When Harry Met Molly

“We’ve some important things to discuss but, first, I must congratulate you.” She smiled up at him. “You won us a lovely number of points in the fencing tournament.”

They stopped walking.

“I did, didn’t I?” he said.

His eyes were that golden brown again. She was so tempted to reach up and kiss him. He was hers, after all.

“Molly—”

“Harry—”

They both spoke at once. The air between them was full of something invisible, tantalizing, out of reach— something that made her forget to breathe.

“I’m so sorry about what happened to you after the tournament was over.” Harry brushed a curl from her face.

She blushed. “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t napping.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure where you were, but I know you were in trouble and that Sir Richard had something to do with it.”

And then he moved closer, bent his head. She stood on tiptoe, and when their lips touched, it was like fire between them.

He pulled her close. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He deepened the kiss until she could barely stand. He tasted so good!

But they were playing a game, her common sense reminded her. Fooling the other participants in the wager with their kisses. Focused on winning points. Trying to reach goals that had nothing to do with each other.

And those goals were in jeopardy.

She forced herself to pull her lips away.

“What is it?” Harry whispered. His eyes, half lidded with passion mere seconds ago, were now wide open. Questioning.

She cleared her throat. “I—I’m doing my best to be a good mistress,” she said, “but Sir Richard is unceasingly suspicious and getting worse each day.”

“I know,” said Harry. “At every nightly vote, he mentions how unusual you are, as if he can’t quite believe you’re a mistress.”

She sighed. “I was sitting in a tree, watching you being carried into the house after the fencing tournament, when Sir Richard stole my clothes. He promised to give them back to me if I came down, but when I refused, he grew more suspicious than ever that I’m no lightskirt. I told him I was stuck on a branch.”

Harry’s lips became a thin line. “I’ll make him regret his rudeness next week, after the wager is over, when you’re safely home and he can no longer jeopardize our standing in the wager. It riles me that he knows my hands are tied behind my back until then.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “Harry—” How was she to say this? “I don’t know if you can wait until next week to speak to him.”

Harry stopped walking and gripped her shoulders. “Out with it, Molly,” he said sharply. “What else has he done to you?”

She sighed. “It’s not what he did to me. When I was, um, solving my problem and retrieving my clothes, Bunny came outside. I was hidden, so she didn’t see me. But she went running to the tree, and I could tell she was looking for me.”

“And you didn’t call out to her?”

“No. Because right behind her came Sir Richard. He yelled at her for leaving the house. She told him she was worried about me, and angry at Sir Richard for making her tell everyone I was napping”—Molly looked down, still upset by the memory—“and he grabbed her by the hair. He pulled. Hard. Bunny cried out—”

Molly bit her lip. She had to stop talking.

“He’s such a coward.” Harry’s eyes were stormy. “I saw them walking into the house. Bunny looked as though she’d been crying.”

His agitation encouraged Molly. “We must do something, Harry, mustn’t we? We can’t stand by, even though Sir Richard may somehow find a way to unveil me—”

“There is nothing we can do,” Harry interrupted her. “Nothing. As much as we hate what’s going on between him and Bunny, it’s not our business. She’s chosen to stay with him. They’ve been together for years.”

“It’s not right.” Molly felt her eyes pricking with tears. “It’s…despicable.”

“I know.” Harry’s tone was gentle but firm. “She isn’t the only mistress treated this way. And you must know it happens to wives, as well.”

Molly felt a raw ache in her middle. “So you’re saying we do nothing.”

“Exactly.” Harry’s gaze was unyielding. “We can’t save the world, Molly. And we must protect our own interests. Do you want to leave here with your identity protected? And do you want to marry well?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you must do your best not to antagonize Sir Richard further. Try to win the title of Most Delectable Companion. And accept the way things are.”

Molly felt she couldn’t breathe. How could she have wasted a single minute this week having tender feelings for Harry?

“I’m disappointed in you,” she said, her voice hoarse with a jangle of emotions. “I—I thought you were better than that, no matter what everyone else said. But now—”

“Yes?” he challenged her.

“Now I don’t want to speak to you.”

Harry didn’t say a word. His eyes were hooded now; his mouth, grim.

And as he strode away, back to the house, Molly felt the truth lance her heart: she would never, ever make the mistake again of believing he could be—she swallowed and blinked back a tear—her hero.

Chapter 25

Everything seemed gray and gloomy the next day to Molly. Her mood, her morning porridge, the sky, each cup of tea she poured for the ladies during dramatic reading practice, the limp cards she held during the incessant games of whist she played.

Athena had informed the men at noon, when they’d returned from shooting, that Joan was abed with a slight chill she’d acquired from romping about naked in the creek during the fencing tournament.

Their party was further depleted when Harry made himself scarce during much of the afternoon, claiming he had unexpected estate business to attend to in the library.

Molly suspected he was trying to avoid her as much as she was attempting to avoid him.

But at the dinner hour, he reappeared.

“You ladies are unusually quiet tonight,” he said from the head of the table after the first course.

Molly exchanged a brief look with Bunny and Athena and read in their eyes the same concern she had: Where was Joan? And how much longer could they cover for her?

She should have been back by now. Dusk had fallen, and the woods were thick and deep.

“I’m simply famished,” Bunny said hastily, and spooned some soup into her mouth.

“And I’m thinking about how ruggedly handsome all of you gentlemen are,” said Athena, batting her eyelashes. “Shooting every morning has brought out the beast in each of you.”

Molly thought Athena was taking her efforts to be distracting a little too far, but no man seemed at all suspicious that her remark wasn’t sincere.

Oh, well. Molly was learning a lot about men this week.

She yawned modestly behind her hand. “I am a little tired.”

“Me, too,” said Hildur, yawning so wide Molly could see down her throat.

“Don’t be too tired,” said Sir Richard, chuckling with anticipation. “Tonight we have the kissing closet game. One more time, according to Prinny’s schedule.”