Her insides turned to mush. “What consequences?”
“I hope you like living in Northumbria.” Addison said.
“Northumbria?” She wasn’t even sure where that was?
“Lord Westfield’s seat. I hear his Grace has quite a grand estate near the coast.”
“I’m not moving to Northumbria.”
Addison tossed her skirt at her. “You will once you become the new Duchess of Westfield. Get dressed. I’m sure Reggie will want the bans read as soon as possible.”
Penelope jumped off the settee. Understanding hit her like the force of a winter storm. The bans? “Are you insane? I’m not getting married just because Lord Westfield saw me in my drawers.”
Garrett towered over her like a roman column. “You’ve been compromised Penelope. No man will have you now.”
“I don’t want a man.”
“Your desire, or lack thereof has no bearing.”
“We didn’t do anything untoward. It was just a kiss. You’ve probably taken advantage of hundreds of women and I don’t see you shackled to anyone.” All three brothers stared at her outburst and she paled. “I mean—” She turned to Ferris. “Tell them Ferris. Tell them I was alone when you arrived. Tell them Lord Westfield didn’t do anything.”
Ferris stepped closer. “When did Lord Westfield take advantage of you?”
His black eyes narrowed. Ferris’s resemblance to Reggie was so uncanny Reggie could have been the one glowering down at her.
Penelope’s insides quaked.
Addison handed Garrett his great coat. “We’ll wait outside. You have five minutes to make yourself presentable.”
Ferris flung his coat over his shoulders and followed.
With the bang of the door, Penelope sank onto the settee. She had to think. Fast. There would be no running to Aunt Augustina. She was probably already at the manor.
That was it. Aunt Augustina. Penelope grabbed her skirt. With any luck, she wouldn’t need Ferris to play ladies maid. The irony was not lost on her. All of her brothers were probably quite adept at re-securing lady’s garments—post haste.
Chapter 6
Edward stood outside the crofter’s cottage under the eaves and hugged the wall to stay out of the direct onslaught. Three incredibly angry St. James men huddled under their greatcoats next to their horses and glared at him. Strength in numbers usually didn’t intimidate Edward, but when those numbers were all St. James, he had to admit to feeling a bit queasy.
He counted only four horses. He definitely was not the one that would be walking, and neither would Penelope.
As soon as the door swung open, he removed his more than damp coat and placed it over Penelope’s shoulders. He’d be damned if she’d wear any of her brother’s greatcoats. He took her hand and dragged her along with him to the extra horse. Before she could object, he swung into the saddle and pulled her up in front of him.
“I can ride with—”
“Don’t say a word, Boots. Right now, I am angry enough to turn you over and paddle you all the way back to the house.”
Penelope’s brothers surrounded them, and Edward stopped.
“I will not be escorted back to the manor like a common criminal. You three will follow at fifty paces.”
Ferris nudged closer. “You don’t have much of a choice.”
Edward’s temper snapped. One hand went around Penelope like a vice to hold her in place, and the other wrapped around Ferris’s cravat and yanked him halfway off his horse.
“You forget to whom you are speaking. It is by my choice that I have remained here and will consent to marry your sister. Consider yourself lucky I haven’t cried foul, you pup. And mind you, I will find out what you two were up to before my unfortunate arrival.” The last was spoken so as not to be heard above the steady drum of rain.
He let Ferris go on Penelope’s sharp intake of breath and swung his horse in the direction of the manor.
“You may release me now.”
Penelope’s teeth chattered, and Edward pulled her closer, tucking her into his chest as they rode across the moor. He had to pick his way around vast puddles for fear of stepping into a hole. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”
She shivered and wormed against his chest. “You don’t have to marry me, Edward. I’ll tell Reggie it was an egregious misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding or not, I have seen you in less than your drawers, Miss St. James, and that is enough to get me hanged along a lonely lane.”
She tried to sit forward, but he tugged her back against his chest and nuzzled her ear. She smelled like lemon verbena, a fresh rain, and wet wool.
With every cantor, Penelope jostled against him, and he was sure she could feel his hardness rubbing against her backside. “Don’t try my temper any more than you already have, Boots. I am in no mood to be a gentleman.”
She thrust herself forward and turned on a snarl to face him. “I won’t marry you.”
Edward slowed just quick enough that Penelope was forced to grab on to him or take a tumble. He used her momentum to his advantage and pulled her chest to chest and nose to nose. “You will marry me, Penelope, and when you do, you will obey me, or my palm will connect to your backside with firm efficiency.”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Daily, if necessary. And trust me, I will enjoy it.”
Her transformation was exquisite. Bright green flashing eyes and sharp crimson cheeks softened like a misty fog descending on the mews. The rain continued to fall its steady rhythm drowning out the sounds around them, curtaining them in private intimacy. Thick wet lashes lowered. Lips parted an invitation.
“You can let me go now. We are here.”
Horses hooves intruded, and in a thrice they were surrounded by Penelope’s brothers.
Heedless of three St. James’ wanting to thrash him into next year, Edward held Penelope a moment longer before letting her slide to the ground. He dismounted, tossed the reins to Ferris, and without a backward glance, escorted his bride-to-be into the house.
“Good Lord, my Lady.” Penelope’s maid descended the stairs with the pinched frown of someone accustomed to dealing with a wayward mistress. “What have you done now?”
Edward liked her.
“I haven’t done anything, Maggie. If you haven’t noticed, it’s raining.”
Penelope headed toward the stairs, but Edward held her arm firm when he heard the measured tread of Hessians.
Reginald stopped just inside the foyer. His flat gaze assessed his sister in an aggrieved ‘what now’ expression. Penelope dripped a puddle on the marble floor; her hair plastered to her head. Edward’s coat sagged over her shoulders.
“Do I want to know?” The bored tone held a wicked edge.”
Penelope’s chin rose. “Probably not.”
Her indolent retort landed squarely between Reginald’s eyes and his brows furrowed.
The door opened and slammed behind them.
Penelope neither flinched at the sound nor acknowledged the rest of the pack at her and Edward’s back. He had to give Penelope duchess points. She might look like a drowned rat, but she looked like a regal drowned rat.
A high-pitched nervous giggle caught his attention. The young ladies from last night stared wide-eyed behind muffled mouths.
Penelope’s cheeks bloomed bright pink. It was one thing to be under the scrutiny of her family; it was quite another for her to be subjected to an outsider’s. Whether Penelope was his wife or not, Edward would not allow her to be humiliated any further.
Penelope’s ability to appear unaffected might fool most people, but her vacant stare told him she was shutting down internally. He walked her to the stairs and squeezed her hand. “Do not come down until I bid you do so. Do you understand?”
She blinked several times then pulled her hand away as if his touch burned. With a nod he was quickly coming to know as the St. James dismissal, she headed upstairs, tripped on her skir
ts, stifled an oath, and picked up the soaked material.
By the time she disappeared, a smile played around his lips.
“Where do you think you are going?”
Addison’s taunt disguised as a clipped question chafed Edwards hide more than his wet britches, and he turned with deliberate slowness.
Ferris pointed in Reginald’s direction. “The library is that way, Your Grace.”
Edward surveyed the trio—each itching to help him along the path to hell. The combined wrath of a pack of St. James—deserved or undeserved—might make every other peer of the realm run under their mother’s skirts, but the Westfield temper was legendary. “The library can wait. You will get your pound of flesh in my time. Right now, I desire a hot bath.”
“I’ll arrange for a tray to be sent up as well. You must be famished.” Reginald’s casual stance mocked his brother’s outrage, and Edward had to give the man credit. Reginald was not easily ruffled.
Ferris stepped forward, and Reginald stopped him with the flick of his hand.
“Whatever is going on probably revolves around our dear little sister, which means I don’t want to know, and the less time I have to stew over whatever the Hades she has gotten herself into this time, the happier my day will be.”
“But Reggie—”
“I suggest you avail yourselves of my reprieve.” Reginald cut in as if Ferris hadn’t spoken. “The last one to order a hot bath has to wait.”
Ferris took another step toward his brother, but Reginald halted his advance with a withered ducal glare. “One more word Ferris and you won’t have a hot bath for the rest of your stay.”
Reginald turned his attention back to Edward. “Will an hour suffice, Lord Westfield?”
“An hour is more than adequate, Lord Stansworth.” With a nod, Edward climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. The gallows would be a more welcome abode.
* * *
Edward knocked on the library door, and a dower-faced footman promptly admitted hm then exited with fleet retreat. Edward always paid attention to the servants. Their behavior signaled the tone of the household, and by the way the footman fled, Edward’s meeting would not be pleasant. He looked around. So, this was the famous St. James Library. Bookcases lined every wall of the spacious room. The collection of books was worth a vast fortune. But that was not the reason for the library’s fame. The reason sat in a decanter half full of the finest brandy England had to offer.
The entire St. James firing squad was in attendance, including the old duke. Addison and Garrett twinned the fireplace, and Ferris stood near a window. A few more years and twenty stone, and the young man would be a worthy adversary. St. James sat in a wing chair flanked by Reginald. An older woman with the regally rigid comportment of an aristocrat of the first cloth sat to the side dripping with pearls and protocol. She winged a set of opera glasses, peered down her nose, and gave him a thorough inspection. Edward felt like a schoolboy just out of knickers. He hadn’t felt like that in years. At thirty-two, the thought was unappealing.
She gave him the closest thing to a nod without actually following through. Almost as if she grudgingly approved. Almost as if she was attempting to communicate something in the non-gesture. Almost as if she was on his side.
Reginald shifted in his chair, drawing Edward’s attention and motioned to a seat opposite the family unit.
Edward opted to stand.
“Would you like a brandy, Lord Westfield?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very well, I assume you are here to offer for my sister’s hand in marriage.”
“I am not.”
Addison postured. “You compromised my sister.”
“I did not.”
“You and Penelope were disrobed in the crofter’s cottage when Garrett and I arrived.”
“Miss St. James was disrobed and tidily tucked under a blanket conversing with your brother Ferris when I arrived. I only removed my coat to let it dry before the fire.”
Ferris stormed across the room, ready to inflict damage. “Penelope said you took advantage of her.”
Edward doubted that. Penelope may have lied, but she liked to watch her prey squirm. “I took advantage of her horse.”
Garrett stepped forward. “She said you kissed her.”
“I did not. She kissed me. I merely enjoyed the kiss.” Edward knew he had probably just sealed his fate by his own admission, but the looks of astonishment-in-the-round were almost worth it.
“Sit down. All three of you.” Reginald steepled his fingers and touched the tip of his nose.
Edward met Reginald’s gaze. He despised standing on the wrong side of the proverbial bench when a judgment was being cast. Especially by a man that was not yet his equal. A peer yes, but Edward was a duke. Reginald was a duke in waiting. He had taken over most, if not all of St. James’ responsibilities, yet did not quite have the necessary power he would acquire upon the old Duke’s death, and St. James did not look as if he were going anywhere in the near future.
“I will have the bans read by week’s end if you are agreeable, Lord Westfield. We will discuss Penelope’s dowry in private at a later date.”
“You will do no such thing.” The elderly woman shot out of her seat so fast, Edward was only just able to not flinch. Reginald wasn’t so lucky.
“I won’t allow you to ruin Penelope’s life or this young man’s life over a stolen kiss.”
Reginald stood and glared at the older woman.
Edward did not envy Reginald his awkward position. He was neither able to step forward nor shift without touching her person. The old Dame had him right where she wanted him—his towering height be-damned.
“Aunt Augustina, you promised not to say a word, lest I have you removed from the family discussion.”
“And who will dare toss me out?” Aunt Augustina grew two full indignant inches.
“Aunt Augustina—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I may be an old woman, and I may not have ever wed, but I certainly know the passion between a man and a woman, marital bed or not. I have fully enjoyed it. Numerous times with numerous gentlemen. Some who were gloriously not so gentle. And don’t you tell me you have never tasted a woman’s lips or gorged on sublime female flesh. I won’t believe it.”
Reginald’s cheeks sharpened with color, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aunt Augustina, must you air your private…laundry.”
“Sheets, dear nephew. One airs sheets. Unless of course, a certain gentleman leaves a very pleasant lingering impression. And after sixty-odd years, I have a dozen diaries filled with very pleasant lingering impressions. I plan to bequeath them to Penelope.”
“Not after Penelope becomes my wife.” Edward snapped his mouth shut. God’s teeth did he just say that?
Aunt Augustina blasted him with her full attention. “If my niece chooses to become your wife, then and only then will you have a say in the matter—and only if she allows you to have a say.”
Edward took a deliberate step forward, hoping, but not believing for a minute that he in any way intimidated the woman. “The bans will be read by the end of the week.”
“Oh no, they won’t. Penelope will have her season. It is her right and her mother’s wish that she enter society and make a grand marriage.”
Reginald lost some of his starch along with his temper. “Aunt Augustina, Penelope doesn’t need a season now. She’s a cat, and she’s already trapped the cream of Societies crop in her claws.”
St. James ah hemmed. “Thank you, my dearest Augustina, for your direct candor and enlightening, if not overly informational argument on behalf of your niece.” His steady baritone filtered over the occupants in the room, commanding attention. “It is nice to observe that all four of my sons have not lost their ability to blush.”
Edward admired the Duke of St. James. Aunt Augustina, tittered if that was what one called it at her great age. With a pat to her coif, she retook her seat.
“
Reginald, if you and your brothers will excuse us, I’d like to have a moment alone with Lord Westfield.”
Reggie cast him a quick glance and followed his brothers out of the room.
Edward wasn’t sure if the meaning in Reggie’s glance was a, you’re in for it now old chap, or you’re in for it now ha-ha old chap. Either way, Edward was about to find out.
The door clicked shut and St. James sagged in his seat. “Do sit down Lord Westfield; you’re making my neck twitch. I want to know about the horse.”
Chapter 7
Edward deliberately measured his stride down the long hallway to Penelope’s private salon. Her lack of obedience would have to be addressed in the very near future if she was to be his duchess. And she would be his duchess.
The interrogation had gone downhill after Reginald and his brothers left. Never have a gentleman’s conversation with a woman present. Never, never have a gentleman’s conversation with a woman that has no compunction about speaking her mind. Never, never, never have a gentleman’s conversation with Aunt Augustina in attendance.
Edward had gone into the interview determined not to marry Penelope and left thoroughly put out because St. James had insisted Penelope was to have her season—before he would give his consent to their marriage. Edward would have to court Penelope, with Aunt Augustina as a chaperone, before the bans were read.
How had that happened?
The last thing he wanted to do was chase down Penelope for a dance at every blasted soiree, ball, and dinner party. One dance and one dance only. That had been Aunt Augustina’s insistence so Penelope could bask in the glorious attention of her admirers. Gads.
He didn’t want Penelope basking in anyone’s attention except his and especially not any other admirers. Definitely not any other admirers. And absolutely not by Aunt Augustina’s definition of admirers.
Any man who had to deal with the old bird on a day-to-day basis should be canonized.
Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1) Page 6