One Night of Temptation

by Burke, Darcy

  “No, you enjoy it. I’ll be fine with some bread and honey.”

  “Hugh, can you give me a hand?” Tom called from the other room.

  Puzzled as to why he’d need help with a knife, Hugh went to join him. “It’s in the cupboard,” he said as he crossed the threshold.

  Except Tom already had the knife in hand. Whispering, he said, “There was a Runner asking about a young woman with dark hair wearing a yellow dress.”

  Hugh wasn’t surprised. “We need to get her home. Can you hurry to fetch the gig?”

  Tom handed him the knife. “Back in a trice.”

  It wouldn’t be a trice, more like a half hour, if not closer to an hour before he returned.

  “Be safe,” Hugh said as Tom exited through the back door.

  Now, what to do in the interim? Unfortunately, Hugh could think of several ideas and not one of them was acceptable. As much as he’d enjoyed Pen’s company and dreaded the end of their adventure together, it was time to set things back to the way they were supposed to be: Pen in her fancy life and Hugh in his parish.

  He went back to the vestry, where Pen shot him a guilty look. “I’m afraid I ate all the porridge,” she said.

  He laughed. “I said you could.”

  “I was hoping to demonstrate a modicum of restraint.”

  If Hugh had learned anything in their time together, it was that restraint was not always easy, even when you thought you’d mastered it. “Tom has gone to fetch my gig. When he returns, we’ll be on our way.”

  “Oh.” Her expression and tone reflected her disappointment. And was a mirror of his own. “How long will he be?”

  “Not long,” Hugh said, slicing the bread. “We’ll have you back in the comfort of your own home in no time now.” Except he was fairly certain she wasn’t terribly comfortable there. As well as he thought he’d come to know her, he realized there was still plenty she hadn’t revealed. About her parents, about her potential husband, about why she’d felt so very desperate.

  His desire to protect her persisted, not that he could rescue her from her parents. To do that, he’d have to marry her, and that wasn’t something they could do. He wasn’t even sure that was something she’d want to do. The life of a rector’s wife was a far cry from what she was used to.

  She picked up a slice of bread. “Then I shall relish the moments we have left. Perhaps you can tell me about the church.”

  Yes, that would be a safe way to pass the time. And while he did that, he wouldn’t think about how these were the last minutes they’d spend together.

  Chapter 9

  Penelope thoroughly enjoyed her tour of the church and all the details Hugh shared about its history. Her favorite part, however, was holding his arm as they made their way around the building.

  As they returned to the vestry, she realized their tour was over. Disappointment shadowed her happiness, and she had to force herself to remove her hand from his arm. “Thank you for the tour. I enjoyed it very much.”

  “It’s not quite over,” he said. “Thirteen years ago, there was a robbery here in the vestry.”

  She looked around the room. “What was stolen?”

  “Everything of value—the sacramental plate as well as a golden chalice given to the church by Thomas Woodville—as dictated in his will—in 1716. Whoever stole everything had to have been prepared to carry it all out. The chalice weighed nearly three pounds on its own.”

  “How awful,” she said. “Did they never catch the thieves or recover any of the items?”

  Hugh shook his head. “We’ve replaced the sacramental items, of course, but I discourage expensive gifts.”

  “Is that because of the dangers of St. Giles?”

  “In part, and also because what point do they serve? Is an expensive gold chalice better than one of pewter that serves the same purpose?”

  “You are exceedingly practical.” It was so very different from the extravagance her parents enjoyed and expected. She preferred Hugh’s simplicity.

  “Can one be exceedingly practical?” he asked wryly.

  She smiled. “Perhaps not. I do appreciate your sensibility.” She stopped herself before adding that it was very attractive. She’d come to believe that everything about him was attractive.

  Tom strode into the vestry then, and it was like an icy breeze had blown into the room. Their time was up. Penelope suffered a moment of panic when she considered seeing her parents again.

  It will be fine. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and tried to focus on Hugh. His strength and capability, his very presence, was soothing.

  What would happen when he was gone?

  The panic returned, but she refused to surrender to it. Things were going to work out as they ought. She wasn’t going to marry Findon and she’d live in quiet, comfortable Lancashire.

  While Hugh was here in London.

  “The gig is out front,” Tom said. “I left it with Ned, who was, as usual, eager to help. And your clothing is in the other room.” He jabbed his thumb toward the room where they’d slept last night.

  “Thank you, Tom,” Hugh said before turning to Penelope. “Are you ready to return?”

  “Would it be terrible if I said no?” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words fell from her tongue before she could stop them. She didn’t meet his gaze. “Forget I said that. I’m ready.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be terrible,” Hugh said softly. “And I hope you know you can always find refuge here.”

  “Thank you.” She’d never had a safe haven before. His kindness was nearly overwhelming.

  “Give me a moment to change.” He left her in the vestry with Tom.

  Penelope couldn’t help but feel awkward alone with the curate, who thought heaven-knew-what about her situation. “Thank you for your help this morning. I was in dire need yesterday, and Mr. Tarleton quite literally came to my rescue.”

  “So I heard. He tends to rescue just about everyone he comes across. Or tries to anyway.”

  That sounded like the Hugh she’d come to know so well in just one night. “I can see that. He helped a boy in need last night. This parish is lucky to have him.”

  “That we are,” Tom agreed quickly.

  A moment later, Hugh came back into the vestry looking crisp and almost unbearably handsome in his fresh clothing. The colors were somber—rectorish, if that could be an adjective—but well tailored for his muscular form. An ache bloomed inside Penelope, and she feared it would never, ever diminish.

  He smiled at her and offered his arm. “Time to go, then.” His voice held a tinge of remorse, or so it seemed to her. Perhaps the remorse was all hers.

  She looked to Tom. “Thank you again, Tom.”

  He bowed in response. “It was my pleasure, my lady. I look forward to seeing you again if you chance to visit us.”

  She didn’t explain that she wouldn’t be doing that or that she’d be far away in Lancashire. Voicing it would make the finality of their parting—hers and Hugh’s—too real.

  Hugh guided her through the church and out the front doors onto the path that led to the gate. His gig was parked on the other side, and a boy was talking to the horse.

  “Someday, I’ll learn to drive ye,” he said as they arrived at the gig. He turned toward Hugh. “Good morning, Mr. Tarleton. I’ve been taking care of yer horse.”

  “Thank you, Ned. You’re quite good at it.”

  The boy’s dark head notched up with pride, and his shoulders seemed to also swell toward the sky. “Thank ye—thank you, Mr. Tarleton.”

  Hugh clapped the boy on the shoulder. “That’s a good lad. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  Ned nodded enthusiastically and went through the gate toward the church.

  “You’re very good with him, and he obviously adores you,” Penelope said, thinking that adoring Hugh would be easy to do.

  “He doesn’t have a father—he was killed in the war. I am not a replacement, of course, but I try to give
him some paternal attention. Not that I have any experience with that.”

  “I don’t think you need to be a father to know how to act like one.” Nor did she think being a father meant one was very good at it. Just look at her own father. She repeated what she’d told Tom. “Your parish is very lucky to have you.”

  He helped her into the gig, and she scooted to the other side of the seat so he could climb in beside her. He picked up the reins and glanced over at her. “Grosvenor Street, then?”

  She squared her shoulders, intent on maintaining the courage she’d found to undertake this endeavor in the first place. “Yes. Nearly to Grosvenor Square, but not quite. The house is on the left. I’ll show you where.”

  Hugh drove the gig up to Oxford Street, a wide thoroughfare where the traffic was busy, even at this morning hour.

  Penelope pointed to a blacksmith shop. “Isn’t that Giles Langford’s smithy?”

  “Indeed it is. Have you seen him race?” Hugh asked.

  “Heavens, no. I wouldn’t ever be allowed to do that. Have you?” She knew the races were thrilling and that no one employed a whip better than Langford. He was also incredibly handsome and charming and, as of recently, quite taken. His sudden marriage to Lady Felicity Sutton was the talk of the ton.

  “Yes, I’ve seen Langford race several times. I consider him a friend.”

  “Do you?” She loved learning all the little details about Hugh and imagined she would think of them often in the future.

  “Several children from St. Giles apprentice at his shop. He also frequents the Wicked Duke.”

  “It seems many a friendship has been struck at the tavern.”

  “I think that’s a fair assessment, and something Eastleigh and Colehaven strive to achieve. They want everyone to feel welcome and comfortable.”

  It sounded like another safe haven. Not one Penelope could visit, unfortunately. Her parents would have apoplectic fits.

  Before she knew it, they were already on Bond Street. Penelope’s heart sped faster the closer they drew to her father’s house. As they neared Grosvenor Street, she clutched Hugh’s arm. “Pull over, please.”

  He complied, guiding the gig to the edge of the road out of traffic. “Is there something amiss?” His hazel eyes were so familiar now, the gold band at the center glowing as he regarded her with warm concern.

  “I just need a moment.” Before they arrived. Before she had to say goodbye. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”

  “I’m not sure I did very much.”

  “Let’s see, you protected me, which included knocking down a man who sought entry to my room.”

  He cocked his head slightly. “True, but it also included me taking liberties to keep a Bow Street Runner from seeing you, and I’m not sure you should thank me for that.”

  She heard the self-recrimination in his tone and wanted none of it. “On the contrary, I shall thank you for that most of all. I’d never kissed anyone before.” And she never wanted to kiss anyone else. In fact, she wanted to kiss him right now. She considered asking him but assumed he’d refuse her. He was far too honorable for his own good.

  Penelope leaned over and pressed her lips to his. She’d meant it to be a quick kiss, but once their mouths connected, she was filled with heat and longing, and she couldn’t move away. She clasped his forearms and held on tight as she moved her lips over his. Thankfully, he didn’t withdraw. Just the opposite—he seemed to enjoy the connection as much as she.

  He gently cupped her cheek. His hand was so big, so strong. The breadth of it against her made her feel delicate and cherished.

  She opened her mouth, eager for one last taste of him, a sensation that would endure for a lifetime. It had to.

  His tongue glided with hers, perfecting the moment and giving her the fortitude to face what must come next: leaving him.

  The kiss ended far too soon, and she opened her eyes, hungry to memorize every detail of his face—from his dark auburn brows to the hard plane of his cheekbones to the soft curve of his lips.

  “I’m not sure that was wise,” Hugh said.

  Probably not, but it was very early, and she doubted there was anyone about that would recognize her.

  “We should go.” He guided the gig back into the street.

  When they turned onto Grosvenor Street, her heart pounded faster and her stomach twisted into a knot. As they passed Davies Street, her palms grew damp. Perhaps they should drive right past the house and keep going.

  To where?

  Anywhere, so long as they were together.

  “Which house?” Hugh asked, pulling her from her tumultuous thoughts like a frog snatching a bug from the air.

  She gestured to her father’s house on the left. “There, with the black door.”

  A black door to signify dread.

  Hugh pulled the gig to a stop in front and turned his head to look at her. She was absolutely rooted in the vehicle. Would he want to take her away? It wasn’t as if she could hide out with him in St. Giles permanently. What would a future mean? Was there any way he would consider—

  “Lady Penelope!” One of the grooms called her name as he dashed toward the gig.

  Hugh climbed out and helped her to descend.

  It was too late for further thought. Too late for another madcap scheme.

  Hugh offered his arm, which she took and prayed he couldn’t tell that she was shaking.

  “Are you all right, my lady?” the groom asked, accompanying them up the walk.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Would you mind seeing to Mr. Tarleton’s gig while he escorts me inside?”

  “Of course.” The groom eyed Hugh with a mix of wariness and curiosity, and Penelope was certain the gossip amongst the staff would be fast and furious.

  The door opened, and the butler, Scrope, stood just over the threshold. He was a stoic, largely indifferent man, but even his expression softened as soon as he saw Penelope. She felt a moment’s discomfort for having caused the staff to worry.

  “Good morning, Scrope,” she said. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Tarleton, who has so kindly returned me home.”

  Scrope blinked, his bushy gray brows wiggling. “Mr. Tarleton didn’t—”

  “Of course not,” Penelope said, sounding far calmer than she felt. “Mr. Tarleton is the rector at St. Giles, which is where I found myself this morning.”

  “Your father will be so relieved to see you.” Relieved, not happy. That sounded right. “He’s in his study. I don’t think he went to his bedchamber all night.”

  He’d been that concerned?

  “We’ll go see him straightaway.” Penelope led Hugh past the staircase to her father’s study. The door was ajar, so she pushed it open.

  Father stood from his desk and gaped at them. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was unkempt. “What the—” He came around the desk, his eyes wide. “Penelope?”

  She took her hand from Hugh’s arm, not because she wanted to, but because it was time. She missed his warmth and strength already. “Good morning, Father. This is Mr. Tarleton, the rector of St. Giles.”

  “St. Giles? We’ve had Runners looking for you in that hellish neighborhood since last night.” He slid a wary glance toward Hugh, who, even though they were no longer touching, Penelope felt tense at the word hellish. “How did you end up with Mr. Tarleton?”

  “I was able to escape my captors and find my way to the church.” Before she could continue, her father spoke.

  “Mrs. Hall wondered if you’d run away, but your mother insisted you wouldn’t. Then we received the ransom note.”

  He had received one! Had the Times?

  “What did it say?” she asked.

  “That we were to deliver an exorbitant sum—it doesn’t bear repeating—to an inn in St. Giles. Unfortunately, the note didn’t specify which inn. Whoever abducted you is an imbecile, which is supported by your ability to escape.”

  Penelope felt Hugh tense beside her. It wasn�
�t an outright insult, but her father certainly implied that her kidnappers would have to be halfwits in order for her to get away.

  “How were you kidnapped in the first place? Mrs. Hall said you wandered off at the museum.”

  Of course the chaperone wouldn’t say she’d allowed Penelope to search alone for a lost earring. “I was lured out of the museum by a child in need. Then someone threw a bag over my head and took me away.” Her insides twisted as she waited for her father’s response.

  “I see.” There was a dubious edge to the marquess’s tone that didn’t soothe Penelope’s nerves in the slightest. “And how did you manage to escape?”

  Penelope kept her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. “There was a young woman—little more than a girl really—who took pity on me. She took off my blindfold and allowed me to walk around the room. I took the chance to run and was able to get away. When I got outside, I recognized the tower of the St. Giles church. I was sure I could find safety there. Mr. Tarleton was more than happy to help me get home.”

  “I think my wife visits your church,” the marquess said. He offered his hand to Hugh. “Thank you for bringing my daughter home. We’ve been sick with worry.” He transferred his attention to Penelope. “Surely you can at least identify the young woman who helped you. We’ll find her, and then we’ll find them.” His jaw tensed with cold determination. She hated that expression.

  Penelope fought the rigidity threatening to take over her body. She didn’t want to appear tense or nervous. “I don’t remember her face, Father. I’m sorry.” She spoke softly and weighted her words with remorse.

  “Then you can lead us to where you were held.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that either,” Penelope said with more strength than she felt. “St. Giles is a warren of narrow, twisting streets and alleys. I would never be able to find my way back there.”

  Hugh’s fingertips lightly grazed hers as he straightened his arm at her side. “She’s right. It’s easy to get lost there. And as you said, my lord, the neighborhood is hellish. I doubt you’ll be able to find who was responsible.”