Yet she refuses to face what e'er is the cause, Ram thought, for to ask for help would be a sign of weakness to her.
"Thinking she was doing right, Margaret took her back to child welfare. See, she'd run away from a foster home we found out later, her third. She checked on her, tried to get some doctors to take a look at her, did once, but she took off. When Margaret found out," he blew out a breath—"she took to the streets, searching. The first words that child said was 'don't let them hurt me.' " His voice fractured and Ramsey's heart wrenched for the frightened little girl. "Margaret wouldn't give her back to them when she knew they didn't care."
"Was she with Meggie long?"
"A few years, even when Tess came along." Hank chuckled sadly. "Tess, sort of, moved in without an invitation. God," he said shaking his head, his face wreathed with pleasant memories. "She was al! smiles and jokes and too quick with locks for her own good." His expression withered. "Got her into trouble, that cleverness."
Ram's gaze studied the photos, wanting to know more of the woman he loved. "And this one?"
Hank squinted. "Sorority sisters." He pointed to the Delta PI symbol, then picked out Penelope, Tess.
Ram recalled that Anthony said Sloane Rothmere was a sorority sister and asked.
"That's Sloane. Pretty, huh?"
"If one cares for blondes."
Hank slanted him a sharp look. "You love our Penelope, don't you?"
Ramsey's brows rose into his forehead.
"Hell, I know you do. Aren't many men who'd put up with
that frosty bite of hers to find out what she's really like." Hank chuckled, more to himself, then gestured to a large photo "That's their college graduation."
College, Ram realized, stunned. 'Twas a man's privilege in his time and he'd thought mayhaps Penelope and Tess attended a school for women, not a university. "But I understood Penelope was older." "She is, but she missed a lot of school." His tone hardened "Sloane never let her forget that either." Hank turned away, rubbing his hand over his face. "Case you hadn't noticed, I don't like the Rothmeres. Sloane especially. She's a spoiled brat with a mean streak as wide as her bank account." Ramsey frowned. "You've seen this?" "The damage it did? Yeah." Hank nodded, folding his arms, "When Miss H. was in college she was cruel to her and when Tess attended, the pranks and viciousness got worse. Always directed at Tess." His tone bit with anger. "Neither of those girls did anything to hurt Sloane," came with absolute conviction. "She just didn't like them 'cause in her eyes, they were nothing but white trash and didn't belong in her world." He flicked his nose for emphasis.' The more Sloane and her friends tried to beat them down, the tougher they got though. Miss H. is harder on herself than anyone was to her."
"I noticed," Ram said unnecessarily and Hank smirked. "Tess was a national champion." He gestured to the famed magazine cover of Gymnastic World. "And Pen—Miss H., she was valedictorian as well as having an acting career that beats Meryl Streep's all to hell."
A father's pride speaking, Ram thought, smiling tenderly, his gaze sweeping the apartments. Margaret's shelves and walls were covered with photos of Penelope, clipped from newspapers and magazines.
Yet 'twas the open book on the low table that drew his attention and Hank slammed it shut, sending Ramsey a warning look. But Ram caught a glimpse of its contents.
"Margaret would do anything for Penelope," Hank said defiantly. "Even lie?"
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Hank stood rock still, his fists clenched, his pale aged eyes daring Ramsey to make another remark.
"Go to your woman, Hank," Ram murmured, his compassionate gaze speaking for him. He would not press the matter now. And the old man's shoulders sagged. He turned to leave, stopping short, tension leaping into his spine.
"I'm sorry, Miss H." His expression slackened. "Aw honey, I didn't mean to—"
"It's all right, Hank." Penny smiled gently, forgivingly, before she inclined her head toward the stairs. "Margaret's asking for you." He sprinted past like a man half his age and Ramsey watched Penelope ascend the stairs with her usual grace.
"Are you through prying?"
"I but listened." She made a soft sound of doubt and he crossed to her. A quirk of his lips and then, "And you were eavesdropping."
"It's kind of hard not to when I heard my past spilled out for examination."
"What e're occurred 'twas nay your fault."
Her gaze slid from photo to photo, remembering Margaret's tender care and her thirst for it. "I was a scared little girl with nowhere to go."
"You should be proud, Penelope," he said to her profile. "You have come far."
Her gaze jerked back to his. "I don't want your pity," came in a guarded voice, her shoulders stiff. "So I had it tough? Big deal. I don't remember most of it before Margaret, so don't ask anymore."
He wanted to shake her and drew on his patience. "I do not care from whence you've come, only that it still has the power to wound you."
Silence, chilled air swirling around them and Ramsey took a step closer, his voice beseeching. "When will you see that I've not come two hundred years into the future to resurrect your past for the world to view?''
Her stiff posture withered and she met his gaze. "I know." She covered his hand resting on the bannister.
"Our past shapes us into who we are, love, the young given to faults in order to learn."
"What faults can be so bad that a parent would abandon
their child?"
She blames herself, he realized. "Are you certain you were
abandoned?"
"Yes, that's all I know, all I feel." She rubbed her arms. "Sometimes there's a sense of safety, it comes with a strange smell, like fruit, but then it's gone, before 1 can figure it out."
"What else do you recall?"
"Darkness, and a voice telling me they didn't want me back." She shrugged, appearing much the forgotten child. "Do you know what that does to a kid?" She briefly looked to the ceiling, breathing deeply and Ramsey realized she was terrified of being loved and hurt like that again. "God. Sometimes I wish I could remember so I could blame something tangible for making me feel so discarded." She turned toward the stairs, mounting the first few.
' 'I wonder if my own son would have thought of me in that manner?''
Penny froze, then turned. "Your son?"
Ram nodded, bracing his hip against the bannister. "His mother and I were but a passing fancy, and I'd thought not to see her again. Til word came again that I'd made a child with her." His throat worked. "I returned from a voyage in time to put her in the earth."
"And the child?" She moved quickly down the steps. "Did you leave him back there?" Her tone accused and worried at
the same time.
"He took his last breath in my arms." He lifted his gaze, his expression utterly miserable. "My only true regret is he died without my name."
He, green eyes held his, slowly glossing with tears. "Oh, Ramsey." She descended the last step, sliding her arms around his waist and holding him. "I'm so sorry."
He pressed his lips to her hair, squeezing his eyes shut. "Til then, I thought the stripping of my back by a slaver's whip was the worst pain I could endure."
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She tilted her head to look at him. "A slaver?"
His voice was devoid of emotion when he said, "I angered the wrong people, it seemed, and was kidnapped off my ship, clapped in irons and sold as a slave in the Turkish market."
"Dear God, that's horrible!" She'd thought those scars had something to do with the British.
"I was there until Dane and his troops rescued me."
"Troops?"
"Aye—"
"Wait. You really are—were a Continental Marine?"
"Aye." His shoulders stiffened as if he were waiting for her to make jest.
But she didn't, infinitely proud of him and the courage it must have taken t
o endure life back then. "You're not the least bit ashamed of those scars, are you?"
"Nay." He hooked his thumb in his belt loop. "For without the reminder, I'd become naught but a cocky bastard." She grinned. "Like you aren't already?"
Chapter 32
Halting on Margaret's staircase, Penelope sent Ram a frown back over her shoulder, then inclined her head toward the open door. Ramsey followed her gaze up the remaining cellar steps to where Noal was waiting, arms folded, his expression oblique.
As Penelope emerged to cross the threshold, Ramsey didn't mistake the suspicious glare she dealt the detective afore she swept past to check on Margaret. Noal seemed oblivious to her censure. Did she suspect him of eavesdropping, and how much had he heard that would be damaging?
Ram stared at the paper briefly. Were he in his time he would have confronted Phalon or Sloane at the point of sword, without regard to the consequences. Yet 'twas not so, and it forced him to step carefully. 'Twas a thin rope they trod, he thought, afore handing the letter over to Noal.
"Computer paper, and a common font," Noal said, holding it up to the light. "I doubt we'll get a print." He met Ramsey's gaze. "I've wired the phone but I don't think these guys are going to risk it. Too slick. Extra camera surveillance and ten guards ought to be enough." Noal sighed, glancing briefly away. "But I get the feeling it's wasted manpower."
Ramsey rolled his shoulders, his impatience to solve this
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puzzle and be done with it making his tone sharp. "Speak, man, I'll not risk another getting hurt."
"I realize you hired my team for protection and some paperwork, but I can't help, if I don't know who I'm fighting."
He'd no proof this mess was the makings of a Rolhmere, nor could he say aught about the missing gems, for to do so would force him to tell how he'd come to know of their existence in the first place.
"I fear it would put you in a difficult position were you privy to all the facts." He would not discredit Tess's reputation, nor Penelope's. 'Twas her choice to keep whate'er the deuce she was hiding from scrutiny and he'd respect it, for it mattered not to this situation. Nor to him.
"All right, all right," Noal said, almost angrily. "That I can understand that. But at some point, you've got to trust me completely."
Noal turned away and Ramsey caught a glimpse of Penelope crossing the foyer. And he headed toward the study, stopping short on the threshold, frowning, his gaze on the journals stacking the desk. Quickly crossing the room and reaching for the first, he hesitated when he saw the slip of paper tucked in the bind. He slid it free and read, his smile slow and incredibly pleased.
Ramsey,
I can tell you're restless. Don't ask me how, but I can.
Maybe a little light reading will help.
Penelope
He opened the book, his gaze skimming. Tess's journals. The impact of Penelope's offer struck through his heart with a sweet poignancy, for trusting him with her most precious friendship scripted in these journals told him more than he'd hoped. Running his fingers over the neatly printed words, he tried to imagine what Tess was thinking when she set about to prepare the trunk for Penelope. With it came the vivid picture of Penelope, confused and helpless over the discovery, lashing out at her only target.
Such an obstinate lass, he thought with a smile, the moment shared below stairs giving him a deeper view of her soul. He would not gainsay her sense of abandonment within the darkness of her dreams, for he'd witnessed her torment, yet what e're haunted her sleep owned the blame for such a low opinion of her worth. Poison, she once called herself, not good enough to be loved and he wanted to shred the soul who made her feel so unworthy. And without friends to speak of, not even casual visitors, nor taking a moment for herself in a simple pleasure, Ramsey recognized how much Tess's friendship must have sustained her.
'Twas difficult to believe the two women were so close, for Tess was fearless, bold and defiant, and absorbed life with a zest everyone felt, whereas Penelope was stubborn and reserved, shielding herself like a punished princess. Holding the world at bay.
She was generous with her wealth and home, but her heart was another matter. She guarded it so carefully Ramsey felt she were doling out portions of herself to him.
And greedy son of Triton that he was, he wanted it all.
Penny hung up the phone, numb. "Where's Ramsey?"
"Outside." Margaret shrugged, her gaze on her needlework. "Replacing shingles or building me some flower boxes or probably digging a new pool. Heck, I've never met a man who liked backbreaking work more than him."
"He's going to put me out of a job," Hank said, walking into the solarium, a lunch tray in his hands.
"Not a chance," Penny said almost absently, then came to her feet, giving her spot beside Margaret to Hank.
"What's the matter, honey?" Margaret asked from the sofa, frownng. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"That was for him," she said, gesturing to the phone, her gaze searching the scenery beyond the wall of windows.
Margaret and Hank exchanged uneasy glances. "Who was it, dear?"
"Tony." She swallowed. "It seems that Ramsey has an
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appointment," a pause and a deep breath, "with Alexander Blackwell."
Margaret paled and Hank grasped her hand. "He's sailing from Corpus Christi. He lives on a boat." She brought her gaze to the couple. "Do you believe that? I thought they were all gone and now—" Something jittered in her stomach. A Blackwell. She wanted to meet him.
"Well, you'd better go tell him," Margaret said softly. Hank snapped a look at Margaret and she nodded sadly. Penny didn't notice and walked toward the door. "Hank, if she gets up off that couch again—" She paused on the threshold, turning to look at the couple—"kiss her til she gives up." Forcing a smile, Hank looked back at Margaret, nudging her. "Go on, try it," he dared, but nothing could break her gaze from Penelope's retreating figure. "She's going to hate me, Hank."
"You're acting like the rest of the world, underestimating how big that heart of hers really is."
Tears welled in Margaret's eyes. "I know. But I'm scared." And Margaret wanted to call her back, confess, but she wasn't strong enough and watched the child she'd raised reach for the door.
Penelope opened the front door and found the guard clutching her mail. Her gaze narrowed on his face, the quick shift of his features. If she hazard a guess, he'd been caught examining her correspondence. Was he expecting a letter bomb, she thought cynically.
"I'll take that," she said, hand out. He gave it up, then moved further down the steps. She was about to toss it all on the hall table when a large envelope caught her attention. It was too plain, no return address and she opened it, sliding the contents free. Her breath caught. Damn. Oh damn.
Not again. Please, not again. She searched the envelope again, inside and out, for a postmark, for anything that would lead to who was doing this. Nothing. But she knew. And Penny tore the photo in half, then again
and again, exacting vengeance in ripping tiny pieces, then flinging them in the trash.
Breathing raggedly, she pushed her fingers through her hair, her gaze on the waste basket and she saw her life, what she had with Ramsey, unraveling because she was once young and stupid and desperate.
No more!
She needed to tell him, end this ghost chasing away her chance for happiness. She needed his strong arms around her, to hear his eloquent voice. She needed to feel like she always did with him, like nothing else mattered.
Like she was home.
Ramsey rubbed the cloth across the mare's back, marveling at the even silver opulence of its coat. Majestic beast, he thought, giving the animal's neck a pat, then forcing its weight to the side and turning back a hoof. He picked clean the dung and hay, humming a sea chanty. Sweat tri
ckled down the center of his bare chest and back, yet he enjoyed heated confines of the stables, the scents and labor familiar. After reading Tess's descriptions of his time, all that was common to him yet exciting to her, Ramsey needed to feel a part of his century, to touch and work it beneath his hands. And he found it in the stables, the inside plain, dirt floors, wood walls. 'Twas the only area on this estate that he'd not an annoying set of modern contraptions to understand afore he could perform a simple task. He
felt at ease here.
Dane had always allowed him the freedom of Coral Keys and more often than with a willing wench, Ramsey could be found within the stables. But 'twas the home he envied, he knew, the sense of belonging, a rightful place for all who came af.>re and would come after. 'Twas not the heirlooms or furniture inside which made a stone and wood structure a home, but the lives it sheltered, the bodies it kept warm in the coolness of fall, the privacy and protection it gave lovers and innocent babes. Ramsey ached for that, a place to plant his feet firmly and call his home again, yet Penelope's home was just that,
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unmistakably hers. Though his pride was already in a shambles over the woman, for he'd do aught to be with her, he wanted to provide for her.
The sea captain needed work.
And he wanted a wife.
A stubborn, cat-eyed redhead with a reluctant heart and a passion unequaled.
And babies, he decided. Lots of them. That she might already be carrying his child made him grin hugely as he moved into a empty stall and forked the bale of hay, spreading it sparingly on the dirt.
The mare nudged his shoulder. "Patience, lassie, I've chores to finish afore we can play."
Smiling, Penny stepped quietly into the barn, her panic easing with just the sight of him. Bare to the waist, his breeches and seawater stained knee boots made him look every inch a man of his century and seeing him in this rough setting gave her a vague look to the life he'd once led. No luxury, no idle hours. He did everything with a vibrance for life and living, yet with an ease of familiarity. And Ramsey never let up. An eighteenth century workaholic, she thought, watching him spear and spread hay.
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