When Harry Met Molly (11 page)

He laughed. “Something’s different about you. And I intend to find out what it is.”

She heard his footsteps move down the corridor.

Thank God.

Returning to her bed, she drew the sheets up to her chin and stared at a beam of moonlight illuminating a corner of her room. If Sir Richard found out she was no mistress, he might find out her real name, and he’d tell everyone, and then she’d be properly ruined. Not even a bounder like Cedric would want to marry her. She’d be stuck with Cousin Augusta forever, and everyone would whisper about her behind her back.

Except for Harry’s family, of course. They were perfectly proper, but they were also fun, sometimes entertaining on a lavish scale and, other times, inviting just a few neighbors over for an afternoon picnic or an evening of music. It wouldn’t do for the duke and duchess to think badly of her. They were Penelope’s family now.

A tiny tear escaped Molly’s eye.

Penelope!

It was at times like this that Molly missed her sister.
And
her mother. Because there was no one she could turn to in this house for comfort. No one at all.

Especially not Harry.

Chapter 12

Despite a restless night’s sleep, the next morning Molly was ready to face another day as a contestant in the Most Delectable Companion contest. This time, she told herself, she would do well. She dressed in her least revealing gown, which was still outside the boundaries of good taste as it was a shocking shade of spring green. And she read the note Harry had slipped under her door:
Have a good morning. Yours, Harry.

Yours?
She blushed, remembering their kissing session last night. She supposed he
was
hers. At least for this week.

You should let him be yours even more,
a tiny voice in her head urged her.

Molly cleared her throat and tried to ignore that wicked voice as she walked downstairs to the breakfast room. Once there she saw only one footman, the same one who’d helped her the day before when she’d first come to the house. Again, he looked right through her, as was appropriate, but she wondered if he were having any illicit thoughts about her or perhaps the other mistresses.

Because they
were
mistresses. Even if
she
was simply pretending.

She filled her plate and sat at the table, all alone.

Thankfully, Joan came in a few minutes later.

“Good morning.” Molly smiled and took a sip from her tea.

“I abhor country hours,” Joan muttered, and brushed by Molly rudely on her way to the sideboard.

“The men are already out and about, exploring the countryside on horseback,” Molly said when Joan returned to the table.

But Joan merely gave her a flat stare and stirred sugar into her tea.

The other mistresses trailed in one by one over the next half hour, and none of them ate terribly much. Molly, meanwhile, enjoyed eggs and a rasher of bacon, toast and marmalade.

Athena eyed her plate. “You do eat like a horse, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “I have a good appetite.”

Joan snickered and stretched her arms above her head. “I have a good appetite, too.” She winked at Athena again. “But not for breakfast. At least that’s what Lumley tells me.”

Everyone else laughed, especially Hildur, who laughed heartily at everything, probably because she didn’t understand much of what was being said and wanted to fit in.

Molly herself wasn’t quite sure what was funny, so she kept quiet. She remembered her kiss with Harry in the carriage, and that gave her an idea. She had developed an appetite for kissing after that episode and so had given in easily to Harry last night.

Perhaps Joan had meant the same kind of appetite as that!

So she eventually did laugh, but she was a trifle late.

Everyone stared at her.

“For someone vying for the title of Most Delectable Companion, you’re a featherbrain,” said Joan to her. “At least Hildur has an excuse. She can’t understand the language.”

Molly couldn’t think of anything clever to say back. So she said what she was thinking. “You remind me of some teachers I used to know. I never once saw them laugh. Some students said it was because they were naturally hateful. But I think it was because our headmistress was difficult and wouldn’t let them write their families, as penance for their supposed failings. Miss Dunlap thought we were all wicked.”

Joan simply blinked.

There was an awkward silence, which Bunny was good enough to break. “What an interesting story, Delilah,” she murmured, and patted Molly’s hand.

No one else said another word, until Athena suggested they adjourn to the drawing room.

All the women, except Molly, carried bags of some sort. Hildur sat on a sofa and pulled out some knitting. Athena opened a sketchpad and looked out the window. Joan sat at the pianoforte and began a charming prelude.

Molly sat next to Bunny on another sofa and opened a book on ancient Rome which she found on the tabletop. Bunny nudged her. “Don’t you have anything to work on?” She pulled out a lovely piece of needlepoint.

“No,” said Molly. “For five years I went to a very strict school where my chore every day was to peel potatoes for each meal. I never developed any feminine skills. But my father loves a good tart, and Cook never made one to his satisfaction. So I stepped in and learned three years ago.”

“You live at home?” Bunny looked vaguely shocked. “And make tarts for your father?”

Molly felt her heart quicken. “Oh, no,” she said breezily. “I meant in the old days. Before I—before I—” She didn’t know quite how to say it.

“Before you became Lord Harry’s mistress?” Bunny whispered.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you make
him
tarts?” Bunny asked her, all the while pushing her needle through her canvas.

“Yes, every Tuesday and Friday.” She hoped she wouldn’t go to hell for all the lies she was telling this week.

“That’s wonderful,” said Bunny, sounding wistful.

“Do you do anything…special for Sir Richard?” Molly set aside her book.

Bunny’s eyes darkened. “What he thinks of as special and what I think of as special are two very different things.” She shuddered and closed her eyes.

Molly couldn’t even imagine to what Bunny was referring. “What do you mean?”

Bunny opened her eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

Molly felt her skin prickle. “I hope he doesn’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Or sad. Or frightened.”

The way he does
me, she wanted to say.

Bunny half smiled. “Nothing you should worry about,” she murmured. “It’s all right.”

But Molly could tell it wasn’t all right. It wasn’t all right at all.

Bunny cleared her throat. “Let’s talk again about cozy things, shall we? Things that a loving wife would do for her husband, like that baking of yours. Do you also mend Lord Harry’s stockings?”

“No. I’m no good at mending. Just potato peeling. And tart baking.”

Bunny giggled. “I design my own gowns. “

“Really? How fascinating.”

Bunny giggled. “You’re the first person to find me at all fascinating, Delilah.” She paused, took out some thread and a needle from her basket. “Here, I’ll teach you to sew.”

And Bunny proceeded to do just that. She found an old piece of cloth, which she folded in two, and made tiny stitches in it. “See?”

Molly peered at it.

“You can do that, too,” said Bunny. “Give it a try.”

Molly painstakingly sewed the seam. She pricked her finger only twice.

Bunny took it from her and examined it. “Very good!”

Molly smiled. “Thank you for being kind,” she whispered. “No one else is friendly at
all
.”

“That’s because everyone wants to win the title.”

Molly frowned. “But what good is a crown of paste?”

There was a shocked silence in the room. Apparently, she’d voiced her question a little too loudly.

Bunny gave a nervous laugh. “But Delilah—it’s the very idea that one might be named the Most Delectable Companion. Being an excellent one takes a great deal of skill. Don’t you agree?”

Molly had once again forgotten that she was supposed to be a mistress.

“Oh, yes,” she lied. Because she really wasn’t sure of the skills involved. Although last night was giving her an idea. And of course the idea had to do with her being naked, and Harry being naked. Perhaps on the floor. Or the bed. Or against the door. Any of those places would do.

She felt herself blush. “That’s why if I win, I’d prefer to receive money. A hundred pounds should do it.”

Joan huffed. “That’s more than most people earn in several years!”

Molly shrugged. “A tiara of paste won’t sustain me if”—she hesitated, but then decided to be brave—“if, um, Lord Harry throws me over someday.”

Again, there was an awkward silence.

“You’ve put me in a very bad mood, Delilah,” Athena said, her winged eyebrows lowered dangerously.

“Me, too,” said Hildur, crossing her arms and glaring at Molly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I just meant that we
all
deserve something better than a tiara if we win.”

“Would you be quiet with your outrageous speech?” Joan said. “You’re boring me to tears.” She struck a jarring chord on the pianoforte, her chest heaving with…something like discontent.

But Athena diffused the tension when she stood and flung back her hair, quite as if she were onstage. “We’ve no time to indulge this sort of prattle. The men approach!” Quickly, she put her sketchbook in a drawer and fussed with the ringlets around her face.

Indeed, Molly could hear the horses’ hooves galloping across the yard. Her heart started beating at a fast pace. She didn’t know why she was excited to see Harry again. But perhaps it was because being alone with the other mistresses had its own stresses.

Hildur hid her knitting behind a curtain. Then she lifted her bosom higher in her dress and threw her shoulders back.

“You’re blocking my profile,” Athena warned her.

Hildur didn’t appear to understand.

“Move.” Athena waved her hand. “I must be seen to advantage.”

Hildur glowered at her, then threw herself onto a chair and sulked prettily.

Joan put the music away on the pianoforte, and Bunny stuffed her needlework under a table. They both took up strategic positions lounging on sofas near the drawing room entrance.

All of them appeared completely indolent, Molly thought, as if they’d merely been waiting for their men to return and accomplished nothing else in the meantime.

Predictably, the men came in with much noise and dropping of equipment near the front door. Molly had no time to think of how she should appear when Harry saw her. She merely stood there, like a stump, and watched the drawing room entrance.

All the men poured through together, like puppies.

Which amused Molly no end. Their faces were red and their hair was tousled. Harry looked extremely handsome, and for a fleeting second, she felt a surge of heat and possession grip her.

She was proud he was “hers.” And oh, how she wanted to mark him with her kisses! She wanted to fling her arms about his neck and look into his eyes and know that he would do things to her that would turn her knees to blancmange any time she wanted him to.

Because her wish was his command.

And in her daydream, he would desire nothing more than to pleasure her senseless and hold her when she was afraid—and laugh with her when she needed a friend. And then go back to kissing her, of course.

But then she remembered. Harry was most definitely not hers. Nor did he want her. And why should he? The other women, except for Bunny, had made clear yet again this morning that she made a terrible mistress.

“Delilah,” Harry said with much energy and enthusiasm. Yes, he was merely putting on a show for the room, but a small part of him was actually happy to see her. And another part was worried about her.

She appeared…small. As slight as a shadow. Ever since she’d arrived here, she had. Except for last night against her bedroom door. She’d been
very
noticeable then.

“Harry,” she greeted him back, her hands folded in front of her. She appeared rather nervous about what he planned to do next. Everyone around them was kissing and murmuring sweet nothings.

So he bounded across the room to her, leaned in, and kissed her full on the mouth.

But he kept the kiss short. Too long, and he would get frustrated. He found the short kiss invigorating, to tell the truth. And it appeared to have the same effect of lifting Molly’s spirits as well, which was a good thing.

Her cheeks reddened. “D-did you enjoy yourself?” She smelled deliciously of fresh bread somehow. And strawberries.

“Very much.” He smiled and pulled her aside, as if they were having an intimate tête-à-tête like the others.

She nodded. “Bunny is very kind.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re doing…better,” he said.

“One minute at a time is my new philosophy,” she said. “I can always manage that.”

Hmmm. Harry admired her spirit, but he wished she were having more
fun
. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping to relax her. “I’m to announce the first game now. Be prepared for anything, all right?”

He couldn’t tell her any of the details—it wouldn’t be fair to the other mistresses—but he did give her arms an encouraging squeeze.

“I’ll try my best,” she said.

And he knew she would. Molly didn’t prevaricate in the least, quite a refreshing trait to observe in a mistress. His real ones had fibbed to him often.

“I hope your best includes more kissing practice,” he whispered huskily, surprising himself.

Her face flushed pink. “Of—of course,” she said. “When?”

“Now.”

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her the way he really wanted to kiss her. She responded by kissing him back with an intensity that surprised him, considering the presence of everyone else in the room.

He was well pleased. She was learning to put on a very good show. In fact, she did so well that when he pulled back, he was a little more heated than he’d intended to be.

“I’ve got to go now,” he said low, and skimmed his thumb over her cheek. “But don’t forget. Kissing practice is compulsory.”

“I won’t,” she whispered back. “Um, when’s our next lesson?”

He grinned. “After the first game.”

“All right.” She grinned back. “I’ll be waiting.”

He was sure she wouldn’t be waiting for him after the first game, but he wasn’t an Impossible Bachelor for nothing, was he?

So he kissed the back of her hand, allowing his lips to linger. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” he said, feeling the veriest cad when he saw the glow of pleasure in her eyes.

And he walked away to carry out Prinny’s orders.