My Enchanting Hoyden (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel, #3) Read online

  LICENSE AND COPYRIGHT NOTES

  My Enchanting Hoyden

  Copyright © 2015 by Julie Johnstone

  Cover Design by Cover by Lily

  Editing by Double Vision Editorial

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  For more information: [email protected]

  www.juliejohnstoneauthor.com

  This book is for the flawed, the broken, the burdened, the dreamers, the poets, and the determined. Our mistakes make us who we are. We control whether they conquer us or we overcome them, grow, and become wiser for them. Hope...hope is something no one can actually take from you, so march on, and may your path lead you to love.

  Much love ~ Julie

  Table of Contents

  LICENSE AND COPYRIGHT NOTES

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  WORLD OF JOHNSTONE TEASER

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER REGENCY AUTHORS YOU MAY ENJOY

  The Year of Our Lord 1820

  New York, United States of America

  Miss Jemma Adair could count the number of things she regretted on one hand. Of course, if she counted the things she knew she ought to regret but simply did not, she’d likely have to use two hands, but before today, she’d managed to stick to just the one. Yet now, as she leaned against the counter—upon which sat the containers she was supposed to be filling with her mother’s freshly baked lemon tarts—her stomach roiled, filling her with unease. Giving her innocence to Will three nights prior may have been the thing to make her list of regrets overflow from one hand to two.

  She stared at the large wooden door that led from the street into their family bakery and imagined Will breezing through the threshold with his rich-chocolate hair and coffee-colored eyes, as he’d done for the seven years he’d worked here. He’d taken a better job several years ago so he could afford to attend law school, but from his very first day at the bakery, he had always stopped at the counter, set down his delivery sack—empty after transporting orders—and popped a tart into his mouth as he winked and complimented first her sister, Anne, and then her.

  Any boy kind enough to pay Anne such positive notice—she’d been born with a lame leg and was usually teased rather mercilessly—was a boy worthy of Jemma’s admiration. At the age of eleven, she’d given that admiration to him without pause. Then, at the age of twelve, when he’d knocked out Stephen Smith’s tooth after he’d criticized Anne, Jemma had given her heart to him, as well.

  She poked a finger into one of the lemon tarts and sucked off the bitter jam as she wished for the jingle of the bell to announce Will. Even though he’d not worked here in a while, he’d not failed to come by every day before the bakery opened. Her stomach clenched. Except he had not come by in the last three days, not since—

  The bell clanged, causing her to jerk and bump one of the tart-filled trays with her elbow. She grabbed it when it began to slide and set it to rights as her heart raced ahead in hope, even as her mind registered the fact that the door hadn’t moved the smallest iota. Understanding and disappointment filled her as she turned and glared, first at the bell above the door that led from the kitchen into the main bakery, and then again at her mother when she glided through the doorway.

  Her brown hair had escaped her loose bun and a smear of flour covered her right cheek. She huffed as she balanced a tray filled with a combination of berry and lemon tarts. Jemma’s stomach growled, and she scrambled toward the door to help her mother with the heavy-laden tray. When she reached her mother, Anne struggled through the same doorway holding a tray fairly bursting with trifles. She tripped with a gasp, and the tray dipped sharply to the left. Jemma lunged forward and caught the tray just as two chocolate trifles slid to the ground and plopped onto her only pair of decent slippers. She frowned down at the dark lump on her pale shoes, the mess very fitting for her mood.

  Without a word, she took the tray from her sister, who was grimacing and tilting to the right, favoring her good leg. “Did you hurt yourself?” Jemma asked.

  Anne shook her head, her lovely blond curls swinging as she did. Jemma eyed those curls, wondering, as she often did, how they could be twins when they looked absolutely nothing alike. Jemma had flaming-red hair with too-tight curls and eyes neither green nor blue but oddly both. Anne, however, was a classic beauty with lovely blond hair and clear blue eyes.

  Their mother slammed her tray on the counter, making Jemma jump. “Honestly, Jemma. You’ve been moping around the bakery for three solid days, not even doing your job. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your sister covering for you. But it stops now. Anne cannot carry these heavy trays, and you know it as well as I do.”

  Anne huffed and opened her mouth to protest, but Mother’s quelling look silenced whatever she had been about to say. Jemma tensed when her mother’s gaze locked on her. “I could not help but notice that William hasn’t been around to the bakery in those three days. Did you two have an argument?”

  “No,” Jemma said slowly, a mental picture of Will’s naked body filling her mind and heating her cheeks with embarrassment. Not shame. Never that. Despite the fact that she hadn’t meant to give Will her innocence... Frankly, when her heart had quit pounding, her ears had stopped roaring, and her body had cooled off, she could scarcely believe what she had done. But it was done. Besides, she loved Will, and she was sure he loved her in return. He had told her that he would be very busy with his studies for the next few days, after all. She was being silly. Selfish, really. They were going to be married just as soon as he had enough money saved to move out of the room he rented and purchase a home for the two of them.

  She squared her shoulders and shoved back the doubt that had been plaguing her since she’d succumbed to her desire. “Will has exams and is studying.”

  Mother pressed her pale lips together for a moment, and Jemma prayed that would be the end of it. She knew how her mother felt about Will—all men really. Jemma did not need yet another reminder. Her mother turned as if to begin putting the tarts in the case, and Jemma exhaled with relief, but that relief was short-lived.

  Mother swiveled back around and eyed
her askance. “William always managed to come by during his exams before.”

  Leave it to her mother to point out the painfully obvious without blinking an eye. Fresh doubt battered Jemma’s heart, but she refused to show it. “This is his last year, you know that. These exams are the hardest and the most important.”

  Her mother snorted. “That’s not a good excuse. If you ask me—”

  “I didn’t,” Jemma reminded her.

  Her mother shot her a glare. “Don’t be disrespectful. You don’t know everything at eighteen. And you know I understand a great deal about gentlemen.” Her mother said the word with exaggerated derisiveness, as usual.

  “Mother,” Anne said in a tiny, hesitant voice. Jemma gave her twin a grateful look, but one quick reproachful glare from Mother and Anne fell to silence once again, dashing Jemma’s hope of being rescued. Really, she couldn’t believe they were twins. Yes, they were born on the same day—two minutes apart with Jemma coming first—but they may as well have been born in different time periods for what they shared in personality, as well as looks. Anne was obedient and sweet, and Jemma... Well, she did try to be obedient, but it was very, very hard when she felt she was in the right.

  “I warned you,” Mother continued, as if Anne hadn’t interrupted her, as if she hadn’t said these exact same words hundreds of times before. “I warned you that men are deceitful, self-serving rakes. You’re better off possessing a bakery as I do than trying to possess a man’s heart.”

  Jemma felt as if there were a tight band inside her, stretching and stretching. She curled her hands into fists and fought against speaking her mind. It wouldn’t do. It really wouldn’t. But that band stretched further and snapped, and really, she simply could not help herself. She had to defend Will.

  “Will is not Father. He will not abandon me as Father did you. Will does not want me for my money.” She slashed a hand through the air. “We have none! We barely get by! Will wants me for me.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jemma saw Anne frantically shaking her head for Jemma to stop talking, but Jemma’s blood roared in her ears. She’d endured her mother’s tirades about men for years. Now, when she needed a kind word, she had to tolerate more hatred. A voice in her head reminded her that her mother didn’t know Jemma needed comfort and reassurance, and some of her mounting anger slipped away.

  “Mother,” she started, prepared to simply apologize so they wouldn’t argue.

  “He may not want you for money as your father wanted me and abandon you when you’re with child and he realizes no money is coming, but mark my words—” Mother huffed “—he will break your heart in his own special way. All men do.”

  “Will is not like Father,” Jemma said, finding a calm, firm voice, though a tempest swirled inside her. “He will never abandon me.”

  “I hope not,” her mother said so quietly and in such a small voice that Jemma knew she’d hurt her mother’s feelings.

  Shame washed over her in unbearable waves. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

  Her mother shook her head. “Just don’t go losing your senses until you’re good and properly married.”

  Jemma’s stomach knotted, uncoiled, and plummeted to the ground. It was too late for that warning. She’d lost every ounce of sense she’d possessed when in Will’s arms three nights ago. Staring at her mother, she longed to confide her fears, but Mother’s heart was so hardened to men that Jemma feared she’d immediately march to Will’s lodgings and demand a marriage take place posthaste. That wouldn’t do. Will was going to marry her, but she certainly preferred to know it was his choice and not something he did by guilt or force. Besides that, as Jemma stared at her mother she noticed dark smudges under her eyes and that Mother’s skin looked almost sallow.

  “Mother, do you feel all right?”

  Her mother nodded, even as her hand strayed to her chest and rubbed it. “Just an ache here. But that’s nothing new,” she said in a hard voice.

  The bell at the front door jingled and all three of them jumped at once. It wasn’t quite time for the bakery to be open, so that had to mean...

  “Will!” Jemma exclaimed, rushing past her mother and Anne, and stopping just short of flinging herself into his arms. He had on tan breeches, a dark coat, and a crisp white shirt with a light-blue cravat he’d recently taken to wearing. She eyed the cravat, still feeling as if he’d not been truthful about his parents purchasing it for him, but she shooed the doubt away, knowing it was surely her own insecurity making her feel thusly.

  “Where have you been?” she blurted, then bit down on her traitorous tongue. Hadn’t she told herself repeatedly that when he finally came around she would act wholly unbothered by the fact that he’d not come by in three days.

  So much for that plan.

  When he didn’t answer, she stepped toward him and gazed into his eyes. “Were exams that difficult?”

  He opened and shut his mouth, while his face turned a deep-crimson color. Pity filled her and determination to make him feel better drove her forward to grasp his arm. “Oh, Will, don’t worry. We’ll think of something. Could you take the exams again?”

  He shook his head, still not speaking.

  Jemma squeezed his arm. “That’s all right.”

  “I passed with top honors,” he blurted, a bead of sweat dripping down his face.

  Jemma wrinkled her brow. He seemed very nervous for someone who’d passed with honors. “Then what is it? I don’t understand.”

  Will’s gaze darted from her, to her mother, to Anne, and back to Jemma. “Might I speak with you in private?”

  The bell chimed again, and Jemma glanced at the longcase clock, then stifled the curse on the tip of her tongue. Eight o’clock. The bakery was open and the first customers had arrived, and by the looks of them, they would not be patient. Wealthy people so rarely were. Jemma would bet her left arm that this young lady and her companion—no, actually, likely her father by the similar eyes and mouth—were grossly rich. The girl was beautiful with her china doll skin and large blue eyes, but she was made even more so dressed as she was in an exquisite emerald-green gown. Her father had peppered hair, covered partially by a shiny top hat, and he wore an overcoat made in a deep, rich burgundy with large, gleaming stones set into the sleeves.

  They strolled through the door, and Jemma pasted on a smile as her mother and Anne, both a heated mess from baking in the kitchen, scurried away to tidy themselves. She turned to greet the customers when Will jerked her back around to face him. “Jemma, I must tell you—”

  “William,” the girl said in a sweetly chiding voice that made Jemma’s stomach flop. “You said five minutes. Father timed it, and we’ve been waiting five minutes and twenty seconds. Haven’t we, Father?”

  The man gave a curt nod. “The ship is waiting,” he said, flicking a dull gaze over Jemma. His eyes widened for a moment before he locked his gaze on Will. “The ship leaves for London within the hour. We must depart now.”

  “Two minutes,” Will said firmly.

  Jemma’s mind froze on the word we. We. As in Will, or as in the two strangers? She rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms against her cotton skirts and swallowed. “Will?” She cringed at the shaky sound of her own voice.

  “Really, William,” the woman snapped. “Tell your cousin good-bye. We must leave.”

  Will nodded. Jemma blinked, but her eyelids felt heavy as stones. Cousin? The word rippled across her mind, slow and languid, like the undulation of the water when she swirled her toes in it. Cousin.

  She snapped her eyebrows together. “I’m not—”

  “Two minutes,” Will repeated, interrupting her and stepping in front of her so her view of the strangers was blocked.

  “No more than that,” the woman replied. “We don’t want to miss boarding.” With that statement, she swiveled away, and within seconds the bell chimed once more, leaving only silence and Jemma’s screeching mind. She eyed the door to the kitchens, certain any minute her mother would burst through
it.

  Her mind whirred, uncertain what to ask and afraid to ask anything at the same time. Yet she had to say something. Ask something. “Who was that?”

  Will shuffled his feet. “Lady Jane.”

  “Who is Lady Jane?”

  Will tugged on his cravat, and something clicked in her mind. It was a dreadful something that made her skin prickle. “Did Lady Jane give you that cravat you’ve been wearing?”

  He let out a long, rattling sigh and then nodded. The prickling sensation spread over her entire body and became more pronounced, like tiny beestings. She licked her lips and tried to order her thoughts, but they spun and spun until she felt slightly dizzy. “How do you—”

  Will grabbed Jemma’s arm. She would have jerked away, but she thought she might just topple right over if he released her.

  “I never meant to hurt you,” she thought he said, but his voice sounded as if it came from down a long tunnel.

  “Hurt me?”

  “She has a cousin from America in school with me, and well, I’ve known Lady Jane for quite some time, but I never thought— She’s an heiress to a shipping empire. She lives in London and only visits twice a year. I never imagined she’d want me, not even a lawyer yet.”

  Jemma spoke, though her tongue didn’t want to form the words. “Want you?” Of course, she’d want him. He was intelligent, handsome, and wanted to change the world for the better. And he was a liar. From somewhere within, Jemma managed to yank her arm out of his hold and remain standing. The victory was small and pathetic, but she clung to it. “Who is she to you?” Jemma demanded, her voice now coming out loud and strong.

  He blew out a breath, his cheeks puffing and then deflating. Her heart deflated right along with them. “She’s going to be my wife. We’re to be married. That is— What I’m trying to tell you is—”

  “I know what you’re trying to tell me!” she bit out, the sting of her nails as they curled into her palms making her wince. “I’m not an imbecile, just a blind fool.”

  He moved as if to touch her, and she jerked back, her skin rippling with revulsion. “I gave you my love,” she whispered, feeling broken. “I gave you my innocence.” As she said it, a horrified thought stuck her. Marriage was lost to her forever; no man would want a wife who wasn’t innocent. She clenched her teeth. She didn’t care. She never wanted to be in love again, so there was absolutely no point in marrying. Dear God! Mother had warned her repeatedly never to give a man her trust, yet she’d not listened. “How long have you known you would be marrying her?” The bitter words stung as they left her mouth.