When Harry Met Molly by Kieran Kramer Read Free Book Online

said. “The men whose mistresses don’t win the contest must pull straws to see who must get legshackled to the woman handpicked for each of them by the board of their club. So we have an obvious winner and an obvious loser.”
    Molly brightened. “If you lose this year, you’ll have to marry Anne Riordan.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Easy. Your papa’s on the board, and he tells everyone he believes she’ll have a calming influence on you.” She inclined her head and smiled. “I will quite enjoy that, seeing you and Anne married.”
    He narrowed his eyes at her. “You always were cruel.”
    She laughed. “Tell me, Harry, what would I get out of being your—ahem—false mistress?”
    He crossed his arms. “Safe, anonymous travel back to Marble Hill. I assume your father is traipsing about Europe somewhere and that you somehow pulled the wool over his cousin Augusta’s eyes?”
    “How did you know?”
    “Easy. You’re extremely predictable.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like how you said that.”
    He shrugged. “Take it as you wish.”
    She bit her thumbnail. “But the gentlemen at the house party. What if they recognize me in town? Now that I’m not marrying Cedric, I shall have to have a Season.”
    “You’ll wear loads of face powder and rouge.”
    “They’ll itch.” She knew from experimenting with Cousin Augusta’s.
    “And you must use a false name.”
    “I’ll forget it. I know it.”
    He sighed. “You can’t afford to forget it.”
    “Then it must be Delilah,” she said. “It’s the only name I’ll be able to remember.”
    “Why Delilah?”
    “I don’t know. But I already know I won’t forget it.”
    Harry shook his head. He would never quite understand women and the way their minds worked, especially Molly’s—thank God.
    “You needn’t be overly worried about being found out,” he said. “The gentlemen will be mildly pickled half the time—when we’re out shooting—and severely so the other half. Plus, they’ll be looking down almost always.” He cocked one brow.
    Her face grew red. “Do you mean—” She glanced down at her own bodice.
    “Yes.”
    She shuddered. “This house party sounds awful.”
    “It will be.” He grinned. “Positively dreadful.”
    She narrowed her eyes, kicked a stone in the road, and then whirled back to face him. “Why me?” she demanded. “Why not ask that buxom barmaid back at the inn to be your real mistress? She’s a willing handful, isn’t she?”
    He resented having to venture into truth territory, where vague notions about saving damsels in distress claimed priority over his own more immediate needs and wants.
    “Believe me,” he said. “I thought about asking her, even if she is a bit rustic. But I can’t allow a gently bred lady to be thrust out into the world unprotected. Even if that so-called lady ”—he put as much sarcasm in the word as possible—“is you .”
    “Oh.” She drew back.
    “Oh,” she said again, softer this time, and bit her lip.
    He’d gone too far. And yes, he felt guilty. Roderick would have his hide if he’d heard Harry address his sister-in-law so.
    But Molly was so…provoking. Always had been. From the time she’d discovered, at age four, a sack of acorns he’d spent two weeks gathering for a game of war with Roderick and redistributed them to the squirrels at Marble Hill.
    She shook her head. “I won’t go with you. But thank you for asking.” Her voice was small. She lowered her parasol and took off down the road again, this time looking not so much like Napoleon. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, not swinging boldly. Her stride had shortened, as well.
    She stumbled over a rock.
    “Wait!” he called to her.
    She recovered and kept walking.
    He strode after her. “Will you stop ?”
    She quickened her pace.
    He caught up to her, and she began to run.
    Dash it all, he would have to run, too!
    In one fell swoop, he lifted her over his shoulder and turned back