“So what is your next move?”
Stephen had no real idea. He’d done investigation work for the Crown in the Anglo-Turkish wars eight years ago. But he understood the minds of spies, and he understood their motivation—protect your country. Whereas there could be several people who’d want Carmichael dead and he’d have to start looking into all options, it would be a time-consuming task when he did not have much time or anything to go on.
Besides, he’d failed miserably in trying to find his best friend, Alexander Bracken, the Duke of Bedford, back in 1807, when the Turks held him captive. Thank God he’d been there for him last year to defeat the Turkish pirate Murad who’d captured Alex again.
“Well, who would you start with? The wronged husband, the jealous lover, the man he owed money to, or Rotham?”
Sandringham shook his head. “He was found at the bottom of the cliff. No wounds except from his fall. If it was a jealous husband it would be more likely he’d shoot or slice him, at least pummel him before pushing him off a cliff. That’s why I guess Rotham has grounds to consider Pen. Pushing seems a coward’s way or a woman’s ploy.”
“So scorned lover?”
“Apparently, he had no lover at the time of his death so I cannot think of any other woman who would want him dead.”
The words “except Lady Penelope” hung in the air.
The duke looked at him. “I know what you are thinking but Pen would never have killed Carmichael. She would not be stupid enough to risk her neck over a man like him.”
That, Stephen could well believe. “Well, I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, heading to Essex. I’ll talk to the villagers, staff, et cetera, and see what I can learn.”
Sandringham stood to leave. “They don’t take too kindly to strangers down there. I’m not sure you’ll get much out of them.”
Stephen smiled. “My younger sister, Dorothea, is married to the Earl of Helmstone.” When Sandringham said nothing, he added, “His estate is near Rayleigh in Essex. The local people love him.”
The duke raised his glass. “Here’s to finding answers in Essex. Oh, and by the way, I think Rotham will be busy the next few days. With what I’m not sure, but I’ll think of something.”
Chapter 4
Penelope hated waiting. Worse, she hated waiting for a man. Especially a man who caused her stomach to flutter when she should be wary instead. She was playing a dangerous game.
Lord Clevedon had sent a note this morning requesting her company this afternoon for an excursion. At least it wasn’t a nighttime engagement. What was the worst that could happen in daylight? She chewed her bottom lip. Where on earth would he take her?
More butterflies in her stomach and she hated to admit that it was from excitement as much as from fear.
Just then there was a short knock on the drawing room doors and Digby announced his lordship. Clevedon was striding toward where she stood letting the mantelpiece prop her up as her knees shook. God, the man could make a nun give up the church. Breathe…
The butterflies in her stomach turned to stone. It was impossible that he should look so attractive when it was obvious that he’d just arisen from his bed. His hair was still damp and was beginning to curl around his ears. His face was freshly shaved, with a small nick on his chin, and she could smell his spicy-woodsy scent.
She had taken hours to look this good.
The way he looked at her made her shiver, as if he was imagining her in his bed. Why did that thought sound like a good idea? She’d never enjoyed sexual congress with her husband, but then the man standing in front of her radiated experience and likely expertise. Many women wanted Lord Clevedon in their beds. There must be a reason why.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” she all but stuttered out.
He bowed low. “No need to be so formal, Pen.”
She frowned. “You’ve been talking to my brother. He’s the only one who calls me Pen.”
He reached out and trailed a finger along her cheek, down her throat, and she couldn’t get the words out to stop him. “So beautiful. Your skin is unblemished and as smooth as a rose petal.” He leaned closer and sniffed. “Rose water. Like a rose garden after a summer shower.”
Words failed to come and she stood staring, almost chest to chest, his eyes boring into her as if he was trying to read her mind.
Finally, he drew back and took her hand, linking it through his arm. “Come. I have a pleasant outing planned.”
“Are you going to tell me where we are going? Or is it a surprise?”
He did not hurry them through the house to the waiting carriage outside. “I realize you have no reason to trust me. I’m a man and a virtual stranger.”
“And a rake. Let’s not forget that.”
“So true. It’s nice to be proficient in something.”
Penelope scoffed as he handed her into his carriage. She called over her shoulder, “I don’t believe it is something to be proud of.”
“It will be my pleasure to change your mind.”
He helped her maid into the carriage and as the carriage door closed behind him, there suddenly did not seem to be enough room for the two of them. He sat beside her, his strong thigh pressing against her leg, and she could feel it through the skirts of her gown. She moved and his legs immediately seemed to invade the space she’d just created. Her eyes narrowed. Was he doing it on purpose?
He was looking out the window, not watching her at all.
“So may I know where you are carrying me off to?”
“Lord Elgin has sold the Elgin Marbles to the British Museum. It’s likely they won’t be put on display again for many years. They are exquisite works of art and I thought you might like to have a private viewing.”
A rush of blood swam through her head. The Elgin Marbles. She’d heard so much about them and she must admit she had never visited Burlington House.
“Lord Elgin does not mind?”
Clevedon turned to face her then. “Elgin sold Burlington House to Lord George last year. The house is apparently undergoing renovations but it’s a warm afternoon and most of the statues are in the garden.”
She eyed him for a moment. “You enjoy art. That is obvious. The painting you bid on and now you wish to see the Greek statues. Do you draw or sculpture yourself?” Her gaze found his hands. He had large hands with long, graceful fingers. The little finger of his left hand held a dark sapphire ring, and Clevedon twirled it with his other fingers.
“Sadly, I lack any artistic ability except appreciation.”
She laughed. “Likewise.”
In an instant the wicked rake’s smile was on his lips. “A beauty such as yourself is a work of art.”
A thought entered her head. “Is that why you collect beautiful women? You think of them as works of art.”
He looked at her cautiously. “Perhaps. Everyone gravitates toward beauty. You select silks to wear based on the appeal to your eyes. Your furniture, a man’s horse, et cetera, all selected on how it makes our lives more enjoyable, more pleasant to look at. We humans are a shallow lot. The desire for beauty drives us all.”
“Except money. You are wrong. Money drives men more than beauty.”
“Not me.”
She turned away. “But then you have no need for money.”
As a young girl she’d not been vain exactly, but she understood that she was beautiful. She took after her mother. Her mother had been a ton beauty; how else had she caught the eye of the Duke of Sandringham when she’d been merely a baron’s daughter.
She had once thought beauty guaranteed love. Her father had loved her mother. Yet beauty no more guaranteed love than faith guaranteed there was a heaven.
She’d thought Carmichael loved her because she was beautiful. But the only beauty he’d seen was the beauty of her large dowry. Her love he cast aside as
soon as he’d spoken his vows filled with lies.
“Yet I would give up all my money if it ensured I could see true beauty for the rest of my life.”
His words stunned her. She turned back to look at him. “If beauty is all around us, why would you need to give up your money to see it?”
She had no idea if Clevedon was going to answer her because the carriage slowed and he said, “We are here.”
* * *
—
They started their tour of Burlington House in the extensive gardens; her lady’s maid left to go below stairs. The statues were spread out with cultivated paths winding through the flower beds.
Even she could appreciate the workmanship in the marble. They almost looked alive. The hour-long stroll flew by as he told her the history behind each statue. She was almost sad it came to an end.
“There are more art works in the gallery upstairs.”
Clevedon took her hand as they entered the house. As she removed her bonnet, it took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, so she wasn’t surprised when Clevedon walked into a table, hitting his shin on the table leg. She giggled at the muffled curse he issued. “My apologies.”
Rubbing his leg he led her up some stairs to a dimly lit gallery at the rear of the house. He stepped aside and let her enter in front of him. She moved to the first statue and gasped. Heat invaded her cheeks and she could not bring herself to meet Clevedon’s eyes. She would wager her pearls that he was grinning from ear to ear.
There was a rustling, a stirring of heated air, and then she felt Clevedon move behind her. “Normally, this section is closed to women.” His breath lifted the hairs at the nape of her neck. “Do you know what the couple is doing?”
The intimacy of the act the couple was engaged in, his proximity, and the sensual purr in his voice stirred sensations deep inside. Sensations she had long thought dead.
Long hoped were dead.
Penelope knew the heat in her cheeks matched the heat she could feel radiating from the hard chest at her back. He was crowding her and she didn’t like it. Her body felt as if it wasn’t her own. It was urging her to acknowledge feelings she knew would lead to trouble.
“Is this supposed to make me want to let you into my bed?”
“That was not my intention but if it makes you feel that way, who am I to argue?”
Had he moved closer? “I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to feel, but while I can admire the work that has gone into this and the sculptor’s skill, the only heat I feel is that caused by the fact we’ve been walking in the sun for an hour.”
He gave a deep chuckle. She could almost feel his chest vibrating against her back. “It does not move you at all? Just by looking at this piece of art can you not see the passion the sculptor has portrayed? Look at the woman’s face. The sculptor has captured the ecstasy of the moment perfectly. Doesn’t the image stir you and make you want to experience that climax too?”
She didn’t know what to say. How could she explain to the man behind her, who lived for pleasure, that she had never experienced pleasure with a man? The only man she’d ever lain with was Carmichael, and he had certainly never kissed her in such a private place. And she was certainly pleased he hadn’t.
She looked again. The woman did indeed seem to be enjoying her lover’s attention, but then of course a man had created this statue.
“Perhaps the male sculptor has no idea if women really enjoy this—this—”
“Being pleasured by a man’s mouth? His tongue lapping her woman’s petals. A man sucking on her little hardened nub.” He said the words in her ear, his voice a rough velvet growl.
It was surprising how the idea of such an act could horrify and excite her at the same time.
Clevedon must have noticed the tension invading her shoulders for he took a step back and put a hand on her arm, turning her to face him. A long, tapered finger pushed under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“Have you ever experienced a man pleasuring you with his mouth?”
She tried to look away but his fingers would not let her turn. “I do declare that is an indecent question.”
“So the answer is no.” He stood looking at her for a few moments more and then his eyes widened. “I don’t think you’ve experienced pleasure in a man’s bed at all. For most passionate people, and I can tell you have passion screaming to break free, viewing the statues could not help but cause them to feel some stirrings of arousal.”
If the floor opened up at this moment and she fell below she would not care. The look of pity in his eyes caused her hands to clench by her sides.
Like the annoying man he was, she expected him to gloat, pressing his advantage by perhaps suggesting that she learn what pleasure was with him. Instead, he tucked her arm through his and began to stroll through the rest of the statues.
“Soon I will show you exactly how much a woman enjoys a man’s mouth, but not today.”
She looked back at the statue. Did he mean he would do that to her? With his mouth? Those sensuous lips? A shiver filled with heat enveloped her.
He ran a finger down her cheek. “It’s all a bit clearer. I can certainly understand why you might not be immediately aroused, given your lack of experience with pleasure, but still, you might find them somewhat educational, and as I’m always honest, I hope they make you inquisitive.”
She looked straight ahead but knew his words were true. It did make her inquisitive. So many men and women threw caution to the wind and risked all for moments of pleasure. She had many an opportunity since her unsatisfactory marriage to indulge her curiosity. A scandalous woman was propositioned far too often. But something always held her back.
She didn’t like who she became when she gave in to her desires. She still remembered how blinded and stupid she’d become because of the desire she felt for Carmichael. Her body had betrayed her. It had clouded her mind and stolen her intelligence and led her down a path of no return.
She never ever would let her body lead her astray again. The mind would be in control. Always.
When they got to the end of the gallery they came to a halt before the final statue. The statue was larger than the rest and depicted a naked man, his head bowed, his hands cupping the head of a woman who was on her knees before him. This was the opposite of the first statue they saw. This time it was the woman who was pleasuring the man with her mouth.
“I thought you might be interested in this statue because the woman holds all the power.”
She flashed Clevedon a glance. “How so? She is on her knees before him.”
“Look at him. Look at the detail on his face. Look at the way he looks down at her. He’s worshipping her. At this moment he would do anything for her.”
For one moment it was as if the statue came alive. She looked at the statue’s eyes. How could something made of marble project so much life? A shudder swept her body. She could almost see the man’s muscle-thick thighs trembling beneath the woman’s hands.
She could barely tear her eyes away. She forced herself to look down and a small inscription caught her eye. She wanted to know what it said. Unfortunately, it was in Latin. She pointed to it. “What does it say?”
The arm that linked with hers suddenly went rigid beneath his fingers. She could feel the muscles tighten.
“I do not know.”
She turned to him with a frown on her face. “Oh, I thought you understood Latin. You quoted it to me yesterday.”
“I’m sorry if I misled you. I only know a few phrases. Have you seen enough? Shall we go?”
He lied. And because, as he said he was an honest man, he was not very good at lying, the lie was evident upon his handsome features.
Why would he lie?
She bet he could read Latin as well as he could read English. Just then he made to
move around her and caught his foot on the bottom of the statue, and only her quick thinking saved him from falling flat on his face. It must’ve hurt because she could see him biting back another curse.
She gave a light laugh. “Clumsy. Did you not see the wider base?”
At her words his face paled, and for a split second she saw fear flash in his eyes. That was when it hit her. He hadn’t seen the wider base, just as he had not seen the table when they entered the house.
To test her theory she made to slap the side of his head and he did not react. He didn’t see her hand coming and he did not try and stop her. She halted her hand by his temple and held it there. Clevedon said nothing. Finally, she moved her fingers over his face not touching his skin. Only as her fingers came over his cheek did he finally see. He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to it.
It was her turn to let pity enter her eyes so she looked away. She’d guess the Latin inscription was too small for him to read in this dim light.
She would wager a night in his bed against the fact that Lord Clevedon had something wrong with his eyes.
Was it vainness that stopped him from wearing eyeglasses? Or was this an issue that eyeglasses could not help?
From the fear she’d seen in Clevedon’s eyes she thought it was likely the latter, and she instinctively knew he did not want anyone to know about the problems with his sight.
Life had taught her many things, and one of them was that knowledge was power. Now she really did have something over him. Lord Clevedon had been correct when he said she did not trust anyone. She would speak with Charlotte and try and learn what exactly was wrong with his eyes.
Ignoring the strained silence, Penelope tucked her arm through his and pretended like nothing had happened. “It would seem I was not the woman you should’ve brought here. I’m sure one of your lovers would have appreciated it more.”
Drawn to the Marquess Page 4