My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) (32 page)

After a moment, both of them could breathe normally again, but the uncertainty in Jemma’s mind was a loud, thunderous roar.

“Miss Adair, whatever are you going to do?” Eliza asked.

Jemma sheathed her inner feelings. If there was the slightest chance she was once again going to be humiliated, disappointed, and crushed by a man, she refused to let a single soul see it. She’d suffer in silence this time, by God.

Jemma forced a smile. “I’ll simply ask Lord Harthorne to tell me the truth. He will, and all will be well. I have no doubt.”

Her legs trembled as she forced her feet to carry her from the path to the carriage that would take her to Philip, who she knew, without a doubt, had the power to destroy her faith in men forever.

T
hough it had taken the better part of the day to meet with Scarsdale and conduct their business, Philip left his friend’s house with a new outlook on his future. Scarsdale had readily offered Philip employment in his company, Zephyrus Shipping. He’d even said that once Philip learned the business, they could talk about him becoming a partner, too. It was going to take a lot of hard work to manage his lands and learn Scarsdale’s business, but Philip was looking forward to the challenge. He’d also gotten the names of several experts in irrigation from Scarsdale’s steward, and Philip planned to meet with them to see what could be done to improve irrigation on his land, in case there was another rainy year.

Philip grinned as he climbed into his carriage. He was turning his future around.

The ride to the Duke of Rowan’s townhome was quick, and Philip whistled to himself as he exited the carriage and ascended the steps, anticipating seeing Jemma and officially asking for her hand.

He was quickly shown to the library, and when the door creaked opened, he expected to see Jemma stroll through, but it was her grandfather. Philip started to stand, but the duke waved a staying hand in his direction.

“If you stand,” Rowan said, “I’ll be compelled to remain standing, and it’s been a long day.”

Philip nodded. “For me, as well.”

Rowan moved to the sidebar and held up a crystal decanter full of amber liquid. “Care for a drink?”

What Philip cared for was to settle matters quickly, see Jemma, and ask her properly to marry him. Yet, he knew how things were done. “Brandy?”

Rowan nodded, filled two glasses, strode over to Philip, and handed him one. “Jemma is out, but she’ll be home shortly. I suspect you’ve something to ask me first, at any rate,” Rowan said with a slight smile.

Philip set his tumbler down. He wanted Rowan to understand his financial circumstances—what they had been
and
that he would be improving them—but he also wanted to make clear that he’d take no dowry. “I’ve come to request your granddaughter’s hand in marriage—”

“Excellent!” Rowan boomed, cutting Philip off.

Philip couldn’t help but grin at the man’s enthusiasm. “I’m glad you seem agreeable to my—”

“Agreeable?” The duke placed his drink on a table and clapped his hands together. “I’m thrilled. I almost ruined my granddaughter’s life trying to match her with Glenmore, and I’ve slept terribly ever since learning what the man was really like. I’m just glad my granddaughter has more sense than I do.” Rowan clapped his hands. “Now, let us talk dowry.”

Before Philip could reply, the door behind him creaked. He turned to see Jemma with her hair unbound in lovely red curls and wearing a dress of sapphire blue that brought out the blue in her eyes. She stepped all the way into the room.

“Talking about the dowry already, I see,” Jemma said in a strained voice he’d never heard from her before.

Philip frowned. “No. We were just—”

“Grandfather, I need to speak to Philip alone.”

The Duke of Rowan looked between Jemma and Philip, deep lines creasing his brow. He nodded. “If you wish it, but we were not finished.”

She smiled, but Philip could tell it was forced by the tremble of her lips. “
Perhaps
after I speak with him.”

Perhaps?
What the devil was going on?

Rowan gave a terse nod, shot Philip an accusing look, and left the room. Philip stood and went immediately to Jemma. As he neared her, she backed up a step, and his gut twisted. Something was certainly wrong.

He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to make matters worse. “What is it?”

“I saw Mr. Frazier at the park a bit ago.”

Concern for Jemma consumed Philip. He swiftly closed the distance between them and reached for her, but she backed up yet again. This time until she was pressed against the door.

“Did he do something to you?” Philip asked sharply, blood roaring in his ears.

“He said some things to me,” she whispered. “Awful things. And I know they cannot be true, but I have to ask, Philip. I’m sorry.” She raised her hand to her hair, and Philip’s chest tightened at the sight of her quivering movements.

“You can ask me anything,” he said, aching to touch her but forcing himself not to move.

“Are you—” She broke off and licked her lips. “That is, I mean to ask you—” She tugged her hands through her hair, her eyes almost pleading. “Philip, were you searching for a wife that would bring you a great dowry?”

The question, asked barely above a shaky whisper, was like a punch in the gut. He couldn’t deny it, yet the minute he confirmed it, would he lose Jemma forever? Would she let him explain?

“Oh, Philip!” Jemma cried out, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Jemma, please.” He grasped her in his arms, afraid she’d simply leave the room—and him. He’d not even answered and she knew. “Let me explain,” he begged against her ear, his heart thundering.

She twisted in his arms, but he could not make his fingers release her. “I convinced myself I had to marry for money, you see. I didn’t want to.”

Her blazing eyes locked with his. “Is
that
supposed to make me feel better?”

Damnation, but his explanation had come out wrong. “No. Of course not. What I’m trying to say is I—”

Jemma’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t,” she spat coldly. “Don’t lie to me anymore. Mr. Frazier told me he informed you of the dowry.”

Philip stilled, flashes of Frazier’s drunken words coming to him. “Yes, but I thought the man an imbecile who didn’t know what he was talking about.”

Jemma’s face turned to stone. “Don’t lie to me.” Her voice, when void of emotion as it was now, was more terrifying to Philip than the coldness of a moment before.

Philip’s heart pounded viciously. “I didn’t even truly believe about your damn dowry until your sister said something about it, and I can assure you—”

“She did what? When?” Jemma demanded.

Philip frowned. “When, what?”

Her jaw clenched and unclenched before she spoke. “When did Anne tell you of my dowry?”

Hellfire. A warning voice whispered in his head to lie, but he could never lie to her. “At Vauxhall Gardens.”

Jemma’s eyes widened for a brief second before drawing into twin slits of darkness. “But of course. And then I suppose you conveniently came to find me and decided you cared for my attentions, after all.”

“No. Jemma, you’re wrong.”

“Release me.”

“Jemma.”
She was slipping away. Though he held her still, she was slipping away.

“Release me or I’ll scream. I’ll scream so loud your ears will split.”

“
Please
. You must let me explain.” Desperation made him tighten his hold.

She eyed him with cold, unbending contempt. “I’ve let you do quite enough. There’s no explanation you could offer that I’d believe. Congratulations, Philip.
You
are the greatest rake I’ve ever met. You tricked me, and I fell right into your trap like a blithering fool. Make you a rake—ha! Very nice ploy,
Philip
. It worked supremely in making me believe you were anything but a rake. A poet trying to turn himself into a rake to find love among a bunch of foolish women of the
ton
, yes, but not a real rake. I never suspected you wanted to marry me for money and not love.”

Shame rioted through him. He’d not wanted that, but he’d planned for it, accepted it, and even plotted for it. How could he explain away his failure? He had to try. “I thought it was my only choice. Then I met you, and I realized it was not a choice I could ever make.”

“Lies,” she hissed. “You men spout nothing but lies. If you have an ounce of decency in you, you will release me at once and leave.”

He knew he had to step away, and he would. He would leave and give her time. She would never hear him now in her current state. But first, first... He pressed his lips to her forehead, and though she stiffened under his touch, he savored the feel of her. Desire and love mingled together as his heart crashed against his ribs, and he slid his hands up her spine to memorize the way her back felt just in case. What if this memory, this moment, was all he ever had of her again? Could this hold him for a lifetime? There was no possibility he’d ever feel this again. This came only once, he was sure. His fingers curled to hold her closer for one last second, though the second was painfully fleeting. This burning quickening in his veins was what drove poets to drink and painters to madness when the object that caused such delirious joy was gone.

Philip inhaled sharply, trying to suck her essence into his lungs, the very fiber of his being, and then he released her and stepped away. “I’ll come back tomorrow when you’re calmer.”

“Do not,” she said, her voice icy.

“I’ll be back, Jemma. I’ll be back day after day until you will listen to reason and hear the truth.”

“Get out!” she shrieked as she stormed past him and threw open the door. It banged against the wall as she strode through it and into the corridor.

Philip followed her, his gut turning and his lungs aching to try to reason with her, to make her understand that he loved her. Would die for her. Would never marry another, even if she never forgave him. He caught her by the elbow in the main hall and swiveled her toward him. “I love you.”

The blue and green in her eyes met his, and the colors seemed to clash and shine with anger that reminded him of lightning illuminating a sky during a storm. “Even if it
were
true, how am I ever to believe it?” The tears that filled her eyes robbed him of the ability to breathe. “Is this what you wanted to see?” she demanded, her voice sharp and bitter. “Did you want to see that you hurt me?”

“Never,” he choked out.

“Did you want to see me cry? Fall to pieces?”

“Jemma, no.
God, no.
”

“Then, get. Out. Unless you want to take more of my pride than you already have.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she turned her back to him.

Her grandfather came into view, his lips pressed together tightly. “You need to leave, Harthorne,” he growled.

Philip was pleased the man would stand up for her, even though it was against him. He liked to think she was loved so much by the duke that he’d do all he could to protect her. Philip nodded. “I’ll be back.”

“Not inside my home,” Rowan clipped while motioning to the footman to open the door. “Not without an invitation from my granddaughter.”

“That will never come again!” Jemma called as Philip stepped outside, the door slamming behind him.

He turned and stared at the door for several long minutes, warring with himself to go, though it wasn’t what he wanted. He
would
be back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. He would come back until she relented and listened to his whole story.

P
hilip lay awake in his bed all night, sleep evading him and memories of Jemma tormenting him. When the sun rose in the sky, so did he. He eschewed the morning meal for fencing, and he would have skipped his midday meal except Amelia showed up and demanded he eat something. He told her what had happened and about his plan to return to Rowan’s house until Jemma would see him, and for once, his sister agreed with him. She even offered to go see Jemma for him, but he declined. He was certain Jemma would simply turn Amelia away the minute she tried to talk about him—if Jemma agreed to see Amelia at all. They may be friends, but Amelia was his sister, and Jemma despised him at this moment.