Frances’ eyes glassed over with misery, and she reached for his hand. “Please Edward. Don’t do this to us. We’ve learned our lessons well.”
Penelope watched the play of emotions across Edward’s face, and her chest tightened. He cared for Miss Wilcot. Maybe not the way she cared for him, but he did care.
Edward straightened. “Fine. But from now on this household is dry and if I find out either of you has imbibed in anything stronger than milk, I will personally take a strap to your backsides.”
Penelope skirted the settee and headed for the exit. Aunt Augustina was on her own. Before she’d gone half a dozen steps, an arm snaked around her waist, and she was cinched firmly against Edward’s very hard chest.
“Where do you think you are going?”
“Home.”
“You forget, sweet Pen, Reggie and I traded hoydens.”
That was it. Polite society be damned. “If you do not let me go this instant, I will create a scandal that will be whispered about for centuries. Everyone in this room will be ostracized from the ton—including your sister and your ex-intended.”
Edward released her so fast she landed on her backside with a teeth jarring thud, but before she could protest, his face slid into a frozen mask of indifference that made a winter’s chill seem like a warm summer’s breeze, and she swallowed her retort.
* * *
“Mother.”
Edward’s gut turned to stone when he saw his mother standing in the doorway, and he stepped on Penelope’s skirt to keep her down.
The dowager duchess flowed into the room, surveyed the assemblage, and sniffed with distaste. “I see you haven’t come to your senses yet.”
“We weren’t expecting you.”
Penelope twisted her head, and he nearly smiled at her stifled groan.
“I didn’t feel it was necessary to be announced. After all, this is my home.”
It was to be a war of politeness. So be it. “This is my home. You should have sent a card around. Smyth would have told you we were not accepting visitors.”
“Nonsense,” Augustina trilled from the couch, “Theodosia, do come in. We were just discussing another pot of tea.” She motioned to the butler lingering beyond Theodosia’s shoulder. “Smyth, please have a fresh pot brought in. I think Chamomile tea will do the trick this time.” Augustina trained her gaze on his mother. “You do still like Chamomile, don’t you? It’s been what, over twenty years since I’ve seen you?”
Edward felt a tug on his pant leg and glanced down.
“You are standing on my skirt.”
“I know.”
“Please remove your boot.”
“No.”
Color blotched Penelope’s cheeks.
Amanda groaned and Reginald re-adjusted his unconscious load. “You seem to have your part of the bargain well underfoot, Lord Westfield, and I think it’s time I took my part home.”
“I want the bans read.”
Reginald scowled at his sister. “I trust you will conduct yourself in a manner worthy of a St. James, sweet Pen. We taught you well. Don’t disappoint us.” With a nod to his brothers, Reginald took his leave.
Garrett and Addison, fast on his heels, patted Penelope’s head, waved fair thee well, and galloped out the door.
Edward smiled at his prize. Penelope would find no quarter from her brothers, and that suited him fine, except—he studied the remaining occupants of the room. Except now he was left to contend with two drunken maidens, his mother, Aunt Augustina, and his very angry betrothed.
“Don’t mind them,” Aunt Augustina quipped to Theodosia. “My niece is merely allowing his Grace to exercise his diminishing ducal dominance. She has him well in hand.”
Pain exploded in Edward’s nether regions, and he dropped like a stone clutching his groin.
Penelope scurried across the floor and was up and out the door before he could register a breath.
“Yes, definitely well in hand. I think your son is enjoying the chase.”
Edward lay curled on the floor and waited for the stars to fade and proper vision to return. Penelope had definitely been taught well, and a St. James was never one to disappoint. When he got his hands on her—He rolled to his back, lifted a knee, and smiled at Aunt Augustina through the diminishing throb. He was enjoying the chase, and he was damned sure he was going to enjoy it when Penelope did have him well in hand.
Henrietta hiccupped, and Frances hyperventilated under his mother’s withering glare, then toppled over upending the tea service.
If Smyth didn’t out-right quit, Edward was going to have to increase his wages.
Chapter 13
Penelope stood behind a potted plant observing the ton a safe distance from the dance floor. Lady Caruthers’ ball was well attended and quickly turning into a crush. She’d managed to sidestep two admirers and was currently nursing a baby toe courtesy of her last partner.
She watched the door expecting Edward to make an entrance but so far, he’d been a no show. With any luck, he’d miss the waltz altogether. Addison, Penelope’s nursemaid Du Jour, had promptly deposited her in front of Aunt Augustina upon their arrival and hadn’t been seen since, which suited Penelope just fine. She had run Garrett back and forth to the refreshment table when he had drawn the red-tipped stick a few nights prior. Apparently, Addison was not willing to be her lackey.
“Hiding from me Boots?”
She spun around and almost knocked over the hibiscus. “Hardly. I was hoping Mr. Brandenburg wouldn’t ask for a dance. I cannot afford to lose more than one toe a night, and I’ve already met my quota, courtesy of Mr. Hood.”
The strains of the waltz began, and Edward couriered her onto the outer fringes of the dance floor. “I will endeavor not to step on your toes.”
“I didn’t see you arrive.”
“I prefer not to make an entrance.”
“I’m surprised you’re walking so well.”
Edward’s eyes blazed. “Are you referring to your low blow?”
Penelope concentrated on the diamond stickpin in his cravat. “You seem to have recovered.”
He tugged her into his chest on the twirl. “Don’t worry Pen. I can assure you I am fully functional.”
She felt the flush rise to her cheeks. Having four brothers, she understood what fully functional meant. “I will remember to wear my boots from now on.”
His grin bordered on the salacious and he set her back to an acceptable distance. “Did you enjoy Lord and Lady Ramsey’s dinner party last night?”
“It was a passable affair. The roast beef was overcooked, but the company was pleasant.”
“You’re scowling, Boots. Curious bystanders might think you aren’t enjoying my company.”
Penelope glanced up and schooled her features into a pleasant facade. “Is this better?”
“Much. Who accompanied you?”
“Addison, but he was more interested in the fair Miss Rebecca Ramsey.” Reginald waltzed by with the troll and Penelope pursed her lips into a frown.
Edward pulled her closer. “You’re scowling again.”
“I can’t help it. I don’t like Alice.”
“Mrs. La Pierre? Why not?”
“I can’t put my finger on it, but I think Reggie is a fool to fall under her spell. It’s obvious she’s looking for a husband, and I think she has her sights set on becoming the next Duchess of St. James.”
“Half of the ladies in this room are looking to catch a husband.”
“I, however, am not.”
“You do not need to search for a husband, you have already caught one—quite effectively if not very sporting.”
He sounded a mite surly, and she couldn’t blame him. It annoyed her, as well. Better to pursue the topic of the troll. Maybe Edward could enlighten her. “I think Mrs. La Pierre is in dire need of an infusion of funds.”
“Mrs. La Pierre’s husband left her more than sufficient funds. She is a wealthy widow and a worthy catch in her own
right.”
Penelope bit her lip. If that were true, why were her unmentionables in such desperate straits?
“Mrs. La Pierre has the highest of recommendations, and her husband was well respected before he was killed helping the crown.”
“The French called him a traitor.”
“The English call him a hero.”
Penelope stomped on Edward’s foot, and he released her. “It is obvious you are quite enamored with the widow, and if that is the case, I am sure she will more than welcome you into her affections. Between Reggie, the Marquis of Lansdowne, and a half dozen other half-wits, you should find yourself in good company, albeit in line.”
The waltz ended, and Edward caught her upper arm before she could disappear into the crush. He escorted her off the floor and back behind the potted plant.
“I didn’t come here to argue the merits of Mrs. La Pierre or any other woman for that matter, and I am certainly not interested in any other woman’s affections—especially Mrs. La Pierre’s. I came here tonight because I wanted to dance the waltz with you, and to inform you that I have to go away on business.”
Penelope’s heart picked up then plunked. “You’re going away?”
A smile smoothed out the sharpened planes of irritation on Edward’s face. “Will you miss me?”
Yes, of course, she would. She bit the inside of her lip to keep her tongue from betraying her and rolled her shoulders, affecting an air of self-satisfied superiority. “That would be gauche. Not to mention unfair to my other suitors.”
Edward handled the cut with little more than a slight flare of his nostrils. “Come with me.”
Without a by-your-leave, he took hold of her upper arm again and worked her through the crowd to her brother. “Your sister is feeling under the weather and would like to return home. I will accompany you as well if you don’t have any objections.”
Addison lifted an intrigued brow. “Certainly. If you help Pen with her cloak, I will inform Aunt Augustina.”
Addison dissolved into the crowd, and Edward steered her to the door.
“Aren’t you acting just a bit high-handed?”
“Yes.” Edward’s tone was brusque, and Pen decided it was best to let the lion digest his meal. A hearty serving of rejection was often hard to swallow.
* * *
Edward helped Penelope into the coach and sat opposite her and Addison. He was too angry to speak. There were only a handful of women that had the innate ability to slice a man to ribbons with well-targeted words—Penelope was one of them.
Her features were shadowed except for the occasional streetlamp that glowed into the interior. She remained mute, for which he was thankful. He needed time to cool his temper. Time to wrap the imperious ducal cloak around him. Time to figure out how he would keep Penelope and her suitors in check.
Unfortunately, the ride was too short. He escorted his would-be-fiancé into the foyer determined to have a few minutes of privacy with her. Addison and proper decorum be damned.
Penelope headed straight for the stairs, but Edward intercepted her with a firm coaxing towards the drawing-room. “Give us a minute, Addison. I will join you in the library when I finish speaking to my intended.”
“Westfield, you have my leave to spank her if necessary, and I’m sure Reginald would be grateful. Just keep the door open.”
Penelope unhooked her short cloak, laid it across the back of the sofa, and continued to the far side of the room to the decanter. She lifted its lid and smiled over her shoulder. “Would you like a nightcap?”
The ease with which she poured herself a drink suggested it was an everyday occurrence. Aunt Augustina helped herself with equal efficiency despite his threats.
“No, thank you.” After this interview, he was sure he would require something stronger and was confident one would be waiting for him in the library.
“Are you sure? It’s Reggie’s private stock. The finest French brandy in England.”
Edward raised his brow and considered the bottle labeled Ratafia. Did Reginald even know of his sister’s duplicity?
“Come here, Penelope.”
She approached him like a sleek tabby sliding its body along the furniture and stopped just short of pressing her breasts against his chest. Her scent, lemon verbena, tantalized his senses, and he fought the urge to put his arms around her—or step back.
She tilted her head, displaying a neck worthy of the crown jewels. Her skin an opalescent canvas for only the most precious of settings. Her lashes lowered. Not with modesty, not with reticence, not with shame, but with a defiant boldness of a young woman awakening to her femininity, tempted to taste the driving passions hidden within the subtle layers of desire.
He wanted to be the one to peel those layers away.
Her lips parted, and he was lost. Lost in the sweetness of her smell. Her taste. Her touch.
With a groan, he released her and high-tailed it to the other side of the room hoping his labored breath went unnoticed. He didn’t dare look at her. He studied the ornately carved marble mantel complete with cherubs and musical instruments set in deep relief. “You will remain here while I am gone. No dinner parties, no balls, no dancing. Your brothers will tell everyone you are unwell.”
He turned only to realize he had given her opportune time to study him and that damned brow of hers was arched with amusement.
He swallowed the knot in his throat. “Is that clear?”
“How long am I to be under house arrest?”
Penelope’s lack of peak made his nape itch. He had expected a fit of ire. The even-tempered acquiescence made him nervous. “A week. Ten days at the most.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need to escort my mother home to Northumbria.”
“Ah.”
“She came to London without my knowledge.”
“So, you intend to send her home because she did not make you aware of her intentions.”
“I know what her intentions are. My mother is only happy when she is making others miserable. Especially my sister Henrietta.”
“And Miss Frances Wilcot?”
Edward’s insides clenched. Did she know about Frances? Of course, she did. He placed his fingers under Penelope’s chin, tilted her head back, and waited for her to meet his gaze. “Miss Wilcot is none of your concern.”
Penelope stepped away. “But she is your concern.”
He heard the lilt of jealousy though she tried to hide it behind the turn of a naked shoulder, and he pulled her back to his chest and brushed a kiss behind her ear. “I’m not in love with her if that is what you are inferring.”
“Not at all, but she does love you.” Penelope pushed away and rounded the sofa.
He followed, closing the door and turned the lock. Then he took a seat, pulled her onto his lap, and kissed his way up her neck. “Frances is like a sister to me.”
Penelope leaned her head back, and her breasts strained against the silk of her gown. “I won’t marry you, Edward.”
He cupped the side of her breast and thumbed the top of her flesh. “What are you afraid of Boots?”
“I’m not afraid.”
The pulse at her throat picked up. She was lying. He turned her, caging her in the corner and pressed his advantage, kissing her until her arms circled his neck and she pulled him closer. He slipped his hand under her skirts, baring her thighs and groaned as he slid his fingers across her silken skin. When he touched her curls, she arched her hips, and he slid a finger between her moistened folds.
She moaned against his mouth.
He had her.
Slipping a finger inside her, he worked her nub with his thumb until she was panting and pressing her hips forward. He increased the pressure, ground his mouth against her nipple, and tugged through the silk.
She went off like a volley of canons, and he almost embarrassed himself in the explosion.
God, she was receptive, she was ripe, and he was so damn ready he could spend himsel
f with two strokes. It was a monumental feat to lift himself from between her thighs and not grind his brain into blissful oblivion.
“When I return, the bans will be read.”
A secret smile played across Penelope’s mouth, and her lashes lowered like a cat watching a mouse but too content to pounce. She was saving the kill for later.
* * *
Edward entered the library frustrated, hard, and surprisingly—yet annoyingly—content.
Addison sat in front of the hearth reading what looked like a stack of notes. “You closed, and locked, the door Westfield.”
He stopped mid-stride at Addison’s clipped and very threatening tone.
“Leave off Addison. Our baby sister is still intact.”
Edward swiveled around. “When did you arrive?”
Reggie sat behind his desk with his own stack of papers and raked frustrated fingers through his hair. “I left Lady Caruthers’ ball shortly after you.”
Addison shot to his feet. “You heard Pen scream.”
Edward’s heart kicked him in the throat, and his face heated. Did Penelope scream? He tried to muffle her cries when she came, but he didn’t think she’d been that loud.
Reggie smirked. “Sit down yearling. There are screams, and then there are screams. I expected you to know the difference by now. Our little sister has always been loud, and those were definitely not screams for help. Penelope has been well pleasured but has not been thoroughly compromised—yet.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because, if you’d stop moaning over those notes, you’d have noticed that his Grace is sporting a very obvious, very large, very unhappy, bulge.” Reggie waved toward the decanter. “Have a drink—or twenty Westfield. We can commiserate together. It’s nice to know at least one member of the peerage isn’t getting any satisfaction either.”
Edward poured several fingers then sank gingerly into the nearest chair, knees spread, feet apart. Did nothing happen in this house that everyone did not know within minutes? “What were you doing? Listening at the door?”
Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1) Page 14