Love Forever After

by Patricia Rice

  Penelope shook her head, not believing Guy’s reasoning. Graham had friends. He had forgiven Guy. That did not sound like a man angry at the world. It did not explain his coldness to her. It told her little other than that the pain Graham carried with him must run deep, much deeper than she’d known.

  “I do not see what I can do, Guy. He would listen to me if I told him Alexandra needed a new dress or a chair needed recovering, but he will not sit still while I preach a sermon about the golden rule. Give me a magic wand and I would wave it, but I know of no other way of taking away his anger.”

  Penelope could not help studying Guy’s tortured face with curiosity. How much had he loved Graham’s first wife? Had they been lovers? And how could they still be friends if what Guy said was true?

  She knew that people sometimes went outside their wedding vows, but she had never heard anyone actually admit to being a party to it until now. Wickedly she tried to imagine herself in Guy’s arms, but she could not. How could Marilee have done it? Graham without the scars would have been an excruciatingly handsome young man, the kind she could never have dared admit aloud to admiring without people looking at her plainness and laughing in scorn. Marilee must have been beautiful and wealthy and of noble family. They would have been a perfect couple, with a lovely child. How could anyone throw all that away?

  Guy sat beside her and took her hand. “Don’t let him challenge Arthur. Tell him you are ill and have him take you to Bath. Tell him someone in your family is ill. Tell him anything, but get him away from here until I can persuade Arthur to go away. If you have any love for him at all, make him see reason or get him away.”

  Shocked, Penelope jerked her hand away and stared at him as if he had lost his wits. Challenge Arthur? Why would Graham do such a thing? Guy shouldn’t be saying these things to her, wouldn’t be, she felt certain, if his love and concern for Dolly had not exceeded his reason. Love was a wretched business.

  “Guy, you are all about in your head. Why would Graham challenge Arthur? He likes the Reardons, and Arthur is much too weak to provide any kind of challenge. It is a good thing, for I could not lie to Graham. You are very wicked to make me worry like this. I have better things to do.” Briskly, Penelope stood up.

  Guy caught her by the shoulder and spun her to face him. “Arthur was there, Penelope. Can’t you see that? Arthur was one of the men who rode out to stop the carriage that night.”

  Penelope stared at him in horror and disbelief. “He’s just a boy!” Then, breaking away from his grip, she ran back toward the farmhouse, not wanting to hear any more, not wanting to believe. Not Graham. Not Arthur. Not any of it.

  Chapter 29

  It didn’t take long for word of Guy’s tete-a-tete with Penelope to get back to Graham. All the world might love a lover, but they seemed to take sadistic pleasure in seeing one with horns on his head. Graham flung the book he was reading across the room after hearing one more tittering laugh in the hall. Penelope was out late again.

  That Guy had been seen holding Penelope’s hand, arguing with her, touching her shoulder, should mean nothing at all to him. There was no law written against holding hands or arguing. Jealousy was an absurd emotion, particularly for one who had clearly told his wife she was free to do as she wished. Before. Before he had taken her to his bed. Before he had made her his wife in more than name. Before he had learned to trust her beyond all else.

  What in hell was she doing meeting Guy in that out of the way place? Where did she go each day that caused her to neglect her guests, her home, her family? Had he been so sadly mistaken in her character?

  Or had he done this to her? Graham threw himself back into the chair before the fire and stared morosely at the flames. He had taught her passion. She had known nothing of it until he came along. That much was his doing. But he had denied her love. How could anyone love a visage such as he presented to the world? That was his own fault, too. How could he have expected Penelope to look forward to an evening in the arms of a man who would terrify the staunchest of soldiers? He’d been a fool from first to last. When was he start doing something about it?

  Not tonight. Tonight he would probably kill her. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would present his whole case and make her understand. Perhaps not his whole case. There were still things that went undone. But he would tell her enough to be honest with her, to plead his cause and win her back.

  When Penelope came home to find the light still on in the library, she contemplated it broodingly. Nothing Guy had said made it any easier to understand Graham’s behavior. If she went in there now, she would be asking for further rejection. But just the fact that he had waited up when he usually had to rise early to see his estates spoke of her husband’s concern. It would be easier to turn her back on the light than to face her racing heartbeat and go to him, but one did not get through life by taking the easy route. She would stop and wish him a good night.

  Heart pounding at this daring, she tiptoed to the heavy paneled door, pushing gently against the wood carving. Perhaps if he were busy she would go away without disturbing him. She really had no right to interfere in his private life. But she could not keep away. The door slid open silently.

  Graham’s great frame lay sprawled across the long sofa, his gloved hand behind his head. She thought him deliberately ignoring her, but then she saw his good eye was shut and his chest moved evenly. He slept. Smiling, she slid into the room. She had never caught Graham asleep before.

  His face looked much more relaxed and younger in sleep. With his head turned against the pillow of his arm, she saw only his good side, and the resemblance to his cousin was striking. The lashes against his cheek were dark, as was the beard shadowing his chin. Alexandra must have inherited her coloring from him. She longed to stroke the hard, angular line of his jaw, but she feared it would wake him.

  How pleasant it would be if she could kneel beside him now and kiss his cheek and have him wake and take her in his arms! That’s what she longed with all her heart to do. She would like him to make love to her here by the firelight where she could see his face and know his desire. But perhaps it had not been desire that brought him to her but a sense of duty, a need for a son?

  Sadly she picked up his coat from where he had flung it across the arm of a chair. The fire would be out soon, and he would be chilly in his shirt sleeves. Odd, how he looked just like other men as he lay there, the white cloth fluttering at his throat, his silver hair almost curling where he had let it grow. No one would be frightened of him now, except herself. He looked too much like his cousin, and her feelings frightened her. Hastily she arranged the coat over his chest to keep him warm.

  As silently as she had come, she slipped away.

  Penelope redoubled her efforts at the orphanage the next day. Her dreams of the night before had been restless ones, and the tension they had created had not dissipated with the morning sun. Her thoughts turned too often to Graham’s masculine length sprawled across the sofa, to memories of nights he had held her in those powerful arms, and she had felt him naked and warm against her. She buried desire in hard work.

  Chadwell found her at the orphanage at mid-morning. While carpenters hammered away in the interior of the old house, Penelope balanced on a ladder outside, tugging at the ivy vines creeping between the crumbling bricks walls and window frames. She wore a much-faded gown of inexpensive brown weave, let down at the hem so she looked the part of washerwoman.

  But Chadwell noticed that she had discarded the tucker that should have covered the swell of her breasts, and no washerwoman ever appeared so nymph-like. With the morning sun threading her hair with golden highlights and her cheeks rosy with the heat of her efforts, she presented a portrait of a disheveled goddess perched between heaven and earth.

  Cursing under his breath, he crossed the lumber-strewn lawn. Before Penelope had noted his arrival, he wrapped his arm about her waist and lifted her from the ladder. Penelope shrieked as her fingers parted from the ladder rungs, but Chadwell’s
hold was firm. He let her slide down his chest until her feet touched the ground.

  Stunned, she stared up into his handsome face, the golden eyes devouring her with a hunger so clear that she swallowed hard. He continued to hold her improperly—and she continued to lean against him, her hands resting against his kerseymere waistcoat.

  “If you did not break it first, I think I should wring your pretty little neck for climbing up there like that. What on earth possesses you to do these things, my maggot-brained Penelope?”

  His words held more astonishment than anger. She felt his breath like a caress against her cheek. His mouth softened to tell her he meant to kiss her, but wantonly, she did not back away. She gave a satisfied sigh as his long fingers tightened at the small of her back, and he drew her into the curve of his body.

  His kiss was warm and inviting and washed through Penelope’s veins like strong drink, warming her blood and rendering her senseless. Her head spun as her lips parted, their breaths intermingled, and she tasted the masculine flavors of his mouth. It needed only this kiss, this one caress to expose her folly and weakness, to reduce her to a trembling wanton. Her whole body ached for his touch, and she did not mistake the urgency of his hold.

  This was impossible, in full daylight in front of a house full of workmen who would be delighted to spread the gossip far and wide. No matter how much she hungered for this touch, needed his desire, she could not do this to Graham. Horror at what he would feel welled up in her, and she broke away, turning her face and pushing at Clifton’s chest.

  “Let go! Let me go, Cliff! I cannot. . .” Somehow she found the strength to elude his arms and tear free, but he was not so easily put aside.

  Catching Penelope by the waist, Chadwell fought her resistance. “Don’t, Penelope! Give me a chance to explain!”

  She struggled more against herself than him. She wanted to listen, wanted explanations, wanted to watch the color of his eyes and the way his lips curved up in a mocking smile, wanted her own destruction. She could not believe she had come to this, that she could betray Graham in such a vile manner. There must be something gravely wrong with her to love one man and desire another.

  “No, Cliff! Go away!” she cried, but his hold was relentless, terrifying her. Where before his arms had been gentle and caressing, now they were like twin bands of steel crushing her chest. In horror, she remembered the rumors from London, the descriptions that could well be Chadwell haunting the wretched streets of the slums for victims, and panic followed quickly on the footsteps of fear. “I’ll scream! I’ll scream if you don’t let me go!”

  Chadwell reluctantly did as told. “Penelope, please, I only want to talk to you,” he pleaded as she slid from his hands.

  “We have nothing to talk about! Graham should have sent you away long ago, but I am warning you now, if you do not leave London—leave England!—I will tell him what you have done.” She threw this at him defiantly, not knowing if there were a word of truth in it. Graham might not care if she fell into his cousin’s arms. Graham might despise his cousin. She just knew she had to remove him for her own safety. “I will tell him and you will lose the best friend you have ever had!”

  “It seems I’m about to do that in any case,” Chadwell replied sadly, reaching for her arm.

  The touch of his fingers on her wrist sent shock waves through Penelope. The look in his eyes nearly tore her heart in two, but she could not let his looks influence her. He could be a madman, but he most certainly was a devil. In self-protection, she swung her free hand with all the strength she possessed.

  Her palm connected squarely with his jaw. Penelope winced more than Chadwell, but she had caught him by surprise and his grip loosened. Before he could catch her, she flew into the house and the safety of the company of workmen with hammers and saws. A few minutes later she was at the upstairs window. Chadwell stayed where he was, refusing to leave.

  Penelope threw open the sash. “Go! I never want to see your face again! Leave before I send the men out after you!”

  Penelope dug her fingers into the sill and watched Chadwell turn to mount his horse. She felt her heart being drawn from her as he rode away. He sat the big stallion well, his broad shoulders proud and straight in the short- waisted frock coat, his fashionable beaver hat covering his dark curls at a rakish angle, his powerful thighs in their tight breeches guiding the horse with ease, but he did not move with the same casual grace as usual.

  She didn’t leave the house again until Guy arrived to escort her home. She could not take a chance that Chadwell lingered, waiting for the workmen to leave, waiting until she had only a groom to protect her. How fortunate that Guy had promised to stop by this afternoon to see how the work progressed!

  He greeted Penelope with surprise at her eager welcome as she ran down the porch stairs to meet him. She scarcely gave him a chance to inspect the work in the back stairwell but clung nervously to his arm and agreed that they might meet Dolly for tea.

  They said little as they rode toward the Hall. Lengthening shadows told of the lateness of the hour, when Penelope mentioned a headache and begged off from visiting the Reardons.

  With concern Guy caught her hand. “Is all well, Penelope? Did I speak out of turn yesterday? If so, please forgive me. I would gladly take back one wrong word.”

  Penelope shook her head letting her shoulders slump in misery. “No, you only told me what I needed to know. You are wrong about Graham. He does not hate, and I cannot believe he would challenge Arthur, but then, I have not been right about very many things lately. Good night, Guy.”

  She rode off without looking back.

  That night Graham listened at the door as Penelope wept into the pillow. The choking sobs ripped at his heart, and he rested his gloved hand on the door latch. He wished desperately to go to her, but did not know what he could say even if the latch should open.

  Remembering the coat spread over him when he woke in the early hours, Graham prayed she had not shut him out entirely. If only a door would remain open between them, perhaps some solution could be found.

  The latch gave way without a hitch, and Graham breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing the door aside, he could see a single candle gleaming beside the bed, throwing its shadows across her sobbing figure.

  Graham stood uncertainly at the foot of the bed, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss the tears away but suspecting he was the cause of them. Deciding Penelope in her thin night rail and hair streaming down her back was more temptation than he could bear, he settled at the far end of the mattress. Here, he could only be tempted to touch the small bare toe peeping from beneath the hem of her gown. Gazing at that toe, Graham found it more enticing than any woman in dishabille he had ever seen, and he doubted his wisdom in this choice of seats.

  “Penelope, please, stop crying and tell me what is wrong.” That was not very helpful, but he could think of nowhere else to start.

  Penelope shook her head, refusing to raise her face from the pillow. Her words were muffled and faint. “Go away. Just go away and leave me be.”

  That sounded familiar, and Graham sighed with exasperation, crossing his arms to keep his hands from straying. From this angle he had a clear view of the round curve of her posterior, and the ache in his loins reminded him of how long it had been since they had shared a bed. Shutting out such thoughts, Graham tried to find a reasonable reply.

  “I cannot leave you crying like this. If it is something I have done, I would know of it, Penny. I don’t mean to hurt you.” Her sobs scarcely lessened. In fact, they seemed to grow worse, and he tried another tack. “Penelope, you know I would give anything to make you happy. Except my right hand, perhaps. But then, I could not afford to lose the left, either. Or any other of my appendages, come to think of it. I have grown rather attached to all of them over the years.”

  His efforts were rewarded with a watery giggle, but Penelope still refused to look up. Graham finally gave in and wrapped his hand around her foot. “Come around here an
d tell me what is wrong or I shall tickle you until you do.”

  Penelope gasped and tried to retrieve her foot, but Graham held her firmly.

  “Don’t, Graham! I’ll stop. Really, I will! But my eyes are all red and ugly. Go away, do. Just for now.”

  That was better. Graham relaxed and began to stroke her ankle. “Shall I fetch one of my eye patches? You would make an enticing piratess. But if you can look at this fearsome visage of mine, I should manage a few tears and a runny nose. Sit up now and tell me what is wrong.”

  He made her feel foolish, and the heat of his hand against her foot stirred sensations better left buried. Wiping her eyes, Penelope turned over, pulling her knees up to her chest and covering her feet when he released her.

  Graham handed her his handkerchief. Wearing only an open-necked shirt and tailored buff trousers as if he had been preparing for bed, he dwarfed the end of her narrow mattress. She took the cloth and wiped at her eyes, watching him warily. He had not shown her this much concern since he had returned from London over a week ago.

  “That is better.” He eyed her critically as she pushed strands of hair from her face. “Actually it would be a shame to cover those lovely eyes with patches. They sparkle like the dew right now. Adelaide’s get all puffy and her face turns blotchy and she looks a proper harridan when she cries.”

  Penelope smiled wanly. “Adelaide is beautiful enough not to care what she looks like. It is only us plain people who must fret over our looks.”

  “You’re angling for that one,” he admonished. “I should not spoil you. You would grow more vain than Alexandra. So I’ll not tell you how beautiful you are. And I won’t mention that if all the world were as plain as you, the sun would no longer need to shine because it would be as bright as day already. I’ll let you keep thinking you are plain so you will not be tempted to try your beauty on others.”

  “That’s doing it a shade too brown, my lord. Someone has been giving you lessons in nonsense. It really is not necessary to practice on me. I am quite content being plain if you do not mind it too much.” Penelope wiped at her eyes and hid a weak smile.