“We’re already engaged, Mamma,” she reminded, though it quickly began to dawn on her that marriage and engagement were two entirely different things when it came to slinking off alone with a very capable gentleman.
“You say you’re engaged, but why has nothing been said about a wedding date, Penelope? It’s what I’ve feared all along. That man is not to be trusted. He’s been using you, toying with you and impressing your brother with empty promises and talk of engagements. He’s not marriage material, I’m sorry to say. You’ve been duped, Penelope. He only wants what he can get and, apparently, you gave it to him.”
“Mamma!”
“It’s the truth; we might as well face it. Sad to say, but I’m quite convinced we’ve already seen the last of your fiancé.”
“I assure you Lord Harry is not nearly as bad as you seem to believe, Mamma. He has some very fine qualities.”
“Yes, and you seem to be intimately aware of too many of them.”
“Honestly, Mamma! What must you think of me?”
“I think you are a very silly girl to trust that man. After your brother confronts him tonight, just see if he agrees to set the wedding date. I’ll bet he won’t.”
“Er, do you suppose that is what Anthony is discussing with him?” Not seeking to drag the man out to some quiet field and shoot at him?
“Of course! The way you two have been acting, it’s imperative we get you to the altar as quickly as possible.”
“But Lord Harry and I do not wish to marry so quickly! We had thought to wait until, er, at least the end of the Season.”
“Then you should have waited, shouldn’t you?”
“But we…It isn’t really as if we…”
“Don’t insult me with empty denial, Penelope. It makes no difference precisely what you and your dear Chesterton have done or have left undone. As far as society is concerned, you’ve done more than enough to make yourselves quite scandalized. Sadly, a quick wedding is all that is left to salvage your reputation, and I am quite convinced Chesterton will refuse.”
And rightly so, of course. Heavens, but this was spinning quite out of control. How had she let things come to this? She hadn’t meant to, surely. If she’d thought for one moment that…but she hadn’t. She simply hadn’t been thinking at all, had she?
She had been quite lost in the moment. How did Lord Harry do this to her? Just being with him, being near him, seemed enough to drive all good sense out of her. She had practically thrown herself at him tonight. Lord, but what she had let him do…and how she had responded! Truly she deserved her mother’s scorn. But poor Harry.
Of course he would refuse Anthony’s demands, that was to be expected. Anthony would be furious, that also was to be expected. What dreadful consequences might then arise she could not fully guess. Perhaps there would be a duel, or Lord Harry would be forced to flee London—flee the country, even! His uncle would cut him off completely. Oh, but it was simply awful, and all because she could not control those dratted animal impulses she hadn’t even known she possessed!
“I’m sorry, Mamma,” she said, although it was pitifully too little.
“Fine time to realize your folly, Penelope,” Mamma replied.
Footsteps and voices sounded below. It was a welcome distraction, until she realized what they meant. Gracious, Anthony was home already! Indeed, it hadn’t taken Lord Harry long to deny any wish to truly marry, had it? Oh, but she hoped he hadn’t confessed their entire plan.
“Let’s hope your brother has not already killed the man,” Mamma said as Anthony’s footsteps came nearer.
Penelope’s heart thudded in her chest as if it would pound its way to freedom.
“Ah, here you are,” Anthony said, poking his head through the doorway.
“Well?” Mamma asked. “What happened?”
“Everything is settled,” Anthony replied.
Penelope couldn’t quite choke back a nervous little yelp. “You mean…you shot him already?”
“What? No, of course not. You don’t really want me to go out and shoot your fiancé, do you?”
“No, but I was afraid that after…well, since everyone seems to think we…er…”
“Oh, rest assured I’d have been tempted to call the blackguard out if he’d given me any hesitation, but there was no need. As expected, you’ve snagged your lord but good, little sister. Chesterton couldn’t settle the wedding date soon enough.”
“He what?”
“I suggested a fortnight, but he insisted it be sooner. So, provided we can get the office of the archbishop to agree, you and your dearest will be wed by special license as early as next week.”
Next week? This was unexpected! How on earth were they to get out of this now?
“Did he really agree so easily?” Mamma asked.
“Of course. I told you, Mother, Chesterton isn’t nearly as disagreeable as he seems,” Anthony said with a smug grin. “After all, he’s good enough for our pernickety Penelope, isn’t that so?”
“Then there truly will be a wedding? You’re certain he’s willing?” Mamma questioned.
“Quite enthusiastic, in fact. I think it’s safe to say, Mother, that Penelope’s reputation, as well as her future, will be happily assured.”
Mamma seemed unable—or unwilling—to fully comprehend this at first. Then slowly the lines of worry and anger seemed to fade from her expression and she eyed Penelope with something more akin to maternal affection.
“So it truly is a love match, is it?” she asked.
Penelope wasn’t quite able to answer. Fortunately, her optimistic brother covered for her.
“Leave her be, Mother,” he said. “We’re embarrassing the girl. It’s obvious she’s completely taken with the fellow, and he with her. Of course I reminded him that, mad for love or not, we insisted on some measure of public decorum, and he assured me he will behave himself in the future. So, Penelope, if I can have your assurance, as well, that you will refrain from any further displays, then I say we all forget this evening’s misstep and simply move forward. Agreed?”
Mamma was hesitant. “I cannot approve of such behavior as you exhibited tonight, Penelope. I’m quite disappointed, you know.”
“Yes, Mamma, I know.”
“And there will, no doubt, be an abundance of talk because of it. People are likely to say dreadful things about you.”
“Yes, Mamma, I know that, too.”
“But I suppose a marriage will silence most of it. Our true friends will still welcome us, I hope.”
“I’m sure they will,” Anthony soothed. “Now, Penelope, do I have your word that you will mind your manners? No more creeping about, meeting Chesterton in secret places in order to…well, there’s simply to be no more of that, do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Then let us all get to bed. Tomorrow will bring us one day closer to the happy union, and after that, thank God, you will be Chesterton’s and I can return to my home.”
So he would pawn her off so easily, would he? Yes, of course he would. And it seemed Mamma would, too. The woman considered Anthony’s words, then gave a tired smile and patted Penelope on the arm.
“Yes, it is getting late. You will be a married woman soon, so there is no use in my droning on about my concerns.”
Penelope felt oddly abandoned as they took their leave of her. The door shut behind them and she was left alone. She sat down on the side of her bed to try to make sense of this whole evening.
So it was all planned out now, was it? She had let Lord Harry take great liberties with her person—great, wonderful liberties that had quite altered her, as a matter of fact—and now he had agreed to marry her. Within the week, even!
Could it be he was serious? Surely not. Still, he was a gentleman and he must have realized what their actions tonight would do to her reputation. Perhaps he had enough of a conscience that he felt he was obligated to give in to Anthony’s demands.
Was it possi
ble he’d be willing to go through with it? To actually marry her? Her insides fluttered like trapped mice desperately racing about for escape. There was just the slightest possibility that this engagement of pretense had suddenly become real!
The mice were getting more desperate now. Lord Harry agreed to marry her! Perhaps he did not find her altogether disagreeable, then. Perhaps he found the idea of a lifetime joined to her not nearly as unpleasant as she might have expected. Perhaps, in fact, he was even looking forward to it.
Heavens, but the desperate fluttering inside her was not mice at all. It was her heart, pounding nervously at the realization that she herself did not find the idea as disagreeable as expected. In fact, the mere thought of being fully authorized and allowed to let Lord Harry take more of those wonderful liberties—over and over again!—was not disagreeable at all. It was quite appealing. Good gracious, but she might actually fancy herself just the tiniest bit in love with the man!
This was the very last thing she had expected to come of any of this. Could it be true? She’d purposely selected the most unsuitable man in all of England and now she was falling in love with him? The very notion left her quite breathless.
She put her hand to her throat, looking for the familiar scarab to calm her. Odd, it was not there. She didn’t recall taking it off tonight.
Moving to her dressing table she saw the hairpins she had removed and placed there, but found no sign of her scarab. Quickly, she pulled open the drawer and flipped up the lid on the little box she usually kept it in. Empty.
No, she had not removed her scarab. But it was gone! Where could she have lost it? In the carriage? She didn’t recall noticing it on the ride home. Perhaps she’d lost it before then. Perhaps when she’d arrived at the ball and removed her wrap it had fallen off.
No, she’d been wearing it at the ball. She’d noticed Lord Harry eyeing it, as a matter of fact. He’d asked after it, too, as had Mr. Markland. Yes, she’d been wearing it during the ball, up until she and Lord Harry…
Heavens! It must have fallen off when they, er, during their time alone in that back room. Yes, Lord Harry’s hands had been all over her. He must have inadvertently unclasped her scarab and caused it to fall.
But where had it fallen? She had to admit, there hadn’t been much open space between their heated bodies tonight. And the clasp she’d had put on her necklace was quite sturdy. She was certain it couldn’t have been merely brushed aside accidentally. No, someone would have had to specifically try to undo it to remove that chain.
Those irritating mice in her chest returned, only this time they weren’t fighting for escape so much as they were inciting a riot. Her heart thumped furiously and her lungs didn’t quite want to work. Too many disturbing thoughts were suddenly bombarding her brain.
Lord Harry had asked repeatedly about that scarab, hadn’t he? He’d been particularly interested that Mr. Markland had noticed it, as well. Could it be he took it? Stole it?
She hated to think such a thing, but the idea just wouldn’t quite leave her. He’d been asking about the scarab, then he took her off to a place where he knew he’d be able to get her in a position to take it from her. Goodness, but he might’ve taken a good deal more from her tonight if he’d wanted!
But he hadn’t wanted, had he? She’d been lost in whatever it was he’d been doing to her; she was clearly at his disposal. He could have done heaven knew what to her and she’d have done little more than thank him for it, given the state she’d been in. Yet he’d stopped; he’d refrained from continuing.
Yes, even before Anthony appeared with Mamma, Lord Harry had been done with her. It hadn’t dawned on her to wonder why, until now. Now it all made sense. Now she understood.
He’d seduced her only enough to get what he’d wanted, which infuriatingly was not her, but her scarab. Once he’d had that, he was done. Oh, but now she wished Anthony had called the blackguard out tonight. And won.
He took advantage of her not because he cared for her, or even because he was particularly attracted to her, but because he wanted her jewelry! He’d been eyeing Lady Burlington’s jewelry, too, hadn’t he? That evil, vile creature! And to think for one stupid minute there she’d actually begun to rethink her desire to remain unmarried and go to Egypt. What a fool she was!
But Anthony said Lord Harry had agreed to the wedding. What would that gain him? Did he think she had scarabs aplenty for him to steal day after day? Well, he’d be sadly disappointed.
But no, it would make more sense to assume he truly had no intention of marrying her. He’d likely just agreed to Anthony’s terms as a way of avoiding any annoying conflict tonight. For all she knew, he had gone off to the pawnshop and sold her precious scarab first thing. Likely he’d take the money he got and disappear now. Didn’t Maria say his senses were so jaded that he craved strange lands and exotic women? Well, surely she was far from exotic enough for him.
So Mamma had been right all along. The man wasn’t marriage material. He was a thief. He took Anthony’s lovely carriage and her beautiful scarab.
Thank God she’d only fancied herself falling in love with him. How devastating if she’d actually lost her heart to a man like that. Why, if she’d truly been in love with him there was no telling how miserable she’d feel now, or how long she’d stay awake through the night, weeping over him.
As it was, she was quite proud of herself. Once the maid came to help her change and she finally snuffed out her lamp and snuggled down under her covers, it could have been little more than an hour or two that she shed foolish tears. But she comforted herself by attributing them to her lost scarab.
Harris Chesterton was not worthy of her grieving. Even if he had done things to her no man ever had. Or likely ever would.
Chapter Thirteen
Dread hung over him in several layers now. Kidnapping, robbery, betrayal, marriage…His life was full of far too much impending doom. And now on top of it, his watch told him it was nearly time to meet Lady Burlington. He dreaded this most of all.
Which probably explained why he was willing to risk discovery and possible incarceration by wasting time breaking into Lord Burlington’s house. The lady had left the servants’ door open for him, yet he hunted another entry. Well, he had to know if all those artifacts were still there, didn’t he? Little good it would do to subject himself to her ladyship’s torture only to find they’d already been removed. Indeed, now was the perfect time to assure himself hope was not lost.
If it was, then at least he would spare himself a night with his shrewish hostess. By Lucifer, he could only imagine what the woman had planned for him. He was revolted at the mere thought.
Placating Lady Burlington’s demands—whatever they might be—was the very last thing he’d rather be doing this evening. Especially since he’d so recently been quite busy at the very first thing he’d rather be doing.
He knew, however, he’d do well not to think so fondly of his moments with Miss Rastmoor. Pleasurable, yes. Productive, too. But a wise man would put little stock in it. Could he truly believe he was the first to venture into that blissful land with the woman? She’d been so eager for him, come so easily at his touch. Would an innocent react that way? He’d not made it a practice of seducing innocents, but he somehow expected an untried miss would put up a bit more resistance.
Why should he be surprised, though? He was fiancé number four, after all. Plus Fitzgelder had somehow figured into that mix, and no one could doubt what that must mean. And of course he’d seen the hussy tonight, fluttering her eyes and fawning over her dance partners.
“She‘s flirting with right under your nose.”
He’d not forgotten Lady Burlington’s revelation about the scarab’s origin, either. He could only wonder what else Miss Rastmoor had gotten from her dancing admirer. But which andmirer?
Clearly there was some measure of familiarity between her and Ferrel. Could he have been her source for the scarab? He didn’t see how. It was far more likely to be
someone else.
Markland. Markland was involved in it all, he was certain. Who else had reason for it? And certainly Miss Rastmoor had been eyeing the man in a special way tonight. He’d seen it from the start. Had they lied to him about their acquaintance with one another? Perhaps.
George Markland was engaged to the daughter of an influential nobleman. He had been for years. His grandfather approved it and couldn’t dote on his favorite descendant enough. Clearly it was in Markland’s best interest not to do anything to upset the old man, which admitting to a liaison with Penelope Rastmoor would do.
And as for his access to the scarab…damn the man. Was Markland’s animosity toward Oldham so great that he’d come to this? Apparently it was. He’d participated in stealing those artifacts and endangering the man’s life. Harris would make him pay.
First, though, he’d have to get the items back and have them returned by the kidnapper’s deadline. If he could have garnered some favor with his uncle and gotten his hands on money that was rightfully his, things would have been so much easier. But it seemed it was pointless to hope in that direction. His uncle was a heartless bastard who hated him on principle.
His fury was nearly blinding. Damn, but he had to get control of himself. Indeed, despite all the raging emotions, he simply must keep focus. Getting those artifacts and returning them to the dangerous people who held Professor Oldham had to be his first priority.
Taking revenge on Markland would have to wait, as would any of the plans he had for Penelope. And indeed he did have plans for her. He’d find out just how much she knew of Markland’s activities and he’d decide from there how much more of his time he’d waste on her.
He hoped it would be considerable.
But before he could do any of that, he needed to ascertain the artifacts’ whereabouts. Nothing could be done if he’d lost them. Again.
Damn it, but Burlington had locked the window. Harris had to go around to the rear of the house where he hoped to find access to the servants’ area in the lower level. It was late, but not so late that he could expect the entire house to be sleeping. He would have to move cautiously.
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