She would help his bedchamber stop spinning. And she would kiss him and tuck him in and maybe get under the sheets with him. He wouldn’t bother her. He just wanted her to sleep next to him.
He would hug her close because it was going to be a chilly night and he didn’t want her to catch cold.
A gray light seeped between his bedroom curtains. Was it close to morning already?
Damn, but he was starting to feel chilled. And his room was still spinning. He’d best get Molly. She was only next door.
Molly gave a shriek. There was a ghostlike figure, smelling strongly of spirits, swaying right above her. “Harry. What are
“The room’s spinning, Molly. I need—” He paused as if he couldn’t remember what to say.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“You,” he said.
“Whatever for?”
He shrugged. “Because. Just because.”
“Harry.” Molly blew out a breath. “You’re drunk.”
“I am?”
“Yes.” She threw back the covers. “Now come with me.”
She took his arm and led him from her room, through the dressing room, and into his own.
He groaned a little. “D’ya have to go so fast?”
He stood near the side of his bed and she pushed him down on it. He immediately lay back and groaned some more.
She took off his boots.
“You’re so pretty,” he mumbled. “I can’t stop thinking about that dress you wore tonight. The one with the holes…”
He trailed off.
“You need to sleep,” she said, and laid a blanket from the bottom of his bed over him.
He patted the bed. “Come lie down with me. I won’t touch you. I just want…a kiss. How’s that?”
“How can you
“Wha’?” He lifted his head for a moment and let it drop.
She leaned over him, pushed his jet-black hair out of his eyes. “You sleep, Harry. We’re leaving here in a few hours. I suspect you’ll be miserable, but at least sleep now.”
He grabbed her elbow. “I want you to stay.”
She shook her head. “No, Harry.”
“But you’re my mishtresh,” he said.
“You know I’m not,” she said back. “I’m a respectable female again.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “Oh, God. I remember now.”
“Remember what?”
“Nothing.”
But a terrible crease furrowed his brow. He’d surely remembered something unpleasant. Or perhaps he was ill from drink. She’d heard of men getting awful headaches after a night of drinking. She’d be cruel to leave him in such a state.
She went to the other side of the bed, crawled onto the feather ticking, and lay down gently beside him. “I’m here,” she whispered.
“Good,” he said, his eyes still closed.
She didn’t know who made the move first—it seemed as if they’d both thought of it together—but they laced hands.
“G’night, Molly.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Don’t forget, all right?”
“Don’t forget what?”
“The Moroccan tent,” he whispered. “Or the lake. When we threw the blackberries.”
She bit her lip. Hard. The pain helped her keep the crying at bay. “I won’t, Harry,” she eventually managed to say back.
But he was already fast asleep.
Chapter 41
An hour later, Molly slipped out of Harry’s bed before he awoke and met the mistresses for an early breakfast. Molly doubted she would ever see them again. She couldn’t very well give them her address at Marble Hill, could she?
But saying good-bye to Bunny was proving to be too difficult. The footman left the dining room to bring several platters back to the kitchen, and the other mistresses excused themselves to finish packing.
Both Molly and Bunny stood in the doorway, watching Athena, Joan, and Hildur ascend the stairs.
Bunny turned back to her. “Before I go, I must thank you again, Delilah, for the money.” She hugged Molly, then drew back and took her by the shoulders. “I know I’ll never forget you. And I hope you shan’t forget me.”
Bunny’s gaze was warm, trusting. It was enough to make Molly come to a decision.
“Of course I won’t forget you,” she said. “And perhaps I’m rash to confide in you, but—” She swallowed hard. How could she tell her friend that she’d lied all week?
Bunny took her arm and drew her deeper into the drawing room, to the corner by the sideboard. “Please do tell me what’s bothering you,” she said, affectionate concern in her voice. “You’ve always been such a help to me.”
Molly bit her lip. “Would you hate me too terribly much if”—she turned to face her friend squarely—“if I told you that I’m not a
Bunny blinked several times. Then she put her hand to her mouth, which was open in a wide O, and after an awkward few seconds, she dropped her hand and chuckled. “Delilah, are you telling another amusing anecdote?”
Molly shook her head. “It’s true. I—I’ve been an imposter. All week.”
Bunny went back to the dining room table and sank into a chair. Molly sat down next to her, took Bunny’s hand, and squeezed it. Then she proceeded to explain, in a low voice, how she’d come to be at the house party.
Bunny pressed a palm to her chest. “So your real name is Molly.” She smiled. “It suits you.”
Thank God. Thank God she hadn’t gotten up and walked away in a huff.
“Yes,” said Molly weakly. “I like it better than Mary. I’m actually…Lady Mary Fairbanks. My father is the Earl of Sutton.”
Bunny’s mouth fell open again.
Molly nodded vigorously.
Bunny clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. But she couldn’t. She laughed aloud, her beautiful face alight with mirth. “Oh, Molly!”
Molly laughed, too. She should have known—Bunny was a true friend.
Bunny sighed. “What a
Molly’s heart sank. Just thinking of Harry and how unattainable he was made her depressed. “I don’t think so, Bunny. He enjoys being a bachelor.”
Bunny squeezed her elbow. “They all fall at some point. And I—I think he has feelings for you. In fact, I’m sure of it. Please don’t give up hope.”
The footman came back then, and their cozy talk was over. But when Molly hugged Bunny good-bye this time, she felt worlds better, even as her heart was heavy about Harry. If he had feelings for her, nothing would stop him from acting upon them! And he hadn’t acted. So that was Molly’s answer.
She gave Bunny her address at Marble Hill and begged her to write as soon as she got settled into her new
