by Cheryl Holt
"He's . .. Uncle Matthew," Harry said as though she were the thickest person on earth.
"Of course," she responded, speculating on how Matthew was related to Lucas and wondering when she'd ever get to spend enough time around her wayward betrothed to be able to ask.
"I know how to skip stones," the boy said, careening off on another topic, and she was relieved that she wasn't going to be obliged to define the words that had been used to describe his father.
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“That sounds like a marvelous skill. Would you like to show me?"
He jumped to her side, and with a show of absolute trust slipped his tiny hand into hers and dragged her off toward the woods and the stream that was hidden there. They played next to the water for over an hour, then went back to the garden and played some more. Penny fed him, talked with him, learned his games, taught him new ones, read books, and told stories.
And she came away amazed. Did all children have this much ceaseless energy?
By the time Colette returned from the village with the cook and a basket of fresh vegetables in tow, Penny was exhausted. Her head was throbbing, her back aching, and though she'd never conceived that such a thing could be possible, her ears hurt from listening to the lad's chatter. Who could ever have imagined that a four-year-old would know so many words? Or that he would speak them all without stopping to take a breath?
Penny rested while the other women fed him and put him to bed, although she had to go in to read him a bedtime story, since he insisted he wouldn't go to sleep if she didn't. The tale he chose was from the book where the princess looked like Penny and the angel looked like his mother. After it ended, she sat with him in a contented quiet, while he instantly fell into a peaceful slumber.
In the calm that followed, she was finally able to talk with the woman Lucas had employed to prepare their meals. The woman explained about country hours, how people usually ate early and went to bed early, and how Lucas had promised she could fix supper, then head home in order to feed her own nine children, who were waiting for her to return.
Penny toyed with the idea of asking her to stay late for the first night so that Lucas would have a warm meal to welcome him home when he returned. But she hadn't any idea what hour it might be, and once she'd learned of the cook's family situation, she hadn't the heart to ask her to remain.
She and Colette dined alone, eating a tasty stew and bread
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while chatting about Colette's day and their impressions—of the house, the boy, the village. Colette pleaded fatigue, and Penny ordered her to bed, then relaxed in front of the dying fire and listened to the house settle while she contemplated what to do about heating the food. It was a strange situation not to have a cook available when she wanted one. At her father's house, meals could be had at any hour. If she'd awakened in the middle of the night and demanded a hot snack, a sleepy cook somewhere belowstairs would have lit a stove and hastily complied with her request.
Oh, well, they'd make do, she thought to herself. It had been only one day, and no one had starved yet. Besides, it was all Lucas's fault that he'd missed his evening meal while it was still warm. If he showed up hungry, they'd devise an alternative, and he wouldn't have any reason to complain.
Sighing, she stared into the dim shadows of the quiet room, and she had the most outrageous thought. Perhaps she'd learn about cooking herself. Other women did it. How hard could it be? Cook could show her how to work the stove, how to mix some simple ingredients. Certainly she could master the task if she set her mind to it.
Her life had changed. Not that she was complaining; she wasn't. But it was already painfully obvious that she needed additional and different skills if she was to succeed. Heaven forbid that Lucas perceive her as incompetent or useless. She wanted him to think of her as the kind of woman he could whisk off to America, one who would thrive there despite any circumstance she ended up facing.
More than anything, she wanted Lucas to be proud of her, so she'd do what was necessary to make him happy. If that involved cooking, so be it. She had to admit, there was a definite excitement to be gained by imagining Lucas sitting down at the table to a meal she'd prepared herself. It seemed to be exactly the manner in which newlyweds should pass their time.
She tried to wait up for him, to ask about his day, but dusk turned to night, and one hour passed to another. The clock on
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the mantel chimed eleven, and her eyelids began to droop. When she caught herself nodding off in the rocker before the hearth, she rose and climbed the stairs, taking a quick detour through Lucas's room and touching his belongings one last time before she went to her own room. She undressed in silence and slipped into her nightgown without assistance. The moment her head hit the pillow, she was fast asleep.
Sometime in the wee hours, she thought she heard him come in, but it might have been a dream. In the morning, when she awoke to Harry's bright chatter coming from downstairs, she descended, only to discover that Lucas had come and gone without so much as a hello or a good-bye. He hadn't even left a note, and her heart sank.
******************
Harold Westmoreland was angry, but his fury was not due to the fact that Penny was gone. Neither was it caused by the fact that Pendleton had taken her. Nor by the fact that he was expected to meet Pendleton's blackmail demands in order to effect her return.
No, what really irritated him was that she had been absent from the large house for nearly two days before anyone had missed her. How could such an event have occurred? After questioning all involved, he'd learned that everyone had simply assumed she was keeping to her rooms, as she was wont to do ever since her latest engagement had been announced.
Embarrassingly it had not been family members or servants who found that she had disappeared. The discovery was made by Harold's secretary, who had been efficiently opening and reading the day's correspondence, when he happened across the ransom note from Pendleton. Apparently Pendleton's street urchin had handed it to a coachman who'd been out doing errands, and the servant had dutifully placed it in the stack of mail upon his return.
The secretary's attention to detail was what had brought the debacle to light, and Harold couldn't help wondering: If the
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man hadn't been so meticulous at his duties, how long would Penny's departure have gone unnoticed?
Holding the piece of parchment in his hand, he read it for what must have been the hundredth time, and he still couldn't believe his eyes. It said:
Westmoreland,
I've taken Lady Penelope. Regarding our previous discussion, if you agree to my demands, I will return her immediately, unharmed. If not, I cannot guarantee her safety. The choice is yours. I am waiting for your response.
Lucas Pendleton
The bastard had done it! He'd really and truly done it! Though Pendleton had threatened as much, Harold hadn't wanted to believe that the blackguard would actually make good on his threat to exact revenge against the family.
What kind of man committed such an insane act? And why Penny of all people? She'd done nothing to Pendleton; she had no part in his argument with Harold. It made no sense to attempt vengeance against her at the risk of destroying her reputation— and thus her life—by absconding with her when the disagreement was with her father. If word got out that she'd been kidnapped, her marital chances would be crushed forever. Even Edward wouldn't hare her after this.
Harold was perplexed. How was an English gentleman such as himself supposed to know how to deal with this type of foreign foe, one who expected matters to proceed in such an outrageous, incomprehensible manner?
His attention strayed to the center of the desk, where the other note rested—the one Penny had left in her room. The two pieces of writing were very strange. Pendleton, scoundrel that he was, obviously considered the incident to be an abduction. Penny apparently believed it to be something else entirely.
Wher
e had they met? How had they managed to spend secret
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time together? Did Penny think they were eloping? Would Pendleton have the audacity to marry her? The very idea that she might wed the brash American before Harold could find her set his heart to pounding.
Penny appeared to have gone with Pendleton of her own accord, so she must have been sweet-talked by the handsome rogue. What other explanation could there be? While Penny, no doubt, thought she'd run off for love, Pendleton had lured her away from home with false promises, the kind of which a young woman in Penny's shoes wouldn't have known how to resist.
What a calamity!
He gritted his teeth and glared across the desk. "Where is Pendleton's ship, Mr. Purdy?" he growled. "I told you I wanted it found. Yesterday!"
"We're still looking, Your Grace," the man said, bravely able to still meet his gaze.
Harold couldn't imagine where else Pendleton might have taken her, and he was certain that if they found the ship that had brought him from Virginia, they'd find her as well. And they had to find her! Before anyone learned that she was missing!
Out of patience, he ordered, "Tell me again what you've learned about him."
"He's smart, Your Grace," Purdy began. "Honest, brave, and, unfortunately for us. he instills intense loyalty in others. He's been hanging around the dockside taverns and such for weeks. Clearly everybody knows him or knows of him, but we can't get anyone to talk—not even with the offer of coin. People like him and trust him. They won't give him up."
"Keep trying. And increase the amount of money you're offering as bait."
"Certainly."
"Is Pendleton a violent man?"
"He can be," Purdy said, "but not unless he's provoked."
Harold winced, remembering that his earlier refusal to claim Pendleton's nephew had already been sufficient provocation for the cad to cause mayhem. "But would he hurt a woman?"
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Harold asked fearfully. "More important, would he hurt Penny, do you think?" In Harold's opinion, Pendleton appeared mad, capable of carrying out any crazed deed, but no one else seemed to share the same impression.
"Doesn't seem likely, sir," Purdy said. "He's got a certain way with the ladies, you might say. They all adore him."
That piece of information was more daunting than any fact Purdy might have related. Would Penny fall victim to Pendleton's masculine charms? Would she come back ruined, useless in Harold's financial schemes with Edward, unmarriageable to anyone?
As quickly as the supposition had come, Harold shook it off. He couldn't worry about how all of this might affect his own plans. For a change, Penny had to come first. Her welfare was all that mattered, and surprisingly he felt good about his decision, as though a huge weight had been removed from his shoulders.
He glanced back and forth at the two notes and an idea started to take shape. It was clever and devious, but then, Pendleton was a clever and devious adversary, so Harold needed to think like him in order to succeed. Besides, in the end he wasn't going to give in to blackmail.
Once Pendleton became aware of Harold's resolve, what benefit would there be to keeping Penny in captivity?
From all the reports they'd gathered, Harold was willing to wager all—even his daughter's life and future—that Pendleton would never harm a hair on Penny's pretty head. He might posture and menace, but he wouldn't injure her.
With no extortion gain to be had, what choice would Pendleton have but to return her?
Hastily he penned a response, then handed it to Purdy. "Go to Bond Street and hang about in the crowd. Find that boy, the one who calls himself Paulie. Tell him to deliver this to Pendleton."
"Shall we nab the little blighter, sir?" Purdy asked, looking overly enthusiastic at the prospect. “I haven't had much experi-
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ence with children, but I'm confident that with a minimum of torture, we could quickly learn Pendleton's whereabouts."
"Not just yet," Harold replied.
"Shall we attempt to follow him?"
"If you can, but do not detain him in any fashion. I want Pendleton to get my message. After he does," he said, smiling wickedly, "I wouldn't be surprised if Penny is home in time for tea."
******************
"Read this!" Matthew said, jamming the note he'd brought back from London with all possible speed into Lucas's outstretched hand.
"What is it?" Lucas asked.
"It's Westmoreland's reply. Paulie brought it to me," Matthew said. "You won't believe it!"
They were huddled in the woods behind the house where Penny had lived for the past two days. They'd taken turns spying on her and the property, lest she try to leave or someone attempt to enter. Neither event had occurred.
In the dark, the stub of a short candle gave off a tiny glow, and the two brothers leaned over the piece of parchment in order to see better, as Lucas read the words Matthew already knew by heart.
Pendleton,
Since you have already taken her, she is completely ruined for my purposes. Thus, she no longer has any value to me whatsoever. Do what you will.
Westmoreland, Duke of Roswell
Lucas read the words over and over, then over again. He couldn't believe his eyes.
" 'Do what you will'?" he finally asked rhetorically, completely shocked. " 'Do what you will'? What the hell kind of response is that?"
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"I couldn't make any sense of it myself."
"It took him two days to answer," Lucas began, thinking it had been the longest forty-eight hours of his life, "and he replies with 'do what you will.' Is the man insane?"
"Perhaps," Matthew said with a shrug.
“I mean ... doesn't he care what might happen to her? What we might do to her?''
"Apparently not."
"What kind of man is he? What kind of father?" Lucas shook his head in wonderment and disgust. "How dare he throw his only daughter to an unknown wolf like me? I might do anything to her...."
"But you won't."
"He doesn't know that!"
They glared at each other, confused and disturbed- In all their fevered whisperings, it had never occurred to either of them that Westmoreland would send such a flippant reply. How could they have been so wrong? And what should they do now? They couldn't keep her, but they could never return her to such a despicable knave. Lucas would never condemn her to that horrid fate.
No wonder Westmoreland had been able to seduce Caroline and walk away without a backward glance! No wonder that learning of Harry's existence had had no effect on him at all' The man was heartless as stone and ruthless as a snake. He probably had ice water running in his veins. His own daughter had disappeared, and he remained completely unmoved.
"What should we do now?" Matthew asked. "Raise the stakes? Increase our demands?" Facetiously he added, "Cut off an ear and deliver the bloody appendage?"
"It would serve him right if we did," Lucas said, at a loss. They stood in silence for the longest time. Eventually he murmured, "I'm so exhausted, I can't decide what's best. Let me sleep on it. We'll decide in the morning."
CHAPTER TEN
Lucas took a sheltered back path to the main road in order to ride his horse in the front gate as though he'd just returned from the city. It was late, and as he approached, the house looked dark and quiet, and the occupants abed, although someone had thoughtfully left a lantern burning by the door. He supposed that it must have been Penny. Who else cared enough about him to do such a kind thing? His heart did the funny turn it always did when he recalled her.
Although he'd spent the entire day hidden in the trees, he'd still caught a few glimpses of her. As she'd played with Harry. As she'd trimmed a basket of early flowers meant to lighten the house. As she'd relaxed on a bench, taking the afternoon sun. She was captivating, more exquisite than he remembered in his constant imaginings, making him glad he'd been able to stay away. Nothing good could come fr
om forced proximity, and the longer he could make her believe he was busy in London, the better.
She trusted him and already fancied herself half in love with him. Whenever she gazed at him so sweetly, he could see the deep emotion in her eyes. While she perceived him to be some kind of hero and savior, in reality he was little more than a
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cruel villain using her in the worst way. Of a morning he couldn't even look at himself in the mirror, because he couldn't stand to see the face of the despicable man who stared back.
To her dying day she'd rue the moment their paths had crossed, and he felt wretched and miserable every time he pondered how he was treating her. But it couldn't be helped, and the only way to ease their interactions was to avoid her completely. If he was absent, he didn't have to answer questions or make up stories to placate her, but most of all he wouldn't be tempted into a carnal situation from which he couldn't extricate himself.
The woman called to all his contemptible masculine appetites, and he had no method of fighting his attraction save putting as much distance as possible between her and him. If he could have avoided the house altogether, he would have, but any increase in the length of his absences would have become too suspicious.
There was a small barn across the yard from the house, and he quickly stabled his horse, then headed for the back door. As he advanced, a figure jumped out from behind a bush, causing him to reach for the pistol he always kept at his side. At the very last second he recognized Penny's maid, Colette, and managed to prevent himself from drawing the gun and pointing it at her.
He bit back a groan. She was the last person in the world to whom he wished to speak.
"I've had a long day, Mistress Colette," he said dangerously. "You might want to be more careful about approaching me in the darkness. You never know what I might do."
"Bah," she laughed scornfully, placing her hands on her hips, "as if I would be scared of one such as you."