Where was that minx, anyhow?
“Danbury!” He turned at the sound of his name. It was Garrett Castleton, the Earl of Hawthorne. Up until last summer, the Earl had been considered something of a rake and womanizer. But Hawthorne had surprised everybody after the death of his father and become quite respectable, marrying one of the ton’s most sought after debutantes, Lady Natalie Spencer.
At the time, Hugh had been a bit put out. When Lady Natalie had jilted her fiancé, the Duke of Cortland, he’d thought for a time he’d set his cap for her himself.
“Hawthorne,” Hugh returned. “How fares married life?”
At his question, the formerly brooding gentleman grinned. “Well, very well indeed. I hear you’re considering taking the leap yourself. Word is you are days away from offering for Miss Louisa Redcliffe.”
Hugh decided he might become the brooding type himself. He’d been careless. Best to step back from Mrs. Merriman and her niece, lest he truly was ready to make an offer.
He shuttered.
“Rumors, my friend, mere rumors. How is the countess?” he asked, happy to change the subject.
Again, that grin. “Natalie is in her element. Construction is well under way at Maple Hall, and she has taken responsibility for details I hadn’t even considered.”
Last spring, Maple Hall had experienced a disastrous fire, and the former earl had died. “So, the estate is coming along, then?” He could not help but note that Hawthorne was more than happy to give up some of the rebuilding decisions to a woman. There was no way in hell Hugh would ever trust Louisa Darling with anything so important. The only woman of his acquaintance that he would trust with such decisions would be…
“It is, magnificently, might I add. I’ve realized one has less negotiating to do when one’s wife wins them over first. Several of our old tenants have returned, and we’ve a marvelous crop planted this spring. Of course, it will be years before the estate is in the black again, but I’m pleased at the direction it’s taking.”
Hugh chatted with the man for quite some time before Hawthorne excused himself to find his countess. “She always saves the first dance for me,” Hawthorne said, winking as he turned, and the he added, “And the last, of course, too.”
Which reminded Hugh of his own obligations.
CHAPTER NINE
With every intention of locating and then planting herself in the wallflower section, Penelope entered the ballroom behind her parents.
And then the most unusual thing happened.
Gentlemen began seeking her out in order to place their names on her dance card. Initially, it was a few older, titled gentlemen, but gradually, some of the younger men approached her, and a few of them were sought-after bachelors. Such a hoot!
At first, she was suspicious. What was this all about? Was it a joke? But as the compliments piled on, and her card filled, she gradually realized that her changed appearance was amazingly causing something of a stir.
In any other circumstance, she might appreciate the irony of her situation. For she was not an eligible maiden as her parents believed her to be. No, she was not a maiden at all.
If the truth of her situation were to become known, nobody would dare meet her eyes, let alone speak to her. Glancing down in awe at her nearly full dance card, Penelope did not see the latest man to approach. She recognized his voice, though.
“Miss Crone.” The well-modulated masculine tone sent shivers down her spine. She raised her gaze from her card to look into eyes the color of a February sky. Eyes she’d mooned over for most of her adult life. Blinking in surprise, she dipped into a well-practiced curtsey.
“My lord,” she said. Viscount Darlington, Rome Spencer, stood before her. Where was the emptyheaded blonde he’d been courting last year?
“Please don’t tell me you’ve already promised all of your dances this evening.” He cocked one eyebrow and tilted his head slightly. “Surely, you’ve saved one for an old friend.”
This was most unexpected. “You wish to dance with me?” Oh, that was stupid. That was what he’d said, wasn’t it? But she was used to him speaking to her like one of the fellows. Perhaps this was just a ruse to discuss the price of corn or the latest bills presented in Parliament.
Except that recently she had not kept as current on Parliamentary matters. She’d been caught up in fashion and husbands and babies and such. If he did wish to discuss current events, he would be sorely disappointed.
Rome did not answer her question. Instead, withdrawing a pencil from his pocket with one hand, he raised her wrist with his other. “Ah, delightful. I was hoping you had a waltz left.” And he claimed her last available dance.
“This one is mine, I think.” One of the older gentlemen who’d approached her first stepped between them. What was his name? Oh, yes, the Earl of Pinkerton.
Penelope looked apologetically at Rome. “It will be an honor, my lord.” Turning toward the earl, she placed her hand upon his arm and allowed him to lead her out to the opening set. Luckily, it was a simple country dance. She would not have to be close to her partner very often.
Standing in the long line of revelers, she was staggered by the fact that Rome Spencer had put his name on her dance card. It made her feel all of seventeen again. She’d been in love with him forever, it seemed. But she’d given up on him.
Yes, and she’d seduced Hugh Chesterton.
Who was now standing across the way from her, just to the right of the earl.
Hugh really was a very good-looking man. Or perhaps the inferior looks of Lord Pinkerton merely caused him to benefit from the comparison.
She noted Hugh’s soft brown eyes, just a few lines on their outer edges from smiling, and something warm blossomed inside of her. He was not smiling now, however. No, he grimaced slightly as he bowed toward the lady on her left.
On the other side of Pinkerton stood Rome.
Rome was not looking at his own partner, rather he was watching her.
Penelope did not recognize the lady on her right, the lady who was to partner Rome. The music began, and her partner pulled her from her thoughts as he took her hand and proceeded to turn her about the circle.
“My dear Miss Crone, why is it that I have never danced with you at a ball before?”
Penelope merely smiled at him as he was forced to release her and dance with another lady.
Hugh caught her hand just then and placed his other on her waist. She resisted the urge to shiver. She felt slightly giddy, however, when his breath touched her ear. “Watch out for Pinkerton, Penelope. He’s had four wives and is on the hunt for another. Heavy-handed bastard from what I understand.”
Penelope glanced at Hugh sharply. “It’s only a dance!” she said as he twirled her back into Pinkerton’s grasp.
“You’ve not answered my question.” Pinkerton leaned his head down and spoke near her face so that she would be sure to hear him over the music. “Have you been locked away in a castle somewhere for most of your life?”
Oh, good Heavens. The man was an utter fool. She’d been at nearly every ball held for the past ten years. “Not exactly,” she answered, turning away from him. His breath was nauseating; onions and garlic and, ugh, cigar smoke.
He released her, and Rome caught her in a turn. “Natalie said you had planned on foregoing the season this year. I have to admit, seeing you here is a pleasant surprise.” Lady Natalie Castleton, recently married, was Rome’s only sister and a friend to Penelope.
Rome’s scent was clean and musky, his grasp warm and firm. “I changed my mind,” she said, feeling breathless.
And back to Pinkerton again. Penelope tried to hold her breath through the steps, afraid of what would happen if forced to inhale. “Funny,” the older man said. “I’ve known your father for years—never knew he even had a daughter.”
Oh, that was complimentary. “Well, he does,” she said on an exhale and was then handed off to Hugh again.
“You look a bit green,” Hugh said, looki
ng concerned. His hands were strong as he guided her along the length of the hall. Luckily, it was time for a long promenade. The twirling had not been a good thing. “Breathe through your mouth.”
She allowed him to guide them through the steps, all the time wishing she could simply lean into him and stop moving. But she did as he said, and by the time he passed her back to Pinkerton, she felt a little revived.
She kept her face averted from him as much as possible as Pinkerton continued to bemoan the fact that they’d never met and was then thankfully handed back to Rome.
“I barely recognized you, Pen,” he said sheepishly as he pressed his palm against hers and they turned a circle. His palm was firm and his clothing impeccable. Rome Spencer had always been one of the most respectable bachelors she’d ever known. He’d never been very rakish, spending much of his time assisting his father in the management of their numerous estates.
She remembered on a few occasions how he’d seemed to disapprove of Hugh’s lifestyle.
But what had happened with the lady from last year? She was certain he must be betrothed by now. She glanced over at him from under her lashes and smiled tentatively. He was not asking her about crop prices, nor was he seeking her opinion on Parliamentary laws.
And back to Pinkerton. Unfortunately, she pulled in a lungful of his odor before remembering to breathe through her mouth. Waves of nausea rolled around inside of her. In, out, in, out. Step, turn, step, step, step…
Pinkerton pulled her closer than was necessary, his clammy hands digging possessively into her waist. She contemplated giving him a facer.
If she didn’t get sick on him first.
The man was saying something to her, but she could not focus on his words.
Air. She needed to get out of here.
When Hugh pulled her alongside him, she could have cried in relief.
Except that this dance seemed as though it was never going to end. She closed her eyes briefly as Hugh’s arms held her up.
And then, all of a sudden, the air on her face was cool and the litany of smells she’d been experiencing turned to a wholesome scent of grass and flowers. As she opened her eyes, she realized she was outside on the terrace and being led to a concrete bench.
Hugh, the ornery, obnoxious, womanizing drunkard, was sitting her down tenderly and smoothing her hair away from her face. Penelope slumped against him as he murmured soothing words over her head.
“It’s all right, Pen. Take deep breaths. That’s a good girl.” He’d tucked her in beside him and was rubbing her arm lightly.
For the first time in weeks, she felt safe.
Something was very wrong with Penelope Crone. Hugh should have known when she arrived at Augusta Heights uninvited and unchaperoned. She was just so damn proud. Far too independent for her own good.
But not in this moment. He tucked her head beneath his chin and continued rubbing her arm. He heard a sniffle and a muffled whimper.
“Are you crying, Pen?” he asked softly.
Another whimper. “No,” she said.
She was crying.
Free-thinking, fearless, outspoken Penelope Crone was crying in his arms.
And it felt right.
Not that she was crying, but that he was the one she trusted enough to let down her guard.
Hugh was quite certain she’d nearly fainted again in the ballroom. A lady who’d never so much as even considered carrying smelling salts.
Yes, there was definitely something wrong with Penelope. Was she ill? Was she being blackmailed by somebody? What would cause a lady to travel halfway across the country for no reason and begin having fainting spells?
“Won’t you tell me what is upsetting you? Please?” He bent forward and tipped her chin up so that she was looking at him.
She was no longer pale. A little splotchy-looking now, actually. But her eyes looked even greener than normal and again, he noticed the tiny blue specks. The look of hopelessness on her face was heartbreaking. “Ah, sweetheart, nothing can be that bad.”
“Oh, Hugh,” she sniffed and buried her head back under his chin.
“I mean,” he said casually, “I realize that ladies are required to accept a gentleman’s invitation to dance, and you could not refuse Pinkerton, but really, was dancing with him as bad as all this?”
A broken laugh escaped her. “He smelled awful!”
“Ah, I see.” He chuckled at her comment. Pinkerton may be an earl, but she quite had the right of it. How his valet held his head up amongst his peers, Hugh would never know.
Without thinking, Hugh kissed the top of her head. Why had he never realized what a gorgeous color her hair was?
She did not smell awful. She smelled feminine and soft, just as a woman ought to smell.
He’d always thought of Penelope as being pointy and sharp, but she was neither of those things. She felt soft and rounded. She was, in fact, curvy everywhere. Her shoulders were nicely rounded, and her waist dipped inward, just so. On impulse, he put one arm under her legs and lifted her onto his lap. She moved to protest but it was short lived as he wrapped her in his arms and tucked her head down on his shoulder.
No, Penelope was not pointy nor sharp. When had she become such a… woman?
She wiggled a little, as though to edge off his lap but Hugh held tight to her. “Stay put, Pen. I demand you tell me what is troubling you.”
“I—I—”
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You did not travel to Manchester due to boredom, now did you? And you did, in fact, faint that day in the library. Just now, in that ballroom, you nearly fainted or worse, again. Now tell me what it is.”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments. He assumed she was either gathering her courage or trying to formulate a fictional answer. He waited.
“You are going to hate me, Hugh.” She let out a deep sigh but turned her face to look at him. He could see a smattering of freckles sprinkled across her nose and under her eyes. She had a bit more color now. Their positions suddenly felt very intimate.
“I don’t think I could ever hate you, Penelope.” The bow of her mouth suddenly held his gaze captive. Dusty pink, that’s what he would call her lips. They looked plump and sweet and tender. He leaned in and tasted. And when he did, there was no denying that he’d been thinking of doing so for quite some time now.
There was no need to coax her. She was as ready as he. Their tongues dueled, engaged, and then danced before she surrendered and allowed him to explore.
He unfurled a low growl before tightening his arms, drawing her closer. At the same time, one of her hands reached up and fluttered along his ear and cheek. She was hampered by her gloves. He wanted to feel her skin touching him.
He wanted to taste her skin.
Turning his head, he grasped the fabric on the end of her index finger with his teeth and tugged with a wicked snarl.
The satin material slid off easily. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted to undress more than just her hand.
And now her fingers were in his hair.
Hugh trailed his lips along her jaw.
“Hugh,” she murmured. “Hugh, we mustn’t. I mustn’t. Anyone could come out here.”
In spite of her words, he could feel that her heart was racing, and her breaths were uneven. But she was right. He halted his journey along her collarbone and waited a moment to slow his own racing libido. It would be disastrous if they were discovered.
Wouldn’t it?
Penelope wiggled again, and this time, he allowed her to work her way free. She stood before him, smoothing her dress.
She did not look pale now. Not at all. In fact, a delightful flush had crept across her neck and cheeks.
“Miss Crone? Miss Crone, are you out here?” Pinkerton called.
Damn!
Hugh ran a hand through his hair and then tugged at his cravat, ensuring it was still tied properly. Considering what they’d been up to just moments before, he felt they looked rather respectable now.
<
br /> “Ah, there you are, my dear. Whatever happened? I went to reclaim the lady I’d led onto the floor and was prevailed upon to lead Danbury’s partner instead. Danbury, are you out here?”
“I, ah, was not feeling well. Lord Danbury was kind enough to escort me outside. The, ah, room was…” She ought not have to explain herself to this pompous ass.
“The lady needed some air, Pinkerton, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. She was pale as a sheet. You’re welcome, by the way. It was my pleasure to escort your partner when she needed it.” Oh, hell, he’d forgotten all about Miss Redcliffe. He was definitely going to have to do something to distance that connection.
The earl narrowed his eyes but apparently was unwilling to press the issue. “Well, yes, yes, thank you, Danbury.” And then he winged his arm to Penelope. “Are you ready to return, my dear? I will escort you back to your mother.”
Hugh realized he was, once again, sitting in the lady’s company while she stood. Why did he only ever do this with her? He rose and searched her expression. Was she going to be all right with Pinkerton for the few moments it would take to return to the baroness?
She nodded in assent as though he’d asked the question aloud. Pinkerton pounced upon her unusual docility and pulled her toward the door. “You really must take better care of yourself, Miss Crone. A lady could lose her reputation by disappearing in the middle of a dance.” The man continued to harangue her as the two disappeared through the terrace door. Hugh wondered if Penelope would set him down in her normally abrasive manner. But somehow, he doubted it. She was no longer quite the same girl he’d thought he knew.
Which reminded him. He’d never gotten an answer out of her.
CHAPTER TEN
Thankfully, Penelope’s mother hadn’t noticed her momentary absence. And the earl was apparently less interested in her now than he’d been earlier. One less thing to worry about. She didn’t think he’d seen anything on the terrace. Surely, if he had, he was not the sort to keep quiet about it.
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