When Harry Met Molly

But he couldn’t do that. Ridding the world of the likes of Sir Richard would require a sterling sense of duty. And everyone knew Harry lacked that.

Besides, he had to rescue Molly at the moment. Hers was a problem he could solve easily— if she would let him help. That was always the question with her.

He made the turn to the grassy yard where they’d held the fencing contest.

“Delilah?” he shouted, and looked toward the treetops.

But there was no movement.

What the devil?

He strode to the tree and gazed up. It was impossible to see to the top from where he was. “Delilah?”

No answer was forthcoming.

He hitched himself up to a lower branch and made his way up.

What if she’d fallen asleep up there? One wrong movement and she could fall to her death! He’d best not call her name anymore, just in case he woke her.

He kept climbing, his muscles tensing.

But no. There was no one in the upper branches of the tree. Which meant Molly was still missing.

He climbed higher anyway and took a moment to look out at the grounds, hoping he might be able to see her. But there was nothing unusual. All was quiet, in fact.

Where was she?

He refused to panic. It wouldn’t help the situation. But then he caught a slight movement near the house out of the corner of his eye. One of the bushes moved. And it had a tail, a pale blue tail.

Molly’s gown! So that’s where she was! But what was she doing? Harry allowed himself a small curve of a smile. Whatever it was, at least she was safe.

The bush hopped a few feet farther and stopped in a corner of the house, an inverted corner shaped like an L, forming an alcove of sorts. No one would be able to see her there.

The clump of leaves wavered, then somehow fell apart. Harry saw it was a collection of small branches, really. And then there was Molly, crouched low, her long brown hair covering her—

Her nakedness?

Why on God’s earth was she still naked? The other women had donned their gowns long ago. Why hadn’t she? She’d obviously been able to get down from the tree. Why hadn’t she retrieved her clothes?

And then the answer dawned on him. Someone must have taken them. And she’d been forced to go after them herself, covering her form with a ridiculous—but serviceable—homemade bush.

Blood thrummed in Harry’s ears.

Sir Richard.

But Harry wouldn’t think about killing him now. He must wait until the wager was over, which would give him time to work up his fury into a healthy rage. Besides, at the moment he mustn’t come crashing out of the tree and terrifying Molly. She shouldn’t know he was here, watching her.

She leaned forward, seemingly looking to see if she had privacy.

A wave of guilt washed over him. He wouldn’t think about her nakedness. Not yet. First, he’d acknowledge with a sort of pride that beneath her rather naïve exterior, she was a clever girl, the cleverest he’d ever met. Had she always been this resourceful as a child? Yes, she had, but he’d never wanted to acknowledge it, being the older, wiser neighbor. He’d always classified her as a young pest who made an occasional playmate when he’d nothing better to do—and nothing more.

Now she slowly stood, and he drew in a breath. All thoughts of her cleverness left his head. She was seashell pink. All over. And she was—he swallowed—absolutely breathtaking.

The kind of breathtaking that makes one ache deep inside.

He knew he shouldn’t be watching her get dressed. But he—he couldn’t help himself. And he couldn’t help what he was doing to himself as he watched her.

God, he was an animal! But—

The whole world became Molly in the corner. She was what he wanted. More than anything.

He needed her.

He wanted her. More than anything he’d ever wanted before.

He—

He—

Was spent.

The birds twittered their frivolous song. Harry breathed in and out, stunned at the intense yearning he’d had for Molly. Not just for any woman—but for her.

When he looked up and saw her walk out from the corner of the house, fully dressed, her lovely head held high, he drew in a deep breath.

He was so confused.

And so very, very wicked.

Molly could hardly bear the thought of being in the same room with Sir Richard!

But she must.

She forced herself to smile when she entered the drawing room. Everyone was gathered there, save Harry. The men were playing cards, and the women, all in fresh gowns, were studying their dramatic readings, the only acceptable form of work this week for those who had to pretend indolence otherwise.

Athena stood, her expression stricken. “Delilah! Were you stuck in the tree?”

Molly caught Sir Richard’s gaze and held it, just for a moment.

“Not at all,” she said. “I was walking.”

“That was rather a long walk.” Sir Richard’s lips were pursed in an ugly smirk.

She graced him with a small smile. “Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” She sank into a chair. “But I find the outdoors so bracing. Don’t you?”

There was a chorus of assents from men and women alike, except, of course, from Sir Richard.

Bunny barely looked at her. And no wonder. Molly wished she could take her friend’s hand and squeeze it, tell her everything was all right. But she couldn’t because things were far from all right. Molly really couldn’t speak to Bunny until Harry helped her solve the problem of Sir Richard.

Speaking of which, where was Harry? She opened her mouth to ask, but he walked in, saving her the question. His gaze was usually direct, but at the moment he couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. Frankly, he appeared…guilty. But why should he? He’d had no idea she’d been without her clothes for so long and stuck in the tree!

She was curious, but when he kissed her hand, her curiosity dissolved in a charge of pleasure.

“I lost track of your whereabouts.” His voice was apologetic but velvety warm.

When he released her fingers, she was sorry. She so wanted to tell him how handsome he’d been wielding that foil, how magnificent his form, when he’d been winning points for their cause—their separate causes, she must admit, but theirs, nonetheless.

At the very least she could tell him she was pleased he’d won. The other, giddier thoughts she would keep to herself.

“You needn’t be sorry. I was out and about…enjoying the day. Perhaps we could take our own walk around the grounds?”

His eyes lit up. “Certainly. I would like that.”

So would she.

“You just went on a two-hour walk, Delilah,” said Sir Richard in a grouchy voice.

“One can never have too much of the outdoors, Sir Richard,” she said. “Why, when I was small, I spent hours at a time sitting in trees.”

“Is that so?” he said nastily.

She turned away before she stuck out her tongue at him.

When she and Harry got outside, she immediately took his arm and began to stroll with him. They must appear to be having a cozy tête-à-tête, she told herself, and brushed aside any other reasons she could think of to explain her need to touch him.