And then it was Joan and Sir Richard’s turn. Of course, Molly doubted Joan would ever be afraid of anyone, but couldn’t she sense the malevolence rolling off Sir Richard in waves? No one else seemed to, either, except Harry, who spoke to him as little as possible.

Their kissing episode went off without a hitch, and it was thankfully time for supper. Molly knew she must make a good impression in the dining room if she were to win any votes for the day’s best mistress.

But she didn’t know how.

The other women were sparkling, almost giddy—except for Joan, who maintained her intense, subtle allure—and Molly could hardly put two words together. Neither could Hildur, of course, but she said many incongruous things that made people laugh, like, “Aye, aye, Captain,” to the footman who served her. She also oozed exotic, sensual charm with that jesting pout of hers.

Supper was plentiful and delicious, but by its end, Molly was weary from watching the others enjoy themselves. Her brain hurt from all the thinking she’d done, as she tried to figure out ways to enter the conversation and sound witty and charming all at the same time.

“Pass the salt, please,” she said at one tiny lull. Everyone turned to look at her, which she supposed was good. She stared back, searched for something else to say, and finally came out with, “I read a very good book the other day.”

It had actually been quite dull. Her father didn’t approve of her reading novels, so she’d read a tome on Egyptian embalming methods. Which she knew backward and forward, thanks to her father and Cedric, so it was nothing new.

“What was the title?” Harry asked politely.

She couldn’t very well tell them. “I forget,” she said. “But—”

She took a moment to think of a proper way to describe the way the Egyptians pulled people’s brains out of their noses.

But it was too late. Hildur made a funny remark, and the conversation turned to other directions. Molly was never able to interject again.

Finally, after another hour of sheer torture for her, Harry rose from the table. “It’s time for the men to adjourn to the library,” he said, standing tall and straight.

All the men had been drinking profusely, as well as the women, except for Molly. But no man appeared to be showing any ill effects, except for Sir Richard, who had the effrontery to belch at the table and then immediately demand a kiss from Bunny.

Molly sensed every woman at that table shuddering beneath their festive exteriors!

“Each day we’ll cast a vote for the one lady who stands out above the rest,” Harry said. “We’ll sign our voucher to ensure that we can’t choose our own companion, of course.”

“What if there’s a tie?” Joan asked.

“Prinny’s advisors have ruled that we shan’t name a daily winner,” Harry explained. “We’ll leave the votes to accrue in a jar until the end of the week. The daily vote counts three points. You’ll also be able to win points for the occasional game you shall compete in during the week, as well as at the finale. When all the points are totaled, we shall have our winner. If there is a tie at the conclusion, we’ll cast another vote until someone wins the Most Delectable Companion title. Fair enough?”

Everyone nodded, although Molly felt that somehow things were still not very fair. She wasn’t sure how, though.

“Right, then,” said Harry. “Men, follow me for our first vote.”

All the men stood.

“When will you come back to us?” Athena asked in a dramatic stage voice, her arm raised and extended toward Lord Maxwell. She looked and sounded exactly like Rapunzel in her castle, crying out to be saved.

Molly couldn’t help but draw her eyebrows together. Athena’s remark probably clinched the actress the day’s votes, save Lord Maxwell’s, of course. He wasn’t allowed to vote for his own mistress.

“We’ll return when our business is done,” he reminded Athena.

“Very well.” Athena sighed prettily, a small curve of a smile on her parted lips.

Molly almost choked with disgust at Athena’s biddableness!

But then she remembered Lord Maxwell might vote for her. So she smiled at him in what she hoped was a winning fashion. She wasn’t sure if she had remnants of the turtle soup in her teeth, so her smile was rather weak.

Lord Maxwell gazed at her with an expression bordering on aloof.

Then Joan, her eyes half lidded again, said, “I believe I’ve dropped my fan.” Slowly, she stood up and bent down to the Aubusson rug. She patted it as if she were searching for her fan, a move which exposed her perfect cleavage to all the men.

“Why, here it is!” said the amiable Viscount Lumley, pointing to a fan lying on the table.

“Indeed!” said Joan. “I’d forgotten, Viscount.” She gave him a slow, sizzling smile.

Molly almost huffed. Joan hadn’t even attempted to be a good liar! She’d known her fan was there all along! Molly was sure everyone else knew it, too, but no one appeared annoyed.

In the next instant Hildur unraveled her braids, shook out her hair until it swirled in tousled glory around her face, and said, “Hildur is a mermaid. Choose Hildur.”

Whereupon all the men laughed uproariously, save Maxwell, who merely lifted his mouth upward in a show of appreciation.

Molly was shocked at the other women’s brazen attempts to sway the men’s votes. But then again, she supposed mistresses were supposed to be brazen.

So far, she was a terrible mistress.

She looked at Bunny to see what she would do to win the men’s votes.

“I’m a country girl,” Bunny said in that light, frothy voice of hers. “Give me a field of flowers or a stack of hay to frolic in, and I’m happy.”

Then she tucked a tiny flower from a vase on the table deep into her bodice.

The small act of putting the flower between Bunny’s ample breasts was so sensual the men were speechless. Which meant that Bunny had won the day. Molly was sure by the evil way Athena looked at her. But now everyone was looking at Molly.

“She has nothing to say,” said Joan. “She is more like a governess than a mistress. Ask Lumley.”

Everyone laughed but Molly and Harry. He gave her a look as if to urge her to say something clever.

Molly felt her face heat up, but try as she might, nothing would come out of her mouth.

“After we vote, I shall take this so-called governess upstairs,” said Harry in a suggestive manner. “We’ll see if she has anything to teach me.”

What a vulgar thing to say!

But then Molly remembered. Lewd remarks would be flying this week. She was dying to tell everyone the truth, that Harry was lying through his teeth, that she would never be caught in a compromising position with him, even if he did happen to be, in her completely unbiased opinion, the most kissable man in the room.

But she couldn’t do that, of course. Lumley and Arrow hooted their approval of Harry’s salacious remark and, along with Sir Richard and Maxwell, followed him out of the dining room to vote for their favorite mistress of the evening.

The other women stopped laughing and sat quietly, small smiles of amusement still lingering on their faces. None of them seemed too worried about the night’s voting.

Except for Molly. Her face beneath its layer of powder and rouge felt hard as stone, and just as unmoving. She knew no one would vote for her.

Chapter 11

Harry led the men out of the dining room with a heavy heart and a sense of foreboding, but he wasn’t going to let them guess he was feeling pessimistic about Molly’s chances to win the contest. It was obvious she’d been a tremendous failure on her first night at the house party. At this rate, she would never win the title of Most Delectable Companion, which meant that the most he could hope for at the end of the week would be to avoid pulling the shortest straw and thus avert the disaster of having to propose to Anne Riordan.

He supposed he should be grateful to Molly for not making him the instant loser of the entire week. At least her presence assured him of having a small chance to survive the Season as a bachelor for another year. But he felt as if his luck were running out.

His first inkling of doom had come when Fiona ran away from him at the inn. No woman had ever chosen another man over him! Granted, he’d never been besotted with her beyond the bedroom, so what did it matter?

But then Molly had appeared, heaping scorn upon him for having a mistress at all. Up until now, even his mother hadn’t dared to comment on his wastrel ways in so forthright a manner.

Harry’s sense of control, which he’d always prided himself on, was slipping. In fact, he felt almost desperate as he watched the other men put their votes on small slips of paper and then drop them into the large, blue vase. He knew not one of them contained the name Delilah.

By the end of the week, the vase would be full of paper, and they would remove the names to see who had won the most votes. Even if Molly won all the games during the week, if she got no nightly votes from the men, she would most likely be unable to win.

Lord Maxwell poured two brandies. “Interesting choice of mistress,” he said, dropping his quill on the table and handing a glass to Harry.

“I should say so,” echoed Captain Arrow, holding his own empty snifter out to Maxwell for another splash.

“Very interesting indeed,” said Viscount Lumley, still looking stunned from his encounter with Molly in the kissing closet.

Sir Richard lowered his cheroot. “I don’t think you could have brought anyone less likely to win, Traemore,” he said, smoke curling around his face.