“Because the two parties involved had a shouting match about it outside the inn where they met,” Sir Richard said with a laugh. “Their terms were clearly outlined and overheard by the innkeeper and his barmaid. As well, the imposter masquerading as a mistress barred her bedchamber door.”

Molly gripped Harry’s arm and her eyes widened.

“I heard her myself,” said Sir Richard. “Every night, she’d push a large piece of furniture across the floor.” He had the effrontery to yawn. “There were no shenanigans going on in that room, I assure you.”

There was yet another clamor from the floor. When it died down to a murmur, Sir Richard crossed his arms, tapped his foot, and looked accusingly at Harry. “As a consequence, this woman’s claim to the title of Most Delectable Companion is invalid. Which, in turn, makes your son’s win of the general wager, Your Grace, invalid, as well.”

More gasps from the crowd.

Sir Richard raised his hand in the air. “I’m no longer the loser of the wager. And I’ll not propose to the young miss ascribed to me by the board of our club. Your son is the loser, Your Grace, by default. He is the bachelor to be legshackled, and according to the club’s wishes, to none other than Anne Riordan, who is in this very room.”

Molly’s knees turned to jelly. But she straightened them. She must. If not for herself, then for poor Anne. Granted, she was a squint-faced bore, but to be considered the punishment for the loser of the wager?

No one deserved such ignominy.

“If all you say is true,” said the duke to Sir Richard, “then so it shall be done.”

Sir Richard smiled and bowed in the duke’s direction.

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“Is that all you have to say, Bell?” the duke went on.

“No,” he said. “Because the perfidy of your son goes beyond this, Your Grace.”

The crowd was silent, the mood of the room having grown noticeably more tense.

Harry took Molly’s hand.

Sir Richard looked directly at them both. “Your son, Your Grace, has ruined a respectable young woman, the one who played at being his mistress. She is in this very room.”

There were so many gasps, Molly almost screamed at everyone to shut up and raised her hand to confess. But she couldn’t do it. Not with her father looking on.

“And your son should be challenged to a duel,” Sir Richard said.

A duel? Why, that was ridiculous! Molly looked helplessly at Harry, but his eyes were frozen on Sir Richard’s face.

“A duel, my friends,” Sir Richard went on bitterly. “For he shall not be able to reverse the fate of this heretofore respectable young woman. He’s to marry Anne Riordan, after all.”

Molly’s heart sank at those words.

Sir Richard lowered his brows. “The pity is, Your Grace, that the girl’s father is too old to avenge her honor in a duel. So her brother-in-law must.”

And he looked directly at Roderick.

As one, the whole crowd swung around to look at Roderick. If he was the brother-in-law, then who—

The mass of people pivoted to look at Molly, including her father, who peered at her from over his spectacles and gave a start so sudden that a footman took his arm to steady him.

“Molly?” Lord Sutton called out, his voice wavering. “You have nothing to do with this, have you?”

A spark of understanding traveled through the crowd at lightning speed. If Molly were Harry’s false mistress, then Roderick would have to challenge his own brother to a duel!

The room broke out in noise so overwhelming, the massive chandelier above the ballroom floor trembled.

Molly felt her face redden, but she kept her chin high and said nothing.

Which, as far as the duke’s guests were concerned, was acknowledgment of guilt.

The duke strode up the ballroom stairs, his hands clenched at his sides, and got in Sir Richard’s face.

“Who—was—that—false—mistress?” the duke asked, his voice a low growl.

Sir Richard kept his gaze on Molly. “Lady Mary—Molly—Fairbanks,” he said calmly.

Harry’s mother fell in a dead faint.

“No, Molly, no!” Penelope shrieked, and then she fainted, too, right into Roderick’s arms.

“The baby!” he cried, and lifted Penelope up, cradling her to his chest. “Dr. Krauss. Are you still here?” He began to stroke Penelope’s hair.

Molly felt the blood fall to her feet. Penelope was to have another baby? And now she’d received a great shock—

Molly put her hands to her mouth to keep her lips from trembling. She was blinking so hard, she almost couldn’t see. And then it seemed all the women in the audience began to cry, or faint, or yell in Penelope’s general direction.

The news about the baby couldn’t have come at a worse—or more appropriate—time. Because Roderick’s life might very well be in danger.

The house of Mallan was vulnerable!

Pray that the child is a son!, Molly heard over and over. She leaned into Harry.

“Hold on,” he said. “Don’t let them—”

“Penelope—” Molly could barely speak.

“She’ll be fine. So will Mother. Everyone will be.”

“But my father—”

Lord Sutton was still staring at her, thunderstruck.

And then, in the midst of the chaos—after Dr. Krauss had removed Penelope from Roderick’s arms—Roderick looked at Harry, and Harry looked at him.

Time stood still.

And for a moment, Molly felt as if she were back at the Christmas ball when she was thirteen.

Penelope had fainted again, yes. But her chagrin would be far worse this time around because Harry and Roderick wouldn’t simply exchange punches. If Roderick were to defend her honor, he would be compelled to challenge Harry to a duel.

For a moment, all Molly knew was a swirl of color, and loud, jangling noises. But then she felt Harry’s hand touch hers. And he gripped it. His hard, warm palm cradled her own.

She would focus on the warmth of Harry’s hand and not on what was happening on the stair landing. Yes, she would hold on to Harry’s hand for all she was worth. And she would think about how much she loved him, that despite everything going on around her—despite her world crashing around her shoulders—she loved Harry. And always would.

With a capital L.

And it seemed that maybe—oh, bother with maybe, she was sure!—he loved her, too.

She lifted her chin and stared defiantly at Sir Richard. At Roderick. At the duke. At her father. At the world. She would endure the clamor and pray her father and sister and Harry’s family would forgive her. But if they didn’t—what was done was done.

She was Harry’s forever.

“That despicable vermin said it rightly, Father,” Harry’s voice rang out, more threatening than she had ever heard it. “Molly Fairbanks was my false mistress, emphasis on false. She incurred no wrong. And she will pay no price.”

Molly trembled next to him.

Harry’s words were heroic, but she knew that she would pay a price, as much as Harry hated for it to be so.

Sir Richard chuckled. “How naïve of you, Traemore. Rest assured, at the very least, you shall certainly pay a price. There are members of our club here tonight who—if they value obeying their Prince Regent—will step forward and demand you make restitution for your perfidy by immediately proposing to Anne Riordan.”

The duke’s face was grave. “As I am well aware of the details of Prinny’s wager—having read the Impossible Bachelors decree numerous times at my club—I must validate Bell’s concerns.”

Molly’s fingers went icy as the duke turned to look at her father and said, “Forgive me for what I am about to demand, Sutton.”

Molly knew what that demand was. And with all her being, she wished it didn’t have to be so.

The duke looked at Harry. “You shall propose marriage to Lady Anne Riordan immediately.”

Molly swallowed hard. Lord Sutton looked about to cry. She was ruined. Completely. And she and her father both knew it. Any plans he had to marry her off to Cedric would be cast aside now. She was a fallen woman. No respectable man would have her.

Thank God Penelope had been carried out of the room.

Harry looked at Molly, a world of pain and regret in his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She knew he was. The whole thing had gotten out of control, hadn’t it? They’d both made stupid decisions, but somehow in the middle of it all, she’d discovered the center of her being, the place where you knew you were whole.

And Harry was there. Harry was a part of her. No matter what happened.

“I understand you have no choice,” she whispered back. “I knew it all along.” She squeezed his hand. “Harry, you must propose to Anne.”

He squeezed her hand back so hard, she wanted to wince. But she wouldn’t. She would remain strong for him. She would never let him know how much it hurt to let him go.

He left her side, and something inside Molly went numb, in the very center of her heart. She knew she would never be truly happy again.

Chapter 46

Harry looked at the duke. It was time to do his duty. He’d avoided marrying because he knew his father would be happy to see him married, and no matter what, Harry hadn’t wanted to make his father happy.

Because he’d thought the duke didn’t love him.

But he saw today that he did. His father may never have said it out loud, but the cool way he’d handled Sir Richard—his entire commanding demeanor—suggested to Harry that his father loved his family above all things and would defend it to his dying breath.