When Harry Met Molly (22 page)

He was nothing more than a spare, her head told her decisively. A spare who’d gone to rack and ruin, whose heroics at Waterloo were probably as short-lived and insubstantial as a curl of smoke from a fired musket.

Chapter 29

Harry guessed that Arrow and Hildur, Joan and Lumley, and Maxwell and Athena arrived at the final site of the treasure hunt about half an hour after Sir Richard and Bunny had.

Athena was in a terrible snit. “I despise caves,” she said, her hair rather more wild than usual. “I will
die
before I set foot in another one.”

“She only stood at the entrance,” Maxwell muttered to Harry. “And a bat flew in her hair. You’d think it was the end of the world. It took me a good thirty minutes to calm her.”

Arrow and Hildur both looked half dressed, and their hair was damp. “We lost track of the time,” Arrow said, quite good-naturedly. “We really did intend to win.”

Hildur laughed. “I
like
waterfalls, Captain Arrow.” She threw him a smoldering glance.

“You do, don’t you?” He shook out his cuffs and winked at Harry.

Joan was in a foul mood, as well. “Those ruins,” she said, “are
fake
.”

“It’s all the thing, don’t you know,” said Lumley with a shrug. “Build your own ruins, invite friends over.”

“But we were
trespassing,
” Joan said. “And they caught us.”

“It wouldn’t have been a problem if, um—” Lumley stopped talking and looked worriedly at Molly.

Harry noticed that ever since their time together in the kissing closet, Lumley treated Molly with special deference. She’d asked after his mother’s health, after all. And made him a lovely tart.

“If what, Lumley?” Sir Richard asked nastily.

“If we weren’t naked,” Joan said with asperity.

Harry looked swiftly at Molly. The word
naked
apparently wasn’t bothering her as much anymore. She appeared to be laughing behind her hand!

The minx.

He caught her eye and grinned, but her expression instantly became serious again.

And it hadn’t improved, all the way back to the hunting box, where they immediately trooped into the drawing room for a late afternoon cup of tea.

Captain Arrow flicked back the curtains. “We’d all best batten down the hatches tonight,” he said. “We had a devil of a red sky this morning. I predict a vast downpour. And gusty winds.”

“But the sky is clear,” said Athena, “save for a few fluffy clouds.”

“Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” said Captain Arrow. “I’m sorry for Harry and Delilah, though.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Harry, trying to boost Molly’s spirits.

She didn’t say a word.

“Delilah, aren’t you excited about your impending Arabian night?” asked Joan.

Molly sat up in her chair. “Of course I’m excited,” she said, and tried to smile.

But she was a terrible actress, Harry thought for the umpteenth time. She looked as though she’d rather be drawn and quartered than sleep in a Moroccan tent with him.

Athena puckered her brow. “Are you all right, Delilah?”

Molly nodded. “I—I’m fine.”

“I should hope so,” Sir Richard huffed. “While we’ll have roast beef and pudding, you’ll be treated to a lavish meal served by exotic menservants.”

“Where are they?” Molly asked.

No one knew.

But the piece of paper detailing their prize made it clear that the servants would be at the site on the hill near the lake sometime soon after sundown.

Which was in fifteen minutes. So it was time to go.

After many wishes for a pleasant evening from everyone except Sir Richard, Harry found himself alone again on the trail with Molly. She was lagging behind him, perhaps without realizing it.

“Tell me truthfully,” he asked her. “Are you all right?”

“My slipper’s loose,” she said. “That’s all.”

“I could carry you,” he offered with a grin. “It could be fun.”

“No, thank you,” she responded politely, but her smile was weak.

Approaching a bend in the trail, Harry racked his brain for something that would restore the affectionate, cheerful Molly to him. Without her, he was becoming cross. And damned if his head wasn’t beginning to ache. For the first time, his usual charm was failing him utterly, and he couldn’t think how to…how to
win
her back. She’d been ignoring him, ever since she’d talked to Sir Richard after the treasure hunt.

Wait—

Sir Richard.

Harry braced himself to ask Molly what had transpired between them, but she was staring over his shoulder.

“Oh!” she cried. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Straight ahead, shimmering like a jewel among the trees on the side of the hill facing the lake, was a scarlet and white striped Moroccan tent.

“It
is
rather splendid.” Harry squeezed her hand, encouraged by her enthusiastic reaction.

She didn’t lag behind anymore. In fact, he had to walk faster to keep up with her. All thoughts of asking her about Sir Richard went out of his head. Harry was hopeful that Molly was back,
his
Molly, the one who made him feel as if every day were an adventure.

A few minutes later, when they actually got to the campsite, there didn’t appear to be anyone nearby, even though there was a small fire and a well-roasted suckling pig crackling and hissing away on a spit above the flames.

“You’re late,” Harry heard from behind him.

“Oh!”
said Molly, and whirled around.

In the split second he took to turn, Harry girded himself. He knew that voice, even as the commonsensical part of him insisted that it couldn’t be that person—it couldn’t! Not out here in the middle of nowhere.

But there he was—Prinny himself, sitting in a grand chair between two trees. He was surrounded by two Indian servants waving large feather fans behind his head. And he held an open bottle of wine in his hand.

“Your Royal Highness,” Molly said in a trembling voice, and dropped a low curtsy.

“Your Highness,” Harry said in his crispest tone. “Welcome to my family’s property.” He gave a swooping bow.

Prinny chuckled. “My, my, my,” he said. “So
you
won the treasure hunt, Harry.” His gaze raked boldly over Molly. “Did this fair lady assist you?”

Harry took a step forward. “Yes, Your Highness, she did. She was indispensable, actually. Never would have won it without her.”

Prinny took a swig from the bottle. “It gave me great pleasure to arrange that treasure hunt. I’m surrounded by very capable advisors”—he paused—“and some dolts, as well, who think I should attend to state matters
all
the time. But everyone knows a man must have his fun, eh?”

The prince leaned on an elbow and eyed Molly. “Tell me your name, my dear.”

Harry almost couldn’t breathe.

“D-Delilah, Your Highness.” She smiled at Prinny, and Harry prayed Molly’s heavy eye makeup and rouge would disguise her, in case the Prince Regent ever saw her about town.

“You’ve intelligence and a bit of spirit in your gaze,” Prinny said. “I like you. Don’t you, Harry?”

“Most definitely, Your Highness.”

“I shan’t stay.” Prinny stood on rather wobbly legs. “And my servants shall leave after they’ve fed you—they’ll sleep in your stables tonight, Harry, and clean up here tomorrow.”

“I’m happy to offer them a room, Your Highness, and access to the kitchens.”

Prinny nodded. “Just as well. As for me, I’ve a horse and a servant nearby, and a carriage awaiting me in the village. A good friend—a rather delicious friend—lives not five miles from here.” He gave them a breezy salute. “I hope you’ll enjoy your Arabian night, my friends.”

And he turned to walk away.

“Wait!” Molly cried.

Prinny paused and turned back around.

“I mean, Your Royal Highness,” Molly amended with an apologetic smile. “We would be honored to have you stay and sup with us.”

Prinny chuckled. “You don’t want old Prinny about. One more bottle of this stuff”—he held up the wine bottle—“and I shan’t be so civilized. Besides, I’d rather think about what will happen here after I
leave
.”

He waggled his brows.

Molly turned beet red.

Harry cleared his throat. “We’re certainly grateful for your patronage, Your Highness. Safe journey.”

Prinny eyed him. “Safe journey to you, too, as you navigate your way through this wager. I hope you come out the other end of it the way you wish.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“And you, young lady.” Prinny pointed the bottle in Molly’s direction. “Don’t settle for a ne’er-do-well, eh? Make sure you find yourself a protector who knows your worth. I can already see that very few gentlemen deserve to win you.”

Molly smiled and curtsied. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

He skewered Harry with a steely look. “Take it from me, Traemore, the whole world might hate you for one reason or another, but if you’ve a good woman by your side, you can still enjoy life. And it don’t matter if she’s a duchess or the winner of the Most Delectable Companion contest.”

Harry grinned. “I shan’t forget, Your Highness.”

They watched him walk away.

But as soon as he disappeared, Molly’s energy—her brightness, her spirit—seemed to flag again, even as they sat by the fire and ate a sumptuous feast, complemented by a very fine bottle of wine.

After they finished their meal and said good-bye to the servants, Harry said, “You seem preoccupied tonight. You haven’t even looked inside the tent.”

“No doubt I’m still rather in shock,” she said, “as we were just visited by the Regent of England. Out here in the woods.” She gave a little laugh.

But the Molly Harry had grown familiar with wasn’t so understated. Nor so lacking in curiosity.

“I hate to add to your discomfiture, but Bunny gave me something today that you should read.” Reaching into his pocket, he handed Molly Sir Richard’s letter.

Skimming the lines, Molly’s face registered worry. “He’s hired someone local to check all the posting inns from here to London for a woman of my description. I thought I was a good actress, but the truth is, I make a terrible mistress. And Sir Richard has figured that out.”

“A young lady isn’t
supposed
to make a good mistress.” Harry hated to see her so burdened with remorse. “Besides, I’m just as guilty as you of being a poor actor. Even though we’ve”—how should he say it?—“
transgressed
certain boundaries, I can’t forget that you’re a lady. No doubt it shows in my manner.”

Her face looked particularly pained when he mentioned she was a lady. Was she worried that this week’s events had somehow stripped her of that distinction?

He laid a hand over hers. “Molly, you’ve done nothing wrong. And you’ll be all right. I shall see to that. We’ve got one more day to go, and then I’ll take you home, no one the wiser. You
must
trust me.”

They locked gazes, but the look in her eye was far from trusting. She swallowed. Her mouth trembled. And she was wary of him. He could tell. It was as if this week of getting closer had never happened.

Standing up, he ignored the hurt he felt somewhere near his heart. “I’m going to chop wood,” he said gruffly.

They didn’t
need
any more wood. The Indian servants had left them some. But Harry had discovered in the army that hard work was a good way to forget that the people you cared about didn’t expect much of you—and it was also a good way to prove them wrong.

Chapter 30

Staring into the fire, alone now with her thoughts, Molly knew she’d made the biggest mistake of her life when she’d eloped with Cedric. Had she never left home, she’d never have fallen in love with Harry.

She closed her eyes tight.
If only she could pretend he didn’t exist!

But she could hear him, whistling under his breath as he chopped wood.

And if she were a little bit closer, she could smell him—that fresh-as-the-outdoors Harry smell that made her want to press her cheek close to his and inhale. It was mixed with an elusive scent as comforting to her—but as indefinable—as that of her favorite bed pillow. She would never forget it.

The way she would never forget his touch.

Or the look in his eyes every time he wanted to kiss her.

She opened her eyes. She must remember that marrying was not in his plans. Not for a long time. And when he did eventually marry, it would be against his will. He was a profligate gamer, drinker, and chaser of women.

He walked over to her now, the axe dangling from his hand. “Needless task, I suppose, but highly satisfying.” He pointed to the new stack of wood in the clearing. “Especially when one is playing a waiting game. Are you looking forward to the finale?”

“I suppose,” she said. But her heart wasn’t in her words.

Harry crouched beside her. “Out with it, Molly,” he said quietly. “What’s the matter?”

She swallowed, avoided his eyes.

But she must be brave.

She must
ask
.

So she met his gaze directly. “I want you to answer a question for me, Harry, about your service in the army.”

He sprawled on the ground beside her. “Fire away.”

She gathered her courage. “Did you seduce the colonel’s wife? And…and forbear from defending your comrades in the midst of an ambush?”

His eyes flared with something she didn’t understand. “Why are you asking me this?”

She must stay strong, immune to his charms. “Sir Richard told me it’s why you were disgraced in the army. The colonel’s wife is his sister.”

Harry blew out a breath. “That explains his particular hatred of me. I had no idea the two were connected. She was married, of course. I didn’t know her maiden name.”

“Yes.” Molly felt a stab of pain near her heart. “She was
married
.”

Did he not see how wicked he’d been to seduce a married woman?

Harry said nothing. His mouth was a straight line.

“Is it true then?” she whispered.

“Yes. It’s true.” Harry didn’t blink, and his tone was neutral. “I
was
with the colonel’s wife while my friends got ambushed. But it’s not how it looks.”

Molly’s eyes stung, but she wouldn’t cry. “What do you mean?”

His eyes were hard. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

She felt sick. He was acting like a stranger—cold, unyielding. “Harry,
tell
me. Please.” She laid a hand on his arm, but he brushed her hand away.

“I told you. I can’t.” His words were clipped. “Do you trust me? You said once that you did.”

She stared at him. Her whole insides felt stripped away. But she couldn’t say yes.

She simply couldn’t.

He stared at her a moment, his expression impenetrable. “Very well, then,” he said, like a stranger again.

And moved past her.

She watched him stride away.

Is he not going to say anything else?

Her heart was beating so hard, she felt it would burst out of her chest. “Where are you going?”

“To the lake,” he responded curtly. “You’ll be fine.”

“Of course I will!” She felt her cheeks heat up. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“And I won’t be back for hours,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken, and strode down the trail.

“Fine!” she called after him.

She watched until his figure disappeared over a crest.

Let him stew and sulk at the lake. She would do well up here on the hill all by herself. It was what she wanted anyway. He’d best not try to come back any time soon, either. If he did, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him and his Impossible Bachelor ways.

They were far more lethal than she’d realized. And she would
not
succumb to them.

She made sure she was still scowling when she walked through a flap in the front of the tent—and stopped short.

She’d no idea that the interior of the tent would be so gorgeous!

The floor was covered in colorful rugs strewn with large silk pillows in exotic patterns. A small wooden chest to one side held an ornate brass lamp and a pitcher with two goblets. Several fringed blankets were folded in one corner, and in another, hanging from a tent pole, was a beautiful outfit, the likes of which she’d never seen. A small moan of appreciation escaped her when she touched it—it was see-through in parts, silky, and had slits in the oddest places. She wasn’t quite sure how to wear it. But she knew if she tried it on, she’d want to twirl in it. Or stand on the hillside and let the wind blow through it while she stretched out her arms like a butterfly.

She looked down at her own gown that had been in service all day. It was covered with little bits of leaves and dirt.

Very well. She’d change into the harem outfit, not to play dress-up or to please Harry but to be more comfortable.

After several attempts, she finally figured out how to don the exotic costume. Leaving off the veils she surmised were meant to cover her head and face, she lay down on the luxurious pillows, closed her eyes, and said her prayers. God could help her avoid total ruin, couldn’t He?

But why would He want to? She’d been flouting every bit of wisdom she’d ever heard!

She may have been a false mistress, but she’d also been a
fool
.

She closed her eyes and vowed to get a good night’s sleep.

Five minutes went by. Then ten. Still no ridiculous man returning to apologize
or
explain his disgraceful behavior.

A lone bird cawed.

Molly opened her eyes and stared at the colorful walls of the tent.

“Harry,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She would never let him know how she felt about him. She’d endure until this ridiculous week was over, and if all went well, she’d go back to her old life.

A life without Harry.

But a life of respectability.

She unfolded the second blanket and drew it up to her chin. Even though it was soft and of a pleasant weight, it was no comfort at all. Sort of like her existence would be when she left this glorious place.

The place where Harry was.

Another bird sang its nighttime song, and she sighed. Stupid bird! Didn’t it know her life was practically in ruins?

Yet somehow her eyelids felt heavy, and despite her cheerless thoughts—or maybe because of them—she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Around Molly Harry had kept his anger banked to a slow burn, but when he’d left Prinny’s camp, he’d let it flare. On the trail he stomped and fumed and eventually gave up on reaching the lake the civilized way. He headed straight into the woods, crashing through brush to get to the water faster. Once there, he’d headed straight for the diving rock, stripped off his clothes, and plunged in. He’d suffered a few scratches of thistle and thorn in the woods, and those cuts now stung.

But he wanted the pain. And the coldness of the lake. It almost helped him stop thinking about Molly.

And his past.

He swam to the shore, and when he strode onto the beach, the moon was climbing the sky, illuminating a bank of clouds in the west. A soft breeze rippled the lake surface and flirted with the trees.

Arrow had been right. A storm was likely on the way.

Harry retrieved his clothes and put them back on, but he wasn’t ready to go back to the camp. Bending down, he picked up some flat rocks, skimmed them over the lake’s mirror surface, and watched them skip and sink. Sort of like his mood today. It had started out so well. And now—

Now he felt like he had lead in his stomach.

It was a moment for him to face some truths.

Doing his duty had gotten him into trouble in the army, hadn’t it? He’d given up on leading a respectable life and fully immersed himself in the lifestyle of an Impossible Bachelor—a title he’d spent several debauched years earning.

He’d deserved Molly’s rejection of him tonight.

Based on what she’d heard from friends and family alike, she was right not to trust him—not to
believe
he could protect her. He was the one who pursued women as playthings, wasn’t he? The one who didn’t care what happened to them after he crawled out of their warm beds at night.

Knowing what she knew of him, Molly was right to be frightened about her future. How could a wayward bachelor protect her from the likes of Sir Richard? If he uncovered her identity, she’d be hopelessly ruined. She’d spend all her time at the side of her cousin Augusta, and after Cousin Augusta departed this world, she’d be lucky to go back to her father’s house. There would be no assemblies, no church bazaars. No family of her own. No husband to love her and for her to love back.

She would be hidden away. Disgraced.

And it would be all Harry’s fault.

He should have forfeited the damned wager and taken her straight back home from that blasted inn.

He dropped the rock still in his hand. He was a cad. A coxcomb. And if Molly were ruined, he’d never forgive himself. He kicked up some sand and began heading back to camp.

She was probably asleep. He wanted her to feel safe. So he would sleep outside the tent. Perhaps it was the only way to show her that his intentions toward her were—if not entirely honorable (his mad lust for her had already disproved that)—at least not despicable. He wanted her to leave this week at the hunting box with her reputation intact. And he wanted her to be able to marry a good man who would appreciate her humor, wit, and beauty.

He would do whatever it took to make sure her reputation was secure. And to hell with their previous agreement. He’d find her a good man, even if she didn’t win the contest. He owed her that.

There was the sweet, cushiony hush of nighttime in the woods. By the time he reached the camp, he felt much better. At peace somehow.

He added a log to the fire and lay down by it, flat on his back, his hands folded under his head. Looking up, he could see some stars through the branches overhead. Beneath him the ground was hard and unyielding, but he embraced the discomfort.

He would show Molly how much he respected her by staying far away. Closing his eyes, he heard a distant rumble of thunder. Was God going to test him so soon?

But five whole minutes went by in relative silence. Perhaps the storm would blow to the north, he thought.

Then a splash of freezing cold water fell directly on his eyelid. And another, on his forehead. His experience in the army had taught him that in a rain, he’d get no more than chilled. Perhaps he’d suffer a few sniffles later, but he never got colds.

He was too manly for that, at least according to Fiona.

Why, the very day Fiona had run off with the pompous Cedric, she’d told Harry he was the handsomest, most charming man in all of England.

He felt the veriest stooge. The fire sizzled as the raindrops came down faster, erasing all illusions he’d had about his worth as a man. Fiona had been paid to flatter him, and he’d actually believed her. He’d believed every last word.

He’d believed he was a veritable
god
.

The truth was, he was beginning to think he was a big baby.

The rain came down steadily now. He sat up, drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. He would watch the fire as long as it lasted, which, judging from the increasing intensity of the rainfall, wouldn’t be longer than another ten seconds.

But he wouldn’t move. He’d sit here all night.

For Molly.