For some unexplained reason, Drake bristled at her comment. Of course he’d noticed Penelope’s clumsiness, but he felt as uneasy as he would if the comment were made about one of his sisters. That was probably the reason. He thought of her as he would a sister.
“I believe she’s a bit unused to Society,” he said. Thankfully, the music started up, and thoughts of their houseguest fled as he took Lady Daphne into his arms and began their waltz.
She was truly perfect. Never missing a step, she glided across the floor with him, a smile teasing her full lips. “I imagine Lady Mary is quite excited about her come out.”
“Yes. It’s to be a week, come Saturday, but then I’m sure you’ve received your invitation.”
Lady Daphne tilted her chin and gave a perceptible nod. “Indeed. Mother was quite expeditious in her acceptance.” She gazed at him from under lowered eyelashes. “We put aside numerous other requests for attendance, because mother was adamant that we were not to miss Lady Mary’s come out.”
“And Miss Clayton’s, too.”
Now why in heavens name did I say that?
His partner dipped her head graciously. “Of course. Miss Clayton as well. I am so looking forward to getting to know your houseguest better.”
Chapter Seven
As the evening dragged on, Penelope tried her best to remain cheerful, but each time another gentlemen claimed her for a dance, her stomach tightened and she had to fight the bile rising in her throat. Would this nightmare never end?
As couples gathered for the next dance, she glanced at her card and sighed with relief to see a blank space. She’d been granted a reprieve.
Until Drake headed toward her once more with another gentleman. She turned and attempted to flee, but her foot caught the edge of a table, and she stumbled. Arms flailing, she landed into an older gentleman, who jumped back in surprise, grabbing her by the arms. They teetered, but then the man gained his feet and both he and Penelope straightened.
“Miss Clayton,” Drake hurried to her side, “are you all right?”
Embarrassed once again, she shook off his concern. “I’m fine.” She smoothed her skirts, attempting a smile.
Drake eyed her cautiously. After clearing his throat, he said, “Miss Penelope Clayton, may I introduce to you Matthew, Lord Leighton.”
“Miss Clayton.” Leighton bowed at Penelope’s curtsy. “It is my pleasure, I am sure. Manchester tells me you are visiting with his family for the Season.”
“Yes, that’s right. It is nice to make your acquaintance, my lord.”
“And are you enjoying yourself?”
“Of course.” She hoped the blatant lie wasn’t obvious to Drake, whose family had been so kind to her. She glanced at her host from under lowered eyelashes to see his brows raised, and a smirk on his lips. She apparently hadn’t fooled him.
“Lady Mary tells me you are interested in botany.”
Penelope brightened. “Yes. I am, my lord. My father was a renowned botanist, and had many of his scientific papers published in both America and England.”
“Indeed?” he mumbled.
“Yes. Shortly before his death he worked with the wonderful West African scientist, Michel Adanson, who devised his very own classification system, then put forth a rough theory of the mutability of species—”
“Miss Clayton,” Drake interrupted, glancing back and forth between her and Lord Leighton, whose eyes had glazed over. “Perhaps you could use a cup of lemonade?”
Leighton bowed. “I would be delighted to fetch a glass for you.” The man turned on his heel and hurried away so quickly, Penelope wondered if he would, indeed, even return.
Drake took her by the elbow, and moved her away from the small group of people standing near them. “My dear, a ballroom is not the proper place to conduct a scientific exchange.”
The cursed tears rose to her eyes at Drake’s rebuke. Blinking rapidly, she took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. “I’m sorry.”
…
All his irritation at Penelope’s faux pas dissolved as Drake took in her crushed stance. She obviously fought tears, and her stiff fingers were slowly shredding the dance card dangling from her wrist.
He cursed himself for his thoughtlessness in causing her distress. In fact, he fought the urge to hustle her out the French doors where they could be alone, in order to comfort her. What the devil was it about this woman that she could so provoke him one minute, and then have him wanting to wrap his arms around her the next?
“I’m sorry, Penelope. I should not have chastised you. Please accept my apology.”
“It is quite all right. You are correct. I’m afraid I have not spent much time in social situations.” She glanced up at him, attempting a slight smile. “I really do not belong here, you know.”
His thoughts muddled as he picked up the floral scent that wafted from her. He studied her luminous deep green eyes and thick eyelashes that added to the beauty of her face. Her coppery brown curls were already attempting to break free of their topknot. For the first time he noticed the sprinkling of freckles along the bridge of her slightly turned up nose. He was sure Penelope’s forays into the outdoors to study her plants kept her from having the milky white skin of her English counterparts. Awareness raced through him, and a strange tingling began in his nether parts, that he quickly smothered. “Nonsense. You are merely learning your way.”
She nodded at Leighton as he handed her the glass of lemonade, bowed, and took his leave.
…
After the ball, Drake watched from the carriage as the last of his sisters entered the house and the butler closed the door. His duties finished for the evening, he rapped on the roof of the carriage to signal the driver to head to White’s.
The evening had been successful. A good start to his campaign to find the perfect bride. Lady Daphne stood out among the young ladies and would be an excellent duchess. Her charm, grace, and beauty would help his life run smoothly. No drama or female hysterics. She was cool and controlled. And would not expect love to factor into her decision to marry.
…
A couple of hours later, Penelope tightened the belt of her dressing gown, then picked up a small rug and hugged it to her body. Holding her breath, she slowly opened her bedroom door. All was quiet, the women of the household having retired some time ago. She softly closed the door, and made her way down the corridor, avoiding the part of the floor that squeaked.
The candlestick she held aloft cast an eerie glow over the steps, and lit the way for her to quickly descend, her slippers mute on the marble stairs.
Finally at peace when she stepped into the garden, she breathed deeply and hurried to the spot she’d searched the night before, the scant moonlight helping to guide her way. She’d been certain the plants in the wooded area behind the garden held specimens she’d seen in books, but never up close. This area of the country should hold them in abundance, and she wanted the thrill of observing them up close. Spreading the rug out, she knelt in the damp loam and placed her candlestick alongside her. Adjusting her spectacles, she bent closer and used her magnifying glass to examine the plants.
After some time had passed, she became aware of the dampness on her knees where she’d carelessly crawled off the rug. She looked down at two wet brown spots on her nightgown like large circles of chocolate. “However will I explain this to Maguire in the morning?” Perhaps a quick washing in the bowl on her dresser would do the trick.
She stood, placing her hands on her lower back and stretching the strained muscles. It had been a good night’s work. She’d seen several plants that she could record in her journal while the other ladies were working on their sewing. These forays into the woods at night made the time spent in Town more tolerable.
Immediately, she chastised herself for that thought. Her hostess was wonderful, and the girls a delight. But that didn’t change her feelings about not fitting in. Rubbing her palms up and down her arms to ward off the chill, she thou
ght back to tonight’s ball.
It had been embarrassing enough to have Drake drag practically every gentleman who could walk across the ballroom floor to her side. But then to have him witness her drop the glass of lemonade, and the disturbance that ensued, made the mortification complete.
She’d seen how Lady Daphne’s mother had eyed Drake. Even in her ignorance of all things ton, Penelope knew what that look meant. Lady Sirey intended to snag the Duke of Manchester for her daughter. Lady Daphne would be a perfect match for him. She was graceful, beautiful, and charming.
Never could Penelope imagine Lady Daphne crashing into her dance partners, or stumbling up the stairs. For someone as wonderful as Drake, Lady Daphne would be his perfect bride.
Why did that thought hurt so much?
Penelope heard rustling and peered into the darkened area of the thick trees. A small animal no doubt. But a stark reminder that she stood in the garden in her dressing gown, with the cool dampness seeping into her. She bent to pick up her rug when something flew at her, knocking her to the ground and rolling her over and over.
Chapter Eight
Within seconds she identified her attacker as Drake, who kept rolling her back and forth until she had to close her eyes with dizziness. Then he began to hit her about the ankles. What in heaven’s name was the matter with him? Had he too much to drink? An attack of brain fever?
“Woman, you are a danger to yourself and the world in general.” He’d finally stopped his attack, and rolled her onto her back. Leaning over her, he placed his hands on either side of her head, much too close for her comfort. He glared at her, his jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek jumping.
Unable to think of a coherent word to utter, Penelope just stared at him until he stood, brushed off his trousers and reached a hand to pull her up. Once she was standing, she backed away from him, worried by his bizarre behavior. “Why did you throw me to the ground?” Although her voice had returned, her words came out breathless.
“You set your gown on fire!” His shout would certainly rouse the entire household.
She pulled the bottom of her dressing gown out to see the blackened, burned hem where, indeed, she had set herself on fire. Next to her lay the candlestick, positioned on its side, the flame now extinguished. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh, dear! That’s all you can say?” He leaned forward, his face flushed, hands tightly clenched. “Madam, you need someone to follow you about all day to keep you from killing yourself—or some other hapless soul.”
Penelope drew herself up, and gripped the neckline of her dressing gown. “That is, indeed, an unkind thing to say.”
All the stiffness in him seemed to deflate. He backed away, pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. “I apologize. You are correct, that was unkind.” His lips tipped in a slight smile. “But not far from the truth.”
“I wish I could dispute that,” she sniffed, “but I’m afraid you are right.” She bent to retrieve the rug, clasping it to her, suddenly aware of how scantily she was dressed. “Why are you here?”
“I guess I could ask the same of you.”
“I like to come to the garden at night and examine the plants.”
“Why in the dark?”
Why indeed? How to explain to him how important the work was to her, and how trivial it seemed to others who viewed her rooting around in the bushes. She could just imagine Her Grace’s reaction to seeing her houseguest hurrying into the house in a mud splattered morning gown, trekking clumps of dirt along with her.
“I’m a botanist, and that’s what I do. Most people don’t understand it, and see my activities as strange. Hence, the cover of darkness.”
…
His heartbeat back to normal, Drake was finally able to hear what the girl said. Strange. That word barely covered it.
He’d almost had a heart seizure when he’d seen the hem of her gown in flames. Shortly after the carriage had dropped him off, he’d noticed a glow in the garden. Curious, he had followed the trail from the pathway to where the flickering light shone in a patch of the woods. It hadn’t taken him long to identify his trespasser, but before he could approach her, she had leaned close to a candlestick she’d placed on the ground, and her dressing gown had caught fire.
“Can I prevail upon you to do your scientific research in the light of day?”
“What will you mother and sisters think?”
He shoved aside the open flaps of his jacket, and placed his hands on his hips. “And what would they think if I carried your burned body into the house?”
“I see your point.” She pushed the spectacles up on her nose and offered a sweet smile.
And his stomach muscles, along with the area below, tightened. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, and he wasn’t rolling her about on the ground, he took in her appearance. The ragged, burned bottom of the gown called attention to well-turned ankles peeking out from below.
Although she hugged a rug to her chest, the pressure caused the tops of her breasts to rise above the edge of the rug. His mouth watered at the thought of placing his lips over the enticing mounds and taking his fill. As she looked at him in confusion, the glass from her spectacles magnified her jade green eyes and dark eyelashes. A slightly turned up nose, and full, plump lips brought together features that made her countenance lovely and desirable.
Almost of their own accord, his feet moved his unresisting body forward until he stood directly in front of her. The scent of flowers from the nearby garden, or perhaps from Penelope herself, rose to his nostrils, coaxing his lungs to inhale deeply. The blush on her smooth cheeks grew deeper as he raised his hand to cup her jaw. His head descended.
His lips brushed lightly against hers, soft as a whisper. She tasted like the sweetmeats he used to snatch from Cook as a child. Rich, dark, and honeyed. If she’d been surprised by his move, she didn’t show it. No stiffening of her body, no pulling back. In fact, she leaned in closer, and seemed to melt into him, all soft curves and warm woman. Dear God, she tasted good. The earthly smell from the garden suited her.
Drake drew back slowly, watching her eyes as they slowly drifted open. For a moment they remained unfocused, then she stiffened and drew back. “I don’t think you should have done that,” she whispered.
“I know I shouldn’t have. But I can’t find it in myself to apologize.”
What the devil was wrong with him? Of course he should apologize, and she should slap his face. She was his mother’s houseguest, and an innocent. And while he had every intention of finding a bride this Season, it would never be Miss Penelope Clayton.
But he’d be lying to himself if he pretended the kiss hadn’t affected him. Indeed, it made him want more. More of her softness, her scent, the feel of her lips against his. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I think you should return to the house.”
Confusion marking her face, Penelope hurried away, then turned back when he called her. “If you wish to conduct your scientific work in the garden, please do so in the daylight. I shall instruct the gardeners to allow you free reign.”
She nodded quickly and disappeared behind the bushes, leaving him puzzled and more than a little frightened.
…
The next morning after breakfast, Penelope hastened up the stairs to gather her journal, pencil, and magnifying glass to do her research. It would be such a pleasure to be able to see the plants clearly in the sunlight.
The previous evening, when she’d returned to her room, she was still shaking from the kiss. Her first. And most likely her only. No man had ever shown an interest in her, although, truth be known, she’d never shown interest in any man, either. Until now.
Why in heaven’s name did she feel drawn toward the one man she could never have—who would never want her? Whom she stumbled against, dropped things on, and had pointed out, rather emphatically, that she was a danger to society at large. But why, then, did he kiss her?
Surely not because he found her attr
active. That was laughable. No man would be attracted to a plain, bespectacled, clumsy woman. Especially someone like the Duke of Manchester, with the exquisite Lady Daphne setting her cap for him. No, it was best to put it out of her mind. Most likely he was merely reacting to saving her life. She’d heard that happened to rescuers.
She groaned inwardly. Another mishap he was witness to. She needed to focus on her work, and forget Drake, the Season, and London. In a few months she would be released from her duties and be able to return to the country. She would put this behind her.
“Penelope, come visit,” Marion called from her room.
Penelope made an abrupt stop and pushed the partially open door. “Good morning, Marion. How are you today?”
“I feel good now that you’ve stopped by. I enjoy your company.” She waved to the empty spot next to her on the settee. “Please, have a seat. I hope I’m not keeping you from something important. You seem to be in a hurry.”
“No. I was planning on taking a stroll in the garden, but with the weather so fine, I’ll have all day to do that.” Penelope settled her skirts around her.
“Perhaps one day I will join you on a garden stroll.”
Penelope’s head snapped up and she regarded Marion. From what she’d been told, the young widow had not left her room since informed of Tristan’s death. “That would be pleasant.”
“Yes.” Marion nodded slowly. “I would like that.” She turned in Penelope’s direction. “You could show me the plants you are so fond of.”
After several moments of working up her courage, Penelope blurted, “Tell me about Drake.”
Marion’s eyebrows rose. “What is it you wish to know? I would think at this point you know my brother better than I do.” She studied her closely. “Has something happened that you wish to discuss? Remember, I’m your friend.”
Not quite prepared to approach the subject of the kiss, since she hadn’t worked it out in her mind yet, she shook her head. “No, it’s just that I continue to make a cake of myself in front of him. I’m sure he thinks I’m a complete ninny, and he’s so perfect.”
The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous) Page 6
