To her shock, he groaned, as if annoyed.
“Is your mind always on those blasted novels?”
She turned her face up to him, mouth ajar. His tone had been so…condescending. She was shocked.
“Andrew, have I offended you in some way?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, Penelope, I simply grow tired of hearing about those worthless books. For the life of me, I cannot understand how you can enjoy them as you do. They are best left to stupid women in unhappy marriages, or little girls foolishly longing for a perfect prince to come sweep them off their feet.”
Penelope took an instinctive step back from him, as if her body wanted to recoil from his harsh words.
“Andrew, this is uncalled for and your claim unfounded,” she snapped. “How dare you degrade something I hold so dear, to my face like this.”
He scoffed. “Please, you are an intelligent, well-bred lady. Surely you see how these novels do nothing but put unrealistic expectations into the minds of the simpletons who read them?”
“Simpletons?” she all but shrieked. Only years of her mother’s insistent instructions on the proper manners of a lady kept her from screaming into his face. “Who are you to call fans of such works simpletons? Your own sister reads such novels!”
Andrew simply shrugged, as if unaffected by this fact. “I would not call Lady Dorothy a simpleton, but she is female, and it is common knowledge that the fairer sex is not as capable of higher thought as their male counterparts.”
Penelope thought she had to be dreaming. Yes, that was it. She was simply stuck in a horrible nightmare where Andrew was not the gentleman she had thought him to be. The Lord she knew would never say such things.
Unless…the Lord she thought she knew was really a façade, and this was his true personality?
The very idea made her nauseous.
“How can you think so little of your sister? Of me?” she demanded to know.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Do not twist my words. That is not at all what I meant.”
She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “Then what, pray tell, did you mean?”
“Just that women are more susceptible to such drivel because they are less burdened with the kind of intelligence men are.”
“Women are just as capable of higher intelligence as men,” she hissed. “They are more than decorative elements, enhancing a man’s life for him.”
“Of course, you are right. They are also needed to maintain the home and rear children.”
Rage pulsed through her. She gnashed her teeth.
“My Lord, I am beginning to think that you are not the gentleman I thought you to be. If you maintain these beliefs, then perhaps we are not a good match after all.”
Spinning on her heel, she marched toward the door of the gallery. Suddenly, his large hand encircled hers and she was pulled to a stop.
She glared over her shoulder. “Let me go.”
Andrew glanced in the direction where Harry and Lady Dorothy stood together, gazing up at the Crusades tapestry. They were so focused on it and each other, they did not appear to have noticed Penelope’s burst of anger. When he appeared satisfied that they were not being observed, he yanked her behind the large statue of the beast and lady, hiding them.
“Andrew, what…?”
He bent down and pressed his lips against hers. She gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His lips were soft, but his kiss was firm and demanding. He wanted her surrender, and she was caught off guard. She was almost willing to give it.
Penelope’s mind was a blur of thoughts as countless emotions coursed through her. Strange new sensations burst to life all throughout her body. That heat in her belly exploded into an inferno, and she pressed her thighs together as an insistent throbbing made her ache between her legs.
The kiss ended as suddenly as it had started. Andrew broke away from her and took several steps back to put distance between them. His face was flushed, his chest rising and falling with his breaths. She could only stare at him in complete shock.
“I…I am sorry,” he whispered. “I do not know what came over me.”
Penelope had no words. Her body was still on fire from his touch and the very first kiss of her life. She had no room in her head to even contemplate the consequences of his actions should they have been caught.
“Penelope,” he still spoke low so as not to alert his sister or Harry of their activities, “say something.”
She could not, as if she had been struck mute, her voice stolen by his illicit kiss. It was all too much. First, his horrid words, then his display of passion. She could not keep up with what he was thinking or feeling from one moment to the next, and it was too much for her to handle.
He looked as though he wanted to say something else to her, but she did not think she could bear to hear any more from him. Not now. Giving him her back, she did the only thing she could think to do in that moment.
She ran away.
Chapter Twenty
“Will you not tell me what happened?” Harry asked as they ambled down the road in their family’s carriage. “Why did we have to leave Lockeder Manor so abruptly?”
He had been trying to get her to explain herself from the moment their carriage had pulled away from the manor.
“I have already told you, I suddenly am feeling unwell,” she lied, refusing to say more. She could feel his glare on her, but she ignored it and kept her eyes locked on the carriage window. After running from Andrew, she had quickly remembered she could not leave without Harry. Returning to the gallery, her cheeks hot with embarrassment, she had been shocked to realize he had not noticed her running from the room.
It appeared that when Lady Dorothy was present and engaged with him, little else could steal his attention. Penelope had been relieved by his oblivion, however, as it meant he was none-the-wiser to Andrew’s actions. Insisting she was feeling suddenly unwell, she had pulled him from Lady Dorothy’s side in order to leave for home sooner than expected.
“Did something happen?” His tone held a note of suspicion. “Did Lord Romwich upset you in some way?”
Her heart seized and she tried to keep her expression from giving anything away.
He upset me, overwhelmed me, enflamed me, and opened my eyes to something I do not yet understand.
“It…it is nothing,” she murmured.
She jumped in surprise when his hand touched hers. Turning her head to look at Harry, she found him kneeling before her, his gaze concerned.
“Darling girl, I know you better than that. Something has upset you. Please, tell me what it is.”
Penelope felt the sudden urge to tell him everything. To unburden herself, and perhaps get new insight into the puzzle that was Andrew Wilson. She knew she couldn’t, however. He was her brother, and would be honor-bound to confront Andrew about all of his improprieties toward her.
So, not the whole truth, but maybe a part of it? Something to put his mind at ease, but also to give me some relief in my struggles.
“Very well. Yes, you are right. Something is bothering me. Lord Romwich and I had a conversation in which he revealed some…unfortunate beliefs he holds about a woman’s place in the world. He was also quite disparaging of my love of novels. He said they created unrealistic expectations for the people who read them, and that in his mind, those individuals are simpletons.”
Harry appeared instantly enraged. “He said that to you? I will kill him!”
Penelope shook her head and sighed. “Now, now, Harry. Do not be melodramatic. He was not calling me a simpleton, but rather making a generalization. There is no reason to turn to violence.”
He frowned, appearing unconvinced. “Still, his words affected you. Upset you. I would not be fulfilling my brotherly duties if I let him get away with such behavior.”
“And I love you for that,” Penelope said with a smile, cupping his cheek in her hand. “But I can assure you, he meant no insult toward me directly.
I just…I just thought he had a more open mind about such things. I confess, I am very disappointed in him.”
“Do you wish to cut ties with him?” Harry asked, moving so that he sat next to her. He took both her hands in his.
Her body tensed and her mind instantly screamed in rejection of the idea. The visceral reactions she had to his rather reasonable question surprised her.
Is the idea of losing him truly so abhorrent, despite everything he said to me?
After a moment of thought, she realized that yes, yes it was. If she imagined never seeing Andrew again, panic seized her, wrapping around her heart like a fist and squeezing until pain radiated from her chest. She could not let him go. It was not an option.
Yet, she worried whether she might come to resent him. If he believed what he did, and spoke so bluntly to her about said beliefs, could she continue to like him? Or, would she find herself hating him years down the road, when they were married and settled?
Shaking her head, she answered Harry’s question. “No, I do not wish to cut ties with him, but…I worry that we might not be as good a fit as I initially believed after all.”
Harry patted her hand softly. “My dear Penelope, you have not been acquainted with the gentleman for very long. You are still just getting to know him. There is nothing that demands you must marry him if you decide he is not who you want to be with. You are putting too much pressure on yourself.”
Logically, she knew that he was right. Simply because she and Andrew were courting did not mean they had agreed to an engagement as of yet, though that was the foregone conclusion in most people’s minds, she knew. Still, she could break things off if and whenever she pleased.
It was not logic that ruled her mind when it came to Andrew, however. Pure instinct and desire drove her forward. She wanted Andrew as she had wanted no other man before, and something within her that was dark and primal refused to give him up. Penelope could not understand it, but she feared that Harry was wrong. Andrew was it for her.
Deep down in her soul, she could feel it. She would either marry Andrew, or she would marry no one. No other man would do for her, no matter how much the Marquess infuriated her. The thought did not bring her comfort, however, as she continued to doubt their fit together. Just because they belonged together, did that mean they were good for each other?
I am not so sure.
* * *
“Oh, Dorothy, you should see her when she is riled,” Andrew said with a grin. “Miss Snowley is simply breathtaking.”
It was several hours after the Snowleys had departed, and Andrew and Dorothy were sitting in the parlor together. He was leaning against the back of a settee, glass of Scotch in hand, the image of Penelope’s flustered expression and soft lips on his mind. He had not really meant to kiss her, but the fire that had burned in her eyes when she was angry had been a Siren’s call he could not resist.
Dorothy sat across from him, but she did not appear pleased.
“You push too hard, Andrew,” she warned. “You think the things you say in jest are funny, but you are too good at making them sound real. What if she took the things you said to her to heart?”
He frowned. “Do not be so cross, sister. Miss Snowley knows I enjoy a good nettling now and again. You told her yourself, did you not?”
“I did,” she nodded. “Still, that does not mean she will enjoy your teasing. Especially when you ridicule something so near and dear to her heart!”
Sitting up, Andrew felt his confidence waver. “But you know I did not mean any of those things. I do not believe what all I said. Surely, she must know that, too?”
Dorothy’s brows rose. “Does she? You forget, Andrew, you and Miss Snowley have not known each other long at all. I think you take that fact for granted because your interest in her was so sudden and inexplicable.”
Andrew’s brows furrowed. She was right. He had forgotten how short of a time he and Miss Snowley had been acquainted. His feelings for her were so strong, and his devotion so unshakeable, it often felt like he had known her for years. Sometimes, it felt as though she had been part of him his whole life.
In truth, it had only been a few weeks. Was that time enough for her to know his true self? To know him well enough to pick up on the times he teased her?
Worry lashed through him. If she could not yet discern his teasing from his truth…
“She could hate me,” he murmured, plastering his free hand to his forehead in agitation. “Even now, she could be determining to never see me again.”
Dorothy said nothing to assuage his fears.
“You would only have yourself to blame,” she shrugged, unhelpful in a moment when he needed her input the most.
“Dorothy,” he snapped. “I have no time for you to rub my nose in my folly. Tell me what I should do.”
She pursed her lips, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “If you wish for my help, I would suggest using a softer tone, brother.”
He gritted his teeth in exasperation, but at length said, “I am sorry, Dorothy. Truly. Now, will you please help me?”
With a dramatic sigh and wave of her hand, she replied, “Yes, yes, I suppose I can.”
“Then what must I do?” He stood up, downed the rest of his drink, then returned the crystal glass to the liquor service.
Dorothy appeared thoughtful for a moment. “Well, to start with, you must apologize to her.”
“Of course,” he nodded, coming back to stand by the fireplace. “That is a given, but it does not guarantee she will let me back into her good graces. What else can I do to make it up to her?”
“Christmas is fast approaching. Perhaps you could give her a gift? Something to convey your affections, as well as apologize for your thoughtless words.”
He narrowed his eyes at her accusing tone, but kept his lips sealed against any kind of retort. Apart from that, however, her idea did have merit. A thoughtful gift could be just what he needed to demonstrate his feelings for Penelope, and that it was conveniently almost Christmas time provided the perfect excuse to present her with something so it did not appear he only did so to earn her forgiveness.
“What should I get her, though?” he thought out loud.
“Perhaps one of the books she loves, and you so brutally ridiculed to her face,” Dorothy suggested in a dry tone.
“As much as it pains me to say it, that is not a bad idea,” he grumbled. She smirked, and he wanted to groan in irritation. “Be careful, sister. I doubt Mr. Snowley would appreciate such a haughty demeanor in you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do not think to push your insecurities about your relationship onto me, Andrew. Mr. Snowley likes me just as I am, haughty, spoiled, and all the rest.”
“Did he say as much?” he asked in astonishment.
“He did, in nearly those exact words.” Though any other lady might have been deeply offended to be labeled haughty and spoiled by the gentleman she desired, Dorothy appeared thrilled by it. “He is so honest, and he does not try to win my favor with sweet words I know are not true. My station and social status seem not to intimidate him in the least. Is that not marvelous?”
“You are an odd creature,” Andrew said with a shake of his head.
“Mr. Snowley has said as much as well,” she gushed.
Baffled, Andrew decided it was not worth the headache to attempt to understand his sister and her strange logic when it came to Mr. Snowley’s honesty. Instead, he turned his focus back to Penelope. He had a plan to earn her forgiveness, now he simply needed the means and the opportunity.
If I were a lady of beauty, wit, and good humor, what gift would I enjoy receiving?
Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he grinned. He knew she would be unable to resist something so perfect. Andrew was as good as forgiven.
“Dorothy, I have a thought, but I will need your help.”
His sister smiled a lazy, catlike smile. “Of course, brother dear. Anything to ensure Miss Snowley does not throw you out of her life and o
nto your stubborn backside.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Oh, my darling girl, what is with that pitiful frown? Tonight will be so enjoyable! Are you not looking forward to it?”
Penelope turned her gaze to her mother and attempted to smile. She feared she failed miserably at the task.
“I am looking forward to it, Mama,” she assured the lady. “I am simply…tired, is all.”
Her mother did not look as though she believed her. They sat across from each other in the family’s carriage, on their way to yet another ball. The dictates of society were so exhausting, in Penelope’s mind, especially when it came to Christmas. There were abundant social gatherings and celebrations during this time of the year, but after so many, the task of readying oneself and going to yet another one was far from her ideal way to spend the evening.
Lustful Memoirs 0f A Bewitching Lady (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 14
