“Your maid knows. And what of your parents? Where did you tell Cortland you were heading when you left Summer’s Park?”
“My parents think I’m in Bath, shopping or visiting friends; they don’t really bother to keep track of my whereabouts any longer. I’m nearly thirty, you know!”
“And what of Lilly? Surely, she was curious as to your destination.”
Penelope swiped her hand in the air dismissively. “Lilly and Cortland are so wrapped up in each other and that little marquess that they wouldn’t have cared if I’d said I was leaving for the moon!”
But why had she come here? Was boredom really the reason or could there have been something else? “How long do you plan on staying? The season begins in less than a month, you know.”
If Penelope Crone planned on staying six months, Hugh very seriously doubted he could do anything to change her mind. She was that stubborn.
“Just long enough,” she answered enigmatically. “And lucky for you, might I add.”
This entire appearance of hers was enigmatic, really. For although they’d known each other for years, they hadn’t ever done anything to seek one another out. They were more than acquaintances, yes, but nothing that would warrant her traveling all the way up to Augusta Heights.
“Are you in some kind of trouble, Pen?”
And there it was. She bit her lip and turned away from him.
“You can tell me, Pen. If you’ve done something ill-advised, it doesn’t matter to me. I can help you if you’d like, but I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what the problem is.”
She sat up straight and seemed to shake off her melancholy. “I’m just bored, that’s all, Hugh. I figured you could use a little help. Now, do you want it? My help, that is? Or would you prefer to tackle this decade of neglect alone?” Ah, here was the prickly girl he’d come to know.
Who really was—dare he think it?—smarter than most men.
“Of course, I’d like your help.” Perhaps she was just what he needed right now. If she wished to stay up here and straighten out the mess Periwinkle had created, then so be it. Perhaps he could even get back to London sooner.
He stood up and walked over to the desk and Penelope pulled over one of the high-backed chairs. Without further ado, they began sorting receipts together. He read off the information, and Penelope wrote it all down on a new ledger, creating an accurate account system. Periwinkle’s black book had mysteriously disappeared from the desk two days ago. Working with Penelope, for the first time, he felt he was beginning to see a clear picture of the estate’s circumstances. After what didn’t seem like very long at all, Hugh glanced up at the clock and realized they’d been at work for nearly three hours.
He set down the envelope he’d been about to open and took a moment to study Penelope’s bent over form. Watching her, he was surprised again to discover that he was feeling oddly attracted to her. And his body responded in kind. Soft tendrils of her hair had escaped her plait and now caressed the tender skin around her face and neck. And when he glanced at her neck, he couldn’t help but notice that the bodice of her dress emphasized her bosom a bit more than usual. Funny that, he’d never really considered Penelope to be very well endowed.
“I think I’m beginning to realize why you haven’t sent Periwinkle packing, after all.” She set down her pencil and nodded somewhat respectfully at him. “He’s obviously embezzled a great deal of money from the estate and you hope to discover its whereabouts before giving him the boot. Am I right?”
Leave it to Penelope to be completely unaware of the fact that she had just spent over three hours behind closed doors—with a man who was not her brother nor her father. Unchaperoned.
Hugh pushed his inappropriate thoughts out of his mind and contemplated what she said. At first, he’d allowed Periwinkle to stay on the property out of some misplaced sense of duty to an old retainer. But upon further consideration, he’d realized that he owed the man nothing. In fact, it was Periwinkle who owed him. And the way Periwinkle had been prowling about, Hugh guessed that some of what Periwinkle was hiding was actually inside of the main house.
“I can see it in your eyes that I am right!” Penelope was suddenly much more animated than before. “Tell me, Hugh. What are your suspicions?”
Should he tell her? How could he not?
“There ought to have been several thousands of pounds in the safe.” He indicated with a jerk of his head toward a large painting. “At first, I had all intentions of calling the magistrate in but unfortunately,” he winced as he completed his statement, “the magistrate is already here.”
“You?”
“Yes,” he said, “unfortunately.”
“You already said that,” she reminded him.
“What?”
“That it is unfortunate that you are the magistrate.”
Hugh narrowed his eyes at her but did not comment on her smart mouth.
“Why don’t you think he’s spent the money already? Why do you think he is still in possession of it?” Hugh could see in her eyes that she was already working the details out. “He wears clothing that is shabby and fraying. He has nowhere to go, as he has most likely pleaded with you to stay on, and he doesn’t appear to own much of anything. Furthermore… He no longer has unfettered access to this house. The man no longer has free run of… Of the master suite! Hugh, that’s it! It must be in your suite, or most assuredly Periwinkle would have taken everything and gone off on his own!”
Hugh jumped up. Of course! Since he’d arrived, he had spent a great deal of time in his suite. And Periwinkle had never been far away. “That’s got to be it!”
Penelope sprung to her feet as well but just as Hugh turned to head for the door he heard a thud.
What in the world? Where had she gone? “Penelope?” And then he saw her lying on the floor. The old girl had fainted!
Penelope Crone.
Fainted!
Impossible.
What was the matter with her?
Hugh knelt on the floor beside her and patted her cheek gently. “Penelope? Penelope?”
Her lashes fluttered but she did not answer.
“Pen?
And then she opened her eyes. Having such close proximity to her, as she lay on the floor, Hugh had to admit to himself that she truly did have incredible eyes.
Dancing across the bridge of her nose was a smidgen of freckles. Just below her rebellious little nose, her lips were pink and plump.
“Hugh?”
He was still kneeling over her. “You are unwell. Penelope, you need to tell me what’s wrong!”
For a full three seconds, he thought she would ’fess up to whatever was going on with her. But then she raised her hands up and pushed him away. “I’m perfectly fine, Hugh Chesterton. Why would you think that just because I…? Well, because I slipped, yes, I fell, you think that something is wrong?” But her eyes were hiding something. “Now help me up. We need to find that money in your chamber before Periwinkle lays siege to it!
Reluctantly, Hugh helped her to her feet. She was pale. Much paler than her normal pale self. And her hands were cold and clammy. She swayed slightly once she was on her feet again, but Hugh refused to mention it. If she needed his help than she was goddamn well going to have to ask him for it. And if she didn’t want his help, then so be it. Once he was certain she wouldn’t collapse on him again, he dropped her hands and turned for the door.
They’d been in the study for nearly four hours. He hoped Periwinkle hadn’t been so brazen as to enter the master suite while he was in the house. Not bothering to see if Penelope was able to keep up with him, Hugh dashed up the stairs, two steps at a time, and rushed toward his chamber.
Still in the study, Penelope waited for Hugh to disappear before sitting back down in the chair she’d just occupied. But that wasn’t good enough. She laid her head down on the desk and rested her cheek against the cool, smooth wood.
She had fainted.
In all her
life, growing up and then spending nearly a decade in cloyingly warm ballrooms, Penelope had never once succumbed to such a ridiculous malady. In fact, she speculated that most of the girls she’d seen faint had actually feigned it. Which allowed her little, if any, empathy for the swooning debutante in question.
Except for Abigail, her cousin, who Penelope knew for certain did not fake it when she fainted. Because when Abigail went down, she did so like a ton of bricks. She had also, on occasion, clobbered her head on something before hitting the ground. And once Abigail was on the ground, she normally lay there for several minutes, eventually either drooling or snoring softly.
Nobody was idiot enough to pretend the type of fainting Abigail experienced.
Penelope was pretty certain that she’d only lost consciousness for a few seconds—just enough time for Hugh to rush around the desk and crouch over her. When she’d opened her eyes, his face had been inches away from her own. For the briefest of moments, she’d imagined she’d gone back in time and been on the Duke of Cortland’s settee. The memory of willingly giving her innocence away to a drunken buffoon, all too vivid. Thank God she’d come to her wits before saying anything too revealing…
Nothing was going as planned.
An apparently naïve part of her had believed Hugh remembered everything. She had hoped that he had merely fled Summer’s Park out of shame and guilt for what he’d done. That upon seeing her, he would fall down onto one knee and propose marriage.
Another part of her characterized by the most ridiculous feminine vanity—of which she’d believed herself rid of long ago—had felt insulted and hurt that he did not remember what they’d done. It wasn’t every day a woman lost her maidenhead, for heaven’s sake!
Was she truly that forgettable?
Penelope turned her head so that her other cheek rested on the cool wood. She should not be saddened by the fact that she’d made no impression on him whatsoever. She’d never done anything before in order to capture a gentleman’s interest. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to be sensible and prudent. Even when she’d thought she was in love with Rome Spencer, she’d made it a point to always be herself around him. For as much as she’d thought he was the one, she knew in her heart she could never pretend to be something, someone, she wasn’t.
When other debutantes had fluttered their lashes and listened raptly to the ramblings of some Lord or other in order to capture a husband, Penelope had staunchly stood her ground in regard to marriage. It was unwise for a woman to marry a man who might not care as much about her well-being as she did. Marriage was an institution that primarily benefited men.
Penelope was fortunate though.
She would never have to worry about having a roof over her head or putting food in her mouth. It had been horrifying to learn that many of her friends, many young women of her acquaintance, had no choice in the matter. Or so they said.
There was always a choice. Unfortunately, the options did not always present people with the choices they wanted. Penelope closed her eyes and moaned to herself.
After years of condemning the notion of marriage, she herself was on the hunt for a husband. Not just any husband but a husband who was currently London’s most confirmed bachelor.
He had not been happy to see her. When he’d realized who it was who had traveled all those godawful miles to see him, his main concern had been that no one know she was here.
What had she been thinking? Fool, Penelope! And now, when she ought to be searching Hugh’s chamber with him, she sat here like a slug, doing nothing.
She opened her eyes and allowed her gaze to lazily travel around the stuffy room. So much dust, ah, and yes, a century’s worth of cobwebs. From the angle in which she lay, she could see that virtually every book on the enormous shelves was covered in a thick layer of dust and its own lacy web.
Except four or five on the right-hand side of the top shelf. Those books looked like they’d been handled recently. In fact, those books were wiped completely clean.
Slowly, this time, so as not to swoon again, Penelope rose and pulled the slide ladder so that it leaned just below the books she’d spotted. Not wanting to be interrupted by anyone, either Periwinkle or Hugh, Penelope closed the door before returning to investigate that top shelf. She hesitated a moment. If she fainted while on the ladder, it would not be a good thing at all.
Not only would she likely hit her head and be injured, she could possibly injure the baby growing inside of her.
Which did, in fact, give her considerable pause.
She raised her hand to her abdomen and pressed against it gently. Was it protruding just slightly? That was impossible! Women didn’t begin to show until they were several months along, did they? She’d not suspected that Lilly was with child until her friend had told her, and that had been three or four months into the pregnancy.
But whereas in the past, her abdomen had always been somewhat concave, it felt different now. It swelled outward just slightly.
Impossible! Penelope dropped her hand dismissively and inspected the ladder.
It was quite sturdy and had rails on both sides. More of a staircase, actually. She would be fine. That spinning, ethereal feeling was gone, and she felt more her normal self.
Satisfied that she wasn’t risking her baby’s life, she lifted her skirt with one hand, took hold of the railing with the other, and carefully climbed until she could lift her arm and take hold of the books that had been disturbed. She grasped the largest one and pulled it down to peruse. It was rather weighty for its size.
Except it wasn’t a book.
No, when she opened the cover, it revealed a secret compartment filled with coins and banknotes.
“Ah hah!” she said softly. Suddenly concerned that someone would find her, she replaced the one book and examined the others. They contained more coins but also what looked to be several bank notes and important documents. Here were the former contents of the safe.
She jumped when she heard the sound of furniture scraping the floor overhead.
Hugh must be trying to look behind a wardrobe or something. Penelope scrutinized the room for just a moment before discovering what she needed. An old cloth-lined basket filled with knitting needles and yarn was stuffed against the wall behind a large wing-backed chair. It was covered in dust, and she wondered how long it had been since any knitting had been accomplished in this room.
She removed a few of the balls of yarn, stuffed Hugh’s treasure deep into the basket, and then returned the now-empty books back to the top shelf in the same order she’d found them.
She’d been sitting on the settee knitting for several minutes before the door opened and Hugh stood in the opening, looking frustrated.
CHAPTER SIX
“I thought you were going to help me,” Hugh’s voice dripped in sarcasm. His hair sprung out from his head, roguishly, and dust smeared liberally across his face and hands. He had donned a banyan, however, in a belated attempt at maintaining his manners with her.
Penelope inserted one of her needles under the loop on her thumb and pulled the strand snugly.
“Decided to knit me a scarf instead?” He dropped onto the wing backed chair and threw one leg over the arm casually.
Penelope smiled and then spoke without thinking. “Just thought I’d make a blanket for the baby.” She was quite pleased with herself.
“I’d imagine the little marquess will appreciate it.” But he was scowling.
“The marquess? Oh, yes, of course, little Edward.” That hadn’t been what Penelope had been thinking at all!
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I found anything?” He continued to scowl but Penelope was finding him somewhat adorable. Hugh was a clever man. He’d achieved high marks while at Oxford and on occasion had expressed his regret at not being allowed to make a career out of scholarly endeavors. She found it substantially satisfying to have outmaneuvered him.
“What did you find, Hugh?” she asked smugly.
Wh
ereas her nonchalant knitting had not captured his attention, her tone of voice did.
Finally, took him long enough.
“You know very well that I found nothing.” His eyes narrowed as he dropped both feet to the floor and leaned toward her. “What have you found, Penelope?”
And then Penelope did something she’d never done before.
She fluttered her eyelashes.
Hugh looked at her sideways. “What have you found, Penelope?”
Dropping the knitting into her lap, enjoying his consternation completely, Penelope goaded him further. “Do I look like I’ve found something?” She shrugged and indicated her dress. “I’ve no pockets—no purse. Where would I put it? That is, where would I put anything, if I had in fact found it?”
She jumped back when he lurched over to the settee, practically on top of her.
Leering with exaggerated ferocity, his fisted hands pushed deep into the cushions on each side of her. She was trapped. Then he waggled his eyebrows threateningly, trying to appear menacing. “Hand it over, you minx!” he growled, but amusement lit his eyes.
“There is nothing on my person, Hugh,” she laughed. The scent of his cologne invited sensations she’d do well to ignore. She remembered it from before and had an urge to pull him closer.
“You have obviously found something, wench,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I’m going to discover it eventually, so fess up now, woman.” He was doing his best to contain the laughter threatening to overcome him. Although he held most of his weight off of her, he did not appear to strain at all. She could not keep her gaze from straying to the dark hairs at the opening of his shirt. She remembered she’d flicked her tongue along them before.
And then his full weight dropped, pinning her, and one of his hands was running along the length of her body.
Oh no! She couldn’t prevent the half giggle, half screech that tore from her lips when she realized his intent.
He was tickling her!
“Stop, Hugh. Stop.” She tried freeing her hands so that she could cease his relentless torture. “You brute, I’m too ticklish, Hugh. Stop! Please!” Was she still laughing, or had she began to cry? She wasn’t sure, but she felt a few tears roll down her cheek.
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