Kieran Kramer - When Harry Met Molly

He caught her staring, and his mouth curved in a slow, devastating grin that made her want to hop up from her chair and pace about the room and…and kiss him until that odd, frenetic, molten energy he caused in her was released somehow. But instead she bowed her head and pretended that her slipper had come loose.

When she glanced up again, she could also observe the other bachelors, who now stood before the women in a row. And an impressive group they were in their elegant waistcoats.

Molly instantly recognized Captain Arrow. He wore a uniform with braided epaulets at the shoulders. Tanned and virile, he was obviously born to command.

Viscount Lumley was easy to spot, as well. He had beautiful eyes and a grin that probably got him whatever he wanted.

She’d already met the odious Sir Richard, who lounged at the edge of the group, so the fifth gentleman—the one who’d maintained a cool albeit pleasant demeanor at the card table—must be Lord Maxwell. Ridiculously handsome, he exuded complete confidence and an intensity of purpose that could easily intimidate lesser mortals.

“Now that we’re all gathered…” Harry looked pointedly at Molly and held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Shall they what? Oh, of course! She must join him. She and Harry must seem like two peas in a pod.

She stood and took his arm, her heart racing. He smelled wonderful, like clean linen and soap, and his arm was firm and muscular beneath his coat. She would like to cling to that arm all night long, rather the way she used to cling to a favorite fuzzy blanket she’d had as a little girl.

Everyone else joined up two by two, as well. But Molly noticed that every single woman was now laughing and vivacious and somehow glowing with…promises unspoken.

That was it—the secret to being a good mistress must be unspoken promises!

But what were those promises?

Molly swallowed hard, found it difficult to breathe, and clutched her shawl around her neck.

Athena laughed and whispered in Lord Maxwell’s ear. Captain Arrow pinched Hildur’s bottom and she slapped his arm, giggling all the while. Joan rubbed against Viscount Lumley as if he were a lamppost and she were a cat. Sir Richard bent Bunny backward and kissed her neck, quite as if he were nibbling on an ear of corn, the disgusting man.

Poor Bunny. Although the almond-eyed beauty gave every impression of enjoying Sir Richard’s attention.

Molly looked at Harry, who stood stoically waiting for the romping to cease. Either that, or he was attempting to figure out what to do with her. “Where are we going?” she asked him, their noses mere inches apart.

“To break the ice,” he said.

“The ice hardly needs breaking here.”

“The night has just begun,” Harry murmured, his words tickling her ear.

What a shame. Molly was already exhausted from being a mistress. She did feel a delicious sensation thrumming in her middle caused by the mere sight of Harry. But she would prefer to go to her room this very minute, slide under the sheets, read more of Wordsworth’s poems, and fall asleep. Alas, no. She must act as if being a mistress were the most exciting thing in the world!

“Off to the kissing closet,” Harry said to the party gathered around him. “Prinny believes there’s no better way for the contestants to begin to know each other. The ladies shall enter one at a time, and the man who draws the short straw shall follow. The two must remain in the closet for three minutes.”

Molly could hardly believe her ears. A kissing closet?

There was a chorus of enthusiastic responses, especially from the men. And Sir Richard, she noticed, was looking at her with peculiar intensity.

Now Molly was no longer tired—she was simply terrified.

When Athena entered the closet, a sensual smile on her lips, Molly stood mute. Her heart beat so hard when the men chose their first straws, she was afraid she might die. Except for enjoying Harry’s kisses in the carriage and the few moments they’d shared as he taught her to walk the way a proper mistress should, she was having a horrible time at the house party.

How would she make it through a whole week of being a false mistress?

Harry smiled. He had drawn the shortest straw! The Romeo. Molly was tempted to be upset with him, but why? There were other ladies’ men in the world—why should she be aggravated with him? He wasn’t pretending to be decent, after all. At least he was honest about his lack of scruples.

Lord Maxwell raised a brow. “See that she’s entertained.”

Harry didn’t look at Molly even once. He merely opened the door to the closet and disappeared inside with Athena for three agonizing minutes.

No one else seemed to find those three minutes excruciating besides Molly. Indeed, there was more laughter and drinking and silly, flirtatious antics than ever, almost as if the knowledge that the two people in the closet were kissing was a potent energizer of the crowd, an aphrodisiac of sorts.

Finally, the two came out, to much hooting and laughter. Athena looked much satisfied, and her lips were redder than ever. Harry looked exactly the same, which for Molly proved all the rumors that he was a jaded bachelor.

“You don’t kiss and tell, do you?” Lord Maxwell asked Harry.

“Never,” Harry said, playing the gallant. He leaned over Athena’s hand and pressed it to his lips.

The good-natured bantering continued through Hildur’s turn. Lord Maxwell drew the short straw for her. Everyone laughed when Hildur came out and said, “Do not throw him to the sharks.”

Bunny was next. Captain Arrow was her partner. When she came out, she looked as beautiful as ever, but she said nothing. She simply smiled prettily. Sir Richard gave Captain Arrow the cold shoulder and pulled Bunny to him with a proprietary air.

Which left but Sir Richard and Viscount Lumley to draw straws. Molly and Joan still had to take their turns.

“Into the closet, Delilah,” said Harry.

No one moved.

Harry nudged Molly in the back.

Oh, yes! She was Delilah!

She entered the closet, which to her dismay she found completely empty. She was hoping to hide behind a pelisse or a man’s overcoat.

Dear God, don’t let Sir Richard be the one, she prayed.

Harry shut the door in her face, but before he did, she gave him a mute look of appeal. He, in turn, signaled to her with his gaze that she must endure.

Now she was alone. In the dark. Her knees began to tremble. She heard the wild laughter outside the closet, and then the “Oho!” which meant that some man had drawn a straw for her.

A moment later, the door opened and shut quickly. All she could see was the outline of a man’s head. She couldn’t tell if it was Viscount Lumley or the despicable Sir Richard.

She gulped, put her hands out in the dark, palms up, instinctively wanting to protect herself, especially if it were Sir Richard.

But her hands pressed against a very trim waist. It was Viscount Lumley. Thank God! Although she did not want to kiss him. At all.

“Wait!” she whispered.

“Why?” He grabbed her hands and squeezed them in a friendly way.

“I—I—” Her mind scrambled. What could she say that would make him delay the inevitable? “I wanted to ask after…your mother first.”

“My mother?” he whispered, sounding flabbergasted.

“Yes, how is she?” Molly hoped his mother was still alive. No man could turn down answering a question about his own mother’s health!

“Actually, she’s quite well, thank you. Except for her gout. She and Father both get that on occasion.”

“Really?”

“Yes, they do. It’s a shame what old people go through, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

Their hands were still clasped.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” she asked him.

He had five, he said, and at her insistence, he told her the names and ages of each one, and whether or not they were married.

“Lovely,” she replied.

There was another pause.

“Are you ready?” he asked at the same time that she said, “Do you like a good cherry tart?”

“Hmmm, I suppose I do,” he said slowly. “Although I think I prefer apple. Why?”

She squeezed his hands back. “If Cook will let me in the kitchen, I’ll make you one.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” he said, utterly polite.

There was another pause. She felt sweat trickle down her back. The closet was quite stuffy. “It’s rather hot in here,” she said.

“Indeed,” he answered.

“They’re awfully loud out there, aren’t they?” A rhetorical question, really, but perhaps he would respond.

“They are,” he said.

And then someone opened the door. Their three minutes were up. Viscount Lumley dropped Molly’s hands, and they walked single file out of the closet, he first.

“Well?” asked Sir Richard.

The nosy-body.

Molly’s chest tightened. She didn’t like that Sir Richard seemed particularly interested in her, although perhaps she was imagining that.

“We talked,” Lumley said in a disbelieving voice.

“You talked?” Joan asked Molly.

Molly smiled. “Yes. He has a wonderful family.” She turned to the viscount. “Thank you, Viscount Lumley, for the scintillating conversation.”

There was a chorus of boos.

Viscount Lumley looked only a bit dejected.

Molly whispered in his ear, “Remember, the tart.”

“Oh, yes!” he said, and grinned.

Harry looked at Molly with a bemused expression.