“Eying the keyhole.”
Edward blanched. They couldn’t have seen anything, could they? It was bad enough Penelope’s brothers had already seen her naked. Numerous times probably but watching him with her was beyond the pale. He hadn’t even seen Henrietta in anything less than a morning gown and—he wasn’t going to go any further down that path of thought. No, Addison was egging him on. “I want the bans read.”
Reggie sorted the bits of paper into piles. “The bans will not be read until the end of the season. So far, you have been a disappointment.”
“I’ve been a disappointment? Just how have I disappointed you? Not that I care one way or another.”
“You have yet to compromise her thoroughly.”
“You want me to compromise her thoroughly?”
Reggie’s head shot up, and he locked his gaze on Edward. Direct and dangerous and deadly and decidedly St. James. “No, we do not want you to compromise her thoroughly. We don’t want you, or any other man for that matter, anywhere near her because we know exactly what you will do to her.”
Edward sipped his whiskey and congratulated himself on his stoic demeanor. “Then what do you want?”
Reggie roared to his feet and slammed both fists on his desk. “We want her to be happy.”
To watch a St. James lose their cool detachment of the trivialities of life as if they were Gods that couldn’t be bothered with the rest of humanity was rare indeed. “I want the damned bans read.”
As if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than crop rotations, as if they were old friends whiling away a cold winter’s afternoon in companionable silence, Reggie went back to his sorting. “If you are in such a hurry to have the bans read, I suggest you break her to the saddle. Penelope turns twenty-one in less than a year. If she is not wedded and bedded with a babe in the bucket, she will never have a chance at happiness.”
“Why not?” He was missing Reginald’s point.
The St. James half-lipped smile that bordered on a snarl appeared. “Because if we don’t force her to be happy, she won’t be happy. When Pen turns twenty-one, she will inherit fifty-thousand pounds that is not connected with her dowry. She won’t require a husband.”
Before Edward could absorb this well-kept secret, Reginald continued.
“You should consider yourself lucky Lord Westfield. We are a very tight-knit group and to allow you the privilege of seducing our sister has been thrashed about to the point of nausea. However, you are the only man Penelope has neither taken a bite out of, chewed up and then spat out, or ignored to the point of non-existence. And, believe me, there have been loads of eligible young men traipsed before her in the hopes that she might take notice.”
Addison fisted his stack of notes. “I can’t do this Reg.”
“Yes, you can Addy.”
“Do what?”
Reginald sat back and rubbed his temples. “Aunt Augustina dropped a box off this afternoon, and we have been instructed to answer a few questions.”
“The Aunt Agony box?”
Addison leaned forward as if Edward were a new species to be studied. “How did you know?”
“Honestly Addison, Garrett is supposed to be the lightweight in the brains department. Aunt Augustina lives with the man.” Reginald stretched, gathered the papers, and walked the box and its contents over to Edward.
“The first installment. I’ve been trying to figure out the handwriting to sort them, but I’m stumped. I can’t decipher whose handwriting is whose. I think they all had the same tutor.”
Edward took the pile that was thrust into his lap. “Why do you want to sort them?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know who is asking which question?”
“When I agreed to do this—”
Addison jumped up and strutted around the room like a steed in a small pen. “You agreed? Did you fall down the stairs and addle your brain when you were a child?”
“I agreed to answer a few prosaic questions. Fashion, income requirements, gentleman’s preferences…” Edward’s cheeks went numb as the blood drained from his face. Oh, good, God. He read through the first few notes, then fingered through the rest of the pile and sat in astonishment. There must have been fifty questions—none of them as banal as hats and hairdos.
“You heard him Reg.” Addison waved at Edward. “HE agreed to do this. That means HE gets to answer all of the questions.”
“Some of those queries are from our sister. Do you really want him to answer the horse question?”
“Horse?”
“Let me think, how come it is acceptable for a man to try out several mares before he decides to purchase one, but a woman isn’t even allowed to take a peek in the stable to decide if she even wants a stallion?” Addison mocked in a femininely pitched voice that vaguely resembled Aunt Augustina’s.
“That would also mean—” Edward rubbed his face in his hands and groaned.
“Exactly. Some of those questions are from the lovely Henrietta and the gravely compelling Frances.” Addison quipped. “Glad you’ve finally caught up. I was starting to worry that Pen would have to do the thinking for you both.”
Garrett pounded into the library. “Have you started yet? I didn’t think I’d ever get Aunt Augustina and her charges rounded up. Lady Caruthers was in a stew over the fight.”
Reginald frowned. “What fight?”
Garrett paled, flicked a glance at the door, and then back-peddled. “Um. Just a small tiff between two, um ladies.”
Edward scrutinized Garrett. He’d left his sister and Frances at the ball under the watchful eye of Aunt Augustina. “Which two ladies?”
“Not Henrietta or Frances.”
A heavy sigh didn’t begin to describe Edward’s relief.
“Who then?”
Garrett looked beseechingly at his twin, who was shaking his head with furious denial.
Reggie’s head swiveled back and forth between brothers. “What the hell have you two been up two?”
“Now Reggie, It’s not anything bad. Or it wasn’t. I mean. Oh, bloody hell.” Garrett sank onto the couch with his head in his hands.
Reggie took a step, but Addison moved in front of his twin to block Reggie’s advance. “It’s my fault. Garrett had nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing to do with what?” Reggie’s tone held enough menace to quake an army. “And before you answer, you’d better know that if I find out you have lied to me, I will send you both north for an entire year.”
Garrett paled. Addison paled. Even Edward felt his blood slipping toward a puddle out of a sense of loyal sympathy.
Addison took a deep breath. “Amanda, Miss Bishop wanted out of her bedroom. I agreed to escort her to the Caruthers’ ball, but I drew the red-tipped stick. Instead of disappointing Amanda, Garrett offered to accompany her.”
That was it? What was wrong with Miss Bishop going to a ball?
“What happened at the ball?” Reggie’s tone went from red hot to blizzard blue.
Addison shook his head and moved to the side.
Garrett grinned. “She won the fight.”
* * *
Penelope stood at her window in a jumble of emotions and watched the raindrops splatter on the panes. Memories of Edward’s mouth, hands, the rigid press against her thigh.
Her face burned with embarrassment. Not just from the liberties she had allowed him to take, but from the wanton way she’d responded. She wanted more.
A soft knock sent her pulse racing.
“Pen? It’s me, Ferris.” He opened the door and tip-toed to her bed. He was half-dressed, trousers, shirt, bare feet; the usual late-night attire when he wanted her to go with him on a raid to the larder, so he had company while he plowed through the sweets.
She stepped away from the window. “I’m here.”
“I thought you were asleep. There wasn’t a light under your door.”
“I’m not tired. I suppose you’re hun
gry.” She lit a taper from the glowing embers in the fireplace and touched the flame to the candles on the mantle. The exercise gave her time to soothe the unexpected disappointment.
“I’m always hungry.” His grin turned upside down. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
Penelope arched her brow. “What kind of favor?”
“It’s not really a favor. It’s more of a warning. I need you to tell Miss Wilcot not to accept any advances from Archibald Granger.”
“Why not? It could be a good match for her, and if you’ve noticed, she is not overwhelmed with suitors.”
Ferris rubbed his jaw. “He’s not for her. He only wants her dowry.”
“Every man wants her dowry. They hesitate because of her great age. Besides, she is an heiress, and her son will inherit a title.”
He shook his head. “That is exactly why Granger is not a good match for her. That and—” He stopped and looked around the room as if searching for his words. “He’s into things I won’t discuss with you. I can’t tell you anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Just promise me you’ll tell her Granger is not the one.”
Penelope scowled. “Fine. I’ll relay the warning, but if she gets stuck marrying a broken-down horse, you are to blame.”
“Promise me, Pen?”
She threw up her hands. “Fine. I promise.”
Ferris scowled as if he wanted to say more, then stepped closer. “You look flushed. You’re not ill, are you?”
Ferris touched her cheek, and the cool palm against her skin melted her discontent. “No, I’m fine. I’m—”
“Wishing I was Lord Westfield?” His smirk told the tale.
Her ears burned and she stomped back to the window, thoroughly annoyed and mortified that just his name rendered vivid images of his body pressed above hers. “You’ve extracted your promise, now if you don’t mind—”
“I also wanted to say goodbye.”
The gentle lilt of his voice surprised her, and she swung around. She had expected the usual teasing. The third degree, the demand for details, the ribald, horrendous poetry. Not soft and serious and sad. “You’re leaving me?”
Ferris flumped across her bed, shoved a pillow under his head, and held out his hand. “Come here.”
She hopped up to sit across from him, but he pulled her close. “Do you remember all the times you came running into my room at the first crack of thunder?”
She smiled. “And by the third crack, we were barreling hand-in-hand down the hall and bounding into Reggie’s bed.”
“Until we bounded into bed and it was already occupied.”
“I still cringe when I think about the spankings we received.”
“Yeah, but it was worth it. Naked screaming maids scrambling for their drawers, Reggie falling out of bed and tripping over the sheets—”
“And father bursting into the room.” She giggled.
“I’m not sure who was more mortified, the two maids or Reggie or father.”
They both laughed at the memory then let the quiet of the night surround their sacred reminiscence.
Ferris stroked her hair. “I can’t keep running to Reggie, Pen.”
She lifted her head from her brother’s chest. His face sculpted in sorrow like a wrongly condemned man who had come to terms with his fate. A knot formed in her throat. “What’s wrong, Ferris?”
“I’ve been receiving packages—threats actually—in the form of gifts.”
The blood drained from her face. “What type of threats?” She didn’t want to know.
His mouth curved into a sardonic grin. “Oh, dead birds, rats,” he took a deep breath and the cavalier bravado faded. “Broken porcelain dolls with green eyes, and bright red, curly, hair.”
She swallowed the knot. “You have to tell Reggie.”
Ferris clenched his jaw, and his skin paled against the sharp red of his cheeks. “He’ll just spend hours haranguing me about my lack of common sense and putting the family name in jeopardy of incurring scandal’s wagging tongue.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’m going home. I’m going to tell father everything.”
“But why? We have most of the money. I just need a little more time.”
“We don’t have any more time. I’m going to ask father for a loan to pay the debt and then I will find suitable employment.”
“You can’t work. Reggie will never allow it. You are a St. James.”
“I am the fourth son of a Duke. I will never inherit, Pen. My lot was cast the day I was born. My income isn’t enough to take care of myself, let alone a family.”
“But you have a house in Edinburgh.”
“A house that I’ve never seen, that is probably falling in upon itself with weeds so thick I’d need a scythe to get to the front door and no money to make the necessary repairs.”
“But there’s land attached to the property.”
Ferris grinned. “Can you honestly picture me as a gentleman farmer?”
Penelope jumped out of bed and paced; a feeling of impending doom pressed against her chest. “You don’t have to go to father. I can get the money. Give me a week—ten days tops, and I’ll have the rest. Then we can put all this rot behind us, and no one will ever know.”
Ferris vaulted off the bed, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her. His fingers bit deeper into her flesh with each reveal. “It’s not just about paying a debt, Pen. I know too much. I’ve seen too much. I’ve taken too much. I’m a walking dead man.”
She stilled, and their eyes locked. Green on green. Mirrored reflections of pain.
He pulled her into a tight hug, and she felt his desperate plea for strength. “I’m in way over my head, and I’ll not drag you further into it.”
She hugged him back just as fiercely, her heart tripping over the pounding of her pulse. Drag her into what?
The sound of yelling followed by the crash of a door pulled them out of their shared misery. “What is that?”
“Quick Pen jump in bed.”
They dove under the covers just before her door slammed open and a very angry Reggie followed by Garrett and Addison and Edward bringing up the rear barged into the room.
“Where is she?” Reggie snarled like a dog in a pit when his gaze landed on the bed.
“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Edward pushed through the blockade.
Ferris winked at Penelope and then grinned a very naughty grin. “It’s storming.”
Penelope elbowed her brother and ignored Edward, the fact that he was in her bedroom, her racing pulse, and the very distracting flutter working its way toward a nerve-wracking shake. “Where is who?”
“Miss Bishop.”
Ferris lifted the covers. “Not in here.”
“Stop it, you dolt.” Penelope tossed the blanket aside and grabbed her robe. “She’s probably hiding from your surly temper.”
“Where?”
“How should I know? But if I find out, I’m not going to tell you. I might have future need of it.”
“I demand to know what HE is doing in your bed.” Edward pointed at Ferris.
She rolled her eyes. “Hiding.”
Reggie gave Edward a dismissive if not irritated wave. “Penelope is frightened of storms.”
“I am not.” Well, not as much. A flash of lightning lit the room, followed by an ear-splitting crack of thunder that illuminated a figure just outside her window.
Her body jerked, and she screamed.
Reggie was at her side, engulfing her in a bear hug before she could recover her senses. “It’s okay Penny, I’ve got you sweet baby sister. The storm will pass soon.” He soothed his words into her hair.
Penelope waited until her heart slowed it’s pounding. Mortified that her brothers knew she was still terrified of lightning, humiliated that Edward had witnessed her only weakness, astonished that Amanda was standing on the balcony just outside her window.
Penelope shivered and leaned away f
rom Reggie’s chest. She needed to get the men out of her room before the next clap of thunder.
She pushed her way through too many shoulders toward the door. “Out.” She pointed for effect.
One by one, her brothers exited until only Edward remained. “You too.”
He walked over to the door, closed it, then locked it, and leaned against it.
Her mouth went dry.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what Ferris was doing in your bedroom.”
She remained mute under his withering glare. If Edward thought his ducal demeanor would intimidate her—he was in for a big surprise. She met his gaze. If she could outstare Reggie, she could certainly outstare Edward.
He smiled, a leer, and her breath hitched. With the instinctive grace of a large and very lethal tiger, he moved toward her.
She stepped back until her backside bumped the edge of the bed. She was trapped, and he knew it. With nowhere to run and Amanda on the balcony, she had no choice.
“Ferris came to tell me he was leaving. He wanted to say goodbye.” Her words tumbled out in a torrent racing her pulse to the finish.
Another flash of lightning followed by another loud crack and Penelope was locked securely against his chest, and he was kissing her. Not like in the drawing-room, Not like in the meadow. Not like behind the hedge.
No, he kissed her like he already owned her—a scorching kiss. A kiss meant to brand her, to bind her, to possess her. To make her forget about the raging storm taking place on the outside and concentrate on the storm brewing between them.
If he hadn’t held her so tight, she would have ended up a boneless mess on the floor. He picked her up, carried her to the side of the bed, and flung her.
With a scream, she landed in a surprised bouncing heap.
“Go to bed, Boots.”
Without a backward glance, he left.
He left her in a roiling mass of unadulterated frustration. With a shriek of rage, she threw her pillow at the offending door—the cad.
The sash flew open, and Penelope jumped out of her skin.
Amanda crawled through her window, sopping wet and shivering. “It took you long enough to get rid of him.”
Penelope took a deep, calming breath. “What are you doing on my balcony?”
Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1) Page 15