My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) (20 page)

J
emma was having the loveliest dream. Philip actually kissed her in the gazebo this time, except then some sudden sobbing and the sound of a frantic voice filled her head.
How odd.
The image of the small bakery with the counter containing glass cases filled with pastries and a sign that read Jemma’s Sweets disappeared, and she yawned and stretched, tensing with her arms spread wide as the sobbing pierced her ears again. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up with a start.

Mrs. Featherstone, silver hair mussed around her head and face splotchy from crying, was standing over her. Eliza, with pinched lips and pale cheeks, was standing beside Mrs. Featherstone.

“What’s the matter?” Jemma asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Your sister,” Mrs. Featherstone moaned.

Jemma’s heart jerked as she glanced at Anne’s bed. It was empty. “What is it?” she demanded as she scrambled out of bed.

“It’s this!” Mrs. Featherstone wailed, shoving a piece of foolscap at Jemma.

Jemma opened the paper, and as she read the words, her heart sank.

“Oh dear God!” Jemma gasped.

Mrs. Featherstone’s eyes bugged out at Jemma’s language and Eliza blushed, but Jemma didn’t have time to care that she’d shocked them. She brushed past both of them, raced to her wardrobe, and yanked out a gown. She was dressed before she took a full breath, and Eliza was suddenly there behind her, hooking the gown.

Jemma swiveled to look at Mrs. Featherstone, and Eliza turned with her as she did. “When did she leave?”

Mrs. Featherstone shook her head and swiped at tears. “I’ve failed. I’ll be let go for certain.”

Jemma’s patience snapped. She marched over to the woman, grasped her by the shoulders, and gave her a little shake—not too hard but hard enough to get her attention. “Does Grandfather know?”

“No,” Mrs. Featherstone whispered, as if Grandfather could hear what she was saying. “According to his valet, His Grace is still in his bedchamber.”

Jemma rubbed her temples, her head pounding. Whyever would Mr. Frazier have come to get Anne in the middle of the night if he truly cared for her? He hadn’t even asked Grandfather for her hand yet. Jemma’s stomach clenched. Maybe Mr. Frazier was afraid Grandfather would say no to Anne marrying him.

Jemma clenched her hands. She had to be certain her sister was all right. But Gretna Green was a two-day trip. If she went after Anne herself, there would be no one here to cover for Anne and keep Grandfather distracted. She couldn’t send Mrs. Featherstone or Eliza; their absences would be noted. Jemma knew with a sudden pang that the only person she could trust to help her was Philip.

The confusion she felt from last night enveloped her, but she shoved it away, swiveled on her heel, raced to her escritoire, and quickly penned Philip a note, begging him to come see her. When she was finished, she hurried over to Eliza. “I need you to rush this to Lord Harthorne’s residence in Mayfair and make sure he reads it in front of you.”

Eliza clutched the letter and nodded. “I’ll not let you down.”

Jemma stood rooted to the spot as Eliza disappeared from the room.

Mrs. Featherstone began sobbing again. “I don’t understand how Mr. Frazier squired your sister away.”

Jemma didn’t, either. She circled the room, looking for clues. When she found none, she opened the balcony doors and sighed. Stones littered the balcony. Obviously, the devil had thrown pebbles at the window and Jemma had never even heard a sound! Had they planned this? Or had Mr. Frazier simply shown up on a whim and awoken Anne? Had Anne mentioned to him what a deep sleeper Jemma was so he thought it would be safe?

Jemma glanced over the side of the balcony and judged the distance from where she stood to the tree. She could make it, but could Anne have done so with her weak leg? She must have.

“Miss Adair, Miss Adair!”

Jemma swung around at the sound of Eliza frantically calling her name. She frowned at her lady’s maid. “Why are you back already?” she demanded, gruffer than she’d meant to, but really, Eliza was wasting precious minutes they might need to save Anne.

“As I was leaving, Lord Harthorne arrived,” Eliza said. “He’s waiting in the parlor to speak with you.”

Well, that was certainly good timing! Jemma scrambled out the door and downstairs. She had to force herself to walk at a ladylike pace through the corridor to the parlor room, because she was certain at any moment she would encounter her grandfather. She didn’t want to give him any reason to be suspicious.

As she rounded the corner to the parlor, she almost ran into Mr. Sims. Grandfather’s butler stepped to the side. “Pardon me, Miss Adair. I was in a rush to get to your grandfather.”

“No apologies, necessary,” she said. “I was in a rush, as well.” She started to move past him but noticed he was holding what appeared to be a medicine bottle in his hand. “Is Grandfather ill?”

The butler opened his mouth, shut it, gave a little shake of his head, and then finally spoke. “Nothing to concern yourself with. A small cold. He told me to tell you and your sister he was going to spend today in his bedchamber.”

Jemma frowned. He was spending the day in his bedchamber for a small cold? Something didn’t ring true. “Are you certain it’s merely a cold?” Grandfather may be insufferable and stubborn and make her life incredibly difficult, but he
was
her grandfather and her only living relative other than Anne. That she knew where to find, anyway. Her father may very well still be alive, but where he was, was anybody’s guess.

The butler nodded. “Yes, Miss Adair, I’m sure he told me to tell you he had a cold.”

That wasn’t what she had asked, but Mr. Sims’s tone had taken on that formal, stiff note he so often used. Even if Grandfather were on death’s door, the butler would never tell her differently if Grandfather had instructed him not to.
Was
Grandfather ill? Truly ill?

Impossible
. She would have noticed something. Still...

“I’ll come see him in just a bit.”

“As you wish,” the butler replied before continuing on his way and disappearing round the corner.

Jemma raced toward the parlor at a trot since she was certain she was not going to come upon her grandfather. She burst into the room, and Philip immediately stood. He wore a bottle-green coat, a white shirt, an oddly dangling white cravat, and tan breeches that fit as snug as a glove over his powerful legs. Very careful not to gawk, she met his gaze and hurried toward him so that she could talk low in case any nosy servants came by the open door. Philip, she’d swear, backed up several steps to match the ones she’d taken toward him.

She stopped in her tracks. “Philip, I was just sending a note to you with my lady’s maid.”

He furrowed his brow. “You were?”

She nodded and scooted closer to him. This time, he didn’t retreat. “I need your help. It’s about Mr. Frazier.”

Philip grimaced. Was he sick of her need for help? “Frazier is why I’m here,” he said in a clipped tone. “I’m afraid your worry in regard to him is well-founded.”

Jemma’s heart squeezed. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “I fear it’s too late. But what do you know? What did he say?”

“He admitted he was interested in your sister for the dowry he thought she would bring him. When I told him he was mistaken, that your grandfather would not give her any dowry, he said he would simply take her to Gretna Green and force your grandfather’s hand.”

Jemma pressed her palms to her suddenly hot cheeks. Poor Anne. Grandfather would never give a dowry to a man who had swept his granddaughter away to Gretna Green as Father had done with Mother. What had possessed Anne?

Jemma massaged her aching temples. She knew what had possessed her sister to act so foolishly—
love
. Love made women blind idiots. Love caused women to give away their innocence and ruin their lives. She glanced at Philip, and the concern in his eyes caused her belly to flutter. She was the biggest fool of all. She was coming to care for him, despite everything that had happened to her, despite knowing the plans he had. She would not care. She
would not
.

“You must warn your sister not to do anything foolish such as run off with the man.”

Jemma bit her lip. Philip sounded oddly formal, unlike himself. But no, she needed to concentrate on Anne, not Philip.

“She’s already gone,” Jemma blurted, feeling as if precious minutes to rescue Anne from her own folly were slipping by. And she wasn’t even sure now if Philip would go after Anne for her. Maybe he wouldn’t want to be involved. He was acting so strange.

She raised a shaky hand to her throat. “She fled in the night to Gretna Green with Mr. Frazier. She left a note for Mrs. Featherstone saying she would return as a married woman, but that’s all she said.”

“Good God,” Philip muttered. He glanced between her and the door. Was he going to refuse to aid her? What would she do?

J
emma was trembling. Philip began to shake, too
.
He shouldn’t touch her, shouldn’t comfort her
.

Keep your hands by your sides, man.

He balled his fingers into fists, but before he could mentally gather the will to stop himself, he cupped her cheek for one brief, glorious moment. “Don’t worry,” he said, though it came out as a gruff whisper. “I’ll go after her. And even if I’m too late, I swear to God, I’ll help make things right for her.” Philip forced himself to pull his hand away, and as he did, Jemma flung herself at him. His breath whooshed out of him as her body thudded against his.

Her hands slid up to his shoulders and grasped them, and she buried her head against his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I thought—” Her voice broke on a sob. “I thought you were going to refuse to help.”

He was acutely aware of her in a thousand ways at once. Her heart beat quickly against his chest through her fine silk gown. She had a strong grip but slender fingers. She smelled of lavender with an undertone of lilac. She fit perfectly under his chin and against him. She radiated a warmth akin to the sun’s.

Her sobbing broke his heart in a way he could write a thousand lovelorn poems about and still never capture just how much he wanted to erase her pain. If circumstances were different, he suspected he could fall for her so deeply that finding his way to the surface of sanity would be impossible, yet he’d be blissful where he dwelled with her. But circumstances weren’t different, and he could not fall. He released her, and as he did, she swiped at her damp cheeks.

His chest tightened mercilessly, and he ached to wrap his arms around her. He exhaled a long breath and took another deep one in the hope that his voice would not give away exactly how much he wanted to touch her.

“I will bring your sister back to you and do everything in my power to help you.” Before she could respond and say anything that would break the small thread of self-control he still possessed, he sketched a quick bow. “I better be off.”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice wobbly.

He quickly departed and went straight to fetch his sister. She would keep the secret, and he needed a woman to travel with him in case he should encounter anyone of the
ton
. Amelia would also provide respectability if they caught up with Jemma’s sister and could bring her home before it was too late.

When he arrived at Amelia’s home and explained the situation, she joined him without a second thought.

A
s the carriage raced down the road out of town and toward Gretna Green, Philip stared out the window. He wasn’t particularly interested in the scenery, but he wasn’t interested in answering any prying questions from Amelia, either. He hoped she would catch the hint that he didn’t want to talk, but when she got up from the seat across from him and planted herself beside him, he knew the hope to be futile. Still he faced the window until she cleared her throat for the third time.