Temptress in Training (39 page)

“You found those that caused it, didn't you?”

“Yes, it appears Warren was the mastermind, after all. Eudora was working with him to extract information from her clients. She was the connection to Fitzgelder.”

“And my father?”

“In the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever your father has done in his past, Sophie, he was not a party to murder. I'm sorry I let Eudora trick me into hunting him. He spurned her, so she wanted to punish him. Which brings me back to the subject of your misspelled letter, my dear. Were you quite sincere when you wrote it?”

“Oh yes! I sent the servants out for the day, and Papa said he will be gone until evening. So as you see, we have plenty of time for…proper spelling.”

Rather than kissing her again or getting down to the business of completing some of the activities mentioned in her letter, Lindley reached into his pocket and withdrew his watch.

“Sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid we have less time than you think. Your father only allowed me half an hour, and I fear we've already used most of that up in idle chatter.”

“What do you mean? Papa is with his solicitor arranging for our new home.”

He shook his head. “No, he's with
my
solicitor. It is
my
property he plans to move you to in Kent.”

“Your property? But why?”

“Because he refuses to grant me permission to ask you to marry me until I have properly courted you and proven myself a worthy man, that's why.”

She could not even comprehend his words. She merely stared and waited for him to explain.

“He wants you to feel you have a choice, Sophie. And you do, you know. You are a woman of means now. You have connections, in England as well as France. You will be able to choose any husband you want.”

“But I'm no one! I can't really be a lady, not with my history.”

“That was Sophie Darshaw. Now you are Sophie D'Archaud, of noble blood and gentle breeding. No one needs to know how you spent the last few years of your life.”

“Or that my grandmother was a courtesan, or that my mother was an actress, or that my father was accused of murder, or—”

He wrapped her tightly into his arms. “You're right. You've got a dreadful past, and you'd best grab the first man you see. Just to sway things in my favor, I'm going to blindfold you.”

“Oh, now that does sound promising!”

“And just promise me you will at least consider my proposal, Sophie. I know we've had a rather irregular relationship so far, but I can promise there's nothing irregular about the way I feel for you. I love you, Sophie, whether it's Darshaw or D'Archaud. And I would be the happiest man on earth if you'd consent to being my wife.”

She pretended to think about it. “Well, would your wife be expected to behave in a polite, wifely manner all the time, or would she still be allowed some room for, er, creativity?”

“Creativity? Yes. Hell, yes.”

“I see. Then in that case, sir, hell, yes it is.”

He smiled broadly and nearly crushed her. “I'll never let you regret it.”

“But perhaps you might wish to let me breathe a bit,” she wheezed.

He released his hold and stepped away from her. “You're right. And your father should be here soon, so perhaps now would be a good time to open the package I've brought you.”

She was confused, but he handed her the box and she carefully undid the strings. Placing it back on the table, she opened it.

“My scissors!”

“I retrieved them for you.”

“Yes, and the binding cords as well,” she said, pulling them out and feeling her face go warm at the memory of that night at Haven Abbey.

She was surprised at the next items she discovered. The velvet pantalets had somehow reappeared.

“Those I found particularly intriguing,” he said.

She shook her head. “They chafe.”

“Pity. They were one of the few items in your collection I did not fully get to enjoy.”

“Ah, don't think I haven't sewn anything else these past ten days, my lord,” she said.

He grinned like an eager child. “Oh? You have made something new?”

“Indeed I have.”

“Is it as tantalizingly creative as the others?”

“More so,” she replied, stepping into his arms and looking up into his dark, passionate gaze.

“Is it wildly alluring?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“Terribly.”

“Is it somewhat scandalous?”

“Dreadfully.”

It appeared this time he was at a loss for words as she tiptoed to press her lips against his.

“And I can hardly wait to see you in it, my lord.”

L
ONDON,
E
NGLAND
MAY
1820

The candlelight was lovely, and Penelope knew hers was the prettiest gown in the room. She also knew this was not by any accident. Her brother spared no expense in his desperate efforts to get her married off. The only thing good about Anthony's efforts was that this gown he'd paid for was the exact shade of blue to complement her necklace. Indeed, she did love this necklace.

She put her hand to it, enjoying the feel of the warm gold and the smooth stones set into place to form the stout body of a beetle. Not just any beetle, though. This was a scarab—an amulet fashioned by Egyptian hands many, many centuries ago. Indeed, she'd paid a pretty penny for it. No doubt Anthony would scold when he realized that's where all her money had gone, but she could not care. This was the finest piece of her collection.

She'd hoped whatever magic it might still contain would work to ward off the suitors her brother wished for, yet it appeared Anthony's power was far greater than even that of the sacred scarab. Suitors had been hanging on her all night. Pity none of them actually suited her.

Mercy, but it had been nearly impossible to get rid of them. She'd managed, however. It had required her agreeing to stand up with Puddleston Blunk for the entire Country Dance, and there were fourteen couples to work through before she could finally claim exhaustion and send the lout off to procure her a lemonade. Now she was alone. If she didn't dream up a way to disappear soon, though, he'd return and she'd be stuck with Puddleston on her arm until Mamma showed up to pry him off. And Mamma would likely not do that. Mamma said Puddleston Blunk was a good catch.

Heavens, but if there was ever a time to decide on a plan, it was now. She had no intention of catching someone like Mr. Blunk, by accident or on purpose. There were other things she wished to do with her life, and all she needed was Mamma's permission and a healthy pile of her brother's money. So far both of those had been elusive.

Oh, it wasn't as if she hadn't come up with a plausible scheme. Indeed she had, just this very afternoon. But it was somewhat outrageous. Risky, even. Did she dare consider it?

She glanced nervously around Lord Heversham's crowded ballroom. Nothing out of the ordinary; no one she did not know. If she did have any hope of carrying out her plan, none of the men present would fit her purposes. Her eye fell on the row of young ladies seated with their chaperones against the far wall. Those were the plain girls, the girls with poor connections or even poorer dowries.

Her quiet friend Maria Bradley was there. She looked miserable. Penelope would have given nearly anything to have joined her there on that wallflower row. Oh, if only she and Maria could trade places. How cruel fate was to truss Penelope up in a beautiful gown and surround her with suitors when any one of these young ladies might so much rather be in her satin shoes.

Then again, it hadn't been fate at all that had done this to her. It had been Anthony. If he could just listen to reason! She did not wish to marry. She wished to travel to Egypt and dig for mummies. Was that so very much for a woman of three-and-twenty to dream of? Apparently it was, because both her brother and her mother became nearly apoplectic at the very mention of it.

Which was why she had tried to soothe them by announcing her hope to go there and meet the well-known Egyptologist Dr. Oldham. They'd exchanged several letters, and she'd found him fascinating. Perhaps she might even consider marrying him.

She had expected Anthony to find this acceptable, since he seemed so very keen on seeing her foisted off on someone else. She thought her mother might approve of her interest in someone so scholarly and mature as Dr. Oldham. Neither was the case. Mother had to call for her salts, and Anthony declared he'd burn in hell before he allowed his sister to drag the family name through mud—well, more mud, as he put it—and go chasing off to Egypt after some fortune-hunting Lothario. They'd ordered her to cease all communications with the man and confiscated her letter writing paper. Honestly, was that even legal?

If Anthony would but listen to her! Couldn't he see that sending her to Egypt would only make her more responsible, more respectable? She would have a purpose, meet educated people, and fill her idle time with noble, scholarly pursuits. The longer she was forced to dance around here in London like a mindless ninny, the more desperate and unpredictable she would become. Surely no mere husband could remedy that.

If only there were some middle ground, something between wasting away in genteel uselessness and being married. Something that could take her out from under Anthony's wing, yet not shackle her to someone else. But what could that be?

An engagement, she supposed, was halfway between. But she'd tried that before. Three times now she'd been engaged, hoping that would buy her some leeway, that as an engaged woman she'd finally be allowed to make some of her own choices or pursue her own goals. In each case, however, she found it provided her even less freedom. And by now Anthony would recognize another engagement for what it was—a ruse to escape his rule. If she tried that route again, no doubt Anthony would call her bluff and drag her immediately to the altar with whatever sap she'd chosen and make it final. That would not help her at all.

Unless, of course, Anthony might not call her bluff. What if this time she procured a fiancé Anthony did not approve? Ah, that was the scheme that had invaded her mind earlier and would not quite let go, despite its outrageous ridiculousness. Still, she could not help but wonder…

If she found a fiancé so unacceptable, so objectionable, wouldn't Anthony's brotherly concern cause him to intervene? And if he truly felt he must intervene, wouldn't it stand to reason he might see fit to put some distance between her and the object of her misplaced affection? Perhaps given the choice between seeing his dearest sister wed to some ogre or gone off to Egypt, Anthony might just choose Egypt. She knew she certainly would! All it would take was careful planning on her part, and selecting just the right man to play his part.

This was where her scheme hit a snag. A big one. Where on earth would she find such a fiancé? Someone so dreadful that even Anthony would not want her to keep him, yet at the same time there would have to be something about him that Anthony might think truly interested her. The scheme would never work if Anthony did not fully believe she wanted the fellow.

So just what would this wantable, objectionable man look like? Certainly she'd never seen anyone like that, not in the tight, dull circle Mamma and Anthony kept her in. But perhaps her sister-in-law, Julia, might know someone who…

A blustering shout interrupted her imaginings.

She couldn't quite see over the crush of ball-goers, but she could certainly hear there was some sort of racket going on near the door to the ballroom. Drat, if only she were a bit taller! Finally something interesting was occurring and she could not see it.

She pressed through the crowd to get a closer look. There was, after all, no way she was going to miss ogling at what might be her only bit of excitement all Season.

Whispers and scandalized murmurs breezed through the pack around her, but she could not hear enough to get the gist of things. She could, however, begin to pick out a few words here and there from the loud male voice shouting over the hushed din. Indeed, things were getting more than interesting. She ducked under Lady Davenforth's enormous bosom and pressed past Sir Douglas MacClinty's portly abdomen. No one noticed her, so she kept on, moving slowly toward the front of the room. Mamma would surely have a fit, but Mamma hadn't seen her so far. She could gawk as blatantly as she liked.

“It just isn't seemly, sir!” the blustering male voice was saying.

“Yes, it seemed a bit unusual to me, too,” another male voice said.

This was a deep voice, a voice with tone and texture that Penelope was certain she'd recognize if she ever heard it again. It was a good voice, warm and amused and certain. She could picture the man it belonged to as smiling while he spoke. She could imagine he had a glint of mischief in his eye.

She could also tell he was more than a little bit drunk.

“But for shame, sir! You had your hand on my wife's, er…arm!” the first voice stormed.

“No, sir,” the second man corrected. “I had my hand on your wife's, er, bosom.”

The crowd gasped. Someone—most likely the blustering gentleman—choked. The man with the warm, amused voice said nothing, despite all the tumult around him. Penelope decided she simply must get a look at this person.

There was a chair against the nearby wall, so she scooted herself to it and hoisted up her skirt. Surely with all the fuss these gentlemen were causing no one would so much as notice a woman with strawberry ringlets standing atop a chair, would they? Of course not. Up she went, steadying herself by grasping on to the nearby fern propped securely—she hoped—on a plaster column.

Ah, now she could see the men. The first was very much as she expected, red-faced, jowly, and well, blustering. The other man was a different story. She drew in a surprised breath.

For all his cultured tones and textured warmth, the man appeared very unlike his voice. She expected someone dashing and rakish, someone who lived by his wit and reveled in the stimulation of intelligent conversation, among other things. Someone who appreciated fine spirits and looked down on his nose at lesser men. A dandy even, who was sought after and used to being admired. That was how he had sounded, at least.

What she saw when her eyes fell upon him was something quite different.

By heavens, but the man was a hermit! He was unkempt, with dirt in his hair and whiskers on his face several days old. His clothes were a disaster. If he had been dressed for mucking a stable or plowing a field, he would have been only slightly overdone. The man was a positive horror!

And now he noticed her. She clutched the fern for support as his eyes locked onto hers. When he smiled, she thought she felt the chair shift beneath her feet.

“If you'd let me explain, Burlington,” he said to the blustering man, although his eyes remained fixed on Penelope. “I was trying to say that you have reached a hasty conclusion where your wife is concerned. I was walking into the room as she was walking out of the room, and we merely collided. There was nothing more than that.”

“But you were alone with her. Your hand was on her…Well, don't think I haven't heard of your reputation, sir.”

“Yes, yes. I daresay everyone has heard of my reputation and this is hardly going to rectify that, is it? Oh well. I assure you, in this instance, at least, I am innocent.”

“I ought to call you out!” the first man blustered on bravely.

“Well, I suppose I could shoot you on a field of honor if you insist, but I really would so much rather not. My head is going to be bloody ringing enough in the morning as it is.”

The crowd laughed at that, and the red-faced man went even more red-faced. He seemed to realize he was running out of practical reason to continue his blustering, but it was obvious he wished to continue. He glanced around nervously and at last was reduced to giving his disheveled companion a frustrated sneer.

“Since my wife would be very much distressed at the thought of a duel, I shall let you go this time.”

“Ah, Burlington, that's terribly kindhearted of you.”

“But watch yourself, man. And do what your uncle sent you to town for in the first place—find yourself a wife and leave everyone else's alone.”

The hermit only gave half a smile at this advice. “Isn't it thoughtful of my uncle to keep all of London so well informed of my endeavors.”

“If your endeavors did not breed scandal and dishonor at every turn, no one in London would give a fig for them. Watch yourself, Lord Harry, unless you really don't wish to live long enough to make use of that title your unfortunate uncle will be forced to leave you one day.”

“Oh, that ruddy title. I tell you, Burlington, there are plenty of other things I'd very much rather make use of.” Again, his eyes fell on Penelope, and for just a moment she felt as if she might have an inkling what the man meant—and she did not mind it.

“But I also tell you,” he continued, turning back to his grumbling confronter, “your wife is not one of them.”

With that, Lord Harry nodded at those around who still observed their altercation, then he gave Penelope a special nod all her own and departed. He turned on his heel and abandoned the assembly. Penelope clenched the fern so tightly she was left with nothing more than a handful of tiny green leaves. The dratted chair was still moving. She was sure of it.

“Penelope!”

This blustering screech was her mother's. Penelope started and very nearly fell off her precarious roost. Bother. Of course Mamma would appear now and discover her this way.

“Oh, hello, Mamma,” she said, as if standing on chairs in someone's decorated ballroom was perfectly normal. “I thought I saw a mouse.”

“More like a rat,” her mother said, glaring in the direction Lord Harry had gone. “You pay no attention to that man, Penelope. Harris Chesterton might be heir to the Earl of Kingsdere, but he's hardly fit for polite company. And here you are gawking on a chair? Honestly, Penelope, what can you be thinking?”

Honestly?
Well, she was thinking she'd just discovered the perfect fiancé.

 

H
ARRIS
C
HESTERTON LEFT LORD
H
EVERSHAM'S HOUSE
empty-handed, but he couldn't help but smile. True, he'd not actually gotten what he'd come for, and yes, he had been caught prowling about the bowels of Heversham's home when he should not have been there. And of course he'd very nearly gotten dragged into a duel with that blubbering fool Burlington—not to mention what he'd had to endure with that prying Lady Burlington—but still the night had not been a total waste. He'd seen something that changed his life.