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

by Deborah Villegas

  “I did no such thing. I just observed.” Her words came out stuttered and breathless.

  With a roll of his tongue, he teased the hardness between his teeth. “Why were you there?”

  “Ferris.” She lolled her head to the side and arched her body toward his mouth.

  Her brother? “Why was he there?” He took a pull on a very tempting nipple and sucked it.

  Her inhale was sharp, and she wrapped her legs around his middle and pulled him closer. “I think Clive is using him as a message runner.”

  He sucked harder and slipped his hand between her thighs, fingering her folds.

  She moaned and rocked beneath him.

  Edward stilled his fingers. “The Marquis of Lansdowne was there?”

  Penelope mewled in a half pant attempting to grind against his hand. “Don’t stop.”

  Jesus, she was responsive. Demanding. Alluring. Amazing. Mouth parted, softly panting, eyelashes lowered in sultry seduction. He slid his lips across her ribs and kneaded her bottom, stoking her thighs, drowning in the exquisite softness of her body.

  “Ferris gave Clive a letter. I stole it.”

  Her words barely registered on his drunken mind. When they made it through the cloud of desire, he froze. A letter? He lifted up enough to look at her. “What letter? Do you still have it?”

  Penelope blinked as if coming out of a fog. “What?”

  Edward stopped his seduction. “The letter.”

  She propped herself up on her elbows and stared at him as if he were a stranger. Or worse, deranged. Which he probably was or would be by the time he actually bedded her. This wasn’t happening. She was ready, she was willing, she was begging. With a groan, he released her and tossed the covers over her. “Where is the letter?”

  “Who the bloody hell cares?”

  He moved away and grabbed his robe. This was most definitely the stupidest thing he had ever done. He should ignore his instincts and let Ferris become one of the damned. But he couldn’t. If Ferris was a runner for smugglers and the authorities found out, he would hang.

  Penelope clutched the sheet to her breasts. Her chin, high with indignation. Her green eyes shooting sparks of fury.

  “Dammit woman, answer me.”

  She glanced at her topcoat and then it was a race to the pocket.

  Edward grabbed it just as Penelope barreled into him. He caught her with one arm and held the coat out of reach with the other.

  “Give me that.”

  Without a qualm, he tossed her onto the bed, bottoms up and tossed his leg over her lower back, effectively pinning her face down. He ignored her screams and ripped open the seal to scan the contents. Shit. “It’s a manifest.”

  Penelope squirmed. “A manifest? Let me see.”

  He pressed her head into the covers, and she elicited a righteous muffled scream of indignation while he read the contents. The cargo, the name of the ship, where it would come ashore, the date.

  The date. Tomorrow night. Southampton. Good God, if he was going to intercept the smugglers in time, he would have to leave now. He stared at Penelope’s delectable backside and groaned. The Gods were against him.

  With a swat, he turned her over and kissed her with all the frustration of a man condemned to spend the night riding hard with no reward. “I have to go.”

  She lay tangled in the sheets, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed, chest rising, temptation incarnate.

  He groaned and rose from the bed. He didn’t look at her as he pulled on his pants, his hose, and his boots. If he did, he’d lose his resolve. If he did, Ferris was a dead man.

  “Where are you going?”

  He looked. God save him, he couldn’t help it. He reached for her and kissed Penelope one last time. When he released her, they were both breathless, “I love you, Boots. Do not leave the house. I will be back in two days.”

  Without a backward glance, he grabbed the rest of his clothes and walked out of the room. He strode down the hall dragging his shirt over his head and stormed into Reginald’s chamber. If he was going to ride to hell, he wasn’t going to do it alone.

  The bed was empty. The room was dark.

  “Are you here to order me to read the bans, old man?” Reggie sat in front of the fire with a cloth pressed to his eye.

  “The deed has not yet been accomplished. What happened to you?”

  Reggie removed the cloth revealing the beginnings of a shiner. “Miss Bishop is a closet pugilist. What is your excuse this time?”

  Edward was only just mollified. At least Reginald looked as miserable as he felt. “Your brother Ferris is going to swing if we don’t leave for Southampton with due haste.”

  He thrust the letter into Reginald’s hand and lit a candle. “It’s a smuggler’s bill of goods.”

  Reginald leaned into the light, read the letter, and stared up at Edward with dawning recognition. “You work for Whitehall.”

  “Get dressed. I’ll explain on the way.”

  Chapter 20

  Penelope paced the library stewing over the previous night’s fiasco and the fact that she had come out of it non-comprōmissum. She couldn’t believe Edward had left her. Left her naked, needy, and sprawled across her bed in a mass of shameless abandon, legs spread, ready for the taking, and begging for release.

  Every time she thought about her wantonness, her face burned. Every time she thought about Edward’s desertion, the more she fumed. Every time she thought about his casual reference to love, her chest constricted, her insides roiled, her pulse raced.

  He said he loved her. Not the grand confession of undying love, but more of a statement. An apology. An appeasement. An act of contrition followed by a command to stay put as if she were a child or a dog—or a wife.

  She fingered the ring on her right hand. A large emerald surrounded by diamonds. Her mother’s engagement ring given to Penelope on her eighteenth birthday.

  The blood drained from her face. She had given him her balls, she had almost given him her body, she would not give him her heart.

  Amanda entered looking as vexed as Penelope felt. “Your brother is the most obnoxious, conceited, arrogant man I have ever encountered.”

  Penelope sighed. Three months ago, she would have agreed with Amanda. “Where is my dear brother? Sulking in his library or off to see the troll?”

  “Neither. He lit out of here last night with your intended.”

  Penelope gaped. “He left with Edward? Where?”

  “Southampton.”

  “How do you know?”

  Amanda snorted and rolled her eyes. “Your brother tossed me into the adjoining mistress’s suite after I blackened his eye and neglected to close the door all the way.”

  Penelope bit her lip. Edward’s sudden departure had something to do with the letter. She was sure of it. But what?

  Bowers knocked then entered the room with a tray bearing an envelope. “A message has arrived for you, Miss St. James.”

  “Thank you.” She took the envelope and waited for Bowers to leave before opening. It was addressed to her, but there was no indication of who sent it. She ripped the wax seal and unfolded the note. Her heart slipped to her stomach the further she read.

  “What is it?” Amanda was at her side.

  Penelope handed her the note and headed for the sideboard and the decanter of whiskey. She needed fortification in order to think without her balls, and thinking without her balls was like trying to give a dead man whiskey. It was a waste of time and good liquor.

  Amanda read the note then let her arm drop to her side. Her face was ashen. “Someone has to go after Edward and Reginald.”

  “There’s no time.”

  “What about Garrett and Addison?”

  “They’ve gone to New Market to look at some prime horseflesh. They left early this morning.” Of course, that was after they interrupted a fitful slumber to exercise their own form of sibling torture for suggesting they were gay.

  Garrett referred to it as p
ayback. Addison said it was a fitting punishment. Penelope preferred the phrase throwing-down-the-gauntlet.

  No one tickled her feet. Ever.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Penelope downed a healthy swallow, set the glass on the sideboard, and cloaked her panic behind a careful mask of long-suffering duty. Reginald had the look down pat. “I’m going to rescue my brother. If I leave within the hour, I can make it with time to spare.”

  “It’s a solid two days ride and only if we head straight to the coast.”

  “We aren’t going anywhere. You have to stay here and tell Reginald what has happened.”

  “Tell Reginald what, dear?”

  Penelope turned a rigid heel to the door.

  Alice breezed into the morning room wearing the latest fashion with a garish feathery contraption on her head loosely referred to as a hat with a large bow tied directly under her chin. She reminded Penelope of one of Aunt Augustina’s pugs.

  Bowers hovered near the door, distinctly put out and rolled his eyes when Penelope met his.

  The troll trilled across the room and pecked Penelope on both cheeks ignoring Amanda.

  “Mrs. La Pierre, this is a surprise. We are not receiving visitors today.”

  Her cheeks flushed a giggle. “We’re practically sisters, dear.”

  Penelope’s stomach sank.

  Alice covered her mouth. “Oh my. Is it still a secret? I thought he would have told you this morning when he returned home. He wanted to be the one to tell you first.”

  Penelope didn’t have time for the troll’s less than subtle hints that matrimony was just around the corner. She needed to get rid of her so she could focus on rescuing Ferris.

  She lowered her lashes the way her brothers did when they were forced to deal with undesirables, or in the troll’s case, a scheming, manipulative fem fatale. Alice played her role well. A game. A well-played game if one were to reference her dance cards and tally the vanquished.

  What Mrs. La Pierre miscalculated was the fact that Penelope came from a long line of reckless gamers who understood the odds better than anyone. Understood that in order to bluff, there had to be a grain of truth behind the lie. If you focus on the grain of truth, the lie is no longer a lie. “How is the Marquis of Lansdowne?”

  The troll took a nervous step back and played with her bow. “I wouldn’t know.” She brightened and clasped her hands together. “Should I have Bowers bring in some tea?”

  “No. Thank you, Bowers, that will be all.” Penelope closed the door. Tea would only encourage Alice to stay.

  “You seem to be spending quite a bit of time with the Marquis.”

  “Clive De Chevalier is a longtime acquaintance. He and my dead husband were good friends.” She sat and smoothed her skirts as if to iron out the fib and then attempted a soft pouty smile.

  Penelope arched a conceited brow. The troll’s smile was too narrow. Guilty white lines played around the corners of her mouth. “Come sit with us, Amanda.”

  Penelope took Amanda’s left hand and shoved the emerald and diamond ring onto her finger with a subtle wink. “You must show Mrs. La Pierre, your engagement ring.”

  Amanda blanched and regimented like a soldier about to face a firing squad.

  Alice’s chin jerked up.

  Penelope thrust Amanda’s hand front and center. “Isn’t it Divine? It was my Mother’s. When Reginald announced their betrothal at dinner last evening, we were all so thrilled.”

  The troll shot to her feet. “But…But that can’t be?”

  Penelope tasted the rich, thick, heady cream of success. “We all knew it would happen.” She continued ignoring Alice’s outburst. “Reggie has been head-over-heels in love with Miss Bishop from the moment he first laid eyes on her.”

  Voices sounded just outside the door.

  Amanda shot Penelope a panicked plea right before Aunt Augustina burst into the morning room like a charging bugler at the front lines. “Yes, Yes, Bowers, I know the girls aren’t accepting visitors, but we are not visitors. Now be a dear and bring up some tea. Strong, I think. Darjeeling will do.”

  Aunt Augustina was wrapped in her signature pearls, an indication that she meant business. She wore her ropes like armor. Henrietta and Frances followed on her heels. None of them wore a pelisse, none of them wore walking attire, none of them seemed to care that it was raining.

  “Good morning, dears.” Aunt Augustina kissed Penelope and Amanda on the cheek then galumphed onto the divan next to the troll. “Mrs. La Pierre, this is a surprise. A bit early for making calls, isn’t it?”

  Penelope held back her snort and moved two more chairs into the grouping. “Do sit down, ladies.” Henrietta looked angry. Frances looked bereft. They took their seats like two cagey cats in a room full of dogs.

  “We saw the bans in the morning paper.” Aunt Augustina waved the paper and gleamed with triumph.

  The bans? Penelope snatched the paper and scanned the society page. Breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. She was going to kill Edward, she was going maim Reginald, and…she didn’t have time to deal with any of this. She needed to rescue Ferris. She looked at the women staring at her. It couldn’t be helped. Amanda had to take the fall. “You can’t believe how happy this makes me. Oh, Amanda, you’re going to make such a lovely bride.” She hugged Amanda’s stiff frame and hissed. “Snap out of it. Now is the time to have the vapors.”

  Amanda nodded and swallowed.

  Bowers entered with the tea service.

  Amanda swooned forward like a trooper. Lovely chaos ensued.

  “Oh dear, all the excitement must have been too much for her.” Penelope dropped to her knees next to her cohort, tucking the paper beneath her. “Mrs. La Pierre, I hate to ask this of you, but I think Miss Bishop should have a lie-down. It was very nice of you to come and express your felicitations, but I think it might be better if you took your leave and came back another time when Lord Stansworth is here.”

  “Reginald isn’t here?” Aunt Augustina sharpened like a hound on a scent.

  “Edward and Reginald had to go to Southampton.”

  The troll paled palpably, and if Penelope’s instincts were correct, Alice La Pierre knew precisely what was in the letter.

  If Penelope’s instincts were correct, Alice was working with Clive.

  “Yes, Yes, of course, I should go.” Alice clutched her reticule and dashed from the room.

  If Penelope’s instincts were correct, the troll was going to get her hands on the nearest paper, and the jig would be up.

  Amanda peeked. “Is she gone?”

  “For now.” Penelope stood and helped her friend up.

  Amanda tore the ring off her finger and gave it back. “If you ever pull anything like that again, I’ll pop you in the eye like I did Reggie.”

  “You seem to have recovered remarkably well, my dear.”

  Amanda spun around and flushed scarlet.

  Penelope groaned. It was one thing to get rid of the troll, getting rid of Aunt Augustina was altogether a different problem. When she sank her teeth into something, she was like a bulldog on a bone.

  Penelope gripped Amanda’s arm. “The note.”

  She pulled it out of her pocket. “I have it.”

  “What on earth are you talking about dear.” Aunt Augustina fingered her pearls. When Aunt Augustina fingered her pearls, she wanted answers.

  Penelope took the note and paced the room. She needed her billiard balls like her aunt needed her pearls.

  She stopped. She was a St. James. She might not have the equipment that relegated her to the ranks of omnipotence, but she had the St. James blood running through her veins and the innate arrogance to defy the strictures of Society. She would not sit around and wait for a man to take charge. There wasn’t time.

  She took a deep breath and handed the paper to her aunt. “Ferris has been kidnapped by the Marquis of Lansdowne. Clive De Chevalier. I stole a letter from him, and he wants it back. I think h
e’s a smuggler. Edward said it was a manifest. He and Reggie left last night for Southampton, and they took the letter. I have to get it back and ride for the coast or Clive will kill Ferris.”

  Henrietta and Frances stared at her as if she had the pocks. Aunt Augustina raised a high brow. “What about Mrs. La Pierre?”

  “I think she’s in league with Clive and wants to marry Reggie so they can use the caves for storage.”

  Aunt Augustina harrumphed. “And as usual, the men leave the women to mop up the mess. Well, dear, what are you waiting for?”

  Penelope blinked. “What about the letter?”

  “We’ll just have to make our own. Henrietta dear, will you pour the tea? Frances, you have the most atrocious handwriting, you will need to re-create the letter. Two pages will do, I think. Where is Tom? He’ll get word to Reginald and Edward. Penelope, you will need to travel as a gentleman for safety.”

  “I’ll go with her.” Amanda stood. “Two young fellows out and about will be less noticeable than a single rider.”

  “The note says I have to go alone, and I won’t risk the wrath of Reggie if I lose you along the way.”

  “Since when have you worried about your brother’s temper?”

  Penelope tightened her lips. It was no use arguing. Amanda had a point, but that didn’t mean Penelope was going to give up so easily. She wasn’t going to risk Ferris’s life on a tag-along. “Fine.”

  “Then it’s settled. Henrietta, Frances, and I will take care of Mrs. La Pierre on this end. You two rescue Ferris.” Aunt Augustina held up her hand as if she had an afterthought. “And don’t solicit any donations on your way.”

  Heat flared across Penelope’s cheeks. Good Lord. Her aunt knew she was the Gentleman Bandit.

  “Dear girl, there is very little, I don’t know. Now we must hurry. I’ll have the cook prepare some sandwiches for the journey.

  Amanda dragged her out of the morning room. “Come on. This time I want to look like a rogue, and I’m picking out my own potatoes. Reginald’s valet is going to be furious when he wakes up. A candlestick over his head should do the trick.”

  Chapter 21