Finkle called, “A hit!”
For a half second, Harry held the foil to Lumley’s heart. When he pulled back, Lumley threw down his own foil and ripped off his mask.
Finally, the most frustrating fencing tournament in history appeared to be over.
Slowly, carefully, Finkle held up Harry’s arm. “You’re the winner, Lord Harry,” the old servant rasped, “but I’ve yet to draw the event to a conclusion. That shall take a few more minutes. Footmen,” he commanded, “do your duty.”
The footmen were already over at the bushes, picking up the ladies’ clothes and tossing them on top of the shrubbery hiding the women from view.
Harry gave a short laugh. Yes, Finkle had declared him the winner, but Harry was no fool. He and every other Impossible Bachelor knew who’d truly won this particular battle—and it wasn’t anyone in breeches.
Molly watched from her perch in a tree as the footmen picked up the ladies’ garments and laid them on the bushes near their bathing area. She couldn’t help but chuckle when she saw how forlorn Harry appeared, the foil and mask dangling from his hand, even after he’d won the tournament so handily. The other bachelors appeared equally unhappy as well. Maxwell raked a hand through his hair and let out a gusty sigh. Captain Arrow stood with his legs apart and his fists balled on his hips. Sir Richard scowled, his arms folded. Lumley sat on the ground, his face in his hands.
The men couldn’t leave the tournament area until Finkle called an official conclusion to the day’s game. So they were trapped, watching helplessly as from behind the bushes, the women giggled and laughed and put their clothes back on.
It was too delicious. All Molly’s frustration at losing the sack race, all that nervous energy she’d expended worrying while competing against the other women each day…
She’d gotten sweet revenge.
But no time to bask in it. Yet.
She’d told the other mistresses she’d be the lookout in the tree to ensure that the men played by the rules. But she’d had to throw her clothes out in the grass just like everyone else. Harry had sharp eyes. He would have noticed if she hadn’t.
From her perch, which had been quite dangerous to arrive at safely without being poked in the wrong places by twigs, she’d arranged her body strategically so that the leafy branches below her masked her vulnerable state in much the way that Eve covered herself in the Garden of Eden.
As a crowd of men and women alike surged toward the house, Harry held aloft by Lumley and Arrow, Molly felt a thrill of happiness. She couldn’t wait to tell him how proud she was of him! Of course, he’d done his best to triumph so he wouldn’t have to get married, but—
She wouldn’t think about that right now.
She’d be sure to kiss him in front of the others to celebrate his win. They’d expect that of her, wouldn’t they? She must oblige. And truth be told, she’d be glad to oblige. Even now, watching him from behind, she grew breathless at the memory of his intimidating style in the tournament—his easy grace, his broad shoulders and muscular back, his fierce thrusts with the foil.
Wait a minute. How could she congratulate him while she was stuck up in this tree?
“Bunny? Athena? I need my clothes, please!” she called.
But no one answered.
Certainly, the other mistresses hadn’t forgotten about her!
She’d try again. “Hello! Isn’t anyone still down there?”
A few birds chirped, the wind blew through the branches—and a sick feeling grew in her middle. She’d been so wrapped up in enjoying her little prank and then being distracted by Harry’s superb form that she’d lingered in the tree too long.
But she wouldn’t worry. Surely her clothes were on top of the bushes.
Determinedly, she began her slow descent. Once halfway down the trunk, she peered below, hoping to catch a glimpse of her things. She bent out as far as she could to get a better view, but—an awful buzzing sensation began in her head and found its way down to her toes—her garments were nowhere to be found.
And everyone, absorbed as they’d been in rehashing the tournament and exclaiming over the women’s mischievous role in it, had left her behind. Even Harry. Of course, he’d had little choice, being carried off like that. No doubt when he got put down, he’d realize she was missing.
But, still. She was alone.
The wind picked up, and her branch began to sway. To tell the truth, she was feeling a bit…vulnerable.
She dared another peek below to see if somehow she’d overlooked something.
And saw a masculine boot.
“Delilah,” called Sir Richard in that oily voice of his. “I know you’re in the tree. And I have your clothes.”
Molly shook a branch in frustration. “Just leave them there, Sir Richard! And walk away.”
“I don’t see why I should,” he said. “Everyone else forgot about you, after all. I’m the only one who noticed you were missing. You should be grateful.”
“I’d be grateful,” she bit out, “if you weren’t such an ass.”
He chuckled. “What’s keeping you from coming down, Delilah, and taking them from me right now? All the other mistresses would prance before me naked. But then again, you’re not like the other mistresses, are you?”
“I—I would take them from anyone but you,” she said. “And I’m rather stuck on this branch.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I wonder, Delilah, what your real story is.”
Oh, dear.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she forced herself to say lightly.
Sir Richard laughed. “I have a proposal to make. I’ll leave your clothes here, if—” He paused.
“If what?” she snapped.
“If you’ll remember that you owe me a favor. And when I call it in, you must comply.”
“I’d rather sit naked here all night than comply with your wishes, you beast.”
“Then I shall leave you,” he said. “Without your clothes.”
“Fine,” she said, suppressing her panic. “Someone else will find me soon enough.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Bunny’s telling everyone you repaired to your room for a nap because you had a headache. Your paramour is sitting in the dining room, eating and drinking and talking, quite oblivious to your actual plight.”
“You rat. And how dare you involve Bunny in your sick games! She’s much too good for you, you know.”
“Just remember this,” he said silkily, ignoring her jibe, “that I will have you someday. And you’ll be obedient and respectful when I do.”
She shook her branch again. “I’d rather die before I’m respectful and obedient to the likes of you.”
Sir Richard laughed and walked away, dropping her garments on the far side of the lawn. She could never retrieve them without risking being sighted. But she’d rather catch cold than be caught naked by a footman or, God forbid, Sir Richard himself, who’d probably be watching her from a window somewhere to see if she’d dare to go after her clothes.
A bird twittered. The wind moaned low through the trees. A squirrel scampered up the tree trunk, saw Molly, and ran back down.
She shivered and wondered how long it would take Harry to realize she was missing—and how long it would take for Sir Richard to prove his suspicions that she was an imposter at the house party.
Chapter 24
Blast it all. Ever since the fencing contest, Harry had wanted to see Molly for conflicting reasons: to wring her neck for torturing the men so, and to bask in her admiration for winning the tournament. When he’d heard she’d gone straight to her room for a nap, he’d been sorely disappointed, but he’d curbed his impatience and waited a good while for her to come down. He and Arrow had gone out to practice their skills at archery, while the other bachelors and mistresses had gone about their own business.
But Harry had never been good at waiting, so he’d abandoned Arrow when Maxwell had shown up for a turn with the bow. And as Harry strode toward the house, feeling quite impatient to see Molly, he determined the three reasons he felt a particular need to have her near him as often as possible during the week.
One, to keep her out of trouble, of course.
Two, to protect her from Sir Richard.
And three, to keep up the pretense that they were lovers.
There were other reasons he kept her near, of course, which he brushed off as being inconsequential. She was very good company. He also enjoyed peering down her neckline when she wasn’t looking. And then he also took pleasure in imagining his lips upon, oh, every part of her body.
But amusing pastimes aside, she was still his charge. And now she was missing.
He walked briskly into the drawing room, where Joan, Athena, and Hildur were idling on various sofas. “Where’s Delilah?” he asked them without even a reference to their beauty or the mildness of the weather.
They looked at each other rather helplessly.
“I thought—” said Athena.
“She’s sleeping,” Hildur interrupted.
“No,” Harry said, perhaps too firmly. “I just checked. She’s not in her room. And her bed appears unslept in.”
Joan’s eyes widened. “But Bunny said she was napping.”
Damn Sir Richard. Harry would like to kill him right now. He’d obviously misled Bunny.
“We shouldn’t worry,” said Athena. “Maybe Bunny and Delilah are together.”
“But Sir Richard’s absent, as well,” said Joan.
“Oh.” Athena put her hand to her cheek. “Then he’s probably with Bunny.”
Harry clenched his jaw. Sir Richard had damned well better be with Bunny and not Molly.
Joan gasped. “Could Delilah still be in the tree?”
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