by Lilia Birney
Penelope rolled her eyes. “Welcome to hell, courtesy of Pierce Howe.” She patted the settee. “I have so much to tell you.”
“Obviously.” Jane removed her gloves and sank into a comfortable chair. “Have you got your own bodyguard now? And why?”
“Well, I made the mistake of joining forces with Howe last night.”
“Howe? That thief-taker who refused to help with Cicely? Whatever for?” Elizabeth looked askance at Penelope. “He must be good-looking indeed.”
Trust Elizabeth to think of that. She could never wrap her mind around anything but a man’s, well, virility. “Not at all,” she replied smoothly. “I was furious with him for taking the case without noting any description of Cecily. So, I went to his office and ended up making a partnership with him.”
“Do tell,” Elizabeth said, her eyes gleaming. “A partnership?”
“Nothing of that nature.” Disgust threaded through Penelope’s voice. “But we came to an agreement that I wouldn’t have to pay him if he allowed me to work with him.” It sounded fantastic when spoken aloud. “It’s all very convoluted. I can’t explain how things transpired, I only can tell you that they did.”
Jane cut off Elizabeth’s next utterance with a short wave of her hand. “Do control yourself, Lizzie,” she hissed. “Now then, tell us how you came to get a bodyguard out of the bargain?”
“Well, we went to the Gilded Lily.” Penelope couldn’t suppress her laughter as Elizabeth practically fell out of her chair. “And I didn’t stay put in the carriage as he bid me to. I got out to question a servant. And when he found me, he behaved in a most headstrong manner. So, I suppose the bodyguard is his way of telling me that I didn’t win the argument last night.”
“Why were you at the Gilded Lily in the first place?” Jane asked, her eyes sharp.
“Aside from the obvious reason, that is,” interrupted Elizabeth.
“He seemed to think there would be a connection between the Lily and Cicely’s disappearance. He wanted to talk to the stable lads there. But if he learned anything, he didn’t share it with me.”
“What did the servant you spoke to say?” Jane was on the edge of her chair. At least she was engaged in the story. Elizabeth merely looked bored, unless they were speaking about how handsome Howe was.
“She could only tell me one thing. She said I should look into the Barclay Employment Agency.” Penelope shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve never heard of it. Have you?”
“No,” Jane replied, shaking her head. “What happens next?”
“Well, I need to find out what connection the agency might have to the Lily or to Cicely,” she responded. “But since I am under house arrest thanks to Pierce Howe’s thug, I suppose it will have to wait.”
“I’ll do some sleuthing,” Jane volunteered. “I’ll track down the agency and pretend I am looking for a servant girl. That way, Howe doesn’t need to know that you are still poking around on your own.”
Penelope breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you Jane. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“No, I am bored to tears with my latest novel. The muse has completely eluded me. So taking a bit of time off to track down your maid is actually a good diversion.” She rose. “I’m off, then. I have a fitting at the modiste this afternoon, so I will try to work in some sort of search for that employment agency now.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Are you coming?”
“No,” Elizabeth replied. “I want to visit with Penelope a bit longer.”
Jane kissed them goodbye, and promised to report her findings on the morrow. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Elizabeth turned to Penelope with a decisive air. “You are attracted to this Pierce Howe. I think you should take the opportunity to embark on an affair with him.”
“Are you mad?” Heat rose in Penelope’s cheeks. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you? You’ve said yourself that he isn’t bad looking. And every time I mention him, you blush.” Elizabeth nodded her head sagely. “You’re developing a tendre for him. Why not act upon it? It’s one of the privileges of being a widow, especially since you care so little for the rules of society.”
“I am the Ice Goddess, remember?” Penelope toyed with the fringe of her shawl. “I don’t care for those matters.”
“Oh, tosh. That’s because your relationship with Peter was so unnatural. Listen, if you had any idea what you are missing—” She was cut short by a discreet knock at the door.
“Enter,” Penelope called. Thank goodness for the interruption. Elizabeth really did have only one thing on her mind.
“If you’ll pardon me, ma’am,” her butler, Simmons, replied. “But that large gentleman is still waiting out on the lawn. Shall I show him in?”
“Yes, please do.” How ridiculous that she couldn’t leave her own home without an escort. She didn’t put up with Peter’s inclinations for years and years only to be stifled now—by some other man’s bodyguard. “I need to speak with him directly.”
Simmons bowed and closed the door.
Elizabeth rose. “I understand your meaning, so I won’t tarry any longer. Besides, it sounds like you’ll be speaking with Howe again soon, so I am quite delighted for you. Remember, Penelope, it’s never too late to have a chance at love.”
Penelope snorted. “You sound like one of those Romantic poets.”
Elizabeth cast her a winning smile. “Well, I did, ahem, have relations with one myself not too long ago. A friend of Jane’s beau. Adieu.”
One’s friends could be quite scandalous. Penelope shook her head. Then she took her place behind her desk, ready for business. After a discreet knock, Simmons showed the giant into her drawing-room.
“Ma’am?” The poor devil did look half-frozen. Penelope’s heart softened. She stood and motioned him over to a chair by the fire.
“Pray, be seated.”
He sank into the chair, with a grateful groan, dwarfing it completely.
Penelope poured a glass of Scotch and extended it to her bodyguard.
After a moment’s hesitation, he accepted the glass with a nod. “Tah, Miss.”
“It is nothing, my good sir. I know you must be chilled to the bone, after spending hours planted on my lawn. You wouldn’t, perhaps, be in the employ of Pierce Howe?”
He reddened to the tips of his ears but said nothing.
She offered him a gentle smile and softened her voice. “Really, sir, this is most infamous. Surely I should be able to live in privacy and peace. To go about my business in town without an escort. Do you not agree?”
He shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry. Just following orders.”
“But this is absurd.” Penelope stretched her hands to the blaze. “Surely Mr. Howe trusts me by now.”
The giant cleared his throat. “He doesn’t trust himself.”
Penelope paused. She turned to the man, her brows drawing together. “What do you mean?”
“He can’t trust himself.” The giant looked distinctly uncomfortable that he had spoken. “He lost someone before.
“Whom did he lose?”
“I couldn’t say. I just know it happened.” He sighed. “What happens now?”
“We shall pay a call to your employer, Mr.—what is your name?” She gathered her heavy woolen shawl and gold brocade reticule.
“I was afraid you would say that. My name is Bill.” He downed the last bit of Scotch and glanced over at her beseechingly. “I’d rather not go, if it’s all the same to you.”
“I’m afraid we must. We can discuss matters with your employer when we arrive. Don’t worry, I’m not angry. After all, you were just following orders.” With that, she extended her hand and drew him up out of the chair.
Loss or no loss, no matter what had happened in his past, Pierce Howe was about to find out he couldn’t simply order her about.
***
Lady Penelope Annand stormed into his office, her golden curls flying. Her cheeks were rosy, no doubt from the kee
n bite of the snowy wind—not from any loss of temper. “How dare you assign a bodyguard to me, without my knowledge or consent?”
He pushed away from his desk and rose. “Calm yourself, madam. I did so for your own protection.” Damn it to hell, had Bill been caught? Sure enough, his bulky form appeared in the doorway behind Lady Annand, a sheepish expression on his face. What the hell? Pierce mouthed to him, but Bill just shrugged his shoulders.
“I will not be treated like an ignorant, helpless woman. I have endured too much to earn my place in society and I will not give an inch.” She pushed her finger against his cravat. “Do you understand me, sir?”
This was more dramatic than he expected. He glanced down at Lady Annand. Unshed tears actually glittered in her eyes. His heart lurched. She was beyond angry—she was hurt. And he was the cause of it. He peered over her head at Bill.
“Would you excuse us, please?”
With a relieved nod, the giant left, closing the door with a gentle click.
He took Lady Annand by the shoulders and led her to a chair. “Please, allow me to explain myself.”
She sat, staring up at him with a mutinous expression on her face.
How could he explain his actions without sounding like a fool? How to calm her and keep her from feeling like he didn’t trust her? He gathered all his tact and wits. According to family legend, more than one distant relation had kissed the Cloch na Blarnan. Hopefully the renowned Howland gift of gab would not fail him now.
“I will tell you the truth behind my actions because I feel I can trust you.” He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest.
Her eyes softened somewhat and she inclined her head. “Go on.”
“When I was first establishing myself as a thief-taker, I had a…friend, a lady friend named Charlotte.” He paused and cleared his throat. This was more difficult than he intended. “She tried to help me with one of the cases I was working on. But one night, as she prowled about in some Godforsaken alley looking for clues to help me, she was murdered by a footpad.”
Penelope gasped, and the color drained from her face. “I am so sorry.”
He nodded. He couldn’t go on for a moment. They sat, gazing at each other, for a full minute before he could continue. “So, you see, when you insisted on helping me last night, you reminded me of Charlotte. And I didn’t want to place you in the same danger that befell her. Please understand.”
She nodded. “I do understand. I am sorry I yelled at you. It’s just that…well, I don’t like it when other people try to undermine my authority. I’ve worked hard to earn it, you understand.”
He couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but she was far too defensive about maintaining a certain level of control in all her dealings. Had she been dreadfully taken advantage of in the past? She was still so young—what could have happened to her that would have caused such anxiety? Another mystery to solve.
He smiled his most persuasive, most blindingly attractive smile. “So, how do we proceed? I need you to be safe, but you need to remain in control.”
She shifted in her seat. “I suppose just trusting that I can take care of myself is out of the question.”
He suppressed a snort of laughter. “Quite.”
“I suppose Bill could accompany me when I do any sleuthing on my own,” she responded slowly. “But I must insist that he stop planting himself on my lawn like a piece of statuary. Why, my neighbors would have a fit of the vapors if they looked out their windows and saw him standing there.”
His mouth twisted in a rueful grin. “Do you have nosy neighbors?”
“They are rather…staid and set in their ways.”
“Well, Lady Annand, I think we can strike a bargain. Bill will accompany you when you go out, but in the meantime he can wait in your home like any of your servants. Will that satisfy you? It satisfies me.”
“I can agree to that.” She held out her hand. “Thank you. And thank you for being honest with me. So many men aren’t.”
This could lead to dangerous territory, but he couldn’t resist her. No more than a sailor could resist a siren. He took her hand and pulled her up. “Whatever happened to you, Lady Annand, I promise I would not do again,” he vowed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes growing wider. He was drowning in them. He could not break away. What would her ladyship do if he kissed her? Experience said that she had a will of her own. Would she return an embrace with passionate eagerness, or would she slap him across the face?
There was but one way to find out.
He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, in a tentative, exploring way at first. Would she slap him? Or would she welcome the kiss? Lady Annand stiffened in his arms, her lips remaining locked. Even as rigid as she was, there was tenderness beneath. He could feel it, if she would only let go. He teased her lips with his, urging her silently to part them. But she broke away, her face a bright shade of red. He had the distinct impression he narrowly avoided being slapped.
He couldn’t think of the right thing to say. The gift of gab failed him. Lady Annand was—despite all her luscious beauty and underlying softness—aptly named. She was no merry widow. She was the Ice Goddess, indeed.
Chapter Six
No matter how hard she tried, Penelope could not rid herself of the feeling of Pierce’s lips on her own. She had no idea what to do, of course, when he grabbed her. And judging by the disappointed expression in his eyes, she did not acquit herself well. The rest of their meeting had been all awkward conversation and careful distance. He did not press himself on her again. And for that, if Penelope had to admit the truth, she was bitterly disappointed.
She hadn’t made a Christmas wish since she was a child. And she didn’t want to give in to some kind of depraved lust. But Pierce was awakening feelings in her that she hadn’t felt since she was a sixteen year old miss. Feelings she long ago had buried under layers of ice and snow. And now—that snow was beginning to melt. It was all his fault.
This was the only thing she wanted for Christmas. A chance to explore further, to give herself a chance at love and romance again. But their kiss yesterday had probably cooled his ardor. He looked so downcast and uncomfortable. If only she could do whatever it was she was supposed to do and do it right. No matter what she did to or with men, it always seemed to turn out wrong.
She faced her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She must make a decision. She had to choose if she was going to try to embark on a Christmas affair with Pierce Howe, and welcome his attentions. Or she had to shut him down. Either way, she needed to make a deliberate move—either to commence their relationship or to simply revert to business as usual. She brushed her hair with long, even strokes. Her mind was a blank. She could only feel—and what she felt were his soft, insistent lips on hers—his strong, sure hands on her shoulders…
Her bedroom door opened and Jane strolled in. “I didn’t bother with being announced. I knew you’d welcome me, even if you were still en dishabille.” She cast her reticule down on the intricately carved mahogany bedside table and flopped on the bed.
“Oh, of course, Jane. You are very welcome, as always.” Time to gather her wits and stop mooning about Pierce Howe. Jane had such razor-sharp sensibilities; she could probably already discern that something was amiss.
“I’ll come right out with the purpose of my visit. I’ve asked around, and no one knows anything about the Barclay Agency. In fact, no one’s even heard about it.” Jane lolled against the pillows. “I’ve asked everyone I could think of. But it’s like it doesn’t even exist.”
Penelope gathered her hair, twisting it into a high knot. “That’s a disappointment.” She stabbed a few hairpins in to hold the knot in place. “I had hoped that someone had at least heard of the place.”
“No one has heard a word, or else everyone is lying.” Jane replied. “I think, quite frankly, you should tell your beau about it. He’s a professional. He’ll know what to do. I am quite out of
my depth.”
“He’s not my beau,” Penelope snapped. Drat. She’d let her hand slip. Now for the barrage of questions.
But Jane merely quirked an eyebrow. “So sorry I offended Her Majesty. But really, if you listen to what I am saying, you’ll know I am being reasonable. Howe will know what to do next. I have no idea where to go from here.”
Penelope stuck a final pin into the golden coil on her head and half-turned from the mirror. Jane was right. They could probably use some guidance. Not that Pierce Howe had the upper hand. Just that—well, perhaps four minds were better than three. “I will talk to him this afternoon, when he arrives.”
Jane scanned her with sharp eyes and nodded. “Would you care to talk about it?”
It was impossible to pull the wool over Jane’s eyes. And she was, at least, easier to talk to than Elizabeth in a lot of ways. “Oh Jane,” she breathed, and then collapsed on the bed with her friend. “I don’t know what to do. He kissed me, and I didn’t know how to kiss him back.”
The corners of Jane’s mouth twitched, and a twinkle replaced the sharpness in her gaze. “Well, do you want to kiss him again?”
“Oh, yes.” Penelope sighed. Actually, she wanted more than that. But she would be damned if she would say that aloud to anyone.
“Well, then, you need to try again. We women are lucky in this one respect, Penelope. Awkwardness in the boudoir is actually expected of most ladies. We aren’t supposed to know much about the game of love, unless we make our living at it, or unless we’ve been married before.”
“I have been married before.” Penelope stated flatly.
“It was a marriage blanc, which Howe may not be aware of. But on the other hand, your uncertainty will diminish as you, well, practice more. It’s not so simple for men. Poor devils, they have to know exactly what they’re about from the very first moment, the very first time. It must be a great deal of pressure.”
That was Jane for you. Always thinking from another person’s perspective. “That line of thought may do very well for one of your novels, but how does it help me?” Penelope scowled. “What should I do?”