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
“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
“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
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?”
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.
Chapter 13
Harry stood on a small ottoman to gain every person’s attention—although Molly thought he really didn’t need to do that as he had the sort of personality that drew attention like a magnet.
“We shall now gather on the side lawn for the first game—a sack race,” he announced.
“A full accounting of which must be relayed to the Prince Regent,” Maxwell reminded the crowd.
“Exactly,” Harry said. “The winner of the sack race will accrue ten points in her favor, to be tallied into the final count at the end of the week. And don’t forget, for both winners and losers, a fine picnic will be served afterward.”
There was much clamoring to go out. It was a beautiful day, after all. And Molly was thrilled to hear the game was a sack race. She might not be a proper mistress, but she had a long history of winning sack races at the village fair.
And she’d always employed a brilliant strategy.
The women assembled at a chalky line drawn on the grass. Molly pulled the sack up over her shoes and gown to her waist. Her hands felt clammy, and her heart beat at a brisk pace already. She really needed to win this race,
