My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) (34 page)

Jemma shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Anne squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve not eaten all day.”

Jemma blinked in surprise at her sister’s words. She had no appetite. Love had stolen her appetite, her happiness, her peace. Love was a dreadful thing.

O
ne Week Later

When Jemma saw Philip look up at her bedchamber window from the drive, she hastily dropped the curtain she had pulled open and scuttled backward, bumping into Anne. Her sister grasped at her arm to keep her balance.

“I’m sorry, Anne,” Jemma whispered. Why the devil she was whispering was beyond her. Philip could not hear her from where he stood outside. Of course, any neighbor within a mile had likely heard
Philip
this past week. He had come every single day.

Jemma’s stomach tightened mercilessly as he called to her once again. Would he ever quit coming? Perhaps she needed to leave Town.

“Go to him,” Anne urged, as she’d been doing every day, giving Jemma a push toward the door.

Jemma scowled. “You’re not making this any easier, Sister,” Jemma hissed.

“I’m trying to,” Anne replied. “You’re acting a fool.
You
are throwing away a man who loves you.”

“Please,”
Jemma scoffed, though she no longer sounded sure, even to herself. She wasn’t, and it terrified her. It made her heart falter and breathing become difficult. She gritted her teeth, but the doubt persisted, as did Philip.

Was she simply so afraid of being hurt that her fear was blinding her and making her unreasonable, or had she finally wised up?

Anne rushed to the window and yanked open the curtain.

“Close the curtain, Anne! He’ll see you!”

“Go to him!” Anne pressed, glancing back at Jemma, her eyes pleading. “How can you stand turning him away yet again?”

Jemma could scarcely breathe, her heart was pounding so hard. She shook her head. She wasn’t sure how she could or
if
she could. Oh, why did he keep coming?

Anne glanced out the window again. “He’s leaving! Oh, wait! Grandfather has gone out!”

Jemma found herself rushing back across the room to the window. She looked down at Philip, her pulse racing. “What do you think Grandfather is saying?”

The two men stood very close to each other. Grandfather was waving his hands in the air and Philip was nodding, then he, too, was gesturing this way and that, as if in argument.

Anne dropped the curtain so that it brushed Jemma’s nose when it fell into place, and she turned to Jemma. “I imagine Grandfather is threatening him. Grandfather
did
say at the morning meal that he was tired of his peace being disturbed and that he was going to put an end to this nonsense today if Lord Harthorne returned yet again.”

“He did?” Jemma choked out. She’d not joined in a meal since the day she’d told Philip to go. It was all she could do to force herself to eat anything, and it generally took her most the day to work up the will to take a few bites at supper alone in her bedchamber.

Anne nodded, turned back to the curtain, and opened it again. “I suppose Grandfather did as he said. Lord Harthorne is leaving. I doubt you’ll see him here again.” Anne eyed her. “Of course, you may see him at the Williamsons’ ball. I imagine he’ll go. Perhaps he’ll dance with other ladies. Eventually bring himself to laugh, flirt...and marry another.”

Jemma’s stomach roiled at the scene in her head. She could not watch Philip with other women. “I’m not going to the Williamsons’ ball.”

Anne pursed her lips while cocking her head. “Likely a wise choice.”

Jemma scooted past Anne to stare out the window at Philip’s departing carriage. He
was
leaving. Her knotted stomach dropped like a hard ball, landing somewhere near her slippers. She pressed her fingertips to the glass. “Do you really think he’ll not come back tomorrow?”

“I truly do,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “I imagine even a man as in love as Lord Harthorne can only stomach being rejected and humiliated for so long. I’m going to go speak with Grandfather and see what he said to him. Do you want to come?”

She did, but she had too much pride to allow herself to go. “No, I think I’ll just sit here and read.”

“Suit yourself,” Anne snapped and made her way out of their bedchamber.

Jemma shuffled to the bookcase in the adjacent sitting room and selected a book. She sat on the settee, opened the book, and stared at the page, not caring at all that she wasn’t even seeing the words. She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a ragged sigh. How long would it take for the pain of Philip’s betrayal to recede? How long until her heart ceased aching and she no longer loved him? All her emotions swirled inside her, making her feel nauseated. What if he truly did love her? What if Anne was correct? But what if Anne was wrong and Jemma forgave him and married a man who had fooled her. She’d not be able to stand it. But could she live with not even hearing him out and always wondering what he would have said?

She sat for what seemed like hours staring at the blurry words on the page. Her mind turned along with her stomach, but no answers came. When the shadows grew long in her bedchamber, she knew she needed to rise and make herself dress for supper. Her hiding had to stop.

As she stood from the settee, a knock came at her door. “Yes?”

“May I come in, Granddaughter?”

Jemma bade her grandfather to enter, and as she watched him walk in with slow, hobbling steps, her breath caught and she rushed to him. “Are you ill today?”

He nodded, though he did not meet her gaze. “Your unhappiness is causing me a great deal of anxiety.”

Oh dear heaven. She’d been so selfish! She’d not even thought of what this might be doing to Grandfather when he was in such a precarious state of health and needed to remain calm.

“I’m feeling much better,” she lied.

His eyebrows snapped upward into a disbelieving arch. “Are you?”

She nodded vigorously.

“I’m so glad to hear it. Your sister tells me you are not planning to attend the Williamsons’ ball tonight, but nothing would put me more at ease than you doing so and getting on with your life.”

The last thing she desired was to go to that ball and possibly run into Philip—or even worse, see him with other women—but if it meant it would alleviate Grandfather’s worry, she would make herself go. “All right. I’ll attend. Are you feeling well enough to accompany me and Anne?”

“No, but it so happens that Dr. Talbot mentioned while he was here earlier that he was taking Lady Harthorne to the ball and that they would be happy to accompany you and Anne.”

Jemma’s eyes felt as if they were about to pop out of her head. “I cannot go to the ball with Philip’s mother!”

“Whyever not?” Grandfather grabbed at his chest. “It’s not as if Lord Harthorne will be with them. I made sure of that.”

She wanted to argue, but the way her grandfather clutched his chest made her hold her silence so as not to upset him more. “All right,” she relented. “I will go.”

P
hilip read the note from Rowan that had just been delivered to him, and then he reread it, a grin tugging at his lips.

Jemma’s grandfather was a crafty gentleman and thankfully had become a much-needed ally this past week. Philip threw the note on his desk and raced out of the room to find his mother. He almost barreled over her as she came around the corner.

He grasped her elbow to steady her. “Mother, I need to—”

“I know all about it,” she chirped. “George told me that the Duke of Rowan had begged this favor of us to help you with his granddaughter, and your sister filled me in on what has been happening with you.” His mother clucked her tongue at him. “I feel awful that
you
felt compelled to marry for money to protect me and Eustice, but I’m supremely glad you came to your senses.”

He nodded. It would have been much better if he’d not misplaced his senses in the first place. He’d not be on the verge of losing Jemma now.

Blood rushed to his head as it did every time he considered he might actually lose her. At the beginning of the week he’d not allowed himself to consider it at all, but each day she turned him away, it had become harder to ignore the possibility. This felt like his last chance.

His nerves hummed with the knowledge. The trick was going to be getting her to listen. He suspected it was going to be harder than her grandfather believed.

J
emma sat beside Anne on the settee and nervously rearranged the folds of her gown as Grandfather rose to greet Dr. Talbot and Lady Harthorne, whom the butler had just announced. A lump was lodged in Jemma’s throat. Had Philip spoken about her to his mother, or had he never said a word? Jemma fiddled with her gown some more, unsure which would be worse. With no folds left to arrange, she forced herself to look up, and as she did, the butler stepped aside in the doorway and announced Philip.
Philip!

Jemma’s jaw dropped open. She was not imagining things. His black-clad figure consumed the doorway with his broad shoulders and towering height. He moved into the room with easy grace, greeting her grandfather, then Anne, and finally, his gaze locked on her. She stilled, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

“Miss Adair,” he said properly, but somehow,
somehow
, her name rolled off his tongue in a way that made her toes curl in her slippers.
Blast him.
A longing to touch him consumed her so she forced her anger and hurt to the surface. She needed to be strong and protect herself.

“Lord Harthorne,” she replied, nodding her head. “I must say, I am surprised you have the audacity to come here when I expressly asked you not to.” She cringed when she saw him flinch at her words. Anne gasped beside her and rose quickly.

“Please forgive my sister’s tart tongue,” Anne chided and moved as if to greet Philip.

In a blur, Anne flew forward, and Philip caught her in his arms. Jemma jumped to her feet to go to Anne and see if she was all right when her grandfather grasped his chest.

“The pain!” he moaned.