Odd. Penelope would have expected her connection to someone the likes of Lord Harry to provide limitless amusement for Lady Whorton. It seemed, however, that it took the matron several heartbeats before the realization of what she was seeing—what Penelope’s proximity to Lord Harry—must mean. Finally the facial contortions softened and her lips tipped into a sly, evil smirk. Ah, now this was the Lady Whorton Penelope had come to know.
“Why look, Amelda,” the lady chirped loudly to the woman seated next to her. “I do believe it’s Miss Rastmoor.”
Penelope smiled sweetly and tucked her fingers into the crook of Lord Harry’s arm. He didn’t bat an eye and simply smiled, touching his hat in deference to the ladies in the approaching carriage. The barouche slowed at the matron’s command.
“Lovely day, isn’t it, Miss Rastmoor?” Lady Whorton called.
Penelope smiled as if greeting her own dear grandmother. “Oh, indeed it is, my Lady Whorton.” In her mind she adjusted the spelling to Wart-on . Just for the fun of it.
Lord Harry slowed their carriage, and now both sets of passengers were stuck having to make conversation. Penelope decided she was up to the task and snuggled yet closer to Lord Harry. He still smiled.
“I wonder that your brother should allow you to go driving alone with no one but a household footman?” Lady Whorton said after a slightly uncomfortable pause.
Ah, so she was ready to get right into it, was she? Most excellent.
“Such a pity that your eyes must be failing in your advanced years, my lady,” Penelope said as if syrup veritably dripped from her words. “You must not recognize Lord Harris Chesterton. You know, heir to the Marquis of Hepton?”
The lady noticeably sneered at Penelope’s remark but pretended to suddenly recognize Lord Harry.
“Why yes, so it is Lord Harry. I could hardly recognize you, sir, driving such a…cart.”
“And I almost did not recognize you, Lady Whorton, in your lovely barouche,” Lord Harry said in his rich, cultured tones. He very nearly brought Penelope to giggles when he added, “I should have rather expected to find you pulling it. I hope this does not mean you’ve come up lame?”
Lady Whorton glared at him as if he were something rather foul. “I should have expected Miss Rastmoor to end up associating with the likes of you, Chesterton. We all know the sort of woman you prefer.”
“Oh, you mean the sort who doesn’t hurl insults at me on the street?” he asked.
“I mean the sort who would hurl herself into your bed, Lord Harry,” Lady Whorton said.
It was brazen enough that even Penelope was shocked. Indeed, she knew the woman still held a grudge over the way Penelope had jilted her son, but to speak this way about her on a public road was entirely beyond the pale. What must Lord Harry think!
A quick glance his way did not indicate that he thought very much. He was, however, not smiling nearly so broadly as he had been. And his hand reached up to pat hers where it still rested on his arm.
“I’m going to assume you did not mean to give offense by that, Lady Whorton,” he said, and all trace of warmth was now gone from his voice. “And as it is my fervent hope Miss Rastmoor will indeed be hurling herself into my bed very soon, my fiancée and I will simply thank you for wishing us happy.”
Now Lady Whorton appeared to be shocked. “Fiancée? You cannot mean you are to be wed!”
“Indeed, that’s exactly what I mean,” Lord Harry said. “Don’t we make a beautiful couple?”
Lady Whorton exchanged appalled glances with her companion. Penelope had no doubt the news of their engagement—with a somewhat embellished depiction of the unpleasantries passed between their carriages here today—would soon be spread like wildfire throughout society. It was better than a newspaper, even though she could still feel her face burn from the lady’s bold insults.
“Well, I don’t know about a beautiful couple,” Lady Whorton said with a disdaining sniff. “But I will say the two of you certainly deserve one another.”
Lord Harry still kept his hand on hers. “Thank you. We do get along famously.”
With that he nodded politely at the ladies and touched the reins, setting his horse into motion again. The carriage rattled and lurched. Penelope held on to his arm, partly to keep from spilling out onto the ground, and partly because she was suddenly dizzy.
What had they done? They’d both publicly insulted Lady Whorton, right here in Hyde Park in the fashionable hour! Heavens, if she was not already damaged in the eyes of society by her silly engagements and her erratic behaviors, she certainly would be damaged now. By this time tomorrow there was no telling what London would think of her.
After all, Lord Harry had claimed he fervently hoped she’d be hurling herself into his bed! Oh, but this was quite dreadful. There was no way Lady Whorton wouldn’t delight in telling everyone all about it. Tongues would be wagging! Then again, this was what they wanted, wasn’t it?
“What a charming mother-in-law you almost had, Miss Rastmoor,” Lord Harry said when they were at a safe distance. “I hope your intended took a bit more after his father.”
“He didn’t.”
“Ugh.”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. That’s why I had to tell him I could not marry him.”
“But whatever convinced you to accept him in the first place?”
She had to think about that for a moment. “Er, I don’t believe I did.”
“No? Then how on earth did you become engaged to the man?”
“Well, I was engaged to someone else and when that ended…”
“By your choice or his?”
“Mine, of course.”
“Of course.”
“When that ended, Buttleigh just seemed to appear at my side everywhere I went.”
Lord Harry turned to her. “Buttleigh?”
“Yes. Buttleigh Whorton.”
“Good God.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, and you have room to talk, Harry Chesterton?”
“Harris. My name is Harris.”
“And everyone calls you Harry. Chesterton.”
He could hardly fault her for giggling, so she giggled.
“Very well,” he said. “I will allow that a man’s name is hardly his sole measure. Apparently this Buttleigh had some redeeming qualities for you to consider marrying him.”
“But I didn’t. He was there, and the next thing I knew his mother was announcing our engagement. I put up with it since it seemed to make my own mother fairly happy and it was nice to attend balls and the like without constantly fending off suitors, but of course eventually I had to break it off.”
“Break his heart, you mean.”
“I did no such thing! Less than one week after I’d thrown him over, Buttleigh ran off and married the daughter of the local butcher from the town where he grew up.”
“What? He lost you so he ran off with the butcher’s daughter instead? That’s a bit unexpected.”
“No, not really. He talked incessantly of the girl right from the start, but of course his mother would never allow that match. It would seem being engaged to me showed him it was better to follow his heart than follow his mother.”
“That’s not quite something you should be bragging over, I think.”
“I don’t care if it makes me seem an inferior fiancée. I’m happy that Buttleigh is happy. Although, I’m sure he’d be more happy if his parents hadn’t gotten furious and cut him off completely, but that can hardly be called my fault.”
Lord Harry shook his head. “You realize, of course, little Buttleigh’s mother is going to take great pleasure in vivisecting your reputation after our conversation today.”
“Of course. That’s what we want, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
“She’ll say terrible things, Anthony will hear them, and he’ll begin to realize just how dangerous you truly are. He’ll drive you away and give in to my demands in no time!”
“Really. As quic
k as all that?”
“I would certainly expect so.”
“Because I am so very dangerous?”
“I thought we had already established that?”
“No, I believe we determined I was entirely wicked.”
“Oh, that’s true. Well then, you are wicked and dangerous.”
“I see.”
“Surely it cannot come as a surprise to you, Lord Harry!”
“No, but what does surprise me is the fact that you can be so convinced of my depravity, yet here you sit, Miss Rastmoor, quite conspicuously alone and helpless with such a wicked, dangerous man.”
Lord Harry slowed the carriage again, and now he was leaning toward her. His tone was light, but the fire in his eyes was anything but that. She glanced around them, suddenly seeking security in the sight of so many passersby swarming around, parading on horseback or in carriages, all desperate to be seen in all their finery on this lovely London day. They all seemed very far away, though, compared to Lord Harry’s heat-inducing nearness.
“I am hardly alone, sir,” she said and was appalled when she noted a slight tremor in her own voice.
He smiled. “Oh? As far as I’m concerned, Miss Rastmoor, you are very much alone just now.”
Suddenly she realized this was true. She was alone. Anthony was not here, her mother was not here, not even Maria was nearby to let out a squeal should anything untoward happen. From the way Lord Harry was looking at her, eyeing her as a hungry dog might eye the butcher’s shop, she felt very much alone, indeed. And Mamma had warned her what happened to ladies who end up alone with disreputable gentlemen.
“Er, shouldn’t we be moving along, Lord Harry?” she asked, and there was that dratted tremor again.
“Indeed we are, Miss Rastmoor,” he said, leaning in even closer. “I think we are moving along quite nicely.”
With that he brought his hand up to touch her face. Drat it all, but she felt her eyelids droop. Was he going to kiss her again? Of course she hoped not. It would be terribly improper. And she really would not like him to get the wrong idea about her. Despite what she’d done in his company thus far, she did have a very high moral code. Kissing here on the street would be very, very wrong.
Still, he smelled so fresh and so manly and his hand was impossibly warm, his worn glove soft against her skin…
She nearly melted right there into the cracked leather of the seat as his arms encircled her. He brought her close, and it felt like eternity before his lips finally contacted hers. She couldn’t help but sigh in relief. His kiss was gentle, but secure. He was not some tentative boy, fearful she might cry out in horror or run to her mamma. Lord Harry kissed like a full-grown man.
Like a man who knew what he was about. She did not have to pretend to enjoy it as she had when any of her past suitors had stolen a kiss. No, Lord Harry’s kiss was like heaven itself. She simply gave in to the sensation and let his lips explore hers, his tongue playing a game she’d long imagined yet still could not name. She held on to him for fear he might pull away long before she had what she needed from him.
Whatever on earth that might be.
He was pressing her into the hard seat, his body solid against hers, and so delightfully masculine. His hands moved over her, and she felt as if sparks of energy emanated from his touch. She wanted more of him, deepening the kiss and arching her body to give those roaming hands better access to places to roam.
He didn’t roam far enough, though. Long before she was ready, he pushed himself away from her and smiled.
“I think that should give our audience more than enough to whisper about today, don’t you think?”
For half a heartbeat she was confused by his words, then the meaning sank in. Ah yes, their kiss was merely a performance. Of course she knew that. He’d simply been playing his part, posing as the infatuated suitor. Surely that was all she had been doing, as well.
She cleared her throat and sat primly upright, adjusting her clothes. “Yes. Yes, that should do nicely.”
Drat. She sounded as if half her voice had been gobbled up by that kiss and all she had left was a weak, breathy whisper.
Lord Harry had the nerve to actually laugh at her, taking up the reins again and slapping the horse into motion. He seemed to have already forgotten what his hands had been doing just seconds ago. She wished to heaven that did not annoy her so.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, nodding to the few people who stared at them with something less than animosity, ignoring the rest, but arriving back at home without further incident. Penelope felt her blood had finally stopped pounding in her veins, but one quick glance at Lord Harry as he pulled the brake and hopped out to run around and assist her set it to pounding again. She was quite frustrated with herself, affected so much by one simple kiss.
Then again, it had not been one simple kiss. It had been three simple kisses, and none of them had actually been simple. They had all set her off-balance.
Well, after such a public display, there would hardly be need for any additional kisses. Indeed, she should definitely avoid them if at all possible. It seemed kissing Lord Harry was quite unsettling to her system. She would have to recall that in the future, should the man feel the urge to ever attempt such a thing again, which she had no reason to believe he might. After all, he was simply playing a part. His kisses were hardly meant for anything more than that.
Which, of course, unsettled her even more than the actual kiss.
HARRIS WATCHED AS PENELOPE DASHED UP THE STEPS and into her home. He tried not to admire her figure, the light fabric of her gown swishing temptingly around it as she moved, but it was impossible. Penelope Rastmoor was more than just an attractive female. She was inspiring.
And damned if that kiss they’d shared in the park hadn’t been just a tad bit too inspiring for him. He’d very nearly gotten carried away. He’d almost forgotten what this was all about.
It was about obligation—his obligation. He needed to get his mind back to business and concentrate on finding those artifacts. It was not simply a matter of choice; it was life and death. For someone quite dear to him. Miss Rastmoor was not simply a delicious tart he could toy with for his own entertainment; she was his means to salvation.
Or rather, Professor Charles Harris Oldham’s salvation. It would not do to forget that. Even when his body told him it would very much like to.
Leaving Miss Rastmoor behind her closed door, Harris climbed back into his shabby carriage and guided the horse from one fashionable street to the next. He’d not done anything to secure the scarab or any information on how it was obtained, but he decided the afternoon did not need to be an entire waste. He would drive past Lord Burlington’s house and determine if there might be yet another way into it.
He knew the man kept antiquities; he had reason to believe not all of them were gotten legitimately. He’d spent the better half of an hour scouring the man’s cellar and storeroom last week, only to be discovered by Lady Burlington and forced to play the part of a drunken—and randy—sot to give excuse to his curious wanderings in another man’s house. Unfortunately for him, the lady had been rather taken by his performance and had demanded performance of another kind. Harris had been only too happy when her husband interrupted and threatened murder.
Still, though, he knew Burlington was connected to the stolen artifacts. There must be a way to find them, to get into that house and see for himself just how many the man had collected and how difficult it would be to get his hands on them. Again. Time was running out.
He slowed his horse to get a good look at the house, larger than most around it. It had likely been built before the others on this street and was once even grander than it appeared today. As it was, Harris would have quite a job searching the place. It would be far easier if he had someone who knew the house, someone who could give him an idea where to look for things. But how was he to do that? Certainly he was no friend to Lord Burlington or any of his cronies.
Ah, b
ut an opportunity presented itself just as Harris was about to give up for the day. He smiled. A young woman—a servant, from the looks of her—left the house by a discreet door set off to the side and clearly meant for only the unimportant to use. She was small and trim and glanced up at him with the appreciation he often saw in women’s eyes when they took note of him. Until they realized who he was, of course.
But this servant girl simply blushed at the nod he gave her and let her smile grow even more appreciative. She did not mind that the notorious Lord Harry was staring at her. Ah, but this was most excellent. He believed he had just found his entrée to Burlington’s home.
It did cross his mind, however, that his new fiancée might not at all approve.
Chapter Five
It was a bit dreary outside. Not the best day for going out shopping with Maria, but Penelope wasn’t about to complain. Everything was working out splendidly for her, even if she did have to dodge a puddle or two.
The gossips had been merciless. Indeed, from what she’d heard about herself already today, she and Lord Harry had acted as absolute heathens in the park yesterday. They’d been accused of everything from threatening Lady Whorton’s very life to stripping themselves naked and cavorting in the Serpentine. Really, she ought to be very upset about it, but the more she thought on it, the more she could merely smile.
Anthony would be livid. This gossip was all she could have hoped for, and more. Once it reached her brother, he’d explode with anger and decide drastic measures must be taken at once.
She could practically feel the Egyptian sand between her toes. Ah, but making Lord Harry her fiancé had been nothing short of genius. In fact, she rather hoped she might bump into him today as she and Maria strolled along, pausing before shops and admiring a bonnet here or an assortment of fans there.
“I had quite a difficult time convincing her, as a matter of fact,” Maria was saying, although Penelope had to admit she hadn’t been paying close attention and really had no idea who Maria was talking about.
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