by Emma Sloane
“Every hostess’s dream,” Hugh agreed with a cynical smile. “Remind me once again, I beg you. Why are we here and not somewhere much quieter, cooler, and less filled with annoying people?”
“I’m here because I promised my friends that I would attend.” Penelope glanced at Hugh. “I’m afraid I’m unclear as to why you’re in attendance?”
Hugh sighed. “I’m here because you are here, of course.”
Penelope’s huff of disbelief earned her a quick grin. “Nonsense. You’re here because visiting Amelia without me to act as chaperone would create gossip. And you’re likely bored with your other possible entertainments.”
“Absolutely not,” he shot back. “I enjoy your company. But I suppose I must also concede Amelia would worry about creating a scandal if I called on her while you were out. I don’t give a damn if the ton gossips about me.”
“But you do care if they gossip about Amelia,” Penelope added shrewdly.
He grimaced. “I do.”
“It’s quite sweet of you,” she told him.
“I’m not sweet.” He glared at her, clearly affronted.
“Perhaps not to others,” she conceded, “but to Amelia and by extension, myself and William, you are very kind. And it may interest you to know that I’m certain she would worry just as much about causing damage to your good reputation as her own.”
Hugh shrugged. “That’s patently ridiculous. I don’t have a good…”
A ripple of excitement moved over the crowded ballroom. Heads turned, eyes widened, fans were raised to cover quick comments.
Penelope’s curious gaze noted the shifting assembly before following the direction of their avid gazes to the main doorway.
At the top of the elegantly curved staircase, two gentlemen stood before their beaming hostess. Each of them bowed in turn over Lady Stanton’s gloved hand, exchanging a brief comment before turning to begin their descent, side by side.
They bore a striking resemblance to each other. And to Hugh, Penelope realized with a start. Eyes widening, she turned and caught her companion’s pained expression just before his features smoothed.
“Correct me if I’m in error, Hugh, but I do believe your cousin the Duke has at last decided to join us.”
His lips quirked and his eyes held a hint of remorse. “I fear you are correct, madam.” He glanced at the doors and the veranda beyond. “Perhaps it is not too late to make a well-timed exit?”
“Better to face your cousin in a social setting where good manners are more likely to compel him to treat us with politeness,” she replied. Her attention was focused on the two men as she pretended to look at Hugh. “Which of the gentlemen is the Duke?”
“The taller man on the left.”
“And who is the gentleman with your cousin?” she asked, gently moving her fan as she watched the two men adroitly thread their way through the throng. Despite being hailed from all about them, they managed to politely evade each attempt to engage them in conversation. In fact, the crowd seemed to part in front of them as if by silent command.
“Our cousin, Val.” He lifted an eyebrow when she stared at him, waiting for him to elucidate. “The Viscount Edgington.”
“Ah, I see.” Penelope had heard debutantes and their mamas endlessly discussing the Duke of Sheffield and Viscount Edgington’s matrimonial prospects for several years. Although she had never met either man as their circle of friends was much different than her less exalted group, she couldn’t miss the never-ending discussion of just how a lady might meet and enchant one of them. With a view toward matrimony, of course, for surely both the Duke and Viscount must be in need of a wife.
“They appear to be coming our way.”
“Indeed.” Hugh’s voice held dry acceptance.
Penelope studied the Duke and his cousin as they drew near. They were much the same height, although one was slightly taller. Both men, however, had raven black hair and emerald green eyes, their powerful bodies clothed in elegant black coats with pristine white cravats and shirts. They were impressive examples of apex males in their prime, a fact clearly noted by the females in the room who watched them with starry gazes.
“There’s definitely a family resemblance,” she commented idly, smiling when Hugh narrowed his eyes at her. “Additionally, I believe your days of pretending interest in me have clearly ended,” she added.
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Perhaps not.”
Before she could object, the two St. Cyr men stopped in front of them.
“Hugh.” The taller nodded at her companion. “Well met.”
His cool gaze swept over her, lingering a moment on her face before returning to Hugh.
Goodness. Penelope’s normally unflappable reaction to the focus of a man’s stare sank without a trace. Nerves tightened, setting off a swift urge to flee which vied with an equally strong urge to stand her ground. This must, indeed, be the Duke.
“Good evening, Gray. Val.” Hugh’s smile held resigned amusement. “I didn’t know you’d returned to town.”
“We’ve only just arrived. Aunt Augusta sent a note around commanding our attendance tonight. Have you seen her?”
Hugh glanced over the crowd before shaking his head. “I said hello earlier but I don’t see her at the moment. Aunt Minerva and Aunt Harriet are keeping her company.”
“Ah,” Gray’s mouth curved in commiseration. “The Terrifying Threesome all together, eh? How did you survive?”
“Barely,” Hugh responded with a grin. “They’re in their usual rare form and voiced their opinion of my cravat.”
“Approval or criticism?”
“Both,” Hugh replied. “Two for and one against.”
Gray’s deep chuckle sent shivers of awareness vibrating up Penelope’s spine.
“Ah well, at least you won the majority,” Gray said before turning a sharp, assessing, vaguely predatory gaze on her. He smiled and bowed, a brief polite gesture of male to female. “Hugh, I don’t believe I’ve met your companion. Will you do the honors?”
“Of course.” Hugh’s voice held wry amusement. “Lady Penelope, may I present the Duke of Sheffield. My late father and Gray’s father were brothers and thus, we are cousins.”
Penelope dipped a shallow curtsy but her gaze never left the Duke’s. She refused to be cowed by his presence and the flash of arrested interest in his green eyes told her he read her subtle rebellion.
“Your Grace,” she murmured. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Lady Penelope,” he replied, the brief dip of his head a polite acknowledgment.
“And this gentleman is my cousin, Viscount Edgington,” Hugh continued.
Penelope nodded politely, meeting a gaze only slightly less brilliantly green as the Duke’s as the Viscount returned her greeting. She glanced at Hugh before sweeping her gaze over the two men in front of her once again. “It’s clear you are all related,” she said with a smile. “However did your friends tell you apart when you were boys?”
The Viscount shot a wry glance at the Duke. “One of us was more arrogant than the others.”
“He’s wrong, of course,” the Duke said with lazy assurance. “All St. Cyrs are arrogant and Val no less than the rest of us.”
Hugh chuckled. “My mother would have a different opinion,” he informed Penelope. “She vows all the St. Cyr women are saints and all the St. Cyr men are arrogant devils.”
Delighted, Penelope laughed. “I would not be shocked to learn many sisters and sisters-in-law have that opinion of their male relatives.”
“And your brothers? Do you find them devils?” the Duke asked.
“Alas, I have no brothers,” she said. “I’m afraid I was an only child.”
“A shame,” he replied. His gaze seared her, assessing. “Siblings can be a trial but occasionally, they can be entertaining. As can cousins,” he added.
Both Hugh and Val winced.
“Speaking of family members,” Val said. “I fear the aun
ts are about to descend upon us. Perhaps we should join them before they decide to publicly berate us for our lack of manners in failing to find them immediately.”
The Duke’s gaze searched the crowd and a smile quirked his mouth. “It appears a prudent move. I suspect Aunt Minerva is about to gather the other two.” He looked at Hugh. “I hope you have time to visit tomorrow, Hugh, there are a few matters we need to discuss.”
“Of course.” Hugh bowed briefly.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Wentworth. I hope to further our acquaintance while in London.”
Penelope nodded briefly, too surprised to reply.
Neither she nor Hugh spoke as they watched the two men depart, weaving their way adroitly through the crowd toward the trio of older women seated in chairs arranged against the far wall.
Finally, Penelope looked up at Hugh, a faint frown drawing a vee between her eyebrows. “Was that a polite promise, or a threat?” she asked.
Hugh shook his head, a wry laugh barely audible. “That, my dear Penelope, was my cousin warning us he plans to interfere.”
Penelope sighed. “I was afraid that’s what he meant.” She fixed Hugh with a firm stare. “Be warned – I plan to explain exactly what our relationship is at the earliest possible moment.”
“Be warned,” he echoed, “knowing Gray, that will likely be sooner rather than later.”
Penelope wasn’t certain if she was worried or relieved to know she would soon be seeing the Duke again. Part of her was intrigued by him. And the other part dreaded what his reaction may be when he learned the truth about Hugh’s apparent interest in her.
What if he doesn’t approve of Amelia? Lady Amelia Hamilton was clearly an acceptable marriage prospect, being the daughter of a baron, but the Duke could certainly look higher for his heir's wife. The question was, would he? And if he did, what would Hugh do? Penelope hadn’t discussed Hugh’s interest with her cousin and did not, in fact, know for certain whether Amelia returned his affection.
It was clear Amelia liked Hugh and enjoyed his visits. She also visibly appreciated and approved of Hugh’s interactions with William. Nevertheless, Penelope hadn’t yet found the right time to gently probe as to any deeper feelings. Amelia was still several months away from ending her mourning period for her father. Penelope had hoped she would have an opportunity during those months to discuss Hugh’s intentions with her cousin. With the Duke’s arrival in London, however, time had run out.
Sighing, she turned her attention back to Hugh. “I believe I’ll say good-night. Amelia and William will be waking early to ride in the park and I’ve promised to join them.”
Hugh walked her to the entry. They chatted casually while waiting for her carriage to be brought around and then he handed her up with a promise to join her small family at the park in the morning. Or, failing that, to visit when his obligations to the Duke were complete.
Tucked into her bed much later, Penelope’s last thought before sleep claimed her was that she must focus more on Amelia and Hugh’s situation and less on her own shivery reaction to the Duke’s deep voice. If she meant to convince the Duke that he should encourage Hugh’s pursuit of her cousin, she mustn’t allow herself to be distracted by a handsome face.
At nearly the same hour Penelope fell asleep, across London in the St. Cyr town home, Gray said goodnight to his valet and poured a small jot of brandy into a crystal glass. The sitting area of his bedroom had two plump, dark blue brocade chairs arranged on each side of the hearth, where a fire currently blazed. The room was pleasantly warm after the chill outside and Gray was in his shirtsleeves when he dropped into one of the chairs.
The evening had not been what he’d anticipated, he reflected. He’d expected to see Hugh doting on an older, sophisticated woman with obvious sensual charm and questionable character. What he’d found was a strikingly attractive young woman whose blue gaze met his without guile or any hint she might be keeping secrets. Lady Penelope Wentworth hadn’t tried to entice either him or Val, nor did she appear to be interested in flirtation with Hugh. In fact, the conversation between she and Hugh had sounded much like similar exchanges he’d often heard Hugh share with his own sisters.
What’s going on here? He frowned at the red-gold flames of the fire, pondering what he’d observed at the ball earlier. If Hugh truly is courting Lady Wentworth, I’ll eat my hat. What the devil is he up to?
He glanced at the clock. The hour grew late. Hugh’s longtime habit was to exercise one of his horses very early when most of his fellow ton members were still asleep. Tomorrow, Gray planned to join him. With luck, Hugh would be encouraged during a quiet morning ride to confide the truth about his connection with the beautiful widow.
He tossed back the last of the brandy, set the glass aside, and sought his bed. The image of Lady Penelope Wentworth’s glossy black hair, expressive blue eyes, fine-boned features and lush lips appeared the moment he closed his eyes. Her feminine curves had been encased in a tasteful, elegant ballgown of silvery lace over emerald silk. The diamond-set emerald stones of her necklace highlighted the curve of her throat and the lush swell of breasts below.
He couldn’t recall the gown or jewels of any other lady he’d greeted at the ball earlier, but apparently, he remembered every detail of Penelope Wentworth’s appearance after only a few moments of conversation.
The recollection of Penelope’s charms followed him into sleep, keeping him restless, the bedclothes twisted and tangled from his dreams.
Chapter 3
Early the following morning, Gray and Hugh rode through London’s quiet streets toward Hyde Park. Fog muffled the sound of their mounts' iron shod hooves against the street’s frost-topped cobblestones. They shared the streets with rough laborers hurrying along the thoroughfare, their chins tucked into heavy coat collars and wool mufflers for warmth in the chilly air. Sturdy draft horses pulled heavy wagons past a scattering of early pie sellers, loudly hawking their wares amid the mouthwatering aroma of savoury meat and fruit pastries.
“Do you leave your bed this early to ride in the park every day?” Gray asked as they left the street and rode through the gates, nudging their horses into a trot now that the packed gravel path stretched before them.
“If possible, yes,” Hugh replied. “I like to exercise one of my horses every day and both of us find it frustrating to loiter instead of trot or gallop. There are too many people about later. It’s impossible to do more than walk one’s horse without endangering others, let alone the threat to my own mount from unskilled riders.”
“Not to mention the matrons’ demands to halt and converse,” Gray added with a wry twist of lips.
“That, too,” Hugh agreed, grinning at Gray’s expression. “Given how little you care for society’s expectations, I’m surprised you ventured to town. I didn’t expect to see you before we all gather at Sheffield for Christmas.”
Gray shrugged. “I had a bit of estate business that was best done in person. I also wanted to make certain the aunts’ and mother’s holiday travel arrangements to Sheffield were well in hand.”
“I don’t know how you keep track of all the female relatives,” Hugh shook his head. “Much as I care for them, I confess I find them exhausting, annoying, and entertaining, often all during the same conversation.”
Gray laughed. He’d been in exactly that position with his female relatives on more than one occasion and understood the exasperated affection reflected so clearly in Hugh’s words. “I fear we’re likely to endure many such conversations over the next years. At least until all the sisters, cousins, and nieces are married and the ladies have husbands to torture in our stead,” he added.
“I look forward to that day.” Hugh’s fervent comment was interrupted by a faint shout.
They halted abruptly, their horses stamping their feet in protest as both men swept searching gazes over the immediate area. Three riders chased each other down a broad path which intersected their own, trailed by a groom several lengths behind. A
boy’s shout of triumph floated on the cold air as they rounded the sweeping curve and raced down the gravel drive toward Gray and Hugh. The slight figure of a boy was bent low over the leading horse and hard on his heels were two female riders. Their long skirts were bright splashes of sapphire blue and dove grey against their black and bay mounts. Feminine laughter joined the boy’s crowing as the trio swept forward and thundered past Gray and Hugh where they’d reined their horses aside onto the grassy verge.
Gray barely had time to catch a glimpse of flushed faces and bright smiles before the three were past and he was given a view of their backs. They reached a line of oaks and slowed, circling their horses in a wide curve onto the grass before returning to the gravel drive and cantering back toward him.
“Hugh!” The young boy in the lead called as they drew near. “Did you see? I won the race!”
“You did indeed, Master William.” Hugh returned the boy’s wide grin before his gaze ventured past him to the two females. He tipped his hat. “Well met, Lady Wentworth, Lady Hamilton.”
“Good morning,” the ladies chorused, smiling at Hugh with affection.
Penelope Wentworth was a vision in a blue velvet riding habit, the snug bodice faithfully following the outward curve of breasts above a nipped-in waist, the high collar snug around her throat. The rich ebony sheen of her hair was nearly hidden beneath a high-crowned hat that matched her habit, a sapphire feather curving over the small brim to brush against her cheek. Her face was rosy with the chilly air and exercise, her eyes sparkling with happy pleasure in the morning air.
Gray had a sudden urge to stroke his fingers over her cheek and cup her chin in his fingers to test her skin and learn if it was truly as silky, soft, and alive as it looked. She exuded an irresistible aura of delighted happiness in the morning exercise and her companions. He’d never known a lady--beyond his sisters when they were younger--who was so clearly, unabashedly, delighted with the world and the moment. She looks as innocent as the young lad. How could a woman who had been married to Frederick Wentworth truly be innocent? It seemed an impossible achievement and the widow presented a puzzle he was determined to solve.