soft yet strong, demanding yet gentle, warm and throbbing with a passionate message she wanted to understand. She slid her hands around his neck and pressed closer, until her chest met his, and he lurched back with such force that they both toppled off the settee and to the carpet. She hit hard, but the sting on her bottom didn’t compare to the sting in her heart. He didn’t want her, and he didn’t even know her secret.

“Good Christ,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice ravaged by...what? She didn’t know, though she longed to. He gained his feet and held out a hand to her. She took it, the contact of his warm skin on hers making her shiver.

“Jemma.” He breathed her name as if it pained him.

“Please, don’t say a word,” she begged. “I have no idea what just came over me.” That lie was so enormous she was surprised lightning didn’t shoot into the room and strike her down. She had the most dreadful fear that she truly cared for Philip. “I think I was just so grateful for all you did for Anne.” She grasped for another truth to replace the one that said she cared for him. That would be foolish considering his plan and her secret.

She balled her hands into fist. She didn’t want to love again, to feel this rejection. She wanted to run her bakery and forget about all men. Didn’t she? Doubts hammered at her, and the knowledge that Philip had slipped into her heart without her even realizing it was sinking in so fast she thought she could easily drown in her heartache. Her throat constricted with the horror of what she’d let happen.

“Jemma.” Her name came out as a plea this time. Was he begging her to quit talking?

Her words came out faster in her embarrassment. “Let’s just forget this kiss, shall we?” she mumbled.

His gaze raked over her, and she prayed she wasn’t as red as she felt. She plunked her hands on her hips. “I insist we forget that ridiculous kiss.” She spoke clearer this time, determined to take back control of her heart. Her cheeks burned as if on fire. She grabbed him by the arm and tugged at him. “I think you better go.”

“Jemma—”

“Please, Philip! I need to be with my sister now.” For the love of all that was holy, could the man not let her be mortified in solitude?

“Jemma, it’s just that I would not be good— That is to say, I’m in no position to—”

“Stop it!” she demanded, her embarrassment and heartache consuming her. “You are making this worse. More uncomfortable than it needs to be. I gave you a silly kiss of gratitude, unthinking and quite unladylike, and I’m now terribly embarrassed. Please don’t say another word.” Her voice had risen several octaves.

His brows drew downward, and he frowned. “If that’s what you wish.”

“It is,” she confirmed and led him toward the exit. He followed, though not near as fast as she would have liked. She flung open the door and waved him out. “I’m sure you can find your way.” There was no sense worrying about etiquette and manners now. Besides, didn’t shame and heartbreak give one a reprieve from such constraints?

He paused on the other side of the threshold and turned back to her, his gaze uncertain. “Will I see you at the Keetons’ party at Vauxhall Gardens in two nights?”

She forced her frozen lips into a smile. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there, fully prepared to help you become a rake and catch the lady of your dreams
.
Good day to you, Philip.”

She stepped back and gently shut the door. Her heart thundered as she leaned close to it and pressed her ear to the wood, praying he would leave what had happened alone. The sound of his shifting his weight from foot to foot rose in the heavy air surrounding her. Then came a long, disgruntled sigh and some mumbling that she could not make out. And finally, blessedly, the tap of his hessians meeting the marble floor as he walked away resounded like a continuous clap before fading and dwindling to nothing.

Jemma sagged against the door and slid all the way down it until she was sitting on the ground. She hugged her knees to her chest and buried her head there. It was entirely too bad she was so foolish as to have gone and let herself become attached to Philip.

She rubbed at her chest as her heart twisted. She sat there for what felt like forever as her heart thumped, and the truth could no longer be denied. So that was that. She was a weak fool. Tears threatened, but she inhaled large gulps of air until her nose quit tingling and her eyes quit burning. Her heartbreak would have to wait. Her sister’s came first.

Jemma forced herself to stand, despite her pounding head and hurting heart, and walk through the corridors and up the stairs to the bedchamber she shared with Anne. She slowly opened the door and winced at the sight of Anne lying facedown on her bed. The sound of her crying was muffled.

Jemma picked her way across the bedchamber, sat down by her sister, and brushed a hand along Anne’s hair. “Do you want to talk, dear sister?”

Anne shook her head, but then she flipped over and stared up at Jemma with swollen, red eyes and a tearstained face. “He didn’t truly love me!” she wailed. “He loved the d-d-dowry!” Fresh tears leaked from her eyes. “I sh-sh-should have never t-told him of the money!”

Jemma wanted to kill Mr. Frazier, but it would do Anne no good to say that. Not to mention the anger that bubbled up at the fact that Anne had told him of the dowry in the first place.

“He is unworthy of you, Anne,” she murmured in a soothing voice. Mr. Frazier was not a gentleman. Will was not a gentleman. Her father was no gentleman, either. But her grandfather had turned out to be one, as had Philip. Her heart jerked at the thought of him. He was certainly a gentleman, despite his reaction to her kiss. She wiped her sister’s tears and took a fortifying breath.

“You will find someone you love who loves you back.” She’d never thought to say such a thing, but she did think, perhaps, it was true. Anne would find love. She was good, pure, and had a huge heart. Somewhere out there a gentleman would meet Anne and see all the wonderful things about her.

Anne nodded but started to cry harder, and Jemma cradled her sister, simply offering the comfort she knew Anne needed.

“P
hilip, whatever is the matter with you?” Amelia exclaimed as Philip took his seat in his carriage and rapped on the side of the door for the driver to go.

Philip glanced out the window toward Rowan’s estate—more specifically toward the areas of the home where he believed the parlor was located. Was Jemma still in there now? He saw her in his mind’s eye as she’d been moments ago, her lips red and swollen from the kiss she’d given him. She’d
kissed
him. And he’d wanted that kiss more than he even wanted air to breathe. He scowled at his intolerable situation.

“Philip!” Amelia snapped. “Was telling Jemma what happened to Anne as bad as all that? You look positively pasty.”

He nodded as Jemma’s words echoed in his head.
I’ll be there, fully prepared to help you become a rake and catch the lady of your dreams.

The problem was that he suspected Jemma was the lady of his dreams. But she deserved so much more than a man who didn’t have two coins to rub together. He couldn’t court her. He needed a wife with a dowry. It was as simple and unbearable as that.

Amelia snapped her fingers in front of his face, making him focus on her. “Did you hear what I said about Mother and Eustice?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

Amelia smiled. “Philip, you’ve become even more of a woolgatherer than you used to be.”

“My mind is a field, and I am the farmer.”

She grinned. “And what topic are you harvesting, oh brother dear?”

Jemma.
“Life.”

Amelia arched her eyebrows. “That’s a rather vague answer.”

“I’m a rather vague rake.”

She scowled at him. “You are hardly a rake.”

“I’m in training.” And if his sister knew how he’d just returned the kiss of a woman he knew damn well he could never court, she’d likely change her opinion of his rake status.