Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1)

by Deborah Villegas

  A wet drop hit her cheek, then another, and she opened her eyes. Good Lord, what was she doing? She pushed against Edward’s chest. He let her go and they both stepped back, chests heaving.

  Edward’s cheek ticked, and he bowed. “That my dear is the type of compensation most worthy of a St. James. Consider the kiss fulfilled.”

  Was he mocking her? Her face flamed. Did she do it wrong? More drops hit her face, faster now and in another instant, it was raining steadily. A cold humiliating down pour.

  Penelope inclined her head in as condescending a nod as possible. Spine straight, shoulders back, chin high, she pivoted and stomped away. Away from the manor. Away from the scathing lecture she was sure she would have to endure. Away from society’s censure. Away from HIM.

  And straight toward the cliff.

  She heard Edward call to her and pushed on against the wind. She was done. Through. Finished. Without a backward glance, she allowed her indignation to carry her over the edge.

  Chapter 5

  Edward watched Penelope disappear and his heart stopped. Was it a trick of the light? Surely, she hadn’t… He couldn’t finish the thought. He raced to the edge, dropped to his knees, and peered down at the rocks below, scanning the crevices. Lightning lit the cliff face and he caught a flash of skirt just before it disappeared behind a bolder about twenty feet below.

  Bloody hell. The minx had a cave.

  He was going to throttle her. Throttle her just as soon as he got his hands on her. Even if it was in the middle of the drawing room for all eyes to see. Especially in the drawing room for all eyes to see.

  Another flash of lightning lit the cliffside followed by a clap of thunder. His horse bellowed a startled whinny and thundered down the path toward the stables. Great. Now he would have a long humiliating walk back to the manor.

  Then again, he could follow Penelope. Just as soon as he figured out how to get down to the cave. Following Penelope held more appeal than a walk of shame and he wouldn’t have to explain her absence—or why she went over the cliff in the first place.

  He wasn’t ready to delve into the precise reason he felt the need to goad her into a kiss. But the moment her soft lips met his, it was all he could do not to push her to the ground and have his very merry way with her. Which surprised the hell out of him—not only because he wanted to, but because the way she wrapped herself around his body and held on, he was quite sure she wanted him as well.

  The rain slashed down in torrents accompanied by a stinging blow—a grim reminder that he was soaked to the bone and needed to find cover. Dry cover, and that meant following Penelope. But that also meant scaling the cliff—the very wet, very slippery cliff.

  Another flash of lightning illuminated the narrow, torturous path. If that’s what one would call it. The path was more of a run-off track for water carved out of the rock over centuries. He followed the stream and sure enough, it headed straight to the opening where Penelope disappeared.

  A minute later and a rough ride on his backside after he slipped and rode the muddy wash down, he was at the maw of a cave halfway down the cliff. The view of the boiling sea—nature’s fury—inspired awe and a heavy dose of humility. Waves crashed against the jutting rocks that formed a half moon pebbled beach below. The high tide mark, just feet from the cliff face mocked the winter sea’s refusal to beat a cold retreat.

  On a summer’s day, it was the perfect secluded hideaway.

  It was also a perfect place to watch for a smuggler’s lantern on a dark night without threat of detection.

  He stepped further into the cave and looked around. It opened into a larger chamber but there was no sign of recent use. No telltale markings in the dirt. No scuff marks where there might have been barrels or crates. No Penelope.

  Just footprints. Footprints too small to be an adult—and a small toy. He picked it up. It was a crudely carved figure of a horse a young boy might keep in his pocket. He set it back where he had found it and continued his search.

  Where had she gone?

  He moved along the wall inspecting the boulders. Another flash of lightning briefly illuminated the chamber and out of the corner of his vision, he noticed a jagged edged indentation at the very back of the cave. Had he not been standing where he was when the lightning flashed, he never would have seen it.

  His toe kicked against something and he waited for the next flash of lightning.

  A tunnel.

  Not just a tunnel—a well-preserved, well-maintained tunnel with several oil lamps filled and ready to use. He felt around for a tinderbox but found none. Well rot it all; what good was an oil lamp if you couldn’t light it?

  He peered into the inky darkness. He had two choices. Go back out and up a wet and slippery cliff, and have a miserable walk back to the manor, or head willy-nilly into a dry but very dark tunnel in pursuit of a very delectable backside to swat.

  The tunnel won hands down.

  * * *

  Penelope pushed the trap door open and set the oil lamp on the floor of the old crofter’s cottage, then scrambled through the opening. She set the lamp on the table, lit a taper, and used it to start the kindling in the fireplace. She was cold, wet, and fit-to-be-tied. Drat that man. Lord Westfield. Edward.

  She blew the flames out twice before she was able to get a decent fire going then disrobed and draped her wet clothes over the chair before the hearth to dry. With any luck, he would be soaked through by the time he made it back to the manor. With any luck, he would catch a chill. With any luck, she would never have to lay eyes on him again. Never feel his lips pressed against hers, or feel his body molded so close she could feel his heat.

  How could she have been so bloody stupid as to allow him to bait her?

  The door burst open and Ferris clattered in on the wind and pushed it shut. “Bloody damned weather to have to go skulking about meeting ruffians in.”

  Penelope raised a brow. “Why then, dear brother, go out?”

  Ferris turned with a start at the sound of her voice. “What in the hell are you doing here, Pen?”

  She stood before the hearth in just her chemise and shawl. “The same thing you are doing. Waiting out the rain.”

  “Why aren’t you back at the manor playing hostess?”

  She wasn’t about to tell him that Hell Spawn left her to walk. The bloody beast. Nor was she inclined to tell him why he left her to walk.

  “Why aren’t you back at the manor playing with your host?” Host, meaning Reggie. Goading would have been the most apropos term, but Ferris didn’t need any one to remind him that Reggie was in residence. Every time those two were under the same roof, the tension in the air crackled and popped like chestnuts.

  Ferris prowled the main room of the cottage. It wasn’t large and he only managed twelve strides before he had to retrace his steps. He seemed more on edge than usual and stopped several times to look out the windows.

  She plunked down on the incredibly old, and much worn settee that had lumps in all the right places. It had been Reggie’s favorite seat in his library. She’d stolen it right after he discovered she’d painted clothing on a set of very risqué drawings of couples in various stages of ‘the act’ and left several bright red imprints of his hand on her backside.

  “Oh, do sit down Ferris and tell me what has put you in such a stew pot.”

  Ferris dragged his great coat off and tossed it on the rickety table then sat on a chair with a resigned sigh. “I’m in a bit of a spot, Pen.”

  “What kind of a spot?”

  Ferris’s knee bounced. Not good.

  He shifted then sank back in a slouch. “I’m a bit short this month.”

  Penelope adjusted her seat to get a better look at her brother. Ferris was always at odds with the bottom of his pocketbook. “How short?”

  He rubbed his temples and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “One thousand pounds short.”

  Zounds. “One thousand pounds? Good God Ferris. No wonder Reggie is in a temper.”r />
  Ferris stood and paced. “He doesn’t know, and I can’t tell him, Pen. The last time I asked for money, he told me that I’d have to find employment.”

  “He didn’t.”

  Ferris plopped back down. “He did.”

  One thousand pounds. And Employment. That was the death nail in society. Gentleman didn’t seek employment. Ever. “How on earth did you manage to find yourself a thousand pounds short?”

  Ferris scrubbed his hands over his face. “It was stupid really. I played cards and lost to a notorious scoundrel.” He stopped and gazed into the fire as if he were reliving the moment.

  “If you knew the man was a scoundrel, why on earth did you play cards with him?”

  “That’s just it. I wasn’t going to play but he goaded me into it. The worst part was that I won. I knew I won when I laid my cards down.”

  “Then how come you said you lost?”

  “Because I did lose. After I laid my cards down, he laid his. He laid an ace down that I was sure I had already discarded. That ace shouldn’t have been in the pile.”

  “Then he must have cheated. Didn’t you call him on it?”

  Ferris scowled. “A gentleman never cries fowl when the cards don’t go his way and a St. James always pays his debt.”

  “But Ferris, you don’t have a thousand pounds. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m sure as hell not going to Reggie. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Penelope flinched at his unaccustomed bark.

  He softened his tone. “I’m sorry, Pen. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just tired of going round and round and round with how to pay off the note.”

  “I have some money. Not a thousand pounds but I can help you get the rest of it.”

  “How, Pen. You can’t find employment either and if Reggie finds out you helped me with funds, he’ll strip both our hides.”

  “Maybe I can sell some paintings. I have loads of them in the attic. Or maybe I can sell a few pieces of jewelry? I never wear it anyway.”

  “You’d have to sell it all off, Pen, and the money still wouldn’t be enough. The majority is entrusted anyway as part of your dowry.”

  “Like I’ll ever need that.”

  “No Pen, I thank you for your offer, but I’ll think of something. Just promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. Not Garrett, not Addison, and for God’s sake, not Reggie.”

  “Ferris—”

  “Promise Pen.”

  “Fine. You have my word. But what if this scoundrel calls in his note and you don’t have the money—”

  “I said I’ll take care of it.”

  Penelope noticed a pistol sticking out of the inner pocket of his great coat and she beat down a shiver of apprehension. “How?”

  He turned his gaze to the table and neatly tucked the wool over the exposed weapon but kept the handle at the ready. “Not that way.”

  “Why are you carrying a pistol?” She kept her voice soft afraid it might tremble and that would be very un-St. James. A St. James never trembled.

  * * *

  At five hundred paces into the pitch black, arms spread, one hand skimming the side of the tunnel, the other held out in front, the tunnel took a dip and a turn. At six hundred paces, it leveled out and the wall felt more earth than rock. At one thousand paces, he hit a wall and a ladder and started to climb. Fourteen steps up and a bang on a trap door and he was out of the dark and inside a small crofter’s cottage staring at the finest pair of female legs in the British Kingdom draped lazily over the arm of an old settee in front of the fireplace.

  “Hello, Boots.”

  Her half nude, surprised ‘Oh’ smoothed into a welcoming parted mouth, bottom-lipped-teeth-tug invitation that hollowed out his heart with the click of a hammer against the back of his ear.

  “Hello, Edward.”

  The cold metal against his ear disappeared and he turned his head.

  “Lord Westfield, this is a surprise.”

  Ferris sat not three feet away and leaned back in a stiff wooden chair next to an old cast away table. The pistol lay across his splayed lap. “I say, old fellow, the front door is a much safer port of entry. If we hadn’t recognized you, we would have had a hell of a time explaining why your brains were scattered throughout the room.”

  Edward climbed the remaining four steps and hauled himself out of the hole. “Where am I?” He cast a glance around the homey space. Linen curtains graced the small windows with flowerpots set in the deep ledges. An old hutch with mismatched china sat against the far wall. Penelope’s skirts draped across another chair near the fire along with her short coat and blouse. Her boots and stockings took up residence on the hearth.

  Penelope lounged in her chemise with a blanket hastily pulled across her legs and ignored him.

  “The crofter’s cottage that sits on the far side of the pond. Had I known I would have company; I’d have brought a picnic basket.” Ferris’s easy drawl belied the ferocious scowl he leveled at his sister.

  Surprisingly that very scowl helped to relieve Edward’s temper. At least one person in Penelope’s family found her behavior outrageous.

  Penelope smoothed the blanket. “You might as well drop your coat. Otherwise you’re libel to catch a chill sitting around in damp clothes.”

  Edward removed his coat and laid it in front of the hearth, only because he was starting to shiver. His back, not to mention his backside and legs were thoroughly wet from the slide down the cliff and his pants were starting to chaff. He didn’t miss the emphasis on the word damp; or the slight curl of her upper lip. Nor did he miss the silent battle playing out between siblings. There was more than just Ferris’s irritation at the state of his sister’s undress. Not that that wasn’t enough. No, Edward had popped up so to speak in the middle of what? An argument? A discussion? And why did Ferris have a pistol at the ready? Were they expecting company? Obviously not his company?

  Neither made mention of the fact that he had been in a tunnel that might very well have been used for smuggling. Neither seemed to care where he’d been or how he arrived there in the first place. Neither seemed the slightest bit aware that there was an incessant knocking at the door.

  Ferris kicked the trap door down and rose to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

  He opened the door on a gust of wind.

  Garrett and Addison swept inside along with the driving rain.

  “It took you long enough to open the bloody door. Why was it barred?” Addison swirled his great coat off and tossed it at a peg on the wall. It missed the peg and landed in a heap on the hard-packed floor. Garrett’s coat followed in swift form.

  “Well,” Garrett said, “looks like we found the stragglers.”

  He crossed the room; swept Penelope’s feet up, sat on the other end of the settee and dropped her legs across his lap. “Reggie’s in a temper up at the big house. He sent us out to look for you two when your horses came back rider-less.”

  Edward frowned at Garrett’s forward behavior with Penelope’s person. Even if she was his sister. The cottage was becoming overly cramped with so many bodies. St. James bodies. “We were walking along the bluff when it started to rain. The horses were spooked by the storm.”

  “Hell Spawn didn’t get spooked. He’s just a bad tempered, disobedient beast.” Penelope eyed him from her perch. Daring him to say more.

  “Like his mistress, no doubt.”

  Her eyes flashed bright green and a crimson stain covered her cheeks. “And well you should remember, Edward.”

  Heat cut a sharp path across his cheekbones. There it was. His name on her lips echoing a lover’s endearment.

  Three pairs of male St. James eyes landed on him and he had the distinct feeling that Penelope had just set him up for a thrashing.

  * * *

  Penelope watched suitably impressed. Lord Westfield didn’t flinch. He didn’t waver. He didn’t swallow. He kept his gaze on hers, piercing her with a promise of retribution. The only h
int of discomfort, the slight narrowing of his mouth.

  Addison looked around the tiny interior. His gaze traveled over the room from Edward’s coat to her clothing draped over the chair then settled on her prone figure, legs splayed over Garrett with her toes peeking out of the blankets.

  “What the bloody hell was going on here?”

  She fought the urge to pull the shawl closer. Well damnation. It did look a bit scandalous. “Nothing. My clothes were soaked through. Lord Westfield suggested I remove them so I wouldn’t catch a chill.”

  Edward beat her with his glare.

  She stared back and lifted her brow, daring him to contradict. For one fleeting moment, she thought he might object before she won their silent battle.

  “I think your clothes should be dry enough now Miss St. James.” Lord Westfield’s glare leveled out with a black scowled bow. His eyes blazed with an inferno so hot, her face flushed.

  She tried to remove her legs but Garrett’s grip held her firmly in place. His usually easy-going persona disappeared with a grim glower aimed at Lord Westfield. “I think it’s time to return to the manor. I’m sure you have much to discuss with our brother and father.”

  Edward’s nostrils flared on his curt nod and he fetched his coat off the floor. “I will wait outside.”

  With the slam of the door, Penelope’s brothers turned en masse, their gazes pinned her against the back of the settee. She hadn’t been subjected to the full force of the St. James fury since she almost fell off the roof scrambling over the slates for her kitten. That had been several years ago and her brothers hadn’t been fully grown, but the impact of that fury had never left her.

  Now that fury was aimed at her tenfold.

  Addison planted his hands on his hips. “Well you’re in for it now Penelope.”

  None of her brothers used her full name unless they were really put out with her, which meant they would go straight to Reggie. “In for what?”

  Garrett removed himself and paced. Garrett never paced. “For charities sake Penelope. How could you have stripped in front of Lord Westfield? Don’t you care about the consequences?”