But they were playing a game, her common sense reminded her. Fooling the other participants in the wager with their kisses. Focused on winning points. Trying to reach goals that had nothing to do with each other.

And those goals were in jeopardy.

She forced herself to pull her lips away.

“What is it?” Harry whispered. His eyes, half lidded with passion mere seconds ago, were now wide open. Questioning.

She cleared her throat. “I—I’m doing my best to be a good mistress,” she said, “but Sir Richard is unceasingly suspicious and getting worse each day.”

“I know,” said Harry. “At every nightly vote, he mentions how unusual you are, as if he can’t quite believe you’re a mistress.”

She sighed. “I was sitting in a tree, watching you being carried into the house after the fencing tournament, when Sir Richard stole my clothes. He promised to give them back to me if I came down, but when I refused, he grew more suspicious than ever that I’m no lightskirt. I told him I was stuck on a branch.”

Harry’s lips became a thin line. “I’ll make him regret his rudeness next week, after the wager is over, when you’re safely home and he can no longer jeopardize our standing in the wager. It riles me that he knows my hands are tied behind my back until then.”

She laid her hand on his arm. “Harry—” How was she to say this? “I don’t know if you can wait until next week to speak to him.”

Harry stopped walking and gripped her shoulders. “Out with it, Molly,” he said sharply. “What else has he done to you?”

She sighed. “It’s not what he did to me. When I was, um, solving my problem and retrieving my clothes, Bunny came outside. I was hidden, so she didn’t see me. But she went running to the tree, and I could tell she was looking for me.”

“And you didn’t call out to her?”

“No. Because right behind her came Sir Richard. He yelled at her for leaving the house. She told him she was worried about me, and angry at Sir Richard for making her tell everyone I was napping”—Molly looked down, still upset by the memory—“and he grabbed her by the hair. He pulled. Hard. Bunny cried out—”

Molly bit her lip. She had to stop talking.

“He’s such a coward.” Harry’s eyes were stormy. “I saw them walking into the house. Bunny looked as though she’d been crying.”

His agitation encouraged Molly. “We must do something, Harry, mustn’t we? We can’t stand by, even though Sir Richard may somehow find a way to unveil me—”

“There is nothing we can do,” Harry interrupted her. “Nothing. As much as we hate what’s going on between him and Bunny, it’s not our business. She’s chosen to stay with him. They’ve been together for years.”

“It’s not right.” Molly felt her eyes pricking with tears. “It’s…despicable.”

“I know.” Harry’s tone was gentle but firm. “She isn’t the only mistress treated this way. And you must know it happens to wives, as well.”

Molly felt a raw ache in her middle. “So you’re saying we do nothing.”

“Exactly.” Harry’s gaze was unyielding. “We can’t save the world, Molly. And we must protect our own interests. Do you want to leave here with your identity protected? And do you want to marry well?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you must do your best not to antagonize Sir Richard further. Try to win the title of Most Delectable Companion. And accept the way things are.”

Molly felt she couldn’t breathe. How could she have wasted a single minute this week having tender feelings for Harry?

“I’m disappointed in you,” she said, her voice hoarse with a jangle of emotions. “I—I thought you were better than that, no matter what everyone else said. But now—”

“Yes?” he challenged her.

“Now I don’t want to speak to you.”

Harry didn’t say a word. His eyes were hooded now; his mouth, grim.

And as he strode away, back to the house, Molly felt the truth lance her heart: she would never, ever make the mistake again of believing he could be—she swallowed and blinked back a tear—her hero.

Chapter 25

Everything seemed gray and gloomy the next day to Molly. Her mood, her morning porridge, the sky, each cup of tea she poured for the ladies during dramatic reading practice, the limp cards she held during the incessant games of whist she played.

Athena had informed the men at noon, when they’d returned from shooting, that Joan was abed with a slight chill she’d acquired from romping about naked in the creek during the fencing tournament.

Their party was further depleted when Harry made himself scarce during much of the afternoon, claiming he had unexpected estate business to attend to in the library.

Molly suspected he was trying to avoid her as much as she was attempting to avoid him.

But at the dinner hour, he reappeared.

“You ladies are unusually quiet tonight,” he said from the head of the table after the first course.

Molly exchanged a brief look with Bunny and Athena and read in their eyes the same concern she had: Where was Joan? And how much longer could they cover for her?

She should have been back by now. Dusk had fallen, and the woods were thick and deep.

“I’m simply famished,” Bunny said hastily, and spooned some soup into her mouth.

“And I’m thinking about how ruggedly handsome all of you gentlemen are,” said Athena, batting her eyelashes. “Shooting every morning has brought out the beast in each of you.”

Molly thought Athena was taking her efforts to be distracting a little too far, but no man seemed at all suspicious that her remark wasn’t sincere.

Oh, well. Molly was learning a lot about men this week.

She yawned modestly behind her hand. “I am a little tired.”

“Me, too,” said Hildur, yawning so wide Molly could see down her throat.

“Don’t be too tired,” said Sir Richard, chuckling with anticipation. “Tonight we have the kissing closet game. One more time, according to Prinny’s schedule.”

No. Molly had hoped never to deal with the kissing closet again! She didn’t know if Lumley or any other bachelor would be content with conversation about tarts and family members this time.

And she would absolutely die if she wound up in the closet with Sir Richard.

Of course, there was the slight chance he wouldn’t be…in good health by that time. He might retire to bed early.

Not that she knew of any reason why, she lied to herself on purpose.

Because if she thought about the truth at all, Harry and everybody else would see that she was guilty.

Not that she was guilty yet. But perhaps she soon would be, if Finkle and Cook had listened to instructions correctly.

To throw Harry off, she graced him with an angelic smile. He really was a beast to ignore Bunny’s unseemly situation as Sir Richard’s mistress.

Molly couldn’t wait to be rid of Harry at the end of the week, even though she was spending most of her time daydreaming about their bodies pressed close, and the way he’d…he’d brought her such incredible pleasure. And, um, the way she’d done the same for him.

Perhaps, if she won the contest, he would introduce her to a London gentleman who did all those things better than he did, although she had a gut feeling that no man did those things better than Harry did—or looked better than he did when he was doing them.

She sneaked a peek at his profile, at those lips that had aroused such delicious sensations in her, and the jaw that always scratched her mouth and breasts in the most pleasurable way when he kissed her. Then, of course, there were his hands, one of which was wrapped around his wine goblet right now. Those tapered, masculine fingers knew exactly where to touch her to make her—

Oh, dear. Her body was starting to wake up in, um, that way. She forced herself to stare intently at the footman, who was serving a course of lamb. Then she locked eyes with Athena, whose brow was furrowed with worry about Joan.

Joan.

A sliver of panic sliced through Molly’s middle, dissolving the mental pictures she had of Harry naked and completely ruining her appetite. She moved her food around her plate and took the occasional sip of wine. But by the second-to-last course, there was still no sign of Joan.

Athena, Hildur, and Bunny had barely touched their plates, as well. Bunny’s eyes were wider than usual, and there was the gleam of tears in them.

Finkle brought in the last course, thank God, a fine distraction for all the mistresses present.

It was a tart.

A tart Molly had made.

A tart she hoped no one else would notice she’d had a hand in creating.

“Oho!” said Lumley. “Did you make this tart, Delilah?”

“No,” she lied. “Not this time.” She lifted herself up to take a closer look at it. “How lovely! What kind is it?”

“Cook made the tart,” said Finkle grandly to the room. “And it contains wild currants.”

“Yum,” said Lumley. “But it surely isn’t as good as the blackberry tart Delilah made me yesterday.”

Molly smiled at him. That had been a delicious tart.

“Shall I prepare a slice for everyone, milord?” Finkle addressed Harry.

Harry smiled. “Yes, Finkle. Do that.”

There was a whimper from Hildur. Almost a small shriek, actually.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“Are you all right?” Captain Arrow asked her, and placed a hand on her back.

Hildur nodded glumly and sniffed. Finkle set a piece of tart in front of her, but she pushed it away. “I save this tart—for Joan.” She gripped the edge of the table, her lower lip trembling.