“I give my word,” he said slowly.
Penelope took a deep breath. Surely Olivia would understand. “The money is for a friend—a friend in desperate trouble. I don’t know exactly why, but Clary has some hold over her. He’s a vile, despicable man, you know, and I would do anything to help her get free of him. The night you intervened so fortuitously, I had gone to try to rescue her from him. I—I believe he meant to compel her to—to—to allow him—” She bit her lip, blushing. Benedict’s eyes darkened and he gave a nod of understanding. “He caught me and refused to let me leave with her.” She stopped, then added, “I was never so happy in all my life to see anyone as I was to see you, when you opened the door. I almost gave a huzzah when you punched him in the stomach.”
“He deserved far worse.”
She had never seen his face so still and dangerous. “I heartily agree,” she said. “If I thought I could get away with it, it would give me great pleasure to shoot him.” Benedict’s mouth curled, but the grim smile didn’t reach his eyes. “My friend came to me in great distress, saying she had discovered a way to end his influence over her. It requires some funds, though, and she didn’t have them. So I offered to give her the money.” She raised her chin. “I don’t care if she ever repays it. Just knowing she’s safe from that horrible man will be payment enough.”
He studied her with a curious expression. “You’re very loyal.”
“Because I gave the money without knowing what she means to do with it?”
Slowly he shook his head. “Because you kept her secret, at great cost to yourself, though you don’t even know what it is. What if you discover it’s something trivial?”
“I’m sure it’s not,” she said at once. “I’ve known her all my life, and she’s not the sort to make a fuss over something minor.”
He inclined his head, ceding the point. “Why wouldn’t you tell your father it was Clary who tried to ruin you?”
“I couldn’t explain about Clary without confessing her part as well. If Papa knew about that, he would forbid me to see her again, and now more than ever she needs a friend.”
“And she has no one else?”
“What does that matter?” Penelope exclaimed in surprise. “Should I leave her to Clary’s mercy, hoping someone else will help her to spare myself the chance of getting in trouble?”
“No, I—” He seemed taken aback by her words. “I mean, has she no one else better able to help? Someone able to challenge or rebuff Clary?”
Penelope heaved a bitter sigh. If only Jamie had been in town and not taken himself off to places unknown. Jamie was the only person who might have come to Olivia’s defense, particularly if Penelope persuaded her to confide in him. But her useless brother had gone off, and not even Papa was certain where he was rusticating at the moment, or so he’d said when she asked him to send her letter to Jamie. “Not at the moment, no. So I did the best I could.”
Benedict looked at her for a long, long moment. “I see.”
It wasn’t quite a declaration of support and understanding, but it also wasn’t a scolding. And now he knew. She was surprised to feel some relief at having told him. “I don’t plan to make a habit of giving away large sums of money to everyone who asks,” she said. “In case you were worried I would beggar us.”
This time his smile looked real, if a little rueful. “I wasn’t.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you for telling me.”
“Yes, well.” She made a show of looking around the room once more, as if the woodwork was of great interest to her. “I don’t want to spend my life arguing with you. That’s not really the sort of marriage I want.”
“Nor I.” He strode across the room, but instead of going out to call Mr. Grace as she expected, he closed the door. “I want to make you happy.”
“I don’t think my father would really kill you if you didn’t, despite what he told you.” He blinked and she waved one hand. “I listened in when you came to sign the marriage contract. I wanted to know what he was saying about me.”
“Ah. He did warn me about that,” said Benedict wryly. “But it isn’t because of your father that I want to make you happy.”
Against her will, something hopeful fluttered in her chest. She tamped it down and forced a disinterested expression to her face. “Then why? Your vision of marriage is quite different from my own, as I recall. You wanted a quiet, sensible wife who wouldn’t torment you, while I . . .”
“Want passion and adventure and love,” he finished for her, when she simply ended with a shrug. “I remember. I thought you were mad, but the strange thing is . . .” He reached out and took her hand. “Now I find myself thinking it’s not such a deranged idea after all.”
Penelope gave him a measured look. “Now you want love and passion and adventure, too?”
That lazy, dangerous smile crept over his face. “I think I’ve found part of it already.”
She knew he was going to kiss her. She tried to tell herself that he meant he’d found passion, which was very different from love, and that she was still offended by his remarks the night before. But somehow she didn’t move away or say something smart as his head dipped toward hers. Unfortunately for her, she liked it when he kissed her. She liked it when he dug his fingers into the back of her neck. She liked it when he nudged her jaw open so he could kiss her deeply. She liked it when his arm went around her and pulled her onto her toes, forcing her to cling to his shoulders and neck for balance as he sucked hungrily at her tongue, and she absolutely loved it when she gently bit his lower lip and he growled in approval.
“Do you truly like this house?” he whispered against her lips.
“Hmm?”
“Can you imagine making love in this room?” His hands went down her back to cup her backside. He pulled her against him, and Penelope gulped back a moan at the feel of him growing harder against her stomach.
“Right now?” She’d never seen another man’s erection, but she was continually impressed by his. “There’s no furniture . . .”
He cupped one hand over her breast, raking his thumbnail over her nipple. “I didn’t mean to—right now—but now that you mention it . . . Lack of furniture is no obstacle . . .”
“Really,” she said, intrigued. “On the floor?”
“Against the wall.” His voice had gone guttural. “I’ll show you—” The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house made them both jump. Penelope blushed, then choked on a giggle, and something like shock flashed over Benedict’s face before his expression eased.
“Mr. Grace will be wondering what we’re doing.”
“No doubt.” He kissed her again, lightly this time. “And for the future . . . If you ever wanted something like a new bonnet or gown, seducing me on the sofa would be an excellent way to ask.”
Slowly Penelope smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do that.” Her husband grinned. “Shall we take the house?”
“I think we must.” She smoothed his cravat where it had gone awry. “So you can show me about the wall.”
Benedict’s mood was irrationally buoyed by Penelope’s confession, to say nothing of the kiss that followed. For a woman who was remarkably open and free about expressing her thoughts and feelings, she’d kept a friend’s secret even when it damaged her own reputation. He had a guess who the friend was. Penelope had introduced him to someone once. Little about the woman herself remained in his brain, because he’d been so focused on Penelope, but after a while he decided her name might be Townsend, or Thompson, or something that began with T.
Still, it sounded like a significant entanglement this woman had with Lord Clary, and for a few minutes Benedict debated calling on Clary to remind him to stay far away from his wife. He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She was sitting next to him in the carriage, her brow clear, watching out the window with idle interest. I almost gave a hu
zzah when you punched him, she’d said. He wished he’d known that at the time. Not only would he have relished punching Clary a few more times, apparently it would have won Penelope’s esteem earlier.
On impulse he laid his hand over hers and entwined their fingers. She went abruptly still, then relaxed. A hesitant smile curved her mouth, and she gave his fingers a little squeeze. He leaned forward and thumped on the carriage roof. “Stop here,” he told the driver.
“Is there another house to view?” Penelope asked as he helped her out.
“Of a sort. My sister’s house is there.”
She shielded her eyes with one hand and peered in the direction he indicated. “Where?”
“On the other side of Green Park.” He took her hand in his. “Care for a stroll?”
“Will she be expecting us?” She hung back.
“I think I can visit my own sister without advance warning.” He grinned. “If we’re not welcome, she’ll have no trouble closing the door in my face.” Still Penelope looked doubtful, and he remembered her muttered remark about his family from the previous night. “She’ll be delighted to see you, even if not me. Samantha will be so pleased to be your sister. She didn’t come to the wedding because she and Gray—her husband—were out of town for a few days. It will be years before she forgives me for marrying while she was away.”
Finally she began walking, though slowly. “I hope you’re right.”
“I know Samantha. I’m right.” He tugged her hand around his arm. Penelope walked beside him in silence, but he could tell from her expression that she was thinking hard about something. Not only did she grow quiet when she did that, but her gaze grew focused and dark. He wondered what it was, and prayed she would wait to ask what he didn’t want to discuss: his family.
“Did your father really beat her for her part in stealing the money?” she asked abruptly.
Benedict stiffened. “No.”
“You said he would.”
He thought back to that night when Penelope had sent him an almost taunting note, daring him to come look for four thousand guineas that Sebastian Vane had been accused of stealing from Stratford Court some seven years previously. By then they both knew that Samantha had actually stolen the money in a foolish attempt to help Sebastian, but Penelope wasn’t content with the truth; she wanted to find the money, and she’d offered him a bribe to come help search for it. Benedict had told himself he went to help because he really wanted the bribe, namely the location of the long-lost grotto of Hart House, which he had spent his childhood seeking. It allowed him to pretend it wasn’t guilt that sent him out into the woods, just as he told himself he helped break into a mausoleum as part of the search because Samantha was determined to confess to their father, and Benedict hoped that recovering the money would temper the earl’s fury. Instead . . . He sighed. “I feared he might. He was furiously angry when she told him.”
“Did he beat you?”
“No.”
She glanced at him. “Your father’s not a very kind man, is he?”
“No,” he agreed shortly.
“What did he do?” she asked, her voice very carefully neutral. He could tell now when she wasn’t being completely herself. “You tried to prevent Samantha from telling me and Abby the truth. You said you expected to be horsewhipped for helping us. You—”
“I didn’t know exactly what Samantha would confess,” he interrupted. “I didn’t know it was about the money. I thought—I feared she had planned to elope with Sebastian. If our father had heard that confession, I shudder to think what he would have done to her.” Penelope gave him a sideways look, as if wondering whether he was exaggerating or not, and Benedict said a silent curse. There was no way to put it off. “You suspect me of being a terrible friend, not without cause. You believe I turned my back on Sebastian for years, and you’re right. But the more complete truth is that my father—” He stopped, at a loss to explain something he’d never before put into words.
“I know he despises Sebastian,” Penelope said. “That much was clear.”
He smiled grimly. “He does. He ignored our friendship when we were young—I suppose it was too trivial for him to worry about—but when Mr. Vane went mad, my father lost all tolerance for the Vanes. Madness taints the blood, therefore the son must be avoided as well. Sebastian had gone into the army by then. When old Mr. Vane came around begging to sell his lands, my father was only too happy to relieve him of the property.”
“Begging?” she repeated, her voice rising.
He gave a brusque nod. “For a pittance. Mr. Vane was mad, Penelope. He looked like a wild man and spoke to people who weren’t there. He pleaded with my father to take the land.”
“Who could take advantage of a man in such a state?”
“A man who has no pity for others.” He gave her a very serious look of warning. “I mean that. Stratford has none.”
She frowned. “But why did you defend him when Sebastian appealed to you for help?”
This, he realized, was the real sticking point for her. A woman who went to a friend’s aid and kept her secret, even when it rebounded disastrously on her, would not understand why he’d acted that way. “If I had taken Sebastian’s side, what could I have achieved? Protesting to my father would not have changed his mind, and would only have made him angry with me. On the other hand, agreeing with Sebastian would only have encouraged him to continue asking, which I knew would be pointless. You have to understand,” he said, seeing her frown deepen, “Sebastian didn’t make the most diplomatic approach. He arrived in a state of outrage, and it only got worse. There is one way to handle my father, and arguing anything isn’t part of it.”
“But you could have let Sebastian know you disagreed!” she exclaimed. “You could have explained to him that you knew he was right, but his cause was hopeless . . .”
Benedict tried not to feel a surge of resentment. Why did she ask if she didn’t want to know the truth? But perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; how could Penelope understand what Stratford was like? Her father was of a far different breed. Thomas Weston had given in when Abigail wanted to marry the penniless son of a madman. Neither of Benedict’s sisters would have dared broach such an unthinkable request with the earl. Indeed, Elizabeth’s first choice of husband had been summarily rejected because he was merely a gentleman, even though one of excellent family and handsome fortune. She’d pleaded with Stratford to reconsider, gently, nervously, and been confined to her room with only bread and water for a week. Benedict remembered it well, for he’d been whipped for sneaking her a pair of oranges.
This was why he never told anyone about his family. No one else quite understood, or even knew, the firmness of the earl’s resolve or the quickness of his temper. And really, what did it matter to Penelope? Stratford had banished him for marrying a woman of common origins; there was no reason to bring the two of them together. It wouldn’t change Stratford’s mind—nothing did—and Benedict’s lot was cast with his wife. To his mind, it was better for everyone if Penelope and Stratford never met.
“Perhaps I could have,” he said at last, answering her demand about Sebastian. “Perhaps I should have. But I didn’t, and I can’t change it now.”
“Weren’t you sorry at the time? He was your friend,” she went on in growing agitation. “When he needed you to support him, you told him his father was a madman and deserved what he got. You abandoned him!”
For some reason that snapped his temper. Sebastian Vane has his own wife to stand up for him; why must Benedict’s wife do the same? “I? He abandoned me first,” he retorted. “He bought a commission and rode off with his regiment. What was I to do? Does nothing change in three years? He was not the same when he returned home, and neither was I. He never asked for my help, before he came to Stratford Court. I would have told him not to come, but once he had done it and enraged my father, yes, I knew he had wrough
t his own fate. It might—might—have been possible to wrest the land back from my father, over time, with the right persuasion, but after the blazing row they had . . .” He shook his head. “My father wouldn’t sell it back to him now for all the paintings in Rome. Yes, I thought it was kinder not to leave Sebastian any hope of regaining that land, because he has none.”
“But he told people Sebastian was a thief,” she said, although with less indignation than before. “And you didn’t say a word of protest . . .”
“Who would have believed me?” She had let go of his arm some time ago. Now Benedict backed away from her and threw out his arms wide. “If I had gone around Richmond telling people Sebastian was innocent, it would have been the same as calling my father a liar—and I had no proof of anything, mind. I would have been caned within an inch of my life for such disrespect. Until a few weeks ago, I had no idea where the money was. For all I knew, Sebastian did take it. He threatened something very like that, you know; I heard with my own ears. He shouted that ‘Stratford would pay’ for swindling his father out of that land. He might as well have slapped a glove in my father’s face and called him out, Penelope.”
Her eyes were perfectly round. For once it seemed she had nothing to say. He sighed and dropped his arms. “I don’t mean to shout at you,” he said wearily. “You don’t know my father. And to be honest, I hope you never do.” Still she stared at him, not cowed but decidedly taken aback. He looked over his shoulder. The handsome little house Gray had bought for his sister was visible across the street. “Here is Samantha’s house. Let’s go in and see one decent member of my family.”
Chapter 18
Penelope really didn’t want to pay a call after that conversation, but Benedict seemed determined. He rapped the knocker and stepped back to her side. As he did so, everything about him changed. She noticed it because she was still staring at him in confused anger and hurt. His shoulders went back, and his spine straightened. All hint of tension and displeasure dropped away, and he looked as serene and composed as the King out taking a walk.
Love in the Time of Scandal Page 20