My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) by Julie Johnstone Page B

man. Philip had set her on this path, and now he simply had to watch over her, protect her.
    “I can help you get rid of Glenmore,” he said. “Be an aid in your scheme, if you will.”
    “I never take help without having something to give in return, and I have nothing to give you, Lord Harthorne .”
    Her voice had taken on a hard, reproachful edge, and it took a moment for him to realize she had reverted to assuming the worst about him.
    “I realize,” he said patiently, “that you don’t know me, not really, but I am not the sort of man to expect any sort of payment, scandalous or otherwise, from a woman I’ve assisted.”
    A blush stained her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Still, if I accept your help, I’d like to be able to help you with something in return. I don’t wish to feel indebted. But I can’t imagine you need any information I might have.”
    “Not unless you know how to turn me into a rake,” he joked, surprised he felt comfortable enough to talk so freely to her.
    She gaped at him, but then she slowly closed her mouth and swallowed. “It just so happens, I could tell you exactly what makes a man a rake.”
    “You’ve experience?” He quirked an eyebrow at her in an attempt to lighten the question, though her hard tone of seconds ago made him think her answer would be a firm confirmation.
    She tilted her head and assessed him for a long, silent moment. “Why do you want to become a rake?”
    “Because men who are rakes always get the women they want.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Are you wanting one particular woman, or many?” Her voice had become cold and hard again.
    “One will do nicely for me,” he replied.
    “Then it’s a deal,” she said with a curt nod. “You assist me in ridding myself of Lord Glenmore, and I will help you become a rake. Albeit a nice one.”
    He frowned. “The words rake and nice seem to contradict each other, but that suits me perfectly. I’ll be England’s first nice rake, though I do think I mustn’t appear too nice.”
    She laughed. “If you say so.”
    “I do, and we have an agreement. How shall we get in contact with each other?”
    Before Jemma could reply, a silver-haired woman in a purple gown came rushing through the terrace doors, her chest heaving and her eyes franticly searching the balcony. “Miss Adair!” she cried out in a high-pitched voice as she scurried over to them.
    Philip glanced over Jemma’s shoulder as she turned toward the woman.
    “Mrs. Featherstone, whatever is the matter?” Jemma asked.
    “What’s the matter?” she repeated in a hushed, panicky tone. “What’s the matter is that I’ve been searching everywhere for you!” The woman glanced around, her mouth pinching. “And now it seems I must search out your sister, as well. Your grandfather will dismiss me if anything happens to either of you.” The woman wrung her hands as she looked from Philip to Jemma.
    Philip cleared his throat. “I assure you, Mrs. Featherstone, nothing untoward has occurred with your charge and myself. We strolled the balcony where other couples were in clear view.”
    Jemma patted her chaperone on the arm. “All your worry is for naught. I was being perfectly proper.”
    The woman clucked her tongue. “Such plain conversation!”
    Jemma gave Philip an amused glance. “Mrs. Featherstone, this is the Earl of Harthorne, the Duchess of Aversley’s brother. He has no designs on me, nor I on him.”
    Philip barely restrained his frown at that statement. It was true enough what Jemma had said, but he’d rather like to think she did have some sort of attraction to him, as he did her, whether they could act on it or not. Not that she’d announce it.
    He growled, and both women glanced at him. Damnation, but Jemma made him act unreasonable, and he barely knew her. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “Something’s in my throat.”
    Jemma nodded, then turned her attention back to her chaperone. “Where did you last see Anne?”
    “She came to me and