“Ah, Burlington, that’s terribly kindhearted of you.”
“But watch yourself, man. And do what your uncle sent you to Town for in the first place; find yourself a wife and leave everyone else’s alone.”
The hermit only gave half a smile at this advice. “Isn’t it thoughtful of my uncle to keep all of London so well informed of my endeavors.”
“If your endeavors did not breed scandal and dishonor at every turn, no one in London would give a fig for them. Watch yourself, Lord Harry, unless you really don’t wish to live long enough to make use of that title your unfortunate brother will be forced to leave you one day.”
“Leave my brother out of this, Burlington.”
“Why? Are you ashamed of having a half-wit in the family, sir? Do you wish his compromised body would just hurry up and die so you can finally make use of that title?”
For a moment it seemed something would explode. The hermit seemed to grow larger, his shoulders tensed, and his expression was harsh and cold. Even from this distance she could see something raging behind his eyes. But then it was gone; he became calm and amused once again.
“Oh, that ruddy title,” he said. “I tell you, Burlington, there are plenty of other things I’d very much rather make use of.” Again, his eyes fell on Penelope, and for just a moment she felt as if she might have an inkling what the man meant—and she did not mind it.
“But I also tell you,” he continued, turning back to his grumbling confronter, “your wife is not one of them.”
With that, the man nodded at those around who still observed their altercation, then he gave Penelope a special nod all her own, and departed. He turned on his heel and abandoned the assembly. Penelope clenched the fern so tightly she was left with nothing more than a handful of tiny green leaves. The dratted chair was still moving. She was sure of it.
“Penelope!”
This blustering screech was her mother’s. Penelope started and very nearly fell off her precarious roost. Bother. Of course Mamma would appear now and discover her this way.
“Oh, hello, Mamma,” she said, as if standing on chairs in someone’s decorated ballroom was perfectly normal. “I thought I saw a mouse.”
“More like a rat,” her mother said, glaring in the direction the hermit had gone. “You pay no attention to that man, Penelope. Harris Chesterton might be heir to the Marquis of Hepton, but he’s hardly fit for polite company. And here you are gawking on a chair? Honestly, Penelope, what can you be thinking?”
Honestly? Well, she was thinking she’d just discovered the perfect fiancé.
HARRIS CHESTERTON LEFT LORD BURLINGTON’S HOUSE empty-handed, but he couldn’t help but smile. True, he’d not actually gotten what he’d come for and, yes, he’d been caught prowling about the bowels of Burlington’s home when he should not have been there, and of course he’d very nearly gotten dragged into a duel with that blustering fool Burlington—not to mention what he’d had to endure with the prying Lady Burlington—but still the night had not been a total waste. He’d seen something that changed his life.
That girl, the one who stood on a chair. Ah yes, he’d seen her quite clearly. He couldn’t actually recall much of what she looked like, but he’d noticed one thing about her. She was wearing the scarab.
The Scarab of Osiris. He knew it instantly, had held it in his hand and felt the smooth gold, the carefully carved insect form, the warm amber orb at its head that fairly glowed like the sun. It was a beautiful piece. And it was stolen.
He knew, because he’d been the one to steal it.
After it was originally stolen from its place in a dead pharaoh’s tomb, of course. He’d been merely trying to return the thing, along with several other treasures that had been looted from their rightful place and brought here, to England, where they did not belong.
Oh, certainly, he did not begrudge the legitimate men of science and conservation who worked within the proper authority to responsibly excavate and preserve antiquities to be shared with the world. He simply had a bit of a problem with the wholesale pillaging of one nation’s history to fund the luxurious tastes of a few private citizens in another. The young woman on the chair was a perfect example of that.
She was just another of these well-bred simpletons who was hungry for gold and sparkling things without ever stopping to wonder at the meaning, the history, the eternal significance of pieces like that scarab. No doubt she’d lined someone’s pocket well, probably with more thought to how the lapis lazuli of the scarab’s wings matched her blue eyes quite remarkably than to any concept of the hopes and dreams of its ancient creators.
Damn. Harris could do little but kick himself. What an idiot he was to fail so miserably at keeping these articles safe. And just a matter of days before he’d needed to give his reclaimed collection back to the people who asked—no, demanded—it returned.
But now that he knew where at least one piece was, perhaps he could track down the rest. Perhaps he could save these priceless treasures after all. And perhaps that would save his friend, Oldham. Indeed, far more than a friend.
First, though, he’d have to find a way to locate that woman. It wouldn’t be an entirely unpleasant task, he had to admit. The scarab did bring out the blue of her eyes quite remarkably, now that he thought about it.
“WE WILL HAVE NO MORE OF THIS EGYPT NONSENSE,” Anthony, Lord Rastmoor, declared, silencing his sister when she tried to protest. “It’s all I can do to keep you under control here in London. I can’t even imagine the havoc you might wreak traveling off to some foreign land on your own.”
“But I wouldn’t be alone,” Penelope protested. “I would be traveling with Mr. and Mrs. Tollerson. They’ve been friends of the family for ages. They’d keep close watch over me.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Tollerson can’t even keep close watch over their own teeth. They are far too old to keep you on a leash, Penelope. You’d run all over them. Look what happened when I left you alone with mother and you nearly became prey to that loathsome Fitzgelder.”
Oh, he just loved to bring that up, didn’t he? And he never seemed to have the facts right about it. Totally unfair.
“That was five years ago, Anthony,” she reminded. “And as you recall, I was quite in control of things where Fitzgelder was concerned.”
He merely snorted at her for that. “Just as you had been with the dozens of fiancés since then, I suppose.”
“Three, and I never really intended to get engaged to any of them, Anthony. The first one was a misunderstanding. The second one tricked me, and the third… well, I’m not entirely certain what happened there.”
“It is always one disaster after another with you, isn’t it?”
“But it’s never my fault! Anthony, if you’d simply give me a chance—”
“No. If you want to go to Egypt, little sister, then find a husband. Let him take you there. Let him try to keep you from knocking over the Sphinx, or whatever ruddy mess you might make of the place.”
He was serious, she knew. But where on earth in all this sea of London foppery and English propriety did he expect her to find a husband who might have the slightest inclination to go to Egypt? She did not run with an especially adventurous crowd. He and Mamma had seen to it the young men she met were all properly dull and impossibly proper.
Very well, then. If a husband was what it would take to get to Egypt, then a husband she was going to find. Well, a fiancé, anyway.
She would implement her plan. She’d thought to give begging and pleading one last try this morning, but since that had clearly failed, she had no other recourse. Anthony had pushed her into it.
Now, all she had to do was find that dreadful gentleman from last night. And really, the morning post had already helped her along in that. The man’s uncle, Lord Nedley Chesterton, as it turned out, was hosting a ball in honor of his own birthday. She and Mamma had received an invitation. They would accept, of course.
Surely the man’s nephew—the very hairy Lord Ha
rry she had seen last night—would wish to help his uncle celebrate the occasion, even if he was a hermit. She only hoped he would not be forced to shave. True, he had seemed to be hiding rather nice features beneath that scruff, but Anthony would surely hate him more if he remained wooly.
Penelope smiled for her brother over her breakfast. “Very well, Anthony. Your word is law. I suppose there’s nothing more to be said on the matter.”
“There isn’t.”
Silly Anthony. He actually believed he was correct.
Chapter Two
Drat, but it seemed Penelope had gone to all the trouble of having a new gown made, her hair done in an especially elaborate fashion, and excessive pinching of her cheeks to give them the proper glow all for nothing. Lord Nedley’s ball was well under way and there was not a sign of his hirsute nephew. What an annoyance. How was she going to get engaged to the man if he didn’t bother to show up to meet her?
“Can you not for one moment look at me, Penelope?” her friend, Maria, asked as they stood against the far wall where a low dais of two steps put them in excellent position for viewing the crowd.
“No, I’m afraid I cannot,” Penelope answered, quite honestly.
“Then you should either tell me who you are looking for and I can help you, or I’m afraid I would like to go sit down. The way your head keeps going back and forth like that is making me dizzy.”
“Bother,” Penelope said, stamping her foot and turning to look at her friend. “I am wasting my time. Clearly he’s not here.”
One of Maria’s eyebrows rose and she smiled. “He?”
“Of course it is ‘he.’ I could not very well become engaged to a ‘she,’ could I?”
“You?” Maria said, and kept that eyebrow raised while her mouth took on a pensive quirk. “To be honest, I would not be surprised by anything you might do when it comes to getting engaged, Penelope. But seriously, you haven’t found some gentleman you truly do fancy, have you? How could I not know about this?”
“Because it’s quite recent.” She went back to scanning the crowd again. “Botheration. I very much hoped he would be here.”
“Who? For goodness’ sake, you simply must tell me!”
Penelope studied her friend for a moment. Could she trust her? Of course she knew she could trust her, but should she? Was it fair to put this on Maria and expect her to go along with such an outrageous plan?
Then again, what were friends for?
“Lord Nedley’s nephew, Lord Harry.”
Aha, so Penelope had managed to surprise her friend, after all. Maria’s mouth hung open.
“You wish to marry Harris Chesterton?!”
Penelope shushed her. She reached out and held on to her arm, too, since it appeared by Maria’s sudden pallor and blank expression she might be about to fall over.
“Of course not. You know I don’t wish to marry anyone just now. But I do wish to become engaged to him.”
“Oh, well that’s a relief,” Maria said, her frown revealing that she just might be a bit facetious.
“Listen. It makes perfect sense. Anthony will think Lord Harry completely unsuitable for me, and I will profess an undying affection. So, Anthony will do his brotherly duty and ship me off somewhere to keep us apart.”
“Yes, of course I see how this is an excellent plan.” Maria was still frowning.
“Well, what better place to ship me than off to Egypt with the Tollersons, of course! They are leaving in just a few weeks time. Anthony has declared he will not let me go with them, so I intend to make him force me to go with them.”
“And Harris Chesterton is willing to be party to such a scheme?”
“I’m sure he will once I explain it to him.”
“Good heavens, Penelope! Do you even know Harris Chesterton?”
“I’ve seen him.”
“But do you know anything about him? Haven’t you heard what sort of person he is?”
“Mamma indicated he was completely unsuitable.”
“Which is precisely why you will not be seeing him here, or at any other polite gathering.”
“I saw him at Lady Burlington’s ball last week.”
Maria actually smacked her arm with her fan. “You did not!”
“Indeed I did. He was horrible, all hairy and dirty looking. And there was quite a row over him, too. It seems Lord Burlington caught the man in a rather compromising position with his wife. Burlington’s wife, I mean.”
“So I assumed, and it’s not surprising. From what people say, Harris Chesterton is a positive rake. The worst kind, because he is so very mysterious about it.”
Now Penelope felt her own eyebrows go up a bit. “Oh? Do tell.”
One of the very many things she loved about Maria was that the woman was such a good listener. For some reason, most people seemed to think the poor girl rather thick and a bit slow, even. But Penelope had known Maria practically all their lives and she knew better. Maria was not slow. She was simply quiet. She did not much like to talk. True, this was something Penelope had a hard time comprehending, but she’d learned long ago that while Maria might keep her lips closed on most occasions, her ears were always open.
If anyone knew the dirty details of gossip on Lord Harry Chesterton, it would be Maria. Penelope did her very best to keep her own lips shut tight as her friend spilled what she knew. And it seemed, happily so, that Maria knew a lot.
“His uncle is the trustee for Lord Harry’s older brother, the Marquis of Hepton. Hepton, sadly, is not well and has never been quite competent. It’s common knowledge he will never marry or have his own heir, so we can all expect Lord Harry to inherit from him as well as their ancient grandfather, the Duke of Kingsdere.”
“How fascinating,” Penelope said.
And indeed, it was. Surely Anthony would believe she might be interested in such a man. Although, she hoped Anthony did not determine the man’s expected inheritance was more attractive than his more obvious flaws. It would defeat her purpose if Anthony did not have enough reason to reject this man as husband material.
“His uncle despises him,” Maria went on, much to Penelope’s satisfaction. “The two of them have a long-standing dispute.”
“Over what?”
She hoped it was something sordid. Indeed, Anthony would hate that.
“No one knows. Some say it was a woman, some say Lord Harry wishes to do away with his brother and inherit sooner.”
“Ah, but that’s perfect!”
Maria frowned. “What? Did you not hear what I said?”
“Oh, no… I meant how dreadful that he hates his brother so.”
“I’m more inclined to believe it is likely some of his amorous exploits have caused the rift,” Maria said. “Lord Harry is known as rather a rogue. In fact, they say his senses are so jaded that he’s forced to travel all over the world to strange lands to find women sordid enough to tempt him. As Lord Harry is dependent on his brother and as Lord Nedley is trustee, I’ve no doubt they have frequent disagreements over the financial aspects of such a lifestyle.”
Well, the bit about the man’s love of travel was good. All the more reason for her to claim interest in him. Anthony would be more likely to believe it. And hate it.
Maria went on. “He’s very rarely in England, and when he is, he is so debauched and degenerate that he goes about unkempt and is unfit for society with anyone aside from his equally dissipated friends. They say Lord Nedley would rather see his nephew die of his unwholesome lifestyle than to live and inherit the title.”
“But I thought Lord Harry’s uncle had sent him to London to find a wife?”
“Wherever did you get that idea?”
“Lord Burlington said so, and Lord Harry seemed surprised that he should know such detail. I assumed it was the case.”
Maria simply shrugged. “Well, if Lord Harry married and produced an heir, that would push Lord Nedley further from the title. Still, he’s probably hoping the man will take a wealthy wife. That wou
ld make sense. Everyone says it is just a matter of time before the duns will be at his door.”
Hmm, well this was promising. She needed a horrible fiancé, and the most horrible man possible was out looking for a wealthy wife. A match made in heaven!
“Though who’d be desperate enough to marry someone like that, I can’t imagine,” Maria finished. “Hardly the perfect husband.”
“Well, he’s absolutely perfect for my purposes. All we need is an introduction.”
“Good luck with that. I certainly don’t know anyone who actually knows the man, and I doubt your brother would be much help.”
“No, he and Mother seem to be content to bury me under the likes of Puddleston Blu…”
But her mouth could not continue to form the syllables. Across the room, a figure moved. He was tall, elegant, finely dressed, and the crowd seemed to part for him as he proceeded along. As well they should. He had an air about him of authority, and Penelope simply could not take her eyes from him.
His wealth of chestnut hair was cut fashionably long and hung about his face in a carefully carefree manner. His shoulders were broad, and his limbs were long and muscular; there was delightfully no need for padding underneath. His skin was darkened by the sun, as if he had just been scooped up from some exotic location and dropped here in the center of London. But his clothes and his bearing were every bit the gentleman. An exciting gentleman. A dangerous gentleman.
He paused where he was, and his head turned slowly, deliberately. His eyes met hers, and it was as if he’d expected to find her there. Perhaps he had. He smiled.
“Penelope?” Maria said from someplace far away beside her.
“It’s him.”
“Him who?”
“Him!”
“Good heavens. You mean him?”
Penelope nodded.
“Er, are you certain?” Maria asked.
Penelope nodded again. Dear Lord, but he was still looking at her. His eyes were so cold she felt a shiver run through her.
“He doesn’t look quite so horrible as you made him sound,” Maria stated.
Passion and Pretense Page 2
