When Harry Met Molly

“Hildur,” she responded, expanding her already voluminous chest. “I come from Iceland.”

Heavens. Molly noticed that every word Hildur spoke sounded as if she were inviting someone to ravish her. Perhaps it was her large mouth and the languorous way she spoke. Or perhaps it was the way her finger played with the ribbons at her very low neckline.

Athena flipped her hair again. “Hildur sneaked aboard Captain Arrow’s ship. She claims to be of the nobility. She had the notion Lord Byron would fall in love with her if he were ever to meet her, so she’s come to England. I told her he’s moved to the Continent, but she doesn’t believe me.”

“I don’t think she understands much English beyond what Captain Arrow taught her on the ship,” said Joan with a snide laugh.

“Either that or she’s stupid,” said Athena.

Joan laughed again.

“Fall overboard, please,” Hildur said, in her slow, lush voice, looking at Athena and Joan. “You and you.”

A directive which shut everyone up for a moment.

Molly hoped to defray the tension by leaning toward Athena and smiling. “Are you Miss Markham, the actress?”

Athena’s mouth bowed slightly. “Why, yes. Have you seen me perform?”

“No, but my sister has. And she says you’re very gifted.”

But Athena didn’t thank Molly. Instead, she yawned.

How rude. Molly pulled back and sat stiffly in her chair. She might make a bad mistress, but she certainly had wonderful posture and better manners.

It was going to be a long week.

“Whatever they say about your rouge and hairstyle, I think your gown is quite appropriate,” blurted out the fourth girl, the one Molly was sure must be Bunny.

“Do you?” Molly swung to see her better. “I wasn’t sure if it was a trifle overdone.”

Molly’s gown was a dull gold satin sheath with Grecian trim composed of silhouettes of small people frolicking among letters of the Greek alphabet. The trim marched boldly across the appallingly low scooped bodice and around the hem.

“Yes,” said the girl. “It’s very overdone. And those silhouettes are quite entertaining.”

Molly looked closer at the silhouettes and gasped. She wasn’t sure what the tiny people were doing, but there were several male and female figures whose limbs were entangled in a shocking manner.

“I’d say your gown is perfect for this gathering,” the girl finished with a smile.

“Thank you,” said Molly, blushing. She paused. “Are you Bunny?”

The girl nodded, but she couldn’t say more because at that moment, Sir Richard walked in. It was as if an atmosphere of poison immediately enveloped the room. Or perhaps it was Sir Richard’s cloying cologne.

Molly had to restrain herself from visibly showing her revulsion at his presence.

Bunny, dressed in a carmine gown with a scalloped hem, swallowed, and stood up stiffly. She began to walk to Sir Richard, her hips swaying slowly.

It was the mistress walk! The one Harry had taught her! Molly felt a little less nervous. She was catching on to this mistress business—she knew the proper walk. She knew about feathers and how one uses them to—to—

She had no idea. But next time someone mentioned them, she would wink the way Athena and Joan had.

By the time Bunny arrived at Sir Richard’s side, she’d opened up like a flower. Her eyes began to glow and her lips parted, quite as if she had an amazing secret to share.

She’d become a vibrant, gorgeous mistress.

Molly bit her lip, amazed at Bunny’s transformation.

The men at the card table stood as well and dropped their cards. They were laughing and talking, clearly finished with their game.

Molly sat up even straighter. The other bachelors were approaching! She tucked a curl behind her ear and tried to look tremendously beguiling, which she wasn’t sure how to do, so she stole a glance at Hildur.

Hmmm.

Molly mimicked Hildur by pursing her lips, lowering her chin, and watching the men cross the room, all the while batting her lashes. But her neck began to hurt and her eyes to water. Her lips felt funny, too, all scrunched up like a pillow.

So she stopped trying to look beguiling.

Good thing, too. She could concentrate on Harry. His jet-black hair reflected the light from numerous candles, and he was freshly shaven. He looked splendid, even intimidatingly handsome, in his dove gray evening coat, black breeches, and immaculately starched cravat stuck with a discreet diamond pin.

He caught her staring, and his mouth curved in a slow, devastating grin that made her want to hop up from her chair and pace about the room and…and kiss him until that odd, frenetic, molten energy he caused in her was released somehow. But instead she bowed her head and pretended that her slipper had come loose.

When she glanced up again, she could also observe the other bachelors, who now stood before the women in a row. And an impressive group they were in their elegant waistcoats.

Molly instantly recognized Captain Arrow. He wore a uniform with braided epaulets at the shoulders. Tanned and virile, he was obviously born to command.

Viscount Lumley was easy to spot, as well. He had beautiful eyes and a grin that probably got him whatever he wanted.

She’d already met the odious Sir Richard, who lounged at the edge of the group, so the fifth gentleman—the one who’d maintained a cool albeit pleasant demeanor at the card table—must be Lord Maxwell. Ridiculously handsome, he exuded complete confidence and an intensity of purpose that could easily intimidate lesser mortals.

“Now that we’re all gathered…” Harry looked pointedly at Molly and held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Shall they what? Oh, of course! She must join him. She and Harry must seem like two peas in a pod.

She stood and took his arm, her heart racing. He smelled wonderful, like clean linen and soap, and his arm was firm and muscular beneath his coat. She would like to cling to that arm all night long, rather the way she used to cling to a favorite fuzzy blanket she’d had as a little girl.

Everyone else joined up two by two, as well. But Molly noticed that every single woman was now laughing and vivacious and somehow glowing with…promises unspoken.

That was it—the secret to being a good mistress must be unspoken promises!

But what were those promises?

Molly swallowed hard, found it difficult to breathe, and clutched her shawl around her neck.

Athena laughed and whispered in Lord Maxwell’s ear. Captain Arrow pinched Hildur’s bottom and she slapped his arm, giggling all the while. Joan rubbed against Viscount Lumley as if he were a lamppost and she were a cat. Sir Richard bent Bunny backward and kissed her neck, quite as if he were nibbling on an ear of corn, the disgusting man.

Poor Bunny. Although the almond-eyed beauty gave every impression of enjoying Sir Richard’s attention.

Molly looked at Harry, who stood stoically waiting for the romping to cease. Either that, or he was attempting to figure out what to do with her. “Where are we going?” she asked him, their noses mere inches apart.

“To break the ice,” he said.

“The ice hardly needs breaking here.”

“The night has just begun,” Harry murmured, his words tickling her ear.

What a shame. Molly was already exhausted from being a mistress. She did feel a delicious sensation thrumming in her middle caused by the mere sight of Harry. But she would prefer to go to her room this very minute, slide under the sheets, read more of Wordsworth’s poems, and fall asleep. Alas, no. She must act as if being a mistress were the most exciting thing in the world!

“Off to the kissing closet,” Harry said to the party gathered around him. “Prinny believes there’s no better