by Cheryl Holt
He said, "You seemed quite upset at the mention of Captain Pendleton."
She shrugged, pretending disinterest. "No more than I am upset by any topic you might raise."
"I should like to know your opinion before I continue," he said. "What would be a valid outcome for the man?"
"I don't wish you to do anything to him. Or to his family. Both of you have already done more than enough." Unable to tolerate his unwavering scrutiny, she turned her attention out across the quiet yard. “Just leave him alone. Allow him to take his family and his crew and sail away from here. Away from me.
Startling her, he moved next to her and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. In all the years of her life she couldn't recall him touching her in a loving manner. She closed her eyes to stave off the wave of tears the gentle contact induced.
"Penny," he sighed, "I can't stand having you so distressed. It's been weeks now. His ship is ready to sail, but how can I let him depart when you are in such a state?''
"It's easy, Father," she answered. "Pay no attention to him. Let him sail away."
"You never told me—" he started delicately, then stopped, paused, then started again. "In the beginning, when you left with him, you wrote me a note. It sounded as though you went willingly."
"Aye, Father, I did. Fool that I was."
"But I've never asked you what happened when the two of you were together...." Easing closer, he rested a hip on the
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balustrade and looked into her eyes. His hand slipped into he:s. A shocking development, indeed! "Can you tell me?"
"No. I will never speak of it."
"That is why I must prevent his departure. He's hurt you so terribly, but I don't know what sin it is of which he's guilty."
"Nothing as nefarious as you're imagining," she said carefully. "They are sins of the heart and no more. Hardly worth torturing a man over."
"Did he promise to marry you?"
"I thought we—" she began to admit, then shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I thought."
"I could force him to live up to the vows he made you. If you fancy him for a husband, just say so. If that's what is needed to bring a smile back to your beautiful face, I'll see to it that the nuptials are accomplished immediately."
"I don't wish to marry him," she said, pronouncing, "I shall never wed."
"Is there a babe?" he asked quietly.
"Don't worry, Father. There is no babe." The duke hissed out such a breath of relief that she felt compelled to add, "But I wish with all my heart that there had been one."
"Oh, Penny, my dear—"
She cut him off by breaking the link of his hand holding hers. It was too late for any type of comfort he chose to offer. Twenty years too late. "As far as I'm concerned, it's over, Father, and I never intend to see Lucas Pendleton again. Let him go so that he is away. Perhaps then my personal torment will cease." Tears flooded into her eyes, sparkling like diamonds in the lamplight. "I've not asked anything of you in a very, very long time. So, I'm asking you this: Let him be away."
"I don't know if I can agree, darling."
"Please!" she begged stubbornly, then, unable to continue, she ran into the house, leaving the duke standing alone and staring desolately at the night sky.
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* * *
Lucas hid in the Westmorelands' garden, along the rear wall, where he'd first encountered Penny. He hadn't meant to come, but after leaving the ship he'd begun walking and hadn't been able to stop until his legs took him to this very place. For some reason, the images were more concentrated here, where she'd always lived with her family, where they'd first met and begun to fall in love.
How far they'd ventured from that precipitous moment!
Across the way Penny stood on the terrace, the lights on the poles casting her in shadows. She appeared so dejected and unhappy, and even in the semidarkness he could see how much weight she'd lost in the past few weeks. It took every ounce of fortitude he possessed to keep from sprinting across the yard and taking her in his arms.
During his restless stroll toward their property, he hadn't imagined that he might actually set eyes upon her, and he watched silently as she searched the night sky, looking for some type of message written in the stars. He'd tensed as the duke joined her but relaxed upon seeing the manner in which they talked. Her father held her hand and tipped his head close to her own, listening intently, as though the words she spoke were the most important he'd ever heard.
Before Lucas knew what had happened, Penny vanished. As she disappeared, he could hardly keep from calling out, from running after her. But he remained rooted to the spot, telling himself over and over that she would never forgive him, so asking again was futile. She didn't deserve the upset that would ensue if he inflicted his presence on her. To what purpose would he? The only reason would be an attempt to salvage a last bit of his pride in one final effort to explain away his deceptions, but the doing would be at her expense.
He refused to hurt her anew.
After she departed, her father remained on the terrace. He
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seemed different from how Lucas remembered him. It was as though the last two months had aged him, leaving him older, weary, less dynamic. He gazed out at the sky much as his daughter had done, seeking answers but not finding them. Finally, on a sigh that Lucas could hear clear across the expanse of lawn, he went back inside.
Lucas stayed where he was, and he couldn't prevent the wave of profound memories that swept him away. Of Penny, and how special she was, compared to the woman he had imagined her to be in the beginning. Funny and enthusiastic, she'd been openly ready for whatever came her way. She'd taken to Harry like a mother with her own. In their small kitchen she'd puttered about, clucking and fussing and seeing to their happiness and comfort. Shyly she'd presented them with the bread she'd baked, the meals she'd cooked, trying to please them in every manner.
And she had. Oh, how she had!
Mostly he remembered how beautiful she was. On the night she believed they were marrying, she'd been a stunning sight. The candlelight had glowed in her hair and the love she'd carried for him had shone in her eyes. Willingly and eagerly she'd learned the ways of their marital bed, and she'd joined in their encounters with a wild abandon. She had delivered unmitigated joy into his life—when he had deserved so little.
His visions of her were so extreme that he was aware of little else, so that was perhaps the reason he didn't notice the quiet footsteps approaching from his right. Only when he heard the distinctive female voice, the one with the soft French accent, did he realize that he was not alone.
“Allo, mon ami," Colette growled.
Lucas tensed, then spun around. "Mistress Colette," he welcomed her, giving her a mocking bow. "I see we meet again."
“Monsieur,'' she responded coldly in return.
“What are you doing out here?''
"I might ask you the same, mon capitan, but I must say I am not surprised to find you lurking in the dark, once again
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sneaking about like a thief in the night!" Her angry eyes narrowed. "I have been watching for you—each and every night!—becaus; I suspected that this was how you would come. You are a coward, afraid to face my lady in the light of day!"
He looked down at her hands, relieved to see nary a weapon in sight. "What? No knife? No pistol? You're slipping."
"Hah! As if I would waste good ammunition on a dirty dog like you!"
"As always, mistress, I am stimulated by your stellar opinion of me."
"I have been patient, because I knew you would eventually show your true colors."
"And what are they?" he asked, almost amused by her level of disdain.
"There is just one: yellow. You are a spineless animal. They should hold you down and paint the yellow stripe down your back!"
He blew out a heavy breath. London was an enormous city, yet he couldn't locate a singl
e corner where he could nurse his wounds in private. Was there to be a chiding, good-intentioned busybody no matter the direction in which he traveled? "Let it be, Colette," he said, too tired to fight with her. "I'm in no mood to hear your criticism, and," he added, "no matter how you would chastise me, the words are no more than I have already said to myself."
"So . . . you have finally shown your despicable face in this place where you have caused so much grief and heartache," she said as though he hadn't spoken. "What will you do now? Will you tuck your tail between your legs and scurry back to your America—like the rat you are?"
"I'm not running away," he insisted.
"Aren't you?" Gesturing furiously toward the house, she asked, "Will you leave her like this? Is that the kind of man you are?"
“Leave her like what?''
"My lady cries herself to sleep each night. She believes I
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do not know, but I hear the ocean of tears she has wept for you. She lies in her bed all the day, without eating, without resting ... wondering about you! Longing for you!"
"That's not true," Lucas said, shaking his head. It couldn't be!
"And she has informed her father that she will never marry. That she will never have a family of her own. All because of you! Because you have hurt her so terribly!"
"She won't forgive me, Colette. If I thought there was any chance ..."
"Bah!" Her entire body shuddered with disgust. "You are not a man, Lucas Pendleton. You are a boy playing at a man's games. You and her father both are children! The two of you, you compete at your hateful boys' games, but it has all been at her expense!"
"I never meant to hurt her!"
"Oh, how you lie! You lie like a dog! And in the meantime my lady wastes away. Loving you! Missing you!" She started to retreat into the shrubbery. "You do not deserve the regard of such a fine woman."
"What would you have me do?" he asked, frantic to find an answer he could understand.
"If I would have to explain the course you should follow, then it is as I have always suspected: You are not man enough for her." Furiously she waved her hands toward the garden wall. "Begone, Lucas Pendleton, we do not need you here. Be off to America and leave us in peace."
He waited in the dark, listening as she retreated as quickly and quietly as she'd come. Long after she'd retreated, he remained, rolling her comments in his head. She seemed convinced that deep down Penny still harbored sufficient affection to heal their rift.
Was Colette right? Was his brother?
Determinedly, as he pondered the past and the future, he began to understand what he had been working so hard to suppress in the weeks they'd been apart.
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He still considered Penny to be his wife! Even though they weren't lawfully married, he deemed himself wed to her in his heart—where it mattered, where God would give his blessing. The legalities could be rectified later.
Was there a possibility she still felt the same? Given the opportunity, would she come around to loving him again as Matthew believed? Was there a chance?
Despite how he'd hurt her, she was his. She belonged with him, and not in her father's house and living under the duke's protection, for she had a husband who loved her more than life itself. If he quit England's shores without having her by his side, he didn't know how he'd manage to survive the remainder of his years.
She was coming with him! He could not let her go. He would not let her go!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lucas Pendleton hurried quietly down the long corridor of the extravagant mansion, counting doors as he passed. With his senses fully engaged in his stealthy endeavor, his eyes constantly scanned the area ahead, looking for movement and checking for hiding spots in case a servant came wandering down the abandoned hallway. Luckily he'd not seen another living soul.
Laughter whispered past from somewhere far off in the grand house. A handful of silver clanged on china, and he paused, listening for footsteps, but none came in his direction. He took a deep breath, let it out, then boldly started off again. His dispute with the Duke of Roswell was a family matter, and where Lucas's family was concerned, he would take any risk, shoulder any task, carry any burden in his efforts to protect them.
Stopping short, he glanced up and down the hall, then slipped into the library. A hasty scan of the room indicated that it was empty of human occupation. A fire burned in the grate, a brandy had been poured by an efficient servant and awaited the duke's pleasure. On tiptoe he walked to the end of the room to hide himself behind one of the heavy velvet drapes.
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His wait was not a long one. In a matter of minutes, the library door opened, and someone crossed the floor, coming around the desk. Lucas peeked out just in time to view the back of the duke's head as he settled himself in the large chair. He appeared weary, very much as he had a few minutes earlier out on the terrace, and he leaned against the soft leather, relaxing for a moment before reaching for the glass of liquor.
With a silent step Lucas was away from the curtain and behind him, the barrel of a pistol dug deep into the duke's neck. "Don't move," he warned.
Westmoreland sighed tiredly, then asked, "Captain Pendleton, I presume?"
"Yes, 'tis I."
"What do you want? And please be quick about it."
"Place your hands where I can see them," Lucas said.
"Oh, for God's sake, man!" he said. "At least have the decency to come around the desk and look me in the eye!"
Lucas hesitated, assessing the area, searching for hidden weapons, rechecking his escape route. Satisfied that all was secure, he removed the pistol but kept it gripped in his hand as he skirted the heavy piece of furniture, and they were face-to-face.
Westmoreland dubiously regarded the gun. "Put that thing aside before you hurt one of us. And don't you dare shoot at that portrait," he said, pointing over the fireplace to where a new painting of the duchess had been substituted for the one Lucas had ruined on his previous visit. ' 'If you wreck another one of my wife, I'll never have any peace for the remainder of my days."
"I'll try to control myself," Lucas said, tamping down a smile as he relented and tucked the pistol into the band of his trousers.
"I appreciate it."
"I'm here to talk about Penny."
"What a surprise." The duke gestured to a chair, and Lucas
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pulled it closer and sat down. "State your case, and be done with it."
Without preamble Lucas said, "I'm asking you for her hand in marriage."
"Goodness, but haven't we turned into the polite swain all of a sudden?''
"I didn't ask before, so I'm asking now." He refused to let his temper flare over the duke's acerbic remark. "I want to marry her."
"As if she'd have you!" the duke scoffed. "Besides, from the way she tells it, you already had the chance to marry her and didn't. Why should I wish her to go through such heartache a second time?"
"Because she might be with child."
"She's not," he said curtly.
"She's not?" Lucas was completely deflated. He'd been earnestly hoping that a babe would be the link that would force Westmoreland to agree. "How can you be positive?"
"Because I asked her, and she told me." He leaned nearer. ' 'Which is fortuitous for you, or I might very well come across this desk and kill you with my bare hands."
"I would not blame you," Lucas said humbly, obviously surprising the duke with his candor. "I apologize for using her in my scheme. She had no part in the quarrel between you and me, and I shouldn't have involved her. I did it badly."
"Yes," Harold said, nodding in agreement. His tone softened when he charged, "You've wronged her terribly."
"I know."
"And my family as well."
"I realize that."
"My, my," Harold said sarcastically, "aren't we the epitome of decorum? When did you become so bloody agreeable?"
"I
see no reason to downplay my actions, and I'm here to rectify the situation ... if you'll allow me."
"On what grounds could you ever convince me to let you repair the mess you've made of my daughter's life?"
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"I love her."
"Well, she doesn't love you back—"
Lucas cut him off. "I wouldn't be too certain if I were you."
"Not thirty minutes ago she told me she hoped you would take your ship and flee the country." Harold shrugged. "She never desires to see you again. I'd hardly call those the sentiments of a woman in love."
“I was having my own conversation thirty minutes ago. With her maid."
"The Frenchwoman?"
"Yes," Lucas said, thinking that Harold appreciated so little about Penny that he didn't know the name of the maid who had served her for years. At least Lucas was ahead on that count. Who could ever forget Colette? "She related a much different story."
"I'll just bet she did," Harold grumbled. "So, what would you have me believe? That you and my daughter are a love match? That you're destined to be together, and I should permit the two of you to sail off into the sunset?"
"Something like that," Lucas admitted.
"You expect me to accept that Penny's level of distress is so great"—Harold's entire body oozed skepticism and incredulity— "because of her attachment to you?"
"Yes."
"She's merely suffering from a broken heart."
"Yes."
"She'd throw her lot in with you in an instant if given the chance."
"Well . . ." Lucas prevaricated, "I wouldn't go that far. She's quite piqued with me."
"Sorry, Pendleton, but whatever you're selling, I'm not buying. I understand you too well, and there must be something else up your sleeve." He sipped his brandy and eyed Lucas carefully. "Tell me the real reason you've come."
"It is for Penny and no other purpose."
"You swear this?"
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"I swear it."
