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

certainly couldn’t pretend he remembered her name when he’d just told Miss Adair he didn’t lie.
    “Miss Anne,” she said, offering one of her pleasant smiles.
    She was a pretty thing, her pale looks currently all the fashion, but strangely not compelling to him as her flame-haired, freckle-flecked sister was. Everything about Jemma begged inspection, dissection, and quill to paper to figure out the conundrum she presented. Whereas Miss Anne appeared to be an open book. There was nothing wrong with that, but he had always liked the puzzles of life.
    He cast a sideways glance at Jemma and found her studying him as if he were some foreign specimen she wasn’t sure whether to crush under her slipper or capture in a jar. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said to Miss Anne.
    “You’ll be seeing more of me,” the young lady gushed. “And my sister. We’re making our debut this Season.”
    His gaze immediately went to Jemma’s face. He couldn’t help it. She displayed her displeasure vividly. A dark scowl marred her lovely features, and her lips pressed into a thin, white line. Clearly, she was not nearly as pleased to be making her debut and partaking in the Season as her sister was. He could relate. The prospect of countless balls filled with nonsensical chatter and false smiles, not to mention his having to actively search for an heiress, did not entice him in the least, but it was necessary.
    “I wish you both happy hunting,” he said, unsure what else to say. “I’m certain we will run into one another again very soon.”
    Jemma snorted, and her sister elbowed her in the side. Jemma cut her eyes to her sister before focusing on him once again. Something mischievous stirred in the depths of her eyes that matched the wicked smile suddenly lighting her face. “Is that what you are doing, Lord Harthorne? Hunting? ”
    “Are you?” he parried to sidestep the need to lie.
    “No. I’m running.”
    “Jemma,” her sister groaned.
    She shrugged. “I doubt Lord Harthorne is bothered by me speaking my mind. Are you, Lord Harthorne?”
    He had to smile. He rather liked her bold nature. “As long as your words don’t sting me, I am not bothered a bit. In fact, I find I’m quite intrigued.”
    Her eyebrows knitted together. “My aim is not to intrigue.”
    “Don’t you want a husband, Miss Adair?”
    “About as much as I want the plague,” she replied cheekily.
    He threw his head back and laughed, even as her sister grabbed her hand and started tugging on her. “I’m terribly sorry, Lord Harthorne. My sister is not herself tonight.”
    “I’m myself,” Jemma called over her shoulder as her sister dragged her up the few steps to the front door.
    As the door opened, Philip remembered the money in his coat. He’d forgotten to give it to his sister. “Miss Adair!”
    Jemma swung around to face him and quirked her brows up. “Miss me already?”
    By God, she was an outspoken lady. He itched to get home and create a poem worthy of her. He pulled the paper out from his coat. “I believe I owe you this.”
    Her eyes widened, and she scurried down the three steps and took it. As she read what he had scrawled on the outside of the note she laughed, and he smiled. He’d written the name Katherina across it. “Thank you, Petruchio,” she said, performed a perfect curtsy, and then swiveled away and disappeared within the house.
    Philip was left standing in the growing twilight, staring at his carriage and thinking of Jemma and her sister. Jemma was beautiful and Anne was lovely, but most men of the ton would place a good dowry over appearances, with disposition coming in last. Disgust filled him, and he jerked. Now he had to put himself in the classification of those he had long held in contempt, those who considered a dowry the most important thing on the list of qualities to be had in a wife.
    A sweat broke out on his forehead as he trudged toward his awaiting carriage. He was looking forward to