A Lady for the Taking

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Penny didn’t fight Harry. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and allowed him to move her about as he liked, like a rag doll in his grasp. She was worried that she would fall into a heap at his feet if she struggled to wiggle out of his grasp too quickly, so she didn’t even bother to try. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and allowed this man she barely knew to lead. Because wherever he went, she would follow.

  For now, he represented safety. Her safety. That was all she cared about.

  The moment Harry closed the door behind them, a small branch of candles in hand, Penny felt the blessed silence wash over her. No more sights or sounds or smells. Just sweet silence and dimly lit darkness. And this man. This man who seemed to be everywhere she was as of late and who somehow seemed to know exactly what she needed. Whenever she needed it.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “You’re welcome.” His voice was equally as soft.

  Penny felt as if she owed Harry an explanation, but she didn’t know how to begin. At the beginning, she supposed. So she did, even though she had not told anyone of her fears. Ever. Not even Josie. But Harry deserved to know the truth. Even if Penny could not offer him anything else, she could offer him that much, at least.

  He might still be dangerous but he deserved this bit of truth after he had saved her out there in the crowd.

  “My parents died in a carriage accident several years ago. They were on a narrow road in the moors back in Cornwall. The road should have been deserted as it usually was, but there were other carriages. So many of them. Far too many. I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but the carriage horses spooked, then bolted and we tipped over. I was thrown free of the coach and survived. My parents…were not so fortunate.”

  Harry didn’t say anything. He simply continued to hold her. He matched his breathing to hers, slowing his ever so slightly, bit by bit as more time passed. Until before long, Penny was breathing normally again. She had no idea how he had known such a trick to calm her, but she was grateful for his assistance.

  Penny also no longer felt the blind panic she had earlier, though she was still upset. Small favors, she supposed, and knew she should be grateful Harry had done that much for her.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally offered quietly, stroking her upper arms with the pads of his thumbs. “I had no idea.”

  Penny shuddered in his embrace, unthinking. “Immediately after the accident, there were so many people. I could hear the horses crying in fear. I could see all of these people just milling about, but I couldn’t focus on them. Not even one. They were all one big blur. There were strange smells and sounds and…well, it was all just too much.” She swallowed hard. “And sometimes, when I least expect it, that same fear and the blur of everything comes rushing back. Most of the time, I can contain it, for lack of a better word.”

  “And sometimes, like just now, you can’t.” Harry blew out what sounded like a shaky breath. “There is no shame in that, Lady Penny. None. Even the most hardened of us have something we fear that can pounce upon us when we least expect it.”

  “Even you?”

  “Even me.”

  Penny would not have expected that of Harry. He always seemed so strong and capable. Always in complete and total control. Hence the rumors that he was passionless, she supposed.

  But just now, he had been filled with, well if not passion, then certainly emotion. She had heard it in his voice. He wasn’t completely cold and unfeeling. He simply wasn’t overly showy with his emotions. Some people were like that. She herself was to some degree. That didn’t make him incapable of feeling, however.

  Now, as she calmed, Penny felt Harry’s hands on her arms, truly felt them, but this time, she wasn’t overwhelmed. He hadn’t released her after he had pulled her inside the room. For some reason, she thought he had, but now was glad that he had not.

  She felt his breath on her face, hot and sweet, like the mints she had devoured as a child. She could smell a bit of bay rum, likely from his shaving soap. But more than that, she could hear him breathing. She could hear the raggedness of his breath, the sharp intake of air as he tried to collect himself and failed.

  And for once, none of that frightened her. Nothing about Harry induced panic. Penny had thought he might. She was glad he didn’t.

  Slowly, Penny opened her eyes. She expected she would see Harry staring at the door, waiting until the crowds passed so that they could emerge and continue on to the lobby. That was what he did after all, wasn’t it? Protect people.

  Except he wasn’t staring at the door and he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the fading sounds of the people in the hallway beyond. Instead, he was staring directly at her, his gaze locked on her face as his eyes caught and held hers. Blue to gold. Man to woman. And in those depths, Penny saw something that frightened her far more than any threat of punishment from her uncle ever could.

  She saw desire. Penny saw Harry’s desire for her and she had to stop it. Now. Before she did something stupid and give in to her own desires. The desire to kiss and touch and simply feel for once. To take what she wanted, even though she had no idea why she wanted it. Wanted him.

  “Mr. Greer,” Penny began though her voice was thick and rough now, even to her own ears.

  “Harry,” he whispered gently. “My name is Harry and I think we are long past formalities, don’t you?”

  “Harry,” Penny tired again as she felt his thumbs begin to caress her forearms once more. The way a lover might touch her. “We shouldn’t… We can’t…”

  “I know.” His voice was rough now, too. Almost ragged, as if he was fighting against his desires just as much as she was. “We shouldn’t. But we will. Because we want to. At least I do. Don’t you?”

  Penny should have said that she didn’t want to kiss Harry, but that would have been a lie. And she had a feeling that lying to this man would be a very bad idea. Very bad.

  So she didn’t lie. Instead, in the darkness of this closet, the one place in all of the world where her uncle’s spies could not see, Penny stood on her tiptoes and wound her arms around Harry’s neck.

  “I do.”

  “Thank God, my lady.”

  “Penny,” she whispered, as Harry brought his lips down to join with hers. “I am Penny. Just Penny.”

  “Penny.” Her name was like a prayer on Harry’s lips. “Perfect Penny.”

  She wanted to object and tell him that she was not perfect, but she couldn’t find the words. Because then Harry was kissing her. He was kissing her as if he couldn’t get enough of her – light, feathery kisses at first that eventually became harder and more demanding. This man was no innocent, not like her, but he didn’t press for more than she was willing to give. Right now, he seemed content to simply kiss her.

  And oh, what kisses they were! Harry kissed her in so many different ways that he made her head spin. All she could think about was how she wanted more. And then, she wasn’t thinking any longer, trying to decide which kiss was better. Her mind was filled with nothing but Harry and the way he made her feel.

  Safe. Cherished. Protected. And yes, desired. Very much desired.

  Because even through the delightful haze of kisses, Penny could feel the hard proof of Harry’s desire for her pressing against her stomach. He was long and thick and hard. For her. And only her, at least just then.

  Harry wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

  It couldn’t be. They couldn’t be.

  Not out there anyway.

  But in here? In this tiny closet that was a slice of heaven, locked away from the rest of the world?

  They could be. They could be anything they wished and Penny could have anything she wished.

  And what Penny wanted was more of Harry. More of his kisses and well…just more.

  But she would settle for the kisses. At least for now.

  But the truth was, she wanted more. More of Harry.

  And it had to stop. Before one of them – likely her – w
as hurt.

  Chapter Seven

  Town Tattler

  I can now confirm, dear readers, that it was indeed our favorite Bow Street Runner escorting Lady Penny Marshwood (it has been confided to me that she prefers Penny over the more proper Penelope, though who can guess why…) out of the Drury Lane theater and into a waiting coach the other evening. Something about the woman’s Gray Lady chaperone becoming separated from her charge in the mad crush that clogged the theater halls and separated the two when the lady and Miss Marshwood were about to depart for the evening. Unfortunately, this happens at least twenty times or more per Season, dear readers. Something really must be done if we are to protect our innocent young ladies! Especially before someone is seriously injured!

  Anyway…

  Sources tell me that if it were not for our dear Mr. Greer, Lady Penny might well have been injured in the crush, as she was seen gasping for air while being pressed into a tiny corner of the hallway! Well, we can’t have that, now can we? Especially when the lady is so new to Town. Therefore, I am admonishing all of my readers to pay heed to those around you. You might be accustomed to living in our fair London, but others are not so fortunate. Had Mr. Greer not been present, the lady might very well have been hurt and for what reason? Because some of you cannot stand to miss a moment of a rather old and dusty play? I can assure you all, dear readers, that The Bard will be just as dry tomorrow as he is today. Fear not in that regard.

  On a related note, that was, indeed Lord Trenton Pike, Viscount Marshfield’s heir (not to be confused with the despicable Lord Marshwood, of course!), taking in the play along with Mr. Greer at that same venue. I am told the man has returned from India as his uncle’s health continues to fail. As the heir, it is Lord Pike’s responsibility to guide the viscountcy into the future and perhaps – just perhaps mind you, curb the ways of the viscount’s ward, Miss Worth. After all, who can forget the little incident with her pall mall mallet not so long ago? Not Lord Snowly and his poor and aching head, that is for certain!

  -Lady A

  “You kissed her? What in the bloody hell were you thinking, man?”

  Harry had been asking himself that very question for the last two days and he had yet to come up with a satisfactory answer.

  “I was thinking that I wanted to bed her and that she’s a damn beautiful woman,” Harry finally replied as he rubbed at his red, tired eyes. He hadn’t slept well for the last few nights and Nick looming over him as if Harry himself was an interrogation suspect wasn’t doing much for his state of mind.

  Harry was currently seated in front of his own now-cluttered desk, though only a quarter hour before, he had been busy sorting through new reports relating to Penny’s past, Dory’s current and possibly illicit activities, the so-called “silent thieves of Mayfair,” as well a fair number of his Bow Street cases. Everything had been going, if not swimmingly, then at least progressing at a steady pace. Until Nick had shown up, a copy of not just the Tattler in hand, but several other gossip rags as well, and demanded an audience.

  Because while the Tattler hadn’t reported that Harry and Penny had emerged from that closet looking a bit disheveled – and Penny quite obviously well-kissed – several other papers had not been quite as discreet. Which had annoyed Harry’s bosses back at Bow Street but had obviously annoyed Nick even more. Something that hadn’t bothered the man in the least the other day.

  Today, however, it did bother him. Quite a bit from the scowl on the man’s face.

  Which was why, Harry supposed, Nick was now standing over him and doing his best imitation of a fire-breathing dragon. Either that or Nick was bored and simply wished to annoy someone that morning. Harry hadn’t ruled out that option quite yet.

  Nick snorted in obvious disbelief, crossing his arms over his chest as he glowered again. “You were thinking with your cock and not your brain! That is what you were doing!”

  “It was a kiss, Nick! Nothing more. You and Julia, and Phin for that matter, should he even deign to care, have nothing to worry about. As I said, it was just a kiss.” Or rather quite a lot of kisses. But the duke didn’t need to know that.

  Another snort of disbelief. “So you say.”

  At that, Harry smacked his palm down on the arm of his chair. “The chit panicked in the crush and was about to do God-knows-what, Nick! Probably ready to bolt into the crowd like a frightened mare, given the expression on her face. She is not nearly so polished as most females we know. Likely she would have killed herself by falling down the grand staircase or some such in her rush to flee. You know how steep they are in that particular theater. And then where would we be? I can see the Tattler headline now.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “Earl of Telford’s ward killed in Drury Lane theater fall; foul play suspected. Because you know that is what the gossips would have said, true or not.”

  The duke growled, though his anger seemed diminished a bit. Thankfully. “Marcus says you are sweet on her. He said you sighed like a lovesick sick schoolgirl every time you saw her through your spyglass the other day.”

  “Marcus should keep his nose out of places it does not belong, lest he find it missing one day soon. And I am investigating her, Nick,” Harry corrected gruffly as he drained his glass of scotch, not wishing to discuss Penny just then but knowing he had no choice. “At your sister’s request, remember? And yours, might I add. I cannot do my job effectively if I cannot get close to her. It is rather difficult to discern a lady’s intentions if one does not speak to her. Anyway, whatever physical attraction I might feel doesn’t signify.” Which was complete and utter rubbish, of course. Especially since being closer to Penny physically – preferably while naked – was all Harry could think about as of late. Especially after those kisses the other night.

  Another growl from Nick, though this one was slightly less ferocious. “And have you discovered anything at all of note about the chit? Other than how her lips taste, that is?”

  Nick smirked at that comment and Harry wanted to hit him, but he didn’t dare. Harry might have been bigger and stronger, but Nick fought dirty. He always had. He also had a penchant for carrying knives, among other things.

  Also, it was rather obvious that Nick was simply trying to get a rise out of Harry with his taunting. Well, in that, he would not succeed.

  “My sources have, fortunately, as I have not been quite so lucky.” Harry reached behind him and plucked a sheaf of papers from his desk, still somehow managing to keep himself calm and collected.

  Not to mention preventing himself from tossing the Bloody Duke out on his pompous, interfering arse. Harry disliked his small but comfortable house on the edge of Mayfair being invaded without invitation at any time, day or night, but he liked it even less when the invader was Nick. The man was no respecter of boundaries of any sort. Or of Harry’s best bottle of scotch, which he was helping himself to more of at the moment.

  Interested now, the duke put down his glass and picked up the papers. “The highlights?” He quirked an eyebrow.

  Harry leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Lady Penny is of noble birth, as we knew. Her father was the previous Earl of Telford. Her mother was the daughter of a viscount from Cornwall of little note. St. George was his title. Last name was Wellesley. The chit was raised mostly in Cornwall along the coast but also partly in Cumbria at another of the earl’s estates. When she was older, she spent the majority of each year at Mrs. Fitzherbert’s School for Young Ladies near Bath.” He blew out a breath and leaned back. “Her parents died when she was seventeen. Carriage accident or some such in Cornwall. The details are vague and, I think, unimportant for the moment.”

  After the other night, Harry actually knew a great deal about the carriage accident that had taken the lives of Penny’s parents. But she had offered up that information in confidence and Harry was not about to reveal what he knew to Nick. The man didn’t need to know those details. Besides, Harry would never betray Penny’s confidence in that way.

 
; He should have, of course. That was his job. And yet he could not bring himself to do so. Not even if Nick threatened to cut off Harry’s bollocks, which was the duke’s current favorite threat.

  Nick raised that infernal eyebrow again. “And?”

  “And I have sent men to Cornwall. Our men.” He shook his head sharply. “Not Bow Street. Too much risk.”

  When the duke finally nodded his approval, Harry continued. This was information he could share without fear of betraying Penny. “Here is where it gets murky. Three months after the accident, Miss Marshwood all but disappears from England. She isn’t even seen in her home village any longer, even though she became the ward of the current earl and supposedly returned to Juniper Hall, the Telford’s country seat near Keswick immediately after her parents’ passing. She appeared in London shortly after she turned nineteen to make her come out and then promptly vanished again.”

  Nick steepled his fingers together, his big body shifting restlessly in the chair he had sunk into while Harry had revealed what he knew. “How very peculiar.”

  “Isn’t it though?” Harry poured himself another drink and offered one to the duke who accepted. Not that Harry had doubted he would accept even if it were far too early to be drinking.

  “Where was she?” Nick downed half his drink in one gulp.

  “Honestly? I have no idea.”

  Nick grimaced. “Well, she had to be somewhere. One does not merely appear and disappear at whim.”

  “Agreed.” Harry supposed he could ask Penny for the truth, but he wasn’t certain she would tell him – yet. “She finally emerged from wherever she has been hiding about five weeks ago. One of those weeks were spent in and around the tiny village of Sharpe-on-Edgecombe, near Telford’s other and currently more favored estate. Never heard of the place myself until it appeared in this report on Miss Marshwood. It is a tiny place on the far northern edge of the Lake District and extremely remote. Not at all where one might find a young lady, but sources say that is where the previous Lord Telford’s favored property is located. A hunting box, if I’m not mistaken, though I’d venture to guess it’s more elaborate than most, especially if the family resided there for long stretches.”