by Nina Rowan
She experienced an unexpected pang at the thought of the brightly lit window in which her father took such pride.
She started up the stairs toward what she’d come to think of as “her” room. The mail coach was coming by tomorrow, which meant she had to finish writing the message. Because she was limited to ten words for a telegraph, each word had to be of the utmost importance. Yet even if her father didn’t respond to her message, she was beginning to think that Mr. Harvey wouldn’t throw her out on her ear. Certainly it wasn’t as if he needed the room free for another guest.
As she reached the landing, a deep male voice floated up toward her.
Penelope went to the banister and peered down at the foyer. A tall, dark-haired man wearing spectacles stood at the front counter, his overcoat damp and boots splattered with mud. Despite the disarray of his appearance, he held himself with a straight, undeniable dignity that lent him an almost regal air. A valise rested at his feet, and he held his hat in one hand as he spoke to Mr. Harvey.
Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but Penelope couldn’t place him. Before she could back away from the railing, he looked up. Their gazes met, and a curious jolt of awareness coursed through Penelope’s body. She tightened her hands on the railing.
Darius Hall. What was he…?
“I’d thought to find you in the Orkney Islands with your beloved,” he said, a chill infusing his voice.
Shock flooded her. “How did you know where I’d gone?”
“Your father showed me your letter.” His voice coiled upward in the air toward Penelope, so strangely tangible that she imagined it was composed of dark colors. Midnight blue, ocher, dusky red.
“I spent less than five seconds determining where you’d gone,” Darius continued. “I promised your father I would return you to London posthaste.”
Penelope gripped the banister. Though she’d told her father in the letter that she was leaving to start a new life, she hadn’t told him that she’d planned to do so with Simon Wilkie. She wondered if her father had come to the same conclusion Darius had as to her intentions.
“You followed me all this way?” she asked.
“Yes. I’d have been here sooner but ran into train delays in Aberdeen.” His eyes narrowed into slits of dark glass. “Where is Wilkie?”
Penelope straightened her spine and tried to keep her voice even. “In Belman Castle, I believe. With his rather overbearing mother.”
She could almost see Darius’s mind working as he figured out all the hidden implications of that remark.
“You’ve saved me a longer journey, then,” he said. “I’d planned to take tomorrow’s steamer out to Kirkwall.”
“And do what?” Penelope replied tartly. “Abduct me from the prison of Belman Castle?”
“If need be, yes.”
Penelope’s face flared with heat. He’d come all this way with the intention of rescuing her…er, abducting her from Belman Castle?
“You’re here alone, then?” Darius asked.
Oh, heavens. Either she had to confess that Simon the Coward had cried off their engagement or she had to come up with a plausible lie in the next five seconds.
“Yes,” she finally said. “I’m…I’ve always wanted to visit Wick. I adore herrings.”
Even Mr. Harvey snorted at that. Penelope never had been a good liar.
Darius merely shrugged and turned his attention back to the innkeeper. “A room, please. It’s too dark to travel now. Miss Darlington and I will leave at first light.”
“I beg your pardon?” Penelope snapped.
“We will leave at first light,” Darius repeated as he signed his name in the ledger. “I told your father I would have you back in London before his Christmas feast. I intend to keep that promise.”
Penelope was at a loss for words. She had so few options of her own and almost no money, so all she could do was continue to look for work in a town that had meager opportunities. But the alternative meant sacrificing what little pride she had left.
Mr. Harvey glanced at Penelope before turning to his book to make the arrangements. Darius took a purse from his valise.
“I was led to believe that Miss Darlington might have no funds of her own,” he said. “Therefore, I will settle both our bills together.”
Hot with shame, Penelope turned on heel and went back to her room. She didn’t even want to imagine what Darius Hall thought about her reckless flight with Simon Wilkie.
Shutting the door behind her, she thought reluctantly that this served her right. She had made an absolute bungle of this whole situation, so why not heap further humiliation onto herself by having Darius transport her back to London like a recalcitrant child?
She groaned, pressing her hands to her face. She remembered the way he’d looked at her when he saw her with Simon Wilkie at Lady Wentworth’s soiree a mere three weeks ago. Such a sliver of time, and yet it burned in her memory like a full moon. The way that unreadable gaze had slid from her to Simon, darkening with disapproval in the instant before he turned away from them.
It wouldn’t have been so memorable, she thought, if the mistletoe incident hadn’t happened twenty minutes later.
A hard shiver swept through her. Oh, that kiss. So warm and delicious, eliciting a feeling like light dancing through her veins. She’d tried hard to bury the memory…of course it wasn’t right for an engaged woman to kiss another man, let alone feel like that…but Darius’s mouth had settled against hers with such perfect, seamless precision.
He’d cupped the back of her neck in his large hand with a gentleness that made her feel…unique. Cherished. Alive. It had all been so unlike Simon’s hurried kisses that Penelope was caught entirely off her guard. That was the only explanation for her swift response and the way she’d kissed Darius Hall back with an eagerness that both shocked and thrilled her.
A knock came at the door. Penelope tried to rearrange her thoughts as she went to open it. Darius Hall stood there like a sentry, the breadth of his shoulders almost filling the doorway. Penelope almost took a step backward. He’d always been so contained and reticent that she had never realized just how…powerful he was.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Mr. Harvey informs me that you’ve not dined yet.” He tilted his head toward the stairs. “He has nothing prepared in the dining room, but he tells me there is an agreeable restaurant just around the corner. They offer at least half a dozen herring dishes.”
Penelope jerked her gaze to his, expecting to see him smirking at her. But no. His expression was as stoic as always. She thought rather unexpectedly that in all the years he had come to her father’s shop, she had never heard Darius Hall laugh.
“If you’d care to accompany me?” he asked.
She didn’t much care to accompany him, but she did care to eat. Penelope nodded and pulled on her cloak as they descended the stairs. The wintry air of the sea iced against them as they walked through the dirt roads toward the center of town. Aside from a few pedestrians and a dog pawing for scraps, the place seemed as deserted as ever. The restaurant was gloomy but warm, with a fire burning in the hearth and clusters of trestle tables.
After ordering soup and bread, as well as a plate of salted herring that smelled like a swamp, Penelope eyed Darius across the table. “Why did you follow me?”
His big shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Your father has always been a friend to my family, and to me. I saw no reason he should abandon his work and the preparations for his royal warrant celebration to come and fetch you.”
Penelope couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if Darius had not offered to “fetch her.” Would her father have come himself or ignored her flight entirely?
“You’re fortunate his patrons and friends believe you’re visiting your aunt in Bristol,” Darius remarked. “Though you’d best hope that Mr. Wilkie doesn’t have cause to ruin your name.”
Penelope groaned inwardly. Simon had been the one to abandon her, but if he retu
rned to London, he could very well spread rumors about her in the hopes of deflecting her own accusations. He’d consider it better to attack her rather than defend himself.
“You might as well say it,” she muttered. “I’m a complete fool.”
“We’ve all made mistakes,” Darius replied mildly.
Penelope rather doubted that about him.
“What mistakes have you made?” she asked.
She was unsurprised when he didn’t respond, because of course his mistakes—if he’d ever made any—would be along the lines of using the wrong fork at supper.
At the very least, however, Penelope took a measure of comfort in the notion that this was her first mistake. Up until now, she’d been a paragon of obedience. And it would certainly be her last mistake, too, because once back in London and after having made amends, she would have to become…Penelope the Paragon again.
And that, she told herself firmly, was as it should be. She should be grateful she even had the opportunity to rectify her error. Grateful that Darius Hall had come to rescue…er, retrieve her.
“Are you still working on your dictionary, Mr. Hall?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s not due for another year, and each term requires precise research.”
“What sort of terms?”
“Those used in medicine, zoology, botany, anatomy, among other areas of science.” He nodded his thanks to the server as she placed more bread in front of them. “Some political, historical, and legal terms that are useful for common knowledge.”
A dictionary. Writing such a tome was the perfect occupation for a man who seemed as contained as a closed book. Though he was the most composed man she had ever encountered, Penelope could almost see the thoughts burning behind his sharp, intelligent eyes. He was like a dictionary himself, filled with definitions and cryptic passages. In Latin, no less. And one could understand those thoughts only if they had the knowledge—and the desire—to translate them.
Which Penelope most certainly did not.
She doubted words like joy and love were included among Darius Hall’s definitions of plant parts and medicine. A man like him wouldn’t bother himself with trying to define emotions. Such a task belonged to poets, not scientists.
Still, for that one moment when Penelope had experienced Darius’s…emotion in the form of that passionate kiss, she’d been struck hard by the energy crackling through him, the way his eyes had darkened with intensity in the instant before he’d pressed his mouth to hers. And, oh, heavens, that heat flowing from him into her made her think he had fire crackling and burning to the depths of his…
Penelope bit her lip and stared at her soup. Why did she allow her thoughts to swerve in such a direction? Why did she feel still as if she could no longer fit within her own skin, as if her hopes and desires would wither and die if she weren’t daring enough to free them? And why did freeing them mean that she also had to be reckless and foolhardy, disappointing her father and putting her family’s reputation at risk?
Running off to elope with an entirely unsuitable, glib rogue…that had been her definition of daring? Of being alive? Certainly she’d felt more in that one moment with Darius Hall than she’d felt in the month Simon had courted her.
Though what that discovery could possibly mean, Penelope had no idea.
“If the word daring were in your dictionary,” she said, “how would you define it?”
“Daring?” Darius sounded as if the word tasted unpleasant. “That’s nothing to do with science or mechanics. It would not be in the dictionary.”
“But if it were,” Penelope persisted, “how would you define it?”
“Very likely the way anyone else would. As a quality of defiance. Perhaps foolishness.”
“You don’t think it requires courage to be daring?”
“Courage is a quality of fortitude and strength.” He glanced at her, his eyes keen behind his spectacles. “They are not the same thing, Miss Darlington. Make no mistake.”
“I already have,” Penelope muttered.
She ate a spoonful of soup, though she was no longer hungry. Darius concentrated on his dinner, eating with a precision of movement. Penelope caught sight of the way he held the spoon, and she thought inexplicably that his hands—large with long, adept fingers—were well suited for both fitting machine parts together and holding a pen.
“You had better eat more,” he suggested, glancing at her bowl. “We’ve a long way to travel tomorrow, if we intend to reach Inverness by Thursday.”
Penelope suppressed irritation. Darius simply assumed that she would accompany him back to London, just as she’d returned to Darlington’s Confectionery with him all those years ago. He thought she was the same obedient, dutiful girl she’d always been.
Perhaps, Penelope thought with resignation as they finished their supper, she was. At the very least, she was forced to admit that she was not at all successful at mutiny.
Chapter Four
Daring. Courage. Recklessness.
No, none of those words would appear in the Scientific and Literary Treasury, but they meant something to Penelope Darlington. Words like that were the reason she’d tried to elope with Simon Wilkie.
Relief. That was what Darius felt at the knowledge that she had not succeeded.
He pulled open the door of the post chaise and extended a hand to help Penelope inside. She grasped his hand without hesitation, her gloved fingers both small and strong nestled in his palm.
She paused on the step and looked into the coach. Folded carriage rugs and several cushions lay atop one of the benches, and heated bricks on the floor emitted a dry warmth. A basket on the opposite bench held a day’s worth of cheese, fruit, bread, and a flagon of ale. Darius was suddenly worried he’d forgotten something.
“Is there anything else you require?” he asked.
“Oh.” Penelope shook her head. “No. I…this is all quite elaborate for a woman who has run off and scandalized her family.”
“And as long as I return you safely to your father before the eighteenth, there will be no harm done.”
She didn’t look as if she believed him at all. Darius stepped back to have a word with the driver, Sam, who was checking the bridles of the two horses. They conferred about the route to Inverness before Sam climbed onto one of the horses and Darius returned to the carriage.
Whiterow. Northfield. Loch Hempriggs. Thrumster.
He had calculated the distance back to Inverness carefully, planning for stops at intervals that would allow for the least amount of delay. The train from London went only as far as Aberdeen, so he’d ridden on horseback to Wick as fast as he could, knowing he’d have to hire a coach for the trip back.
He sat across from Penelope as the chaise lurched into motion.
“Is this how you arrived here?” she asked.
“No. I rode on horseback from Aberdeen to Inverness, then Inverness to Wick. I hired this chaise last night, after I discovered you were here.” He frowned, an unwelcome thought occurring to him. “Did you travel all the way with Wilkie?”
Penelope nodded, her cheeks coloring in a way that made Darius suspicious. He felt the way he had when he first saw her with the other man—prickly and irritated.
“Until we reached Belman Castle, and his mother was horrified to discover he’d brought home a shopkeeper’s daughter,” Penelope confessed, her voice bitter. “I suppose you were right, that he’d come to London to seek his prey.”
A flash of rage toward Wilkie lit in Darius’s chest. “Yet he did not subdue his prey,” he said carefully.
“Is abandonment a more desirable fate?” she asked.
“I should think so.” He kept his gaze on Penelope’s delicate features. He could not, for the life of him, imagine any man wanting to abandon her or send her away. He only wanted to bring her closer.
The admission rattled the order of his thoughts.
Everything about Penelope rattled him—her slender, soft-edged beauty that was a
t odds with the blue fire of her eyes and the determined set of her chin. The way she looked directly at him without guile or coyness. The way she made him want to pursue her, and in a manner that far exceeded the bounds of propriety.
When Henry Darlington had told him about her letter, Darius had had to make a concerted effort to maintain a level tone of voice.
“When did she leave?” He’d stood beside the doorway, hat in hand as he watched Henry pace to the windows.
“Three days ago. She’d gone to visit my sister in Bristol, or so I thought. But her letter arrived this morning from Aberdeen, stating her intentions. I knew that scoundrel Wilkie was involved. He must have set his sights on her when he found out about my royal warrant appointment.”
Henry’s brow had furrowed as he glared out the window. “No doubt he overwhelmed Penelope with cajolery and the like. She’d have no chance against a man who has spent his entire life getting whatever he desires.”
Darius deflected yet another bolt of anger at the idea of Simon Wilkie desiring Penelope. And possibly even getting her.
Unlike Henry, however, Darius did not believe that Penelope Darlington was quite the innocent her father imagined. Darius had seen her with Simon Wilkie, and she had not behaved like a woman overwhelmed by cajolery. In fact, she’d looked as though she were dispensing a bit of flattery of her own.
Darius crushed the rim of his hat in his grip. “Rest assured, Henry, I know how to reach Wilkie’s estate. It will take me a few days to reach Aberdeen, but I can ride from there to Inverness, and then find transport to the Orkney Islands. I will bring her back to London as quickly as possible.”
“I’m relying upon both your haste and discretion.” Henry strode to his desk and yanked open a drawer. He removed a purse fat with coin and extended it to Darius.
“I don’t need your money, Henry.”
