Delighted, Penelope leaned over the shoulder of the man in front of her, eagerly reading the list of acts. As she thrilled at the prospect of seeing Vlado, the India rubber man, and Kongo, the dancing African elephant, she felt a frantic tug on her arm.
“Look!” Effie squealed, dragging her away to point excitedly at the display in the drugstore window.
Penelope cast a longing gaze toward the poster, before peering through the rain-streaked glass with a sigh.
Several jars and bottles of patented remedies were on display, as well as a harness-like contraption with numerous leather straps and buckles. To the right was an advertising board promoting the miraculous skin-preserving properties of something called Palmer Brothers Wrinkle Resister Cream.
Penelope bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling. The wrinkle cream was just the sort of thing Effie loved. Feeling mischievous, she teased, “Don’t tell me you need Hendrick’s Liver Prescription?” She pointed to a tall brown bottle on the left.
Effie let out an unladylike snort. “Of course not. I’m as fit as a fiddle.” She jabbed her finger at the advertisement. “I was referring to the Palmer Brothers Wrinkle Resister Cream. I read about it in Peterson’s. I’ve been dying to try it.”
“I can’t imagine why you’d be interested in such a cream,” Penelope said, following her friend through the shop door. “Not with your lovely complexion.” It was true. Effie might not look eighteen, or twenty-five, or even forty anymore, but she did have a remarkably smooth complexion for a woman her age.
Effie turned pick with pleasure at the genuine compliment. “It’s a wrinkle resister, not a wrinkle remover,” she pointed out. “While it’s true that I have no need for the latter, a girl is never too young for the former. We females must never surrender in our battle against the ravages of age.” She imparted that last platitude with much the same air as a general disclosing his plan of action to his troops.
Inside, the store was as neatly fitted and well stocked as the pharmacies Penelope had patronized back East. There was a gleaming wood counter along the back of the shop, topped with an impressive display of pharmaceutical equipment. Lining the walls were numerous shelves, upon which sat rows of bottles, jars, and boxes, all arranged with military precision. Glass-topped cases and heavy wooden tables displayed goods ranging from perfume and combs to cutlery. A sign with an arrow pointed the way to the upper-story photographîc rooms.
Effie immediately fluttered over to the wrinkle-resister display, while Penelope studied the infant remedies.
Adele had informed her earlier that she’d be allowed to see Tommy on Sunday, and she wanted to take him something for his croup. He’d had several terrifying episodes of the illness for which she’d spent a fortune on remedies, none of which helped.
Shaking her head, she picked up first one bottle, then another, reading the outrageous claims listed on the labels. If only Adele would allow her to take Tommy to see a real doctor. Not that she expected miracles, mind you. Even with her relative inexperience with children, she knew that he wasn’t developing as he should. Still, there must be more she could do to help him.
Frowning, she shoved the bottle she was holding back on the shelf. If anyone could help Tommy, it was Hallie. Her sister-in-law took a special interest in treating women and children. She was the only doctor Penelope truly trusted.
Soon, she assured herself. She’d get the money she needed to execute her plan, even if she had to steal it. Once she had Tommy back, she’d go straight home and enlist Hallie’s aid.
Dread clutched at Penelope’s heart at the thought of facing her family and confessing the shameful events of the past two and a half years. The hardest part would be explaining to her brother why she hadn’t turned to him first when she’d found herself in trouble. She knew her foolish lack of faith in his love was going to hurt him far more than all the rest of her sins combined. But she would do it. She’d explain until her face turned blue, if necessary. Anything for Tommy.
As she stood there, imagining herself groveling in front of her brother, she was approached by the pharmacist.
“Having a problem deciding?” he asked, his lips stretching into a congenial smile beneath his bristly mustache.
She stared at him blankly. “Excuse me?”
“I noticed that you seem to be having trouble selecting an infant remedy.” He indicated the shelf in front of them. “If you tell me your baby’s symptoms, I might be of some assistance.”
“Yes … uh … croup,” she murmured, turning her mind back to the task at hand. “The baby has croup.”
The man nodded sympathetically. “Poor little thing. My third daughter was prone to croup. How old is your baby?”
“He’ll be two on Sunday.”
He nodded again. Stroking his mustache thoughtfully, he picked up a bottle of amber-colored syrup and studied the label. After a moment of deliberation, he handed it to her. “You might give this honey and tar expectorant a try. You also might try adding several drops of eucalyptus oil to a pan of steaming water and hold the baby’s face over it. That particular remedy worked like a charm for my own little Sybil.”
Penelope thanked the man and agreed to try his croup remedy. When he’d gone back to the counter to wrap her purchases, she joined Effie, who was standing by the window examining the strange leather contraption from the wrinkle-resister display.
“What have you got there?” she asked, eyeing the gadget warily. The device was suspiciously similar to one she’d seen in a picture depicting modes of medieval torture.
“It’s a Keeley Gravity Defier. You strap it on while you sleep to hold your chin and facial muscles in place. It’s supposed to prevent the sagging and wrinkles that come from sleeping with your face pressed against your pillows.” Her brow furrowed as she studied the straps. “I wonder how it’s worn?”
Penelope shrugged and picked up one of the ornate jars of wrinkle-resister cream for closer inspection. “I guess you’ll have to try it to find out.”
“But there’s no mirror in here,” Effie bemoaned. “However will I be able to judge its merits if I can’t see how it fits? How can I—” She stopped midstream, her eyes aglow with inspiration. “Of course. How silly of me. I’ll try it on you.”
Just looking at the contraption made Penelope claustrophobic. “I’m not so certain that would be a good idea,” she demurred, feeling uncomfortably breathless.
Effie stared up at her, her blue eyes pleading.
Penelope released a sigh of resignation. “All right. But only for a moment.” Knowing that she was probably going to regret this adventure, she removed her bonnet. No sooner had Effie strapped her into the device, than she heard what sounded like a crazed woodpecker tapping at the window.
“Why, if it isn’t that good-looking Mr. Tyler!” exclaimed Effie, waving enthusiastically.
Sure enough, Seth stood just outside the window, his lips twisted into an unholy grin as he gaily returned Effie’s wave.
Penelope let out a muffled groan. The blasted man really did have the damnedest knack for showing up at the most inopportune moments. Wishing him to hell and herself anywhere else, she clawed at the immobilizing straps of the gravity defier, feeling as idiotic as she knew she must look. To her frustration, she succeeded only in tangling her hair in the buckles.
As Seth paused at the shop door, gallantly tipping his hat to an exiting lady, she gave Effie a furious poke in the back and hissed, “E-pfe! Re-lsth me no-o!” which was the best she could manage with the leather straps clamped around her jaw and cheeks.
But Effie had lost all interest in the gravity-defier experiment and now stood with her mouth ajar, visibly enthralled by the sight of Seth. Letting out a snort of disgust, Penelope transferred her glower to his rapidly approaching form.
Grudgingly she admitted that he was a splendid, if unwelcome, sight. Fashionably dressed as always, his skintight brown riding trousers hugged every muscular inch of his thighs and belly, molding to his gro
in in a manner that left little doubt as to his masculinity. His jacket, constructed of checkered wool in shades of brown, gold, and rust, emphasized the impressive breadth of his shoulders, while his showy bronze-shot silk vest drew the eye to his broad chest and tapered waist.
Just the sight of him, so perfectly turned out, was enough to make Penelope acutely aware that her red gros grain skirt was worn shiny in places and that there were bald spots in the black fringe trimming her jacket. Tossing him a disgruntled look, she jerked one of the gravity-defier straps free, painfully ripping out a small clump of hair in the process.
The arrogant man was too handsome by half, she decided, gingerly rubbing her abused scalp. By the way the other women in the shop had fallen into an awed silence at his presence, it was obvious that she wasn’t the only one of that opinion.
Seemingly oblivious to his stunning effect, Seth lifted Effie’s hand to his lips and suavely kissed her palm. “A pleasure to see you again, sweetheart,” he murmured, treating the older woman to the same brand of charm Penelope had seen him use on sixteen-year-old debutantes.
Effie blushed every bit as pink as one of those debutantes. “Mr. Tyler—” she murmured, batting her stubby eyelashes.
“I’d be honored if you would call me Seth,” he interjected, flashing the crooked grin Penelope always found so irresistible. “Unless a young girl like yourself thinks I’m too old to be addressed in such a familiar manner?”
“Oh, no. You’re not old at all. At least you don’t look old.” She paused her simpering long enough to sweep him with a calculating glance. “By the way, how old are you?”
“I turned thirty-six last month.”
About twenty-five years younger than Effie. Penelope glared at Seth, momentarily forgetting that she was trussed up like a violent maniac at Bedlam. The man was a shameless flirt.
Effie twittered at his response and resumed her coquetry. “Why, you’re just entering your prime, Mr. Tyler.”
“Seth.”
Effie preened. “Seth. And you may call me Effie.”
His expression blandly polite, Seth looked over Effie’s head at Penelope, inquiring, “Say, Miss Effie. Is that a Brennan’s Patented Wife Silencer Miss Leroux is wearing?”
“You’re familiar with Mr. Brennan’s invention?” Effie’s eyes brightened at the prospect of a discussion on patented devices.
Seth walked around Penelope, circling like a vulture around a particularly tasty carcass. “I’ve seen them advertised,” he replied, pausing to examine the device’s rigging. Fixing her with a goading stare, he added, “Not that I have need for such a device. My women never have reason to complain.”
Penelope gasped at his audacity. Well, she was a woman, and she certainly had her share of complaints about the conceited scoundrel. However, when she tried to open her mouth to voice her displeasure, the gravity defier silenced her every bit as effectively as one of Mr. Brennan’s patented devices.
Effie, on the other hand, completely missed Seth’s sly innuendo. Shaking her head, she replied, “This particular device happens to be Mr. Keeley’s Gravity Defier.” When Seth lifted one eyebrow in question, she elaborated. “It’s supposed to keep the skin from sagging and promote firmness of the facial muscles.”
Seth’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. “Certainly a youthful beauty like yourself has no need of such a thing!”
Penelope didn’t miss the way he excluded her from his flattering assessment. Really! The man would try the patience of Job. Infuriated by his slight, she yanked the jaw strap so hard that it cut into the tender skin beneath her chin.
“Oh, no. We were just conducting a scientific experiment.” Effie blinked twice, the embarrassment of Penelope’s dilemma finally dawning on her. Flushing, she hurried to her aid.
Seth joined Effie in examining the gravity defier. Lightly touching one of the straps, he asked, “Have you drawn any conclusions as to the device’s effectiveness?”
“I’d have to compare it to Eppington’s Facial Firmer before I could say for certain.” Effie pursed her lips as she gingerly disengaged a skein of Penelope’s hair from one of the buckles. “And of course there is that ageless wonder contraption. What is that thing called?” She glanced up briefly.
Seth shrugged. “I’m afraid I’ll have to plead ignorance on that particular invention.
Muttering several unflattering remarks as to the extent of his ignorance, Penelope gave the jaw strap another vicious tug.
“Do hold still, Lorelei,” Effie chided, her face perfectly reflecting her dismay as she fidgeted with the buckle. “However did you manage to get your hair so tangled in the device?”
Penelope’s only reply was a muffled, “Ouch!” as Effie inadvertently pulled out a few strands of hair.
With a defeated sigh, the elderly actress stepped back and surveyed the situation. “This is impossible. Aside from cutting the knotted hair, I don’t see how we’re going to get you loose.”
Penelope gasped, appalled at Effie’s suggestion.
Frowning, Seth tested one of the buckles. After a moment he concluded, “It’s not so bad as all that. I think I can remove the device without cutting her hair.” He leaned over Penelope’s shoulder to peer at her face, his expression properly deferential. “That is, if Miss Lorelei has no objections?”
Penelope stared at him out of the corner of her eye, not a bit fooled by his obeisance. But before she could make a sound, Effie chimed in, “Such gallantry! Why, I’m sure Lorelei will be forever in your debt if you save her hair. After all, a woman’s hair is her crowning glory.”
As much as Penelope hated the idea of being further indebted to Seth, she didn’t see how she had any choice in the matter. Not if she wanted to be released from the awful gravity defier with her “crowning glory” intact. Miserably, she nodded her agreement.
“Good decision,” Seth whispered, keeping his voice low enough to be out of Effie’s earshot. “We can’t have the Toast of the West looking like a plucked hen.”
Penelope let out an indignant squawk, a sound that came out comically resembling that of a chicken being relieved of its feathers. Chuckling, Seth began to free her hair.
His touch was gentle, and despite her anger, Penelope relaxed by degrees. Lulled by the low drone of Seth and Effie’s conversation, she eventually closed her eyes and let herself lean against his chest.
He smelled good. His usual woodsy scent was underlaid with notes of sweat and tobacco, creating a bouquet as undeniably masculine as Seth himself. Instinctively drawn to his fragrance, she pressed closer. His body was hard, unyielding in its strength. Even through the layers of their clothes she could feel his powerful muscles ripple as he worked.
Just the thought of the sculpted perfection beneath his expensive jacket and crisp linen shirt sent an unwelcome surge of excitement racing through her body. To her discomfiture, the vision of Seth as he’d looked the first time she’d seen his bare chest popped into her mind.
It had been almost four years ago during a visit home to San Francisco. Unaware of Hallie and Penelope’s plans to entertain friends in the rose garden, Seth and her brother had doffed their shirts and challenged each other to an impromptu boxing match. When the women had discovered them, they were half-naked and heckling each other in the crudest of terms.
Normally unflappable, Hallie had dissolved into helpless laughter, while their guests either squealed with shock or expressed self-righteous indignation at the men’s ungentlemanly behavior. Penelope, who was leading the chattering group, stopped abruptly in her tracks, shamelessly gawking at Seth’s bare chest.
He’d looked magnificent. Standing amid the colorful roses, his tawny skin slick with sweat and his honey-colored hair tumbling damply around his broad shoulders, he’d reminded her of a sun-drenched Viking raider bent on wrecking havoc.
He’d certainly wrecked havoc on her emotions. Captivated by the blatant masculinity of his body, she’d let her gaze slide from his powerful shoulders and chest, down the
muscular planes of his stomach. There wasn’t an ounce of fat anywhere. He had unbuttoned the top of his trousers, probably when he removed his shirt, and it was with unmaidenly interest that her gaze moved downward. Unable to look away, she’d wantonly wondered how he looked completely naked. Was the rest of his skin as smooth and silky as that of his chest? Was he golden everywhere? Lost in wonderment, she’d stared for the longest time.
It was Seth himself who had broken her trance. As he leaned over to retrieve his shirt, he’d looked her straight in the eye and given her a conspiratorial wink. True to form, he seemed to be enjoying the feminine attention. His expression was playful, almost mischievous … until he traced her line of vision.
In that instant, as he captured her startled gaze with his all-knowing one, she saw what other, more worldly women had seen in him. Finally she understood the covetous way those women looked at him; she knew the reason for their enamored whispers.
His appeal was magnetic. Irresistible. Seth Tyler exuded a dark, smoldering sensuality that made her mind reel with all sorts of improper thoughts. If Penelope lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget the way he’d looked at her, his gaze hungry and full of yearning, his lips curved with seductive promise. He’d made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. And in that heated moment, Penelope knew she wanted Seth Tyler. She’d been overwhelmed by his virile appeal then …
… Just as she was now. She shuddered as Seth massaged a particularly sensitive place behind her ear. As she savored the feel of his fingers against her skin, she fleetingly wondered if he was as affected by their close proximity as she was.
Seth was. Embarrassingly so. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so aroused. Well, actually he did remember. It was the last time he’d kissed Penelope.
Mumbling an inane response to Effie, who was excusing herself to go speak with a clerk at the far side of the shop, he released another strap. The stiff leather left an angry red mark across Penelope’s cheek. Disturbed at seeing her beautiful face marred in such a careless fashion, he stroked the newly exposed skin, gently coaxing the blood back to the surface. To his supreme discomfort, she moaned softly in response and briefly pressed her backside against his sex.
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