She felt Mari’s reassuring squeeze on her shoulder and she glanced at her friend, who was watching Lucas with dawning comprehension.
“Perhaps,” Mari said breezily, “the ferreter had better learn to give his ferrets more consideration, or he would find himself left with nothing but a dead rabbit in his hands.”
Mari had always been perceptive and now she was giving her the support she needed. It gave Penelope the strength to issue a goading statement of her own.
“Oh, Mari, the ferreter would be ecstatic to have a dead rabbit,” she said. “It was all he ever wanted in the first place.”
The muscle in Lucas’s jaw clenched. “Perhaps it was all he’d wanted at first,” he bit out.
Suddenly she felt very weary. “I know lowly ferrets don’t have much to offer other than their natural ability to catch rabbits.” She drew a deep breath. “I just hope that for once, someone could give the ferrets some thought.” Her gaze shifted to Colonel Martin. “People like you restore my faith in humanity.”
“I must say, lass, that’s a very interesting way of looking at ferreting,” Colonel Martin mused. “What do you think, Ravenstone?”
Though Lucas’s words were for the colonel, his intense gaze remained on her. “I think it’s time for the ferreter to have a long discussion with his ferrets about how their relationship is to go on.”
“How would he conduct a conversation with ferrets?” Ethan Banks asked in a bewildered tone.
“I think,” Penelope retorted, “that as the ferreter has caught his rabbit, he should be decent enough to let his ferrets go, so they can be with some other ferreter who will treat them better.”
She couldn’t believe the audacity of her own words, and judging from his thunderous expression, neither could Lucas.
“I have done some ferreting in my day,” Westville put in, turning everyone’s attention to him. “And I assure you that my ferrets were fed and handled very well.”
“Shut up, Anthony!” Lucas snapped.
The outburst had an immediate and varied effect on all the occupants of the room. Westville held his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender, Mari gaped in amazement, and Penelope buried her face in her hands in mortification while the rest of the group endeavored to cover up the awkward moment by continuing the discussion about the amendment to the Cruel Treatment of Cattle Act with forced vigor.
She let the conversation swirl around her, hardly able to contribute any meaningful suggestions. She looked up only when she felt Mari nudge her side.
“He’s still staring at you,” Mari whispered.
She almost rolled her eyes. As if she needed anyone to point out that Lucas was at this moment boring holes through her body, raking her form with his very intimate, very inappropriate gaze, which was making her think very inappropriate thoughts. She resisted the urge to utter a sigh and wipe her damp palms on her skirts. She was feeling much too warm.
“I wouldn’t give up on him just yet, if I were you,” Mari advised. “I’m rarely wrong, you know.”
She choked down an incredulous laugh. “That’s true, but on the rare occasions when you are, it’s usually about major things.”
“What do you mean?”
She gave an indelicate snort. “Remember when we were learning the pianoforte, and you were absolutely convinced you’d personally discovered Mozart?”
“I was nine!” Mari protested in an outraged whisper. Then her gaze turned inquisitive. “What are you planning to do now?”
She wished she knew. Oh, she knew what she wanted to do, which was to march over to her husband and clobber him with the tray of teacakes. But that would surely shock the other people in the room.
She felt a flush heat her cheeks as she sensed Lucas’s gaze linger on the column of her neck and focus on her breasts.
“I have to get out of here,” she whispered to Mari. “But I don’t want Lucas to know I’m leaving.”
“Consider it done,” Mari said.
Without further preamble, her friend stood up and loudly invited Penelope to view her newly finished painting. A few minutes later, Penelope was standing in the foyer with her friend, waiting for the coach to be brought round.
She was just about to thank Mari when Lucas called out to them, his deep voice filling the hall, making them both gasp in consternation.
“I’d also like to see this painting of yours, Miss Smythe,” he said in a bored drawl as he stalked up to them. “Where is it?”
Her heart thundered in her ears. She looked helplessly at her friend and mouthed, I’m sorry, but Mari was apparently not done. Her friend peered up at Lucas, then she put her hand against her forehead and uttered a loud, choking sound before crumpling straight into the waiting footman’s arms in the most graceful and thoroughly unconvincing imitation of a swoon Penelope had ever seen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“That was very well done,” Lucas muttered.
Penelope silently agreed. She watched with admiration as Mari was swept upstairs by the footman. Her lady’s maid was tripping over herself and frantically waving a vinaigrette over her mistress’s face. Penelope waited a few seconds before seizing on the excuse her friend had given her to get away.
She lifted her skirts an inch in preparation of running and affected a harried tone. “I have to go up there to make sure she’s all right!”
Lucas grabbed her shoulders, and his firm grip bit into her skin just as she was about to bolt upstairs.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he warned. “You’re not going to waltz out of my reach again, nymph.”
His hold on her gentled, and she felt his thumbs tease the nape of her neck in an intimate caress. Her heart did a somersault as he turned her slowly to face him, and the look of blatant hunger on his handsome, aristocratic face when she gazed at him almost brought her to her knees. How many nights had she dreamed of him looking at her like this?
Too many, she thought. Much too many a night in her life she’d spent dreaming of him holding her, loving her. Many wasted, useless nights that could have been spent doing something more productive than waiting in vain for a man who wasn’t interested. Who’d never been interested.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the butler’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Your carriage has been brought round, milady.”
Penelope’s gaze snapped to the butler, who was looking at her expectantly. “Thank you, Jenkins.” She shrugged free of Lucas’s grasp and fumbled for something in her reticule, found it, and handed it to the butler.
“Here’s the salve I promised. It’s made from peony petals and roots. It should help soothe your muscle pains. I’m going upstairs to make sure Mari is all right,” she announced, giving Lucas no choice in the matter.
“God bless you, milady!” Jenkins looked uneasily at Lucas. “Er, and you, too, milord,” he added, handing Lucas’s greatcoat and top hat to him.
Lucas took the garments from the butler without taking his eyes off her. “This isn’t finished,” he said in a voice only she could hear. “Go and sulk, if that’s what you want. But when you’re done, we are going to talk.”
No, we won’t. There was nothing left to say, and if she stayed, he would seduce her into bending to his will until she lost her humanity under his discipline.
He didn’t love her.
A long time ago, someone had taken everything Lucas loved from him, and he’d survived by making sure he wouldn’t love anything or anyone ever again. Nothing she could do would ever convince him to let go of the past, and until he was free of his burden, there was no place in his heart or life for her.
“I have to go,” she whispered, unable to stand the sight of him any longer.
She had to think about what she would do now, and she needed to do it away from him.
�
� • •
Lucas slammed the carriage door closed after alighting in front of his townhouse. The action didn’t appease the fury roiling in him one bit. “God dammit!”
His wife was twisting him from the inside out. He didn’t like the look on her face when she said she had to go. She belonged with him. She wasn’t going any damned where.
Before he could reach the front door, it burst open, and Olivia came flying through, hugging him and jumping in delight.
“Where’s Penelope?” she asked. “I should wait until she gets home, but … Oh, Lucas, Bernard asked me to marry him!” She began jumping again, tugging on his hand. “You have to go and meet him in the study. He’s waiting for you.”
Fuck. “Who the hell is Bernard?”
Not waiting for an answer, he stalked straight into his study to find Blakewood dressed to the teeth, nervously tugging at his cravat. The man had a nasty sense of timing. Penelope was probably on her way home now, and Lucas wanted to discuss their marriage.
He wanted Penelope.
For one thing, she would know how to deal with Blakewood.
“Bernard, I assume?” he asked sarcastically as he seated himself behind his desk. He watched the young lord’s face turn a dull red.
“I’ve asked Olivia to marry me,” Blakewood said, as if he’d read Lucas’s thoughts and needed to confirm them.
“So I’ve heard.”
“She said she can’t say yes until I’ve talked to you and you’ve given your consent,” the young man added.
Of course she couldn’t, she was only eighteen. He drummed his fingers on top of the desk as he sought a way to get rid of this suitor until he could get his own emotions under control.
“This isn’t the most convenient time to have this discussion,” he said. “Come back a few days hence, and we shall talk.”
All traces of his earlier nervousness left Blakewood’s person. He bolted out of his chair and slammed both palms on the desk. “I knew it! You said I would be welcome to court your sister, but you never had any intention of accepting my suit, did you? You only wanted to humiliate me.”
Bloody hell. He was in no mood to deal with Blakewood’s emotional display when he himself was having the devil of a time controlling his own temper.
“You humiliate yourself with this outburst,” he pointed out.
Blakewood shook his head. “I thought I was wrong about you, but evidently Society was right to shun you all these years. You care only about seeking revenge against my father. You don’t care if Olivia gets hurt.”
“Sit down,” he said in a voice that made the young man’s face pale.
Blakewood hesitated before dropping his frame onto the seat he’d just vacated, tugging at his cravat once again.
“Now then,” he began as soon as the younger man got hold of his emotions. “Suppose you tell me why I should accept your suit.”
“I can take care of Olivia,” Blakewood grumbled. “Admit it, the only reason you are hesitating is because it deprives you of the chance to humble me in front of Society the way you did with my father.”
Olivia’s outraged voice drifted from the doorway. “Is this true, Lucas? You’re refusing Bernard’s suit?”
“You will stay out of this, Olivia,” he said through gritted teeth.
“He is,” Blakewood confirmed. “He told me to come back in a few days, but I know he only means to embarrass me by giving me false hopes yet again.”
Olivia stormed into the study. “You can’t do this, you know. You can’t play with people’s lives. Haven’t you learned your lesson from what you did to Penelope?”
“What did he do to his wife?” Blakewood asked, casting a contemptuous glance at Lucas. “You have not beaten her, have you?”
That was enough of Olivia’s careless comments. He wouldn’t even be in this untenable position if Olivia had kept her mouth shut about their father’s will.
“I will not let you do this, Lucas!” she wailed. “If you don’t give us your permission, we will run away to Gretna Green.”
“Not if you are unable to leave your bedchamber,” he warned.
He’d been too indulgent, both with his wife and his sister. All of it had to stop until they remembered who the head of this household was.
“Lucas, please be reasonable,” his sister pleaded.
“I have been far too reasonable with you lately. You shouldn’t even be here. This is between me and Blakewood.”
“You’re discussing my future. Don’t I have the right to be here?”
“There is no convincing him,” Blakewood said. “And I am not staying here to be insulted.”
With that remark, Blakewood stomped out of the study. A few minutes later, the sound of horse hooves filled the hall as Blakewood’s carriage rumbled away from the house.
A pained gasp escaped Olivia. “I hope you’re happy!” she sobbed. “If you’ll excuse me, I will go wait for Penelope. She cares about my happiness!”
His sister left the study without another word. He would no doubt end up looking the villain yet again when Penelope heard Olivia’s complaints, but he didn’t mind so much if it meant he could talk to his wife again.
Lucas straightened in his chair and tidied his desk so that it looked more presentable. She would probably be here in a few minutes, after Olivia talked to her. His wife always thought of others before herself, and Olivia’s grievance would send her scurrying straight into his domain. Penelope wouldn’t appreciate all this clutter.
Three hours later, he was still waiting in his study. He pulled a contract from one of the neat piles on his desk and tried to read, all the while aware of the clock ticking at the far end of the room.
When another hour passed without Penelope storming into his study, he decided to send for her. Surely he’d given her enough time to sulk and she was now ready to face him again. He tugged on the bell pull, and a footman named Sammy came in.
“You rang, milord?” Sammy asked.
How odd that a mere footman answered his summons. “Where is Finchley?”
Sammy stared at the wall above Lucas’s head. “Well, as to that, milord, I’m afeard I don’t know his exact whereabouts,” he mumbled.
This was getting odder by the moment, but he knew Finchley would have a very valid reason for being missing in action. “Never mind,” he said. “Would you please tell my wife I would like to speak to her?”
Sammy blanched. “I can’t do that milord.”
His patience was gone. “What the devil is the matter with you? Is your burned hand still paining you? You should tell her ladyship the balm she gave you isn’t working. I’m sure she’ll be able to make you a better one. She’s good at that sort of thing, you know.”
“I can’t do that milord,” Sammy repeated.
He tamped down the urge to shake the smaller man. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I don’t know where her ladyship is.”
The uneasiness in his chest drummed a throbbing beat in his temples. “She isn’t upstairs?”
Sammy shook his head as words tumbled out of his mouth in a torrent of explanation and apology. “No, milord. Her maid doesn’t know where she is either. That’s why Finchley is gone. He’s looking for her.”
“And none of you thought to alert me of this fact?” he asked in a dangerously soft voice.
“Finchley said he’d be able to find her before you realized she was gone, milord,” Sammy explained.
Before he realized she was gone? Did Sammy think Penelope had left him?
“Where’s Nelson?” he demanded.
Sammy looked ill. “Her ladyship’s dog is gone, too, milord.”
Dear God, Penelope had left him.
She wouldn’t have taken Nelson with her if she’d only intended to go for
a jaunt in the park. She’d actually walked out of the house and left him. His uneasiness gave in to rage. How dare she leave him? She was his wife! They had a bargain. The thought propelled him from his chair and straight into the hall, where Olivia was pacing.
“Lucas!” Olivia exclaimed. “We hoped Finchley would find Penelope before you noticed she was gone, but he’s been away for hours and there hasn’t been any news.”
He ran upstairs with Olivia on his heels and headed for Penelope’s bedchamber. Her empty bedchamber. He prowled the room like a caged brute, searching for signs of where she might have gone, ignoring the sudden rawness in his throat that threatened to strangle him. Because he knew exactly why she’d left.
“She’s not here, Lucas,” Olivia whispered.
He whirled to face his sister. “Get out,” he choked out.
Olivia backed away. “What are you going to do?”
Lucas raked a hand through his hair. “She couldn’t have gone far, and she will have a lot of explaining to do when I find her. Tell Sammy to have my horse brought round.”
Olivia flew downstairs to do as he’d bidden, and he sank onto Penelope’s bed. Her floral scent lingered in the room, and he closed his eyes as rage roiled inside him once more.
He would find her, he promised himself in an attempt to calm the rioting flare of emotions in him. There were only a few places she could have gone. He would find her, he told himself again and again as he tried to hang on to his feeling of outrage at her abandonment. He would find her. The words became a chant, the only outcome he was willing to dwell on as he stormed out of the room and out of the house to ride into the suddenly bleak night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The hired coach jerked sharply on a deep rut and Penelope winced, rubbing her aching bottom. To say the hackney didn’t have comfortable seats was an understatement — it had nothing but two very thinly padded wooden boards with numerous holes in random places designed for a person’s weight to roll into.
Time After Time Page 110
