by Nina Rowan
“Well, you’d better take it since it’s my daughter who is getting you into a wild goose chase. The Orkney Islands, for the love of God, Darius. Why couldn’t Wilkie have lived in Edinburgh?”
“I’m no stranger to travel,” Darius replied, putting the purse on Henry’s desk. “I’ll bring her back in due course.”
Henry flipped to a calendar on his desk. “Next Friday is the feast. If you can get there within three days, that will give you less than a week to return. In exchange for your help, I shall…”
“No. You and Mrs. Darlington have always been good to me, Henry. I would be pleased to do this as a favor for a friend.”
Darius tried not to think about the other reasons he wanted to go after Penelope. Reasons having to do with the fact that he couldn’t bear the idea of her anywhere near a man like Wilkie. Reasons having to do with the way she’d responded when he kissed her, the heat that had burned in her eyes. The softness of her lips that he desperately wanted to feel again.
He turned to the door. “I shall leave early tomorrow morning.”
He’d returned to the Albion Hotel to pack his papers and clothing. After a few hours’ sleep that night, he’d set off at dawn to retrieve Miss Penelope Darlington.
Now he had captured her. He was glad he’d found her still unmarried and relatively unharmed, but he didn’t know how to respond to the fact that she seemed hurt. As she’d been all those years ago when she’d run from her father’s shop.
Darius remembered all too well that he’d made a bungle of that situation.
Penelope was looking out the window as they left Wick and entered the land of rolling hills and sweeping views of the ocean-side cliffs. Despite the majesty of the vistas, her blue eyes were clouded.
“Yes,” Darius said.
Her gaze shifted to him. “Yes?”
“You once asked me if I felt as if everyone else saw me as utterly dull. The answer is yes.”
Something flickered across her expression. “I also asked if you ever felt as if you had something inside you that you couldn’t define.”
A faint smile tugged at Darius’s mouth. “My profession is to define.”
“That’s still not an answer.”
“No. I have never felt anything indefinable.”
“Because you can define every word, is that it? You said all your terms require precise research, but does that pertain to emotions as well?”
“I meant that ambiguity is useless when working with both mechanics and dictionaries. Words and directions should be clear and distinct.”
“Then define your feelings, Mr. Hall, because I’m often incapable of defining my own,” Penelope said bluntly. “I couldn’t tell you why I ran off with a cad like Simon Wilkie except that it sounded like such a wonderful, dangerous thing for a girl like me to do. The moment I agreed, I felt like a bird soaring across the sky, like I was finally breaking free.”
And now Darius was the one responsible for returning her to her cage. He was beginning to regret having brought up this subject.
“You wouldn’t ask a woman to do such a thing, would you, Mr. Hall?” Penelope asked. “To take a leap of faith with you, embark on a daring, romantic journey…”
“If I did,” Darius replied dryly, “I would not abandon her at the journey’s end.”
Penelope’s mouth tightened. A brittle silence stretched between them.
“Longing,” he finally said. “That is what you felt. A strong desire for something unattainable.”
A strange sensation rose in his chest when their eyes locked again. As the daughter of a successful shopkeeper, Penelope Darlington was not unattainable, even for the third son of an earl. But this feeling, a sense of wanting something he could not have, was definable only by the word longing.
And Darius knew that the reason Penelope was beyond his reach lay in the simple fact that she did not seek a man like him. She wanted what Simon Wilkes had promised: adventure and daring. Freedom. A man who resorted to honeyed words, told her fairy tales about mermaids and lovers, and encouraged her to run away with him to the far reaches of the North.
She did not seek a man who found the processes of cocoa butter separation rather fascinating. Who’d spent the month of October figuring out how a decoding machine worked. She did not seek a man who took apart the segments of a word with thorough precision to extract its meaning.
Exhilaration. Darius wondered if Penelope had experienced it yet. If so, he wondered what it felt like. And if not…he wondered if he could possibly be the man to show her.
Chapter Five
Over the course of the next two days, the post chaise stopped in Helmsdale, Golspie, and another town whose name escaped Penelope in the midst of fretting about her father’s and stepmother’s reactions to her flight and trying to maintain her composure in such close confines with Darius Hall. Though he was solicitous and polite, ensuring her comfort during travel and their stays at local inns, he remained mostly silent as they made their way along the coastline toward the town of Inverness.
On their third day of travel, cold, salty air filled the carriage when the heat from the bricks began to die. Darius unfolded a blanket and passed it across to Penelope. She reluctantly appreciated his care—Simon hadn’t been quite so concerned for her comfort during their journey from London.
For the hundredth time, she studied Darius from across the expanse of the carriage. She tried to tell herself she looked at him so often because she had nothing else to do, but in truth she liked looking at him. He was physically powerful, with hard, sharp features intensified by the darkness of his hair and eyes. His spectacles didn’t soften his features either; instead, the wire frames and clear glass enhanced his air of angular, focused intelligence.
Which, Penelope knew, was not actually an air at all but a mere fact. Darius Hall possessed a scientific, mechanical mind that worked with the precision of a clock. Despite his evident physicality, he seemed to live within his mind rather than the world, containing himself behind a shield of reticence.
And yet he’d come after her all those years ago when she’d been so upset about her father’s remarriage. Three weeks ago, Darius had followed her to the library at Lady Wentworth’s soiree. He’d kissed her, a heated, passionate kiss that sparked tingles throughout her entire body. And then he’d followed her all the way to northern Scotland when he discovered she had planned to elope.
Darius Hall’s intelligence couldn’t fully account for his adeptness in tracking down the daughter of a confectionery shop owner. Surely there must be something else, some other…emotion that compelled him to follow her.
The very notion gave Penelope an unexpected but decidedly intense thrill. It made her wonder what else Darius Hall concealed behind his impenetrable shield.
“Why did you come back for Christmas this year after having been gone for so long?” she asked.
“My brother needed my help a couple of months ago. I’d intended to return to St. Petersburg in November, but then Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans offered me the contract for the dictionary. I decided to stay in London in order to work.”
“You’re staying with your father?”
He shook his head. “At the Albion Hotel.”
“At a hotel?”
“I always stay there when I am in London.” Darius studied the pattern of raindrops on the window as if they were the key to a puzzle. “For my sister’s sake, I spend a few days at Rushton’s town house over Christmas, but I prefer the hotel.”
“Why?”
“Rushton’s town house isn’t quite a home.” He paused. “Not like your father’s house.”
A hollow feeling opened up inside Penelope. “What makes my father’s house a home to you?”
“It’s warm. Cozy. Always smells good.” He shrugged. “Your brothers are given leave to make noise, instead of being reined in by a governess. A guest is made to feel welcome there.”
He didn’t have to tell her that her stepmother was t
he one who made everyone feel welcome. Esther Darlington was a warm, gracious hostess who always had a ready supply of cakes and chocolate from Darlington’s Confectionery and who always knew exactly how to converse with her guests.
The hollowness in Penelope turned into an ache. It wasn’t right that Darius Hall would feel more at home in her father’s house than she did. Or that he should feel obliged to stay in a hotel when he was in London. Why did neither of them feel comfortable in the homes of their own families?
She looked out the window. Raindrops pattered down from a metal-gray sky.
“Do you feel at home in St. Petersburg?” she asked.
“To a degree, I suppose. Though I don’t think—”
A crack of thunder suddenly rent the air. The horses whinnied. The chaise lurched to the side, throwing Penelope against the opposite door. Pain shot through her shoulder and neck. The food basket crashed to the floor, spilling its contents.
Darius moved in a blur. He bolted across to Penelope and grabbed her with one arm, reaching for the brace bar with his other hand. The chaise tilted and careened wildly. The whinny of the horses mixed with the sound of their pounding hooves. Terror flared through Penelope’s chest, and she thought in that instant that surely the chaise would tip and crash…
Then, somehow, the driver managed to rein in the horses, keeping the chaise upright. They slowed at a rough pace, the chaise rocking and careening, before finally coming to a halt.
As the terror ebbed, Penelope realized she was locked tight against Darius’s chest, his arm holding her in place while he gripped the bar with his other hand. A heavy silence descended, broken by the neighing and shuffling of the horses. The chaise was upright but listed heavily to one side.
Darius pulled away to grip Penelope’s arms. “Are you all right?”
Though her shoulder ached, Penelope nodded. Darius peered out the window, instructing her to stay within the safety of the chaise as he climbed out. Penelope pulled on her cloak, hitching up the hood as she followed him outside.
They’d run off the road entirely and into a ditch lined with rocks and trees. Penelope realized that one of the wheels had broken, the spokes jutting out like arrows. Both Darius and the driver were soothing the horses, which still stamped nervously. The two men began conferring in low murmurs as they walked around the chaise to study the damage. Even Penelope knew they couldn’t easily repair the wheel, and the mail coach from Wick to Inverness wouldn’t pass on this road for another two days.
Darius frowned at her. “I told you to stay inside.”
“I ignored you.”
Sam barked out a laugh, which deepened Darius’s frown. He strode to the door and reached inside to retrieve his notebook.
“We’re ten miles from the outskirts of Inverness,” he said, leafing through the pages under the shelter of the coach. “As planned, we ought to have arrived by midday.”
Penelope shivered. A gust of wind blew through the trees, making the men’s voices sound ghostly as they began conferring again.
“Penelope.”
The sound of her Christian name in Darius’s deep voice sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. She wondered when she’d come to think of him as Darius and not Mr. Hall. Or when he’d come to think of her as Penelope.
“I’m afraid we’ve no choice but to wait,” he said. “Then ride out tomorrow morning, when I hope the rain will have stopped.”
“Sir, I ken I can get to Inverness quicker than night,” Sam said. “If ye’ll both want to wait, I’ll see if I canna fetch help before morning. I dinna mind the storm.”
Darius patted the horse’s neck, avoiding Penelope’s eyes. For some reason, his concern amused her. Heaven forbid Darius Hall should do anything outside the bounds of propriety, least of all stay overnight alone with an unmarried woman who’d skirted the edge of scandal.
Rain cascaded in rivulets down his hair and face. He’d lost his hat. Penelope clambered back into the chaise and found it crushed between the wall and the food basket. She put the foodstuffs in the basket and emerged again as the men readied one of the horses for departure. Penelope gave Darius his hat and loaded Sam’s saddlebag with apples and bread before he tied it to one of the horses.
Sam vaulted into the saddle and, with a tip of his cap, continued down the wet road. Penelope watched him go with a sudden sense of foreboding. In this weather, there was no telling what could happen to him.
“Get inside, Penelope.” Darius was holding open the chaise door. “I’ll tie the other horse while you change clothes.”
Penelope fed the horse an apple, then climbed back inside to find that Darius had brought their valises in from the luggage platform. She dried her hair and pulled her other wrinkled, but dry, dress from her valise. She changed as quickly as possible in the cramped confines, fastening the last button of her bodice as a knock came at the door. The moment Darius climbed back inside, the interior of the chaise seemed to shrink.
“I’ll just…” She started for the door.
“You’ll get wet again. Just turn around, Penelope.” With briskly efficient movements, he took a dry shirt and trousers from his valise.
Penelope’s heart pounded in an odd rhythm as she faced the door. Behind her, the sound of Darius undressing caused all manner of inappropriate thoughts to flood her mind. She imagined his long, capable fingers unfastening the buttons of his shirt. The rasp of cloth against skin made her think he might actually be shedding his trousers. She wondered what he would do if she turned around right now and—
“All right, then,” he said. “Best get some sleep. With any luck, Sam will return tomorrow morning. If he’s not back within an hour of dawn, we’ll take the other horse and get on the road.”
They shuffled around bunching up blankets to use as pillows. There was still just enough light to see. Penelope settled into her seat, glad at least to be dry. She broke off two pieces of bread from a loaf, handing one across to Darius.
Though it was cold, they ate in companionable silence, rain pounding on the roof and sluicing down the windows.
“Let’s play a game,” Penelope suggested.
“All right.”
“You agree?”
“What else have I to do at the moment?”
She almost smiled. “What else, indeed?”
“What game?” he asked. “Key to the kingdom? My brothers and I used to play that quite often.”
“No. You seem to think there isn’t a word that can escape your definition,” Penelope said. “So I’ll give you a word, and you define it. If you’re unable to, then I win.”
A gleam of interest shone in his dark eyes. “What do you win?”
“I just…win.”
“You must provide some stakes.” Though his expression didn’t change, there was a slight curve to his mouth that made Penelope feel a quickening of anticipation.
“For every word I’m able to define,” Darius continued, “you move one inch closer to me.”
Her heart gave a wild leap. “That…that’s rather unseemly.”
“Ah. Are you questioning your ability to furnish a word obscure enough to escape my knowledge?”
“Of course not.” She was, however, questioning her desire to furnish an obscure word, if doing so meant she would remain on the opposite side of the chaise from him.
“Then if you’re unable to define the word,” she said, “you must…”
Let me go?
Tell my father I don’t want to be Penelope the Paragon anymore?
Kiss me?
That last thought made her chest constrict with something beyond simple yearning. Darius had said that yearning was to desire “something unattainable.” Penelope knew to her soul, with every instinct she possessed, that a kiss from Darius Hall was very much within reach. Possibly even closer than either of them knew.
“You must tell me something about you that no one else knows,” she finally said.
He arched an eyebrow. “What makes you think I
have so many secrets?”
Penelope smiled. “Are you questioning your ability to define the words I supply?”
“Of course not.” Amusement twinkled in his eyes as he sat back and gave her a nod. “Go on, then.”
“First word. Joy.”
“An intense feeling of pleasure or delight. Or as a verb, to experience the same.”
Penelope edged a few inches out on the seat. “Happy.”
“Characterized by good fortune. Or having a feeling of great pleasure.”
“Wonder.” She eased a bit closer to him.
“A sense of amazement,” Darius said. “Awe.”
Penelope moved until she sat on the edge of the seat. “Ataraxy.”
He blinked. A surge of triumph filled her.
“Ataraxy,” she said, “is a lack of passion of the mind. A stoic indifference.”
“I feel as if I should be personally affronted by that definition.”
He spoke with such a dry tone that Penelope couldn’t help laughing. “I do find you quite the epitome of the word.”
“Be assured, Miss Darlington, my mind never lacks passion. Nor do other parts of me.”
A little gasp caught in Penelope’s throat. Darius’s mouth twitched, and even through the dark she could see the amusement in his eyes. She tried to steady the increased beat of her heart.
“I won that round,” she reminded him. “Tell me a secret.”
“That was the secret.” His voice lowered an octave. “I am filled with passion.”
The air between them thickened, and in one smooth movement, Darius moved across the space closer to her, his knees touching hers. Penelope couldn’t have retreated even if she wanted to. Which she did not. The confines of the chaise brought them within inches of each other, and she had to tilt her head to look up at him.
Her very blood seemed to warm at his scent—fresh air, cold sea winds, and…him. A delicious aroma of soap, maleness, the faint smell of smoke. Although she was still sitting, Penelope’s knees went oddly weak. She grabbed hold of the door handle to steady herself.
“I don’t…” She swallowed to ease the sudden dryness of her throat. “I don’t think you’re the one who is supposed to move closer.”
