Imagine. John Breckenridge. The most jaded man in all Britain struck dumb and speechless by the sight of a woman.
Utterly ridiculous.
He knew better. Though she was without doubt the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—not a classic beauty by any stretch, she had far too many freckles for that, but her coloring radiated warmth.
John cocked his head, contemplating. Was her reluctance to glance up at him genuine shyness? Or practiced cunning meant to lure men in? Likely the later.
As if on cue Lady Penelope lifted her gaze to his and—
Dear God.
John nearly stumbled back a step.
Those eyes…
So vibrant and green. Haunting. Achingly lovely. With the thickest fringe of red lashes. Straight from a dream, to be true. She had the irresistible, bewitching beauty that smart men ran from and all other fools fell into. Naught but trouble stemmed from a woman this beautiful.
“I am honored by your visit, my lord,” she murmured, her voice soft and without any hint of coyness. She sounded shy. Shy and genuine. And warm.
His fickle heart dropped a fraction. If he was interested in finding a wife—which he most definitely was not—Lady Penelope was well beyond his grasp. This was the sort of girl who set her cap to marry a duke, and succeeded. Before he could dwell on the twinge of disappointment at the back of his mind, heated footfalls from the corridor drew his attention.
“Laura?” A man’s voice called from further down the hall. “Have you seen my letter opener?”
John turned to find George Harris, Earl of Landon, whisking into the room from the front hall, a packet of correspondence clutched in his hand. A pair of spectacles slipped studiously down his long nose while his gray brow furrowed as though deeply concerned about something.
Lady Landon crossed to her husband. “The one with an elephant carved into the handle?”
“I can’t seem to find it anywhere,” he mumbled distractedly, staring down at the letters in his hand. “Would have sworn I left it on my desk.”
“I’ll help you look. Perhaps it is on the bookshelf.” Lady Landon spared Penelope and John a quick, scheming glance. “Come along, Marie.” The countess motioned for her daughter to follow. “Why don’t you ask Mrs. Hall to bring tea and refreshments to Penelope and our guest?”
“Of course, Mama.”
The earl glanced up abruptly as though suddenly aware of John’s presence. A kind smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Breckenridge. So good to see you in London.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Still in the army, lad?”
“I am, Sir.”
“That’s excellent!” He strode forward to pump John’s hand. “Served four years myself.”
John relaxed a fraction. The earl could have made Napoleon comfortable in a room sporting a guillotine. “With my uncle if memory serves.”
“Yes. Yes.” Lord Landon chuckled. “The stories I could tell you…” He shook his head, a wistful gleam lighting his eye. “My wife and I are hosting a dinner party tonight, you simply must stop by.”
“Really, Sir, I must decl—”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” he insisted. Lord Landon flicked a glance toward Penelope and then flashed John a conspiratorial wink. “My niece will be in attendance. I’ll see to it the two of you are paired for cards.”
John cleared his throat, unsure how to respond. A variable wake of panic welled beneath his feet. So much for fifteen minutes.
Lord Landon grinned. “So we’ll see you at eight o’clock.”
“I—er…”
“Uncle, that is quite enough.” Penelope strode forward, shooing her uncle from the room. “Lord John likely has other plans and will be unable to attend tonight.”
There, she’d offered him the perfect out, and yet… John hesitated. Perhaps attending the party this evening would be enough to warrant him the urn. One miserably long day of courting as opposed to a week’s worth of short visits. The prospect had merit. He faced Lord Landon. “I will do my best to attend this evening.”
“Very good. We shall do some catching up as well.”
“Uncle,” Penelope said in a soft but firm tone. “Your letter opener?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” He shoved the spectacles back up his nose and turned on a heel. “Laura! Have you found it yet?” The earl left the room, muttering on about his letter opener, and leaving John alone with Penelope.
John glanced up at her, at a total loss for words. It had been so blasted long since he’d paid court to a pretty girl he’d entirely forgotten how to go about it.
Penelope met his gaze and offered a hesitant smile. “Would you care to sit, my lord?” She gestured invitingly to the blue upholstered loveseat.
He cleared his throat. Oh, dear God those eyes. He glanced between the sofa and the door. Only thirteen minutes left.
“Lord John?” she prompted when he did not readily respond.
“Yes?” He snapped his attention back to her. “Oh, of course.” He crossed to the loveseat. Began to sit and then thought better of it. “This is for you,” he said gruffly, thrusting the silver package into her hands.
She blushed. “H-how very kind, my lord.” She perched neatly on the chair opposite him, and slid a thumb beneath the paper edge. She sucked that delectable bottom lip between her teeth as though nervous. John knew the immediate impulse to suck her lips between his own teeth. Would those sinfully plump lips taste as sweet as they looked?
Rather suddenly the rattle of paper ceased. “Lord John?” Penelope asked in a rush, disrupting the progression of his fantasy about her mouth… stroking his tongue along the crease and into that little corner swirl… “Might I trouble you with…” She dragged that lip into her mouth again, worrying it between her teeth. She shook her head. “Never mind.”
He pulled his gaze from her mouth to her eyes and quirked a questioning brow. Really he had no idea what to make of her behavior. The gift rested in her lap only half unwrapped. “Might you trouble me with a question?” he finished for her. “Of course.”
She drew a breath and hesitated before releasing it slowly. “Well,” she began, her attention shifting back to the paper surrounding the box, “it’s just that—Oh!” A little cry of delight escaped her as she finally opened the box. “It’s an Easter lily.” Her eyes lifted to his and genuine happiness sparkled within. “How beautiful and so very thoughtful.”
He shrugged. “Roses are overdone.”
Her gaze slid to a huge floral display on a table beside the window. “I couldn’t agree more.” A grin teased the tempting swirls of her lips and she leaned forward, her manner conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling. A fat curl slipped over her shoulder. “I was born on Easter Sunday, you know.” Her voice dropped, low and husky, as though disclosing a secret meant only for him. He found himself leaning in to hear it. “My mother brought me an Easter lily every year for my birthday.” A hint of moisture misted in the lower rim of her eyes.
Oh, Jesus. John shifted uncomfortably. Don’t cry.
Fortunately she blinked the wetness away as quickly as it came, and brushed her fingers over the lily’s white petals. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
John gulped. Heaven help him, but as he gazed into her smiling face, the satisfying sense he’d done something truly right and good stirred within him. Hell, he was beginning to feel warm and fuzzy in places he’d sworn never to feel warm and fuzzy in again.
She sat back suddenly, her expression sobering slightly. “Forgive me if my question is overly frank,” she began.
“I always appreciate frankness.”
“Why did you come to call on me today? Unless I’m mistaken, we’ve never met before last night.”
John leaned forward, holding her eyes with a steadfast gaze. “Let’s just say I felt… compelled.”
Six
“Kate! Marie!” Penelope exploded into their private sitting room after bidding her unexpected caller fare
well. “This is a disaster. Lord John said he was compelled to call on me. Compelled.”
“So?” the sisters asked in tandem, staring up at her with matching owlish eyes.
“Don’t you see? The love potion worked.”
Kate dropped her book and stood, clasping her hands in excitement. “Oh, that’s wonderful.”
“No,” Penelope cried in exasperation. “It is not wonderful at all. It’s awful.” She flopped into a chair, resting her head in her palm.
“Come now, Penny. It isn’t that bad,” Marie placated. “He is very handsome and a war hero I’m told.”
Kate all but squealed with excitement. “Another officer?”
“A major I think.”
“Just imagine,” Kate gushed, “he’ll be married in his uniform. Oh, Penelope, what a sight it will be.”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “Married? Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
Marie and Kate shared one of their annoying looks before turning back to Penelope. “We thought you wanted to get married.”
“Of course I want to get married, but not like this. And not to him. He is Colton’s brother for Heaven’s sake.” Penelope sighed, shoving away the disappointment tugging at her heartstrings. For just a moment in the parlor she’d connected with John. She’d looked down at the Easter lily and then up into his eyes. A little spark had lit between them, leaping from his deep brown eyes and warming her from the inside out. For the space of a heartbeat she’d completely forgotten her heartbreak, believed he was an erstwhile suitor bringing her a truly thoughtful gift. Until she’d remembered the Gypsy potion and asked after his motives. She drew a slow breath before continuing. “I want to marry a man who chooses to marry me, not one induced to do so from a magic spell.”
“Then why did you use the potion at all?” Kate sat beside her.
“Because… because…” Penelope shrugged, defeated. “I never thought it would work.” She glanced up at her cousins. “But now we must set this to rights. Where is Corinne?”
Marie pursed her lips for a long moment as though contemplating their options or mayhap even regretful of the turn of events. “She is helping Mrs. Hargrave polish silver. I’ll fetch her.”
Within ten minutes their maid was fully aware of Penelope’s situation.
“How can we reverse the potion?”
Corrine slumped back in the chair, staring up at Penelope with wide, unblinking eyes. “I don’t know how to undo the potion, milady. No one has ever asked me that before, and to be perfectly honest…” Her gaze shifted from Penelope to Marie and Kate. “I never believed it would work.”
Penelope crossed her arms, beating back the frustration welling up inside her. What a ridiculous situation. “But it did work, Corinne, and now we must find a way to undo it. This afternoon you will accompany Lady Katherine to the lending library to search out a book which might have an antidote. Marie and I will search through Uncle’s collection of strange books here.”
The three other women nodded in agreement.
“Lord John will be attending the card party this evening. We must have a solution by the time he arrives.”
* * *
Snowflakes drifted lazily around the ornate sign hanging outside Colton’s favorite club, Townsend’s. John leaned against a lamppost, shoulders hunched against the cold, hat sitting low over his eyes. He’d learned of his brother’s usual lunch habits and headed for the club immediately after leaving Lady Penelope.
Of course that was a good hour ago, and the February air was damn cold. Puffs of misty breath rolled out before him. About now he was sorely missing the Landon’s warm parlor and Penelope’s equally warm smile. Hell, even the girl’s hair looked warm. As did her freckles. A man could wrap himself up in a woman like that for hours.
The whitewashed door swung open, jarring John’s trail of thought. Colton and a handful of his cronies ambled out, laughing heartily.
“Finally,” John muttered, dragging his hat even further down his brow. He was bound and determined to glean some answers in regard to Colton’s odd behavior. It wouldn’t do for his brother to spot him now.
As soon as Colton and his friends disappeared around the corner, John cut a swift path across the snow littered street and strode up the freshly shoveled steps of Townsend’s. He’d been out of the London scene for some time, but certain things never changed. The gossips for one. John entered the establishment and looked immediately to the back of the main dining room.
He almost smiled. Almost. Just as he’d suspected, three of the ton’s most notorious gentleman occupied a table beside the decorative stone hearth. If anyone knew what trouble Colton had landed himself in it would be these three—Christian Poltier, Lord Jackson Dawes, and Thomas Roust.
“Lord John.” The door attendant whipped officiously to his side. “Might I interest you in—”
“No,” John interrupted, intent on his current mission. Without another word, John handed the attendant his coat and hat, and moved toward the trio at the back of the room.
A thin haze of cigar smoke hung above the table as the men roared over some joke or another.
Dawes’s shrewd eyes snapped up, instantly slicing through John. He grinned though the gesture was far more calculating than friendly. “John Breckenridge! By damn. Who’d have thought to see you in London?”
Roust and Poltier swiveled instantly. “By God man. It’s been an age.”
John simply nodded in greeting, taking the fourth chair at the table. He waved away a proffered cheroot, but accepted a sniffer of brandy, dragging a slow assessing gaze around the table. Insubstantial fops the lot of them. Naught but insecure men with nothing better to do than drink and bully those around them.
Both Roust and Poltier shied from John’s direct gaze. Dawes on the other hand stared straight through John. “Breckenridge,” he drawled, leaning forward, squinty eyes fixed on John’s. “What brings you in? Why I haven’t seen you here since…”
John narrowed his gaze dangerously.
Dawes smirked. “Never mind. Your wife is old news.”
John didn’t immediately reply. With effort, he quashed the acid reply sitting on his tongue, and forced himself to take a lazy sip of brandy.
He gazed squarely into Dawes’s cruel blue eyes. “I understand my brother is in some trouble.” John cut straight to the point.
“Trouble?” Dawes leaned back, dropping the end of his cigar in his brandy. A long curl of smoke swirled out of the glass. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
Roust snickered. “Ah, yes. Congratulations indeed. Miss Featherton is exceedingly rich, and I understand His Grace had an exceptionally bad run at the tables of late. Some rather large markers were called in.”
John gulped. Colton had never wanted for funds. Dear God, how much had his brother lost? It must be an obscene amount.
“And then there was that scene with Mr. Featherton,” Roust added.
“Michael Featherton?” John pressed. “Whose daughter Colton is to marry?”
Dawes lit a fresh cigar, slowly puffing. John ground a fist into his thigh, fighting to hold his temper in check. Finally the other man leaned back, making eye contact with John. “The two of them made one hell of a scene here a few weeks back.” He shrugged. “We never did catch wind of the specifics, but two days later an engagement was announced. A few are speculating a child may be in your brother’s very near future.”
“Jesus,” John cursed under his breath. “Colt, what trouble have you gotten into this time?”
* * *
“Penny!” Marie burst through the bedroom door in full evening attire, breathless and cheeks high with color. “Lord John has just arrived.”
Penelope dropped the lid on her jewelry box, quashing a rush of panic. “But it’s not yet eight o’clock.” Leave it to a military man to arrive fashionably early instead of late. She smoothed her hands along her skirt of ice blue silk. “Has Corrine finished?”
“Almost. She will ge
t the antidote to us just as soon as it’s finished.”
“Good.” Penelope gave a quick nod. Now that the party had arrived, the nerves bandying about in her stomach raged to a state of full blown war.
“Come quickly.” Marie waved her toward the hall. “Mama sent me to fetch you.”
Penelope hesitated, casting a searching glance about the room. “Have you borrowed my sapphire earbobs?”
Marie blinked in surprise. “No.”
“Strange…” Penelope murmured. “I would have sworn I saw them in my drawer just yesterday, but I can’t find them anywhere.”
“We’ll ask Kate and Mama if they’ve seen them,” Marie suggested, grabbing Penelope’s arm and dragging her into the hall. “But right now you need to get downstairs to avert further disaster.”
Penelope groaned. “Further disaster?”
“Yes. Colonel Holbrook is to attend and Mama has it in her head to put you at a card table with him and Lord John.”
“Heaven help us.” She’d have to glean a quick moment alone with her aunt before the party began.
That conversation would have to wait, however, for as she and Marie rounded the curve on the main staircase, Penelope caught sight of Lord John.
Her stomach fluttered.
Surprised, Penelope slowed her steps a bit, drawing out her descent and buying an extra second to take his measure. Dressed once again to the last stitch in black, Lord John stood apart from the other guests, serious and brooding, looking more like a medieval conqueror than a gentleman attending a London card party. His simple evening-attire could not mask the hard angles of his body, and he exuded a gruff, no-nonsense air. She had no doubt that in full military regalia he’d be absolutely fierce. But there was more beneath his solemn façade and menacing figure. Penelope had caught glimpse of it earlier that afternoon. She suspected his lordship to be a bit sad.
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