Passion and Pretense

by Susan Gee Heino

  “Perhaps we should see how things go before we agree to terms,” he suggested.

  She was hesitant in her answer. “Er, but what if I cannot afford it?”

  “Rest assured, Miss Rastmoor. Before this is done, I will require payment. But I promise, it will be something you already possess. In abundance.”

  Obviously she was not ignorant of his meaning. He would give her credit for that; she was not stupid. But she cleared her throat, brought her gaze up to meet his, and forced a convincing smile.

  “So how do we proceed, then?” she asked. “A handshake between conspirators?”

  “A handshake? No, my dear, that is for honest gentlemen. Our agreement is something altogether different.”

  As if he would settle for a handshake when he had the tasty Miss Rastmoor close at hand. He moved quickly before she could refuse, and once again his lips took ownership of hers. He expected resistance, now that she’d accomplished her business, but found none. Instead she was as pliant and accommodating as he could have hoped for. Indeed, as he pressed his hand into the small of her back and fairly crushed her to him, she gave a slight moan that was nothing short of raw desire. The sound of it reverberated in his core, and he felt an answering passion rise up within him.

  No, a handshake would never do for his dealings with Miss Rastmoor. This kiss was not nearly enough, either. But it would have to suffice for now.

  He heard the voices from the doorway. Someone was coming, calling for her. They would be discovered this way if he did not gain some control over himself very, very soon.

  She gave a little murmur of pain when he pushed himself away from her. Her eyes grew huge when she, too, heard the voices. He read the myriad questions that raced through her mind.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” he said quickly.

  He spared just one heartbeat to lay two fingers on her lips. She stared at him without moving, but he knew exactly what she was thinking. He could see it plainly, written in fear on her face. If they had been left undisturbed, she would have been helpless to resist him. The idea both frightened and thrilled her.

  That, he knew, would be her downfall. With one last glance for good measure, he ducked into the shadows. Oh yes, he’d require payment from Miss Rastmoor, that much was certain. The only question was, would he be satisfied with the scarab, or would he demand the lovely body it hung on, as well?

  “PENELOPE? ARE YOU OUT HERE?”

  It was Maria’s voice. And it was louder than needed. She was calling from the doorway; Penelope knew a warning when she heard it. She tried desperately to collect her composure as Lord Harry disappeared into the darkness of the garden behind her.

  Her lips still burned from his touch. Dear heavens, but the rest of her burned, as well. What on earth had that man done to her? Worse, would she be able to undo it quickly enough that her mother might not notice?

  “Penelope!” the woman nearly shrieked, pushing past Maria in the doorway and scurrying out into the garden. “Who was that? Who was with you?”

  “What? Who was what, Mamma?” Penelope asked, not having to work very hard to sound surprised and a bit confused.

  “Your mother was worried when we could not find you,” Maria said, trailing behind the fuming matron and scowling at Penelope. “I suppose you were weary from the crush inside and needed fresh air.”

  “Er, yes,” Penelope said, recognizing a helpful suggestion when it came her way. “I needed some air.”

  “I don’t see how you could get very much of it with that man draped all over you,” Mamma said. “Who was he, Penelope?”

  “A man? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mamma.”

  “I saw him, Penelope. He was right here just before we came out.”

  Mamma turned to Maria for corroboration, but thankfully the girl simply shrugged and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see anyone, Lady Rastmoor.”

  Indeed, Penelope owed her friend for that.

  Mamma stalked around the garden, but the place was dark and there were plantings everywhere. Lord Harry was well gone by now, thankfully. Claiming an engagement with a man was one thing; being caught making love to him in a darkened garden was quite another!

  “Well, he was here,” her mother said when it was clear there’d be no finding him now. “You have a lot to answer for, Penelope. Come along. I believe our evening is over.”

  They followed Mamma back into the glowing din of the ballroom. Penelope had to admit, she was not looking forward to whatever inquisition Mamma would have planned for her. No doubt she’d tell Anthony all about her suspicions, as well. Drat. She’d best come up with some plausible story right away.

  Fortunately, she was given a slight reprieve. Their exit from the ball—and the subsequent question-filled carriage ride home—was delayed. A group of nattering matrons beset Mamma as they made their way through the room, and a boisterous Mrs. Babb-Winkle went on quite exuberantly to ask Mamma’s opinion of the new hat Lady Castlethwait had been seen wearing in the park this week. Well, of course the hat had been an absolute horror, so Mamma was forced to give a few words on the topic.

  “Thank you,” Penelope whispered to her friend as they waited quietly for the hat conversation to exhaust itself.

  Maria frowned. “I cannot believe you went out there!”

  “Well, however else was I to meet him?”

  “And did you?”

  “I did. We had quite a pleasant, er, conversation.”

  “Yes, I can see by the way your hair is mussed and your gown all askew. Very pleasant conversation indeed.”

  Good heavens, Maria was right! Penelope hadn’t noticed what a mess she was. Hoping not to draw attention, she tugged at her clothes and patted her hair. My, but what that man could accomplish in so little time…

  “So,” Maria asked through a false smile, “are you completely ruined now or just slightly tarnished?”

  Penelope opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it. In truth, she really did not know the answer to that.

  “Ask me again in a day or two.”

  Maria rolled her eyes and uttered something that sounded rather like a prayer. How odd. She’d never known her friend to be particularly religious.

  Chapter Three

  Well, this would be an uncomfortable meeting. Harris stood outside the large, fashionable Mayfair home of Lord Rastmoor and wondered why his feet refused to move. Not one step. It was as if walking up to that door and announcing his presence was physically impossible for him.

  The morning was pleasant, as far as London mornings went in May, yet Harris felt a distinctly cold chill in his bones. Particularly in his feet. He tried to swallow but his mouth went dry.

  Good God, but he never expected an offer of marriage would be this difficult. Hell, especially considering he had no intention of actually ending up married. He hoped that chit appreciated what he was doing for her.

  It had been obvious by her actions—or perhaps he meant reactions—last night that getting what he wanted—er, needed—from her would hardly take the effort of playing along with her ridiculous false engagement. However, upon reflection this morning, he’d decided to humor her. The end result would be the same, but paying this particular call today would simply make things neater. Perhaps in the end it might even serve to protect her. Somewhat.

  Very well. He’d best get this over with. He’d faced sandstorms, grave robbers, curses, kidnappers, and his hateful uncle over the years. Surely one protective brother couldn’t be as bad as all that.

  The butler answered the door almost immediately. Perhaps the servants had taken note of him during the fifteen minutes it had cost him to dredge up the courage to knock. Damn, but this was distasteful.

  “Lord Harris Chesterton here to see Lord Rastmoor,” he announced.

  The butler seemed unimpressed, but ushered him in. He was left cooling his heels in a rather comfortable drawing room, but not for long. Rastmoor appeared quickly, wearing a slightly confu
sed smile.

  “Chesterton,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

  Harris took his hand. So far, so good. “Indeed. Since before your marriage, I believe. Er, congrats on that, by the way.”

  “Thank you. Have you breakfasted yet? Care for anything?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Very well, then. What can I do for you?”

  Rastmoor offered a chair, so Harris took that, as well. He probably ought to be sitting for this. They both should. It would make things harder for Rastmoor to get his hands on a weapon before Harris got back out to the front door. If things should come to that, of course. Not that he expected they should. He hadn’t taken that many liberties with Miss Rastmoor last night, after all. Still, there was that little matter of his lack of finances and his sad reputation…

  “Uh, Rastmoor… I know we haven’t been much in company of late, but you know I’ve always considered you a decent fellow… my friend, even.”

  Rastmoor seemed to get the idea this was not a simple invitation to the races. “That’s good news, Chesterton. But what brings you here today?”

  “I come about… well… that is…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about your sister, Rastmoor.”

  There. He’d spit it out. Now he waited for the explosion.

  “Oh no,” Rastmoor said, but it wasn’t much of an explosion. “What did she do now? If it’s cost you anything, Chesterton, I’ll make remuneration, of course.”

  “Er, what?”

  “Did she break something? Insult someone? Steal anything? Go ahead, and don’t spare the details.”

  This was not exactly the response he’d prepared for. Harris cleared his throat. “No, er, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Oh? Then what did she do?”

  “Actually, well… she agreed to marry me.”

  Ah, now things seemed to be going a bit more predictably. Rastmoor’s face went blank. Then his eyes grew large. Then his hands clenched and his knuckles went white. Then he rose to his feet. Harris reminded himself he truly had no reason to fear this man. He was quite capable of defending himself, should the need arise.

  At last Rastmoor lunged at him. But instead of the blow Harris half expected to receive, the man grasped him by the hand and pulled him up into a back-slapping embrace. Indeed, this was going far better than he’d anticipated.

  “By God, how did you do it, man?” Rastmoor asked when he stepped back and eyed Harris with something akin to glowing admiration.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How did you get her to agree? She did agree to the marriage part, right? This isn’t just another engagement, is it?”

  “Another?”

  “Three of them, Chesterton! Three times I’ve had some poor cove come here and announce her acceptance, babbling on about his great esteem for her many virtues—and that’s not even counting the disaster five years ago with our damn cousin, Fitzgelder.”

  Harris swallowed back the dread that was suddenly creeping over him. “Miss Rastmoor has been engaged already? Four times?”

  “But you’re the first one I can actually believe she might be honestly interested in. Congratulations, old boy!”

  Damn, but this did not bode well. The chit routinely engaged in, well, engagements? And she’d been involved with Fitzgelder? For Jupiter’s sake, Harris had heard about that blackguard. Not fit company for anyone, let alone for Miss Rastmoor. And that seemed to be saying a lot.

  But to think, he’d been touched by a plague of guilt that his own brief connection to her might leave her damaged in society’s eye. He’d put himself through this sham interview with Rastmoor purely for the sake of the girl’s honor. How ridiculous, since quite clearly she’d given that up long ago. What was he getting himself into here?

  Perhaps he’d best get himself out of it right away.

  “I was concerned, sir,” Harris said when he could come up with coherent sentences again, “that perhaps you might have qualms about my, er, history.”

  “Oh, I know what people say about you, Chesterton. I also know only half of the rumors about any man are ever true—and I don’t really care which half that is. If Penelope has developed a fondness for you, that’s good enough for me.”

  “But there’s the matter of my finances, as well. I’m afraid I’m rather dependent on my uncle, and he’s not particularly generously disposed toward me.”

  “No worries there. My sister’s well provided for. The settlement our father left for her ought to do nicely. Besides, you can expect a healthy wedding gift from my wife and I. Anything to see my sister happy.”

  Damn, this was not at all going according to plan. Yes, he expected to convince Rastmoor his engagement to Penelope was real, but he thought he’d have to put forth some effort to do that. He certainly did not expect to be welcomed into the family with open arms and an open purse! Blast, but if he were not careful this man would have him married to the little schemer in a fortnight. And that was the last thing he wanted.

  That open purse, however, did make for a tempting offer. He wondered just how nicely that settlement from her father would do. He’d never considered getting himself a wealthy wife as a way to solve the desperate situation he’d recently found himself in, but he couldn’t say at this moment he wasn’t just the slightest bit tempted.

  Could it be that Penelope Rastmoor might not simply be the key to finding his missing artifacts, but she might unwittingly take a more active role in saving Professor Oldham’s life along the way? It was a completely new way of thinking. He’d have to take some time to contemplate, to consider his options. Just how far would he be willing to go for the only man who’d ever treated him like, well, family?

  “Right, then,” he began, deciding to play cautiously for now. “I’m sure your generosity would be appreciated, Rastmoor. We both do want dear Penelope to be happy, don’t we?”

  PENELOPE AND HER MOTHER LOOKED UP AS ANTHONY returned to the breakfast room. He was smiling. That was odd. Anthony rarely smiled in the morning unless he was home at Gaberdell with Julia and the children. And he never looked directly at Penelope and smiled at her, especially when just a few minutes ago he’d been fuming over the stories Mamma was telling him of seeing her alone in the garden with a strange man last night.

  “What is it?” she asked, nervous.

  “Who was here to see you?” Mamma asked.

  “I believe I’ve found your mystery gentleman, Mother,” he said, still smiling.

  “My what?”

  “The gentleman you said you saw in the garden with Penelope, of course.”

  Mamma sniffed. “He was no gentleman. He was all over her! Simply dreadful. Penelope, you will not be leaving this house again. Ever!”

  “Nonsense, Mother,” Anthony said, helping himself to another plateful of, well, everything. “She’ll be out driving today.”

  “Driving? I should say not,” Mamma declared. “Anthony, if anyone else had seen her last night, the gossip would be unbearable. Honestly, Penelope, I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”

  Penelope could well recall what she’d been thinking. She recalled it a little too well, actually. In truth, even last night during the drive home, subjected to Mamma’s lectures and threats, she hardly thought of anything aside from Lord Harry and his too-wonderful kisses. Well, except his equally too-wonderful hands. And perhaps his strong shoulders and that mischievous gleam in his silvery gray eyes. Oh bother! Just how was she supposed to think of anything but Lord Harry if Mamma refused to drop the subject?

  “I’m sure she was thinking of what a beautiful bride she’ll make—finally—and how happy you will be to see her future secure—finally,” Anthony said.

  Penelope stopped chewing. Wait a moment… Anthony was speaking of brides and futures and he was smiling… She choked on a sausage.

  “You did indeed see her with someone last night, Mother,” he went on. “She was giving her consent t
o his marriage proposal.”

  Now Mamma stopped chewing. She choked on her tea. Quite a feat, to choke on tea, really.

  “She was what?!”

  “I just spoke with the gentleman and everything is arranged. He seems quite eager to make it official, as a matter of fact.”

  Mamma was still sputtering. “A gentleman? You mean… she actually accepted someone?”

  “Indeed she did, and I have a good feeling about this one, Mother.”

  “And just who is this unwitting gentleman?” Mamma asked.

  Penelope cringed.

  “He’s from an old and respected family,” Anthony said, slathering jam on his bread.

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s in line for not one but two titles someday, Mother,” he went on.

  “Who is he?”

  “Got along well in school, I recall hearing,” he said.

  “Who is he?”

  “Well traveled, so they say.”

  “You’re avoiding the question, Anthony. Now who is this so-called gentleman I’m supposed to let marry my only daughter?”

  “Herlish Jestershun, Mother,” Anthony replied.

  Penelope knew what he’d been trying to say, but his mouth was so full of strawberried bread that the sound came out a bit muddled. Oh heavens! Lord Harry had come and officially asked for her? He’d spoken with Anthony as any proper suitor would and Anthony had approved? My, but she suddenly wasn’t quite sure how she felt about this.

  “What was that, Anthony?” Mamma demanded.

  He swallowed but ignored her question. “I’m sure you and Penelope will have a marvelous time selecting fabrics for her new wardrobe, and there will be preparations to make…”

  “What was that name, Anthony?”

  Penelope bit her lip. So Lord Harry came and talked to Anthony, just as if this were a real engagement. How very thoughtful of the man. He came to press his case with her older brother and even managed to win him over. How wonderful.