Hugh looked crestfallen.
Men!
This was why she’d once decided she’d never wed.
They really were a rather pathetic lot.
But then Hugh pulled her into another embrace. This one more tender and gentler than before. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Pen.” He looked so very sheepish in that moment. “Got a little too carried away. You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“Er…” She looked away from him. “Not really.” What could she say? She didn’t want him to think she was the harlot that she apparently was, and yet she really did not wish to dissemble with him any more than she already had.
“I may shoot myself tomorrow for saying this,” his expression was tender, “but, I’m thinking that perhaps I ought to speak with your father.” Was he going to say he’d fallen in love with her? Was that even possible?
“Speak with my father?” Her grasp of the English language had apparently escaped her completely.
“I’ve quite overstepped the bounds of common decency with you this evening. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I am nearly thirty years old, Hugh. If you have something to say, I suggest you say it to me.” Ah, she could speak again. This was it. This was exactly what she’d wanted from him.
But whereas just a moment ago, her heart had been soaring, it now felt as though it had sunk low inside of her.
“Penelope?”
She looked up at him warily. “Yes?”
“Will you be my… estate manager?”
A storm of magnificent proportions began swirling around inside of her head as she stared at his grinning mouth. Had he really just said what she thought he’d said? Penelope pulled her hand away from his shoulder, clenched it into a fist, and without taking even a moment to think matters through, released it to make very solid contact with Danbury’s nose.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She stepped back in horror at what she’d actually done and Hugh bent over covering his nose with both hands. Large drops of blood appeared on the stone and in the dirt.
Penelope pulled out the handkerchief she’d tucked into her dress and went to dab at Danbury’s face. But he was more than a little wary and turned his head away from her.
“God damnit, Pen!” he said just before spitting a large amount of blood onto the ground. He reached up and snatched the cloth out of her hand. “I was only joking with you! I cannot believe you actually did that.” And then in wonder, or perhaps shock, he said, “My nose. I think you’ve broken it.”
Oh, this was horrible!
“Let me see, Hugh, look up here.” He stood up straight and removed another handkerchief from his own pocket. His head tilted back and she could see that his nose remained as straight and arrogant looking as ever. Dripping down his face, however, the blood looked black.
“I’m pretty sure it isn’t broken.” Not that it would mar his looks in any way. Penelope looked down at her hand and realized that she, too, was bleeding.
She must have caught it on one of his teeth.
Again, he said, “I cannot believe you did that.” Blood flowed freely from his nostril. She looked down at her dress and realized that it had not escaped the splatter.
“It was not a very good joke, Hugh.” It really wasn’t. This was really his own fault.
Remembering a fountain they’d passed just before stopping, Penelope swiped one of the handkerchiefs away from Hugh and turned to go back to it.
“You can’t return to the ball looking like that.”
Without looking back at him, she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m going back to the fountain. Stay here, I’ll return shortly.”
As she soaked the once pristine cloth, she saw that the handkerchief she’d taken was his. The crest embroidered on it must be that of his family. After swirling it around, rinsing out the blood, she squeezed it tightly and folded it into a careful rectangle. When she found Hugh again, he was sitting on a conveniently placed iron bench. She sat down beside him and turned his head so that she could dab at the blood on his lip and chin.
When she touched it to his nostril, she was careful not to press too hard, knowing he might be feeling some pain. He merely watched her from beneath shuttered lids.
“Is that really what you wanted to ask me, Hugh?”
He scowled but then caught sight of the cut on her hand. “You’re bleeding.”
She examined the scratch and shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
But he picked her hand up and examined it more closely. “You need to get it cared for though. A fellow at Gentleman Jackson’s died of such an injury.”
“Joking with me again?” Really, Hugh.
The look in his eyes was serious though. “No, I wish I were. There was a fighter a few years back whose fist came away with a tooth in it. Within weeks, the hand became putrid and he later died of fever.”
Observing the stains on his cravat and the part of his lip that was already swelling, she smiled inwardly at his concern for her. But his story was a strange one. “Were you well acquainted with the man?”
His look became shuttered again. “I’d sparred with him on several occasions.” He scowled at the blood on her dress and then stood up and pulled her with him. “You can’t be seen like that. Come with me.”
Feeling like a child playing Sardines, Penelope followed Hugh as he carefully maneuvered her through the trees until they came up just alongside the terrace, hidden by some shrubs. The silhouette of a couple was barely visible, but their conversation carried easily across the protective hedges.
“I don’t wish for you to overtire yourself. If you’re unwell, we will leave. Lady Helmer will understand.” It was a familiar male voice, but Penelope could not place it.
“I’m fine, Garrett.” Penelope easily recognized Natalie Spencer, Rome’s only sister and the newly married Countess of Hawthorne. “I just wanted to be outside with you, alone for a few minutes.” Theirs was a love match. Lady Natalie and Garrett Castleton would have been considered an impossible match a year ago, but they had somehow, miraculously become the darlings of the ton.
“Hawthorne,” Danbury spoke softly to attract their attention without alerting anyone else.
“What the…?” The earl moved in front of his wife protectively as he turned to see who was in hiding nearby.
“Natalie, it’s me, Penelope. And Danbury.”
Lady Natalie peeked curiously around the hedge. “Whatever are you two up to?” Seeing the blood, her eyes flew open wide. “Garrett, they are injured.”
“Not really, but in need of assistance to be certain.” Hugh gestured with his hands toward the blood on their clothing. “And Penelope needs her hand attended to. I don’t wish for it to become putrid.”
Lady Natalie looked to the sky in exasperation. “Do you mean to tell me that the two of you have come to fist-a-cuffs over your political opinions?” She lifted Penelope’s hand to examine it more closely.
Garrett was grinning at Hugh. “She popped you a good one, eh?”
“Penelope, really!” Natalie shook her head as she took in the implications of their situation. “We need to get the two of you out of here without anyone seeing this bloodbath.”
The earl looked over at his wife. “What would you like for me to do, my love?”
Natalie drummed her fingers along her chin for just a few seconds. “Order our carriage and then inform Penelope’s mother that I am of need of her daughter for the rest of the evening. You may tell her, in confidence, the news that I am increasing. She will then understand my need to have her daughter with me. Meet us in the front then and we can deliver Penelope home.”
“What of Hugh?” Guilt plagued Penelope when she saw that his nose was swelling and the skin around his eyes looked like it might bruise. His joke had not been funny at all but perhaps she’d overreactive ever so slightly.
“Danbury will be fine on his own, I imagine.” The earl looked to Hugh questionin
gly who nodded.
And then Hugh caught Penelope’s concerned gaze. “I’ll be fine. Remember what I said about the hand though.” And to Natalie, “You’ll make certain she has it cleaned and dressed?”
“Of course, of course, now off with you both before somebody discovers us.” Natalie shooed the men away and pulled Penelope alongside the house next to the hedges. “We’ll wait over here until Charles brings the carriage around.” From their vantage point, they could watch the front entrance without being observed. “I cannot believe you punched him, Penelope!” And then she laughed. “I imagine he deserved it. You ought to see the two of you! If I didn’t know both of you better, I’d assume it was a lover’s spat.”
“Of course not!”
But Natalie had far more fascinating news! “You are increasing? Oh, I am so happy for you! I was with the Duchess of Cortland when she was delivered of the little marquess. It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
The Duchess of Cortland was Lord Hawthorne’s first cousin. And Natalie had been engaged to the duke last year before marrying the earl. Surprisingly, they all remained in good standing with each other. Penelope knew they’d celebrated the holidays together even, at the duke’s estate.
Natalie blushed and nodded. “We travelled down a few weeks ago. Before coming up to London. He is a darling!”
Unable to contain asking after Natalie’s condition, wishing she could openly discuss her own physical maladies, Penelope blurted out, “Is the babe showing yet? Is it difficult to hide?”
Natalie giggled into her glove. “Not yet, it’s only been about three months. Soon though, I can hardly wait.”
Penelope froze inside. She wasn’t yet eleven weeks along, and she already had a definitive bulge. “Does the babe make you feel ill?”
“A little swoony sometimes in the morning, and I’m feeling more tired than usual. But other than that, I’m fine. Garrett worries though. He’s constantly hovering around me these days. I’ve had to practically force him out the door to go to his clubs while we’re here.” She smiled in confidence. “I love the attention, though, to be truthful. I love knowing he’s as excited about it as I am.”
A pang shot through Penelope. What had she done?
“Lilly told me you were not going to come to London this year. I am so glad you have come after all, and you look beautiful! I know you’ve done your hair differently, but you look absolutely stunning. The clothes, the jewelry… Have you decided to join the husband hunters after all?”
Penelope knew Natalie was teasing. Wasn’t she? And then she remembered what Hugh had told her about everyone knowing of her former feelings for Natalie’s brother. Did that mean Natalie had known as well? Oh, how embarrassing! She must think Penelope had come to chase after Rome?
But Penelope had come to London in search of a husband. Well, one man in particular.
Then Natalie confirmed her fears. “Rome remains unattached, you know.”
Penelope moaned. “I’m not here to land Rome for a husband. Please believe me, Natalie. I merely grew weary of my old look, and Bath grows tiresome rather quickly.”
The youthful countess looked disappointed but perked up again quickly. “Oh, well. I can hope, can I not? I must admit to you that I was not unhappy to see things fall apart between him and that poor girl. It was plain to me that she was being pressured into the match by her family. Poor Rome was so besotted that he didn’t notice. He’s been rather morose since then. When I saw the two of you dancing together, I rather hoped that…”
“I’m sorry to dash your hopes, but there is nothing there.” She decided to explain further, “Perhaps in the past I held a bit of tenderness for the viscount, but that is where it remains, in the past.”
Natalie sighed loudly. “Oh.”
The two ladies waited quietly, each left to their own thoughts for a few minutes until the earl exited the front of the house and waved them over. The sound of hooves on pavement heralded the carriage approaching. The ladies dashed across the lawn and were quickly assisted into the privacy of the coach.
“You spoke with my mother?” Penelope asked the earl.
He nodded. “She wasn’t thrilled that you were leaving, of course. Said you were committed to dance with half of the eligible gentlemen in attendance.” And then he flashed a grin. Lord Hawthorne used to be a brooding mysterious rake. The change marriage had brought about in him was surprising.
Penelope glanced down at the dance card tied to her wrist with a thin silk ribbon. The only dance she was wishing for was the very last one. It had been a waltz, and she was to have partnered Hugh.
Hugh’s own townhouse was not far from the Helmers’ so he had walked over earlier. Oh, yes, and he’d then escorted Mrs. Merriman and her niece.
Striding along the sidewalk, he contemplated that it was probably for the best that he let down Mrs. Merriman and Miss Radcliffe now, rather than later. They would both be disappointed when he did not appear to partner Louisa for their second dance. More than disappointed… but he’d not feel overly guilt-ridden.
Their expectations had risen too high, too quickly. Admittedly, he’d given them both cause. He’d taken the young lady out for a drive through the park on more than one occasion within the last two weeks and singled her out at other balls and a few garden parties. But tonight, even before seeing Penelope, he’d begun feeling stifled by her possessiveness.
The lady had become bold, and perhaps she was entitled to be, what with such an enormous dowry. It would have come in handy, of course, but Hugh had never been a man motivated by the pursuit of great wealth. His weaknesses had always been women and spirits. He’d laugh at the thought, but as of late, he’d begun to recognize an unseemly pattern in his life.
And tonight… Hell, he’d nearly fallen victim to a very unexpected siren. Sober, no less.
Penelope Crone.
What in the world had come over him?
He dabbed at the tip of his nose and winced. He supposed it had not been an amusing joke to play on a lady when he’d only moments before had his mouth upon her breast.
At the thought of her plump, creamy exposed bosom, he had to mentally distract himself so as to not reawaken certain parts of his anatomy.
What baffled him the most was that he’d actually been on the cusp of proposing.
Proposing!
To Penelope Crone!
Ever since he’d left Cortland’s estate, it was as though a spell had been cast upon him. Because, yes, it was when he’d first left for Land’s End that those visions and fantasies began plaguing his quieter moments.
Perhaps something had been triggered in his mind upon seeing Cortland ecstatic beyond belief with his duchess and son. And Penelope had been the only other single lady in residence at the time.
Yes, that must be it. The sense of guilt that had been planted after his father’s death for not setting up his nursery and assuring the title had finally blossomed.
And then Penelope kept showing up.
Yes, that was it.
He had rather enjoyed kissing her senseless. By God, he’d never expected to see the day when Penelope Crone couldn’t form a rational sentence.
The question was, did he want to take the necessary steps in order to take Penelope’s passion to its culmination?
He swallowed hard. He’d damn near made the commitment already.
What would her answer have been? As long as he’d known her, she’d adamantly professed her distaste of a society marriage.
Excepting, of course, to the Viscount Darlington. Of whom he’d not dissembled with her regarding the fact that all and sunder had been aware of it.
Was she really no longer interested in Rome Spencer? Darlington was heir to an earldom, the title of viscount being a mere courtesy one. He was highly respectable and, Hugh supposed, passably handsome.
Hugh had not appreciated the way Darlington held her on the dance floor. It wasn’t that the man had done anything inappropriate, i
t was more the way he’d stared at her. The viscount had looked as though he was there to stake a claim.
Was Hugh willing to claim her first?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Four days passed as Hugh contemplated the question of Penelope Crone.
When he finally did concede in his mind that he wanted to see her, to speak with her, he convinced himself that it was only so he could assure himself that her cut had not turned putrid.
The days that had passed had not been pleasant ones. His honor had required that he fulfill his commitment to escort Mrs. Merriman and Miss Radcliffe to a garden party, and then on another day walking in the park.
He’d had to step very carefully, as, on any number of occasions during these outings, he easily could have become ensnared in further commitments, and much lengthier ones as well.
His interest in Louisa Radcliffe had waned quickly. Every conversation with her was the same. They covered the weather, the latest fashions, and who attended what party when—and in that order. It was as though she followed a script. She only veered from it once when she chastised him for failing to partner her as promised at the Helmers’ ball.
Hugh did not rise to the bait.
And although he’d caught her staring a few times, she’d not asked how he’d acquired the spectacular bruises around his eyes.
With great relief, he wished them both well after escorting them safely to their rented townhouse. Mrs. Merriman and Louisa had both laid out traps that he could have easily fallen into, but they did not know him very well at all. Hugh had spent much of the last decade dodging these snares. He was no novice. How did they think he’d managed to remain unwed for as long as he had? He was considered, he admitted most humbly to himself, something of a catch. The only reason they’d extracted any commitments from him at all was because he had decided it just might be time…
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