When Harry Met Molly

favorite hunting box.”

There was a huge rumble of protest in the room. The noise went on and on, and Molly looked at Harry. “Wasn’t the hunting box yours?” she whispered.

Harry shook his head. “I’ve much to explain about me and my father,” he whispered. “But it’s all past now. I was planning on talking to him tonight. And to you, too, Molly.”

He sounded fierce. Desperate. Yet there was also something warm and true and so… loving in his eyes. Could he—did he—have feelings for her?

He squeezed her hand. “I want to tell you everything. I—I was trying to get the words out during our waltz. I want to be with you.” He took a sharp breath. “More than anything else in the world.”

Molly nodded, her heart in her throat. “I want to be with you, too, Harry.”

The loud, condemning voices around them continued, but for at least a few seconds, nothing came between Molly and a huge surge of happiness and love welling inside her.

But the duke’s voice, commanding everyone to silence, drew her out of her reverie. Harry, too.

When order reigned once again, Sir Richard continued his speech. “According to the rules of the wager,” he said, “the women at the house party were to compete for the title of Most Delectable Companion. And the bachelor whose mistress won the title at the end of the week would be guaranteed another year of freedom from the marital noose. The rest would have to draw straws to see who would be required to get legshackled.” Sir Richard stared at Harry. “Your younger son, Your Grace, won the wager and was exempt from the drawing.”

“Yes,” the duke drawled. “We know. As does every disappointed virgin and matchmaking mama in town.”

There was a ripple of laughter.

Molly kept her hand on Harry’s arm. His mouth was a thin, threatening line. And his eyes—hard and cold— were locked on Sir Richard’s.

“But it has come to light, Your Grace,” said Sir Richard, “that your son violated the rules of the contest. And he should thereby forfeit his win.”

There was another huge rumble from the crowd.

“How so?” asked the duke equably.

My goodness, the man was cool under pressure, thought Molly. And she began to admire him.

Sir Richard scratched his chin. “Your son’s mistress abandoned him at an inn the day the contest was to begin. In fact, she is here, to prove my story.” He looked at Fiona.

“I am that woman,” she said in a soft, breathy voice. “I did, indeed, leave Harry. There are many witnesses at the inn to support my claim. He wouldn’t let me bring my lapdog to the house party! And he didn’t even care when I cried.” She batted her lashes and put her fists on her curvaceous hips.

The crowd went mad.

“Silence!” the duke’s voice rang out once more.

There was one last gasp from somewhere to Molly’s left, and then utter quiet once again.

“Do go on, Sir Richard,” the duke said.

Sir Richard drew a breath. “Your son didn’t know what to do, Your Grace. If a bachelor arrives at the site of the wager without a mistress, he forfeits the wager and must propose to a young lady almost immediately.”

The men in the ballroom looked warily at each other. What a nightmare! their glances said. And the women in the room seemed to roll a collective eye.

“As I was saying,” Sir Richard asserted, “your son would forfeit the wager unless he brought a mistress with him. So in place of a real mistress in the competition, he put a false mistress.”

There were more gasps. Even a shriek.

“What in the world is a false mistress?” someone near Molly called out to the company.

“A false mistress,” Sir Richard explained, “is a mistress in name only.”

“How do you know she was a mistress in name only?” another anonymous nosy-body cried.

“Because the two parties involved had a shouting match about it outside the inn where they met,” Sir Richard said with a laugh. “Their terms were clearly outlined and overheard by the innkeeper and his barmaid. As well, the imposter masquerading as a mistress barred her bedchamber door.”

Molly gripped Harry’s arm and her eyes widened.

“I heard her myself,” said Sir Richard. “Every night, she’d push a large piece of furniture across the floor.” He had the effrontery to yawn. “There were no shenanigans going on in that room, I assure you.”

There was yet another clamor from the floor. When it died down to a murmur, Sir Richard crossed his arms, tapped his foot, and looked accusingly at Harry. “As a consequence, this woman’s claim to the title of Most Delectable Companion is invalid. Which, in turn, makes your son’s win of the general wager, Your Grace, invalid, as well.”

More gasps from the crowd.

Sir Richard raised his hand in the air. “I’m no longer the loser of the wager. And I’ll not propose to the young miss ascribed to me by the board of our club. Your son is the loser, Your Grace, by default. He is the bachelor to be legshackled, and according to the club’s wishes, to none other than Anne Riordan, who is in this very room.”

Molly’s knees turned to jelly. But she straightened them. She must. If not for herself, then for poor Anne. Granted, she was a squint-faced bore, but to be considered the punishment for the loser of the wager?

No one deserved such ignominy.

“If all you say is true,” said the duke to Sir Richard, “then so it shall be done.”

Sir Richard smiled and bowed in the duke’s direction.

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“Is that all you have to say, Bell?” the duke went on.

“No,” he said. “Because the perfidy of your son goes beyond this, Your Grace.”

The crowd was silent, the mood of the room having grown noticeably more tense.

Harry took Molly’s hand.

Sir Richard looked directly at them both. “Your son, Your Grace, has ruined a respectable young woman, the one who played at being his mistress. She is in this very room.”

There were so many gasps, Molly almost screamed at everyone to shut up and raised her hand to confess. But she couldn’t do it. Not with her father looking on.

“And your son should be challenged to a duel,” Sir Richard said.

A duel? Why, that was ridiculous! Molly looked helplessly at Harry, but his eyes were frozen on Sir Richard’s face.

“A duel, my friends,” Sir Richard went on bitterly. “For he shall not be able to reverse the fate of this heretofore respectable young woman. He’s to marry Anne Riordan, after all.”

Molly’s heart sank at those words.

Sir Richard lowered his brows. “The pity is, Your Grace, that the girl’s father is too old to avenge her honor in a duel. So her brother-in-law must.”

And he looked directly at Roderick.

As one, the whole crowd swung around to look at Roderick. If he was the brother-in-law, then who—

The mass of people pivoted to look at Molly, including her father, who peered at her from over his spectacles and gave a start so sudden that a footman took his arm to steady him.

“Molly?” Lord Sutton called out, his voice wavering. “You have nothing to do with this, have you?”

A spark of understanding traveled through the crowd at lightning speed. If Molly were Harry’s false mistress, then Roderick would have to challenge his own brother to a duel!

The room broke out in noise so overwhelming, the massive chandelier above the ballroom floor trembled.

Molly felt her face redden, but she kept her chin high and said nothing.

Which, as far as the duke’s guests were concerned, was acknowledgment of guilt.

The duke strode up the ballroom stairs, his hands clenched at his sides, and got in Sir Richard’s face.