by Laura Clarke
“Good day, Clark,” she said. “How are you today?”
“I am shocked to see you, if you want the truth,” Clark said. “I thought since you were in mourning that you would not be out, although…” He cleared his throat. “What may I help you with today?”
“Although you knew I was out because I caused a fuss at the Avondale party last night?”
There were several other customers in the shop. Two of them stepped toward the end of the aisle, all the better to eavesdrop, Penelope thought.
“Let me get one of the other clerks to help you,” he said. “Perhaps Miss Glover can be of assistance.”
“You’ve always helped us before,” Penelope said. “Clark, why do you not want to help me now?”
Her lower lip trembled, and then she remembered Emmett’s words. Firm eggs were better than soft ones. He’d given her a clue as to how to deal with Clark and she hadn’t even realized it. He’d done it that way in case Clara, or anyone else had been listening.
“Things have been in a tizzy,” she said to Clark. “I would like an adventure novel to take things off my mind. I need my friends around me, not a clerk who will treat me just like any other reader.”
She sniffled, and then she threw her shoulders back. “If you don’t want to help me then I want to talk with the manager of this establishment. I will report you as refusing me service.”
“No, of course not,” Clark said. “Instead of an adventure novel, I would suggest the Red and the Black. It’s a French novel, about a young man who tries to rise above his social station.”
“Like you are doing with Mary?” she asked. “I know you left with her. Tell me where she is, and I won’t have the Peelers arresting you for the theft of books that belong to the royal family.”
The shocked look on his face was very satisfying and Penelope smiled. “What can you tell me, Clark? And I insist that you’re honest with me, or the men I have waiting outside will come in to take you into custody.”
There were no men, of course, but hopefully he didn’t know that. She hoped she wasn’t taking things too quickly. She hadn’t noticed him exchanging any looks with Clara. Did that mean they weren’t in it together, or were they just very good actors?
“I took a carriage ride with Mary yesterday,” he said. “She came from the house and I left her at the park.”
“Liar,” Penelope said. “Mary’s been gone since just after Chester’s funeral.” Penelope snapped her fingers, praying Clara would play along, or things would turn nasty very quickly. “Clara, go out and get the men standing outside.”
“Of course, Miss,” Clara said.
Before she could move, though, Clark called for her to wait. “Bath,” he said. “I rode with her to Bath.”
“And where are you supposed to meet her again?” Penelope asked.
He looked at the two ladies who were browsing. Penelope stepped close to him.
“Whisper it in my ear if you must,” she said. She heard one word. Bath.
“When?”
“When I get a letter,” Clark said. “It hasn’t come yet.”
“Let me know when it does,” she said. “Come along, Clara.”
She left without a book. As she walked back toward where the carriage waited for them she hoped that one, or two, of the men Emmett employed was watching, and would watch Clark when he left.
“That’s not what I expected,” Clara said once they were inside the carriage. “What books are you talking about?”
If Penelope didn’t know better, she would think this was the first time Clara had heard about the missing tomes. Should she press her on her relationship with Andrew? The idea flew out of her mind almost as soon as it appeared.
She needed to talk to Emmett before she made any sort of a decision about that.
“They’ve tried to keep the news about the books quiet,” Penelope said. “They belonged to the royal family. So far no one has come looking for them. I stress the words so far. When they do, and the books are not there, it will not be good for any of us, staff, family or friends, like me.”
There was a real look of terror on Clara’s face. Was she afraid she was being used? After a talk with Emmett, they would, hopefully,
“Penelope!” Emmett’s voice rang through the hallway the minute she stepped inside. “Library, now.”
“Is he still angry with you?” Clara asked. “Do you think he will—hurt you again?”
“No, I don’t,” Penelope said. “Go upstairs. I’ll be up soon.”
“If you’re sure,” Clara said. “I worry about you.”
“I can take care of myself.” Penelope took off her cloak, handed it to Clara and headed toward the library. When she got there, she stepped inside and closed the door.
The first thing Emmett did was put his finger against his lips to tell her to be quiet. He indicated she should sit on the sofa next to him. There was a sheet of paper and a pen on the table. On it he’d already written, “What have you found?”
“Why am I in here?” she asked as she sat down and picked up the pen.
She wrote, “Clark says Mary is in Bath.”
“Alone?” he wrote.
“So it would seem,” she replied.
“Why were you gone so long if you didn’t bring back a book?” he asked out loud. His voice shocked her somewhat, since he’d spoken very few words since they’d entered the room.
“That is none of your affair,” she answered.
“I told Clara about the books,” she wrote.
He didn’t have to write his reply. She could see the anger on his face.
“I don’t think she knew,” she wrote. “She looked shocked.”
“Perhaps she’s a good actress,” he wrote.
“You should go upstairs and get dressed,” he said. “Your lover will be here soon for tea. I think he will be expecting me to settle an amount on you for marriage.”
“The sooner the better,” she said.
He laughed.
“You’re assuming I’m going to agree with him,” he said. He picked up the pen and wrote, “How’s your bottom?”
Penelope stared at the words and said, “You keep trying to stick your nose in my affairs, Milord. I’ve told you several times that I don’t need a guardian and therefore, I don’t need your advice. You should know I intend to marry Bixley.”
He underlined his question.
She grabbed the pen from his hand, dipped it in the ink and wrote, “I told you last night I’m fine.”
Emmett took the pen. He pointed it at her and then wrote, “We’ll see. Tonight. Make sure your door is unlocked.”
When the pen was back in her hand she scratched out the last three sentences.
“Now, I’m going upstairs to change,” she said. “I’ll make sure I’m dressed properly for my future husband.”
After she set down the pen she stood. Before she could take a step, he grabbed her and kissed her. This time she kept her lips closed so he could not invade her mouth. The kiss was hard and demanding.
She hated herself for enjoying it, for wanting, once again, to know what his hands would feel like on her breasts if he caressed her.
When the kiss broke he kept her close. “You claim liberties that you should not, sir.” She didn’t push away from him though.
“A kiss is not a liberty,” he whispered in her ear. “Like I said, or wrote more to the point, leave your door unlocked tonight.”
“For you, never,” she said. He didn’t let her go, and she didn’t try to break his hold. They stared into each other’s eyes for several long, slow moments. Then he released her so quickly she almost lost her balance.
He grabbed her before she could fall, though, and in that moment, she knew, as far as Emmett Sway was concerned, she was doomed.
“Surely you jest,” Andrew said. You’re worth millions.”
If she had been in love with him, Andrew’s words would have hurt her to the core, would have torn her heart apart. As it wa
s she didn’t care, but she had to act like she did. She let her teacup clatter back onto the saucer and said, “Andrew?”
“Penelope, let me handle this situation,” Emmett said. “I assure you, Mr. Bixley, I don’t jest.” Emmett took a sip from his cup. “If you’d like to see my late uncle’s will, then I will send for it. The girl gets ten thousand a year. Nothing more.”
Bixley put his cup back in the saucer and looked toward the fire, then glanced at Penelope. She could see the anger in his eyes.
“Did you know this? That it was such a little amount?”
“I had no clue you were only interested in me because of the money,” she said. “But ten thousand a year is more than enough for us to live on.”
Well, unless you’re a scumbag gambler, she wanted to add.
Emmett snorted, and Penelope glared at him. “I hate to be the one who said I told you so, but I did tell you the man wanted nothing more than money.”
“We cannot live on ten thousand a year,” Bixley said. “I want more, much more. If you don’t settle more funds on her, I’m afraid I will be forced to let potential suitors know I’ve been in her bed.”
“Which is not true!” Penelope said.
“After last night’s scene people will believe me,” Bixley said. He had lost all pretense of being a decent human being.
“Do you really believe that?” Emmett said. “I asked you here today because I wanted, one last time, to let you show your true colors to Penelope, which you have done.
“As you say,” Bixley said. “I am sorry, Penelope. I do care about you, greatly, but this is just a way of life. Marriages are about money, not about love.”
“Especially since she’s associated with the Sway name, right?”
“Exactly.” Penelope turned away as Bixley spoke. “I would think, as much as the old man cared for her, he would have settled much more on her.”
For her part, Penelope wanted to tell him to get out. But she knew she needed to let Emmett lead the way.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter how much money she is being left,” Emmett said. “She will not marry you, no matter what. I wanted you here to ask you another question.”
Bixley sat back in his chair. There was a smile on his face. “I can answer questions, for a price.”
“Because of your gambling debts, correct?”
“You’ve been busy, Milord,” Bixley said. “I do owe money. If you want answers you will pay for them.”
The room grew silent, and then Bixley cleared his throat. “What is your question, sir?”
“I want to know about the books,” Emmett said. “I know, because you are the seller of antiques and rare objects, Mary probably came to you about their worth.”
“Fifty thousand pounds,” Bixley said.
“Is that what they’re worth?” Emmett asked. He held his cup out to Penelope. “Would you pour for me, please?”
Penelope was happy to have something to do with her hands. She refilled his cup, but when Andrew held his out she picked up her own and sat back with it. The message was clear.
“Very well, I see I’m not in your good graces anymore,” he said. He refilled his own cup. “You know, Lord Emmett, I can still spread the story that I took her maidenhead.”
“You can,” Emmett said. “I want you to tell me where Mary is with the books. If you tell me whether or not you have a buyer lined up or not, or if you’re still working on that.”
“I want fifteen thousand pounds,” Andrew said.
Their gazes locked, and Penelope was surprised at the way Emmett was conducting this meeting. He was stronger than she thought.
“I will give you that amount, if what you tell me proves to be true,” Emmett said. “That means you get nothing until the whole thing is settled.”
“I need money,” Andrew said. “I can tell you Mary is in Bath.”
“A big city,” Emmett said. “Where in Bath?”
“At Channel House.” Andrew was wringing his hands now, as if he were trying to get information out of them. “It is owned by a friend of mine. We are having an auction for the books on Sunday, at three.”
“You do know those books belong to the royal family,” Emmett said.
“We’ve left one of them here, in the house.” Now he was clasping his hands together.
“In an effort to make another member of the family look guilty,” Emmett said. “For instance, Penelope.”
Andrew looked into the fire and didn’t answer.
“You bastard,” Penelope said. “Where is the book?”
“It’s in the maid’s room,” Emmett said. “The only place we didn’t search when we were taking the inventory.”
Penelope’s blood boiled. “I fell for her innocent look today.” She balled her hands into fists and stood. She put her hands on the tea tray and flipped it toward Andrew.
“What are you doing?” Andrew yelled. “You little bitch!”
She threw herself at him, slapping him in the face. She balled up her fist and slammed it into his nose, savoring his cry of pain and the blood that squirted out.
“Stop her,” he mumbled. She looked over at Emmett, who still sat in his chair, drinking his tea.
“When you’re done, his accomplice is upstairs, probably waiting in your room to find out what happened,” Emmett said. “After you break her nose, too, tell her to pack your bags for a trip to Bath. We need to leave first thing in the morning.”
Penelope slammed her fist into Andrew’s face once more before she stood and kicked him. “He doesn’t deserve money.”
“Sometimes things like that happen,” Emmett said. “We’ll win in the end, or we’ll be behind bars. But if we are, you can take comfort that Andrew and the maid will be with us.”
Chapter 7
Penelope toyed with the food on her plate. She should eat, she knew, because they had a long trip ahead of them tomorrow. But it had been a busy, and emotional, day.
She couldn’t get over the fact that she’d physically attacked Andrew. She’d never in her life had feelings like that before. But when he’d told her it was just business, that it was the way marriage worked, well she just couldn’t take it. Her knuckles still hurt from hitting him, and the dress she wore was stained with blood. It was something that didn’t make her happy, at all.
“Stop thinking about it,” Emmett said as he ate his shepherd’s pie with gusto. “You asked me not to put her out on the street and I didn’t. I told you to break her nose, and you didn’t. So, I would say we’re even.”
Penelope took a bite of food, which was delicious as always, but tasted like sawdust right now.
“She’s been my maid for years,” Penelope said. “How is it that she could do something like this?”
They had recovered one of the books from the room Clara shared with other maids. Emmett had screamed at her until she’d admitted she was supposed to plant it in Penelope’s room after the auction on Sunday.
Now, Clara was locked in an upstairs room.
“What are you going to do with her when we go to Bath?” Penelope asked. “There are not many people you can trust to take care of her.”
“We’ll bring her with us,” he said. “Two carriages, one for us, one for servants. She might come in handy. I might tell your friend Andrew he needs to be there early, so I can make sure we get the rest of the books back before the auction.”
“How will we do that?” she asked.
“I’m still working on a plan,” he said. He wiped his mouth and threw the napkin on the table.
“I’ll say goodnight, then.” She did the same and stood up. “I’ll be ready to go in the morning.”
“I was going to remind you to leave your door unlocked, but I have changed my mind,” he said.
“I’m happy to hear that,” Penelope said. “I wasn’t going to allow you to look, no matter what you said.”
She crossed to the door, but when she turned the knob it didn’t open. She pulled on it, but nothing hap
pened.
“Instead of asking you to unlock your door I locked this one,” he said. “There is a large portion of the table that is empty. Lift your skirts and bend over so I can examine your bottom.”
Penelope sighed heavily. “I can’t believe you are bringing this up again.” She didn’t want to tell him that her welts hurt more today than they did the day before. She didn’t want him to know that.
“Well, I have to admit my motives have changed,” he said. “I do want to make sure there was no permanent damage to your behind. But I also want to touch you.”
She whirled around to face him, her skirts swishing with the movement. “You what?”
“Well, I’m a jealous sort of man,” he said. “When you said Bixley had touched your breasts it made me angry. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to touch you in places he did not.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. But that was not the truth. She did believe, but she didn’t really believe. That didn’t make sense even to herself. “You want us to be lovers.”
“Then you do understand,” he said.
“Your desire is quite hypocritical, don’t you think?” It really was, but she didn’t care. At least she would have the answer to the question if being touched by Emmett would feel the same as being touched by Andrew.
“You might say it’s hypocritical, but I believe I’m being very honest,” he said. “Some men seduce with sweet words, flowers and gifts of jewelry. I do it by being honest. I want to be your lover.”
Her heart pitter-pattered in her chest. “How are you going to sell me to a future husband if you’ve taken my maidenhead?”
“Do you not appreciate the fact that I’m being honest?”
He sat at the table, one leg crossed over the other. He wore black pants and a white shirt, and at some point, within the last few moments he’d taken off his cravat and loosened his shirt.
The long wooden table, the sexy man, the fire blazing in the background. It all produced feelings she didn’t know how to handle. True, Mary had taught her about what happened between a man and a woman, but she hadn’t expected it to feel this way.