by Desconocido
“What?! You are not going with us.”
“Of course I am. How will you know if there are any murdered people in that place if I do not go?”
“We will know with the use of a shovel and our own eyes.”
“Are you telling me that I cannot be a part of ending what I began?”
Ashton softly cursed. She had indeed begun this; there was no question of it. Whether one believed she had seen a ghost there or not, it was what was leading to an arrest and, undoubtedly, the hanging of an evil woman. The more information they had gathered on Mrs. Cratchitt, the more he and his friends were certain that people had died at that brothel, and Mrs. Cratchitt knew it. Or had done the killing herself. Ashton realized his greatest objection to Penelope joining them was that he did not want her anywhere near that ugliness.
“You are not healed enough,” he said, making one last attempt to dissuade her.
“Oh, aye, I most certainly am. ’Tis not as if I ask to help wrestle the miscreants into their chains. I am healed enough to go along and see what happens, what is found there. To see that poor Faith finds peace.” All the while she spoke, Penelope tugged at her gown. When her wounded shoulder was finally exposed, she pointed to it. “Does that not look healed to you?”
“Remarkably so,” Ashton muttered and stared at the place where the bullet had torn through her soft flesh. The wound was still ugly and somewhat red, but it was otherwise completely healed. “How is it you have healed so quickly? I have seen many wounds, from a small cut to a sword cut or bullet wound gained in a duel, but none of them, even the smallest one, has healed as fast as this has. This is what so astonished Doctor Pryne, is it not?”
Penelope inwardly cursed herself for acting so rashly as she straightened her clothes. She had just wanted to prove to Ashton that she was healed enough to go with him when they brought down Mrs. Cratchitt. Instead, she now had to explain how it was she had healed with a speed that left even her a little stunned.
“You know that Septimus can ease a person’s pain…”
“He can heal like that as well?”
“Nay. He can help make one recover from ills and wounds a little quicker, but no more than that. It was Delmar. I do not know whether it is just his touch or his touch plus Septimus’s, but I could actually feel my wound heal at times. S’truth, I am not sure Delmar realizes what he has done for he was but holding my hand. I have not spoken to anyone about it yet.” She placed her hand over his. “Please, keep it to yourself. Such healing gifts can prove as dangerous as they are wondrous. Everyone who has a disease or a wounded loved one seek out such people. The gift weakens the one who uses it, can even weary them unto death if it is not controlled and limited.”
He grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I will tell no one. Delmar should be made aware, however. He could use his gift unthinkingly and give himself away.”
Penelope wondered if Ashton knew that he spoke as if he believed. “Agreed. So, may I go with you?” She could tell by the look he gave her that he knew she would find a way to be there when they went into Cratchitt’s cellars no matter what he said. It would just make life a lot easier for everyone if he would agree. “I will stay out of everyone’s way.”
“Only if you stay out of sight until I say you can join me.”
“Oh, thank you, Ashton. I swear I will take not one tiny step without your permission.”
His grumble of disbelief was silenced by her kiss. Ashton wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. The wild, heedless passion she always stirred inside him began coming to life, clouding his mind and hardening his body. He had only just begun to taste the sweetness of her desire when her wound had abruptly deprived him of it. Ashton was starved for the taste of her, for the brush of her warm, soft skin against his. His whole body pounded with the need to be one with her. When Penelope pushed hard against his chest, he groaned a protest.
“Ashton, someone is at the door,” Penelope said, struggling to sit upright. How had the man gotten her on her back so quickly?
It took a moment for Ashton to comprehend her words. When full understanding finally grasped his mind, he sat up and began to hastily straighten his clothing. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Penelope do the same. It embarrassed him to know that he had gotten her down on the settee and had been so close, so quickly, to feeding the need that still knotted his insides. He was a little astonished to realize that it also delighted him.
Then he heard an all too familiar sharp voice in the hall and his blood rapidly chilled. It was not for himself that he was concerned; it was Penelope. Clarissa’s anger over his blatant disinterest in her had grown over the last fortnight. Every missed ball, soiree, or play only added to it. The fact that he had been proven right about how her brother would never let her end the betrothal had certainly not helped matters. Ashton was afraid that the rage bubbling inside Clarissa could explode all over Penelope. The feel of Penelope patting his hand as if to soothe him drew him out of his dark thoughts.
“Do not worry,” she said quietly, bracing herself for what could be a very ugly confrontation. “Clarissa wants to be a viscountess, mayhap even a duchess, far too much to push you too hard. I doubt she would end your betrothal; even if she found you in bed with three naked women.”
Ashton laughed softly even though the way Penelope seemed so unmoved by the thought that he could soon marry Clarissa stung. He did not want Penelope to be hurt by what he had to do to save his family, but he certainly did not want her to be indifferent to it. It was unkind of him but he wanted her to feel something more than passion for him.
“So here you are,” said Clarissa as she marched into the room. “Cavorting with my own stepsister!”
“He is not cavorting, whatever that may mean,” said Penelope.
“Of course not,” said Septimus in a cheerful voice as he walked into the room, carrying several books and what looked like a ledger. “He has come to discuss numbers with me.”
Clarissa scowled at Septimus. “Numbers?”
“Those little things you write in a column and add together so that you might see if you are still solvent?”
“What do you want, Clarissa?” Ashton asked when he was certain he could speak without laughing. “In fact, just how did you know to find me here?”
“I followed you. Do not dare to look so annoyed and insulted,” she snapped. “I have every right to do so. You are my fiancé. You owe me your courtesy and your escort. I have been given little of either. Have you not heard the whispers? Every time I appear somewhere without my fiancé, I become an object of laughter and ridicule, and a greater one than I was the last time you deserted me.”
“Then perhaps you ought to try discussing what events you wish to attend with me before you accept an invitation.” Ashton watched her curl her manicured hands in a way that made him certain she wanted to claw his eyes out. “I have a great need to get my finances in order, to decide what debts to pay and what properties to improve without completely emptying the purse you will bring to the marriage.”
“What do you mean? Charles holds most of your debts. When we marry, he will consider them paid.”
“Is that what he told you?” It took no effort at all to make his laugh sound bitter. “Oh, no, my dear. Again, you failed to read what you signed. I get your dowry and I pay your brother for my father’s markers out of that dowry. He found a very clever way to get you a husband yet not lose a great deal of money. Clever. Treacherous but clever.”
Clarissa stared at Ashton in shock and then shook her head. She started to pace the room, muttering to herself about perfidious men. Penelope could almost feel sorry for her except that Clarissa should have known her brother well enough by now to be able to foresee such treachery. She easily shrugged away the tiny pinch of sympathy she did suffer. Clarissa had made her life miserable from the moment Penelope’s mother had married Clarissa’s father. Although Penelope did not believe in exacting any revenge for those slights and hurts, she
had no trouble enjoying retribution handed out by the Fates. It would, of course, be far more enjoyable if there were still not the very real chance that Clarissa could end up married to Ashton.
“Be careful, Clarissa,” Penelope said. “You nearly walked through Mrs. Pettibone.”
Clarissa came to a halt so swiftly she stumbled and nearly fell. She looked all around her, backing up a little when she saw no one. Then she turned and glared at Penelope.
“Enough. I will hear no more of spirits. You best be very careful or you will soon join them.” She pointed at Ashton. “And you had best cease making a fool of me or you, too, will be very sorry.” She marched out of the room, slamming the parlor door behind her.
“She just threatened you,” said Ashton, frowning after Clarissa.
“And you,” said Penelope. “Perhaps it was because you did not stand when she entered the room.”
“I had not invited her.”
She grinned but quickly grew serious again. “I suppose we would be wise to heed her threats. In her way, she can be as dangerous as her brother.” Penelope smiled at Septimus. “And thank you for coming in so quickly. How did you know she was here?”
“I happened to be looking out the window when her carriage pulled up outside.” Septimus walked toward the door, but halted abruptly in his leave taking when another rap sounded at the front door. “Do you think she forgot a threat?”
One of the burly footmen appeared in the doorway and Septimus stepped back. “There is a woman with a child at the door, m’lady. She demands to speak to the one who, er, takes care of the brats.” He blushed. “Her words, m’lady.”
Penelope sighed and nodded, dreading what was about to happen but not for her sake—for the child’s. “Send them in here.”
A moment later a tall, voluptuous woman strode in dragging a little raven-haired girl by the arm. She tossed a bag at Penelope’s feet. Penelope looked into the wide, dark blue eyes of the little girl, saw the hurt there, and had to fight the strong urge to leap up and slap the beautiful woman holding her.
“This one belongs to Quintin Vaughn. I am Leona Mugglesby and I was his mistress near seven years ago.” She pushed the little girl toward Penelope. “I went looking for him first.”
“I believe he is in India,” Penelope said.
“Oh, is he now? Not that his people saw fit to tell me that. But I know Maggie O’Hurley who used to be Orion’s mistress and she told me about this place. So, here she is. You take her. Maggie says you do not hesitate to take one of these devil’s spawn. That be what she is. Devil’s spawn.”
The low rumble of thunder sounded and the woman turned white. “See? See what she does?”
Penelope looked out the window. There was an ominous black cloud that did not appear to cover much more than her house and the one next to hers. She looked at the little girl and saw the turmoil in her wide eyes. She reached out, took the child by the hand, and pulled her close enough to put an arm around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Ashton sit down, all thought of respect for the woman obviously gone.
“You think this girl is doing that?” Penelope asked with what she hoped was an appropriate touch of scorn.
“She is! Do you think I believed it at first? Of course not. Then I started thinking on all that’s been said of you lot and I knew. Well, you can have her. I will not be having that spawn of Satan near me no more. Ow!” She spun around to find seven scowling boys behind her. “Are these more of them?”
Before Penelope could think of an answer, the boys all shoved their way past the woman. Delmar led them and he had obviously been the one to kick the woman. They placed themselves between her and the little girl. Penelope was so proud of them but feared what painful memories this confrontation might be stirring up in each of them. She did notice, however, that with the presence of the boys, the threat of a storm had eased.
“What is your child’s name?” Penelope asked the ashen-faced Leona, wanting the woman to leave before she added to her cruelty with even more unkind words.
“Juno. That is what Quintin said to name the child if it was a girl. He patted me belly and talked to her all the time. Cursed her, he did; I am that sure of it. Well, now he can have her. He can keep her cursed as she is or remove it, I care not.”
“You may leave now,” said Delmar as he moved to place his hand on Juno’s shoulder. “She is ours now. Go away.”
To Penelope’s surprise, the woman obeyed Delmar with great speed. “Juno,” she said as she looked into the child’s eyes, “do you know your papa?”
“Yes,” she replied. “He used to come visit me and Mama a lot but then he came one day when Mama had another friend with her. He left but he told me he would always love me and would be back someday. Will he come here? Will he know where I am?”
“He will.” Feckless though her kinsmen were, they did love their children in their own way. Penelope just wished it were not the way of a bachelor who had found some woman to care for his child while he played about. “These boys live here, too.” She introduced the child to everyone. “There are three older boys, too, but you will meet them later. I will let them all tell you about themselves. Now we must find you a place to sleep.”
“I am sorry about the storm,” Juno whispered.
“Do not fret, love. We are used to such things here.” She looked at the boys. “There will need to be some shifting about so that she can have her own room.”
Septimus stepped closer and picked up Juno’s bag. “We will see to it, Pen.”
The moment they were all gone, Penelope slumped in her seat and closed her eyes. When Ashton wrapped his arms around her, she huddled against his warmth and fought the urge to cry. It had been three years since the last child had been left with her. She had forgotten how ugly it all was.
“Is it always like that?” Ashton asked.
“Almost always,” replied Penelope.
“Do you really think that little girl had something to do with that storm cloud?”
“Quite possibly. It is gone now, is it not? Disappeared when the boys came and stood by her.”
Ashton sighed. “Ah, Penelope, I know not what to believe.”
“You do not have to believe, Ashton. Just to know that they are but children, good children, not devil’s spawn.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know that, have no doubt of it. Someone needs to teach your kinsmen not to be so careless, however.” He smiled when she giggled, relieved to hear the sadness that had shrouded her was fading.
“’Tis said that we are like rabbits. Very fertile. It may not be their fault entirely.”
Ashton’s mind suddenly filled with the image of Penelope well rounded with his child. The joy that rushed through his veins startled him. He scrambled for something to distract him from such dangerous thoughts.
“I believe this calls for a celebration,” he said as he leapt to his feet.
“I do not think we should celebrate a little girl’s mother casting her aside like that.”
“No, but we can tell her that we are celebrating her arrival at the Wherlocke Warren, welcoming the first girl to the family.” He bent down and kissed her frowning mouth. “Set out your finest dishes and linens and have all of you wear your finest clothes. I will be back with a feast.”
Penelope watched him leave and shook her head. It was a wonderful idea but one could never be sure if a child saw things in the same way as an adult. She decided she would risk it. If nothing else, it should help to let the poor little girl feel accepted for what she was.
“That went far better than I had thought it would,” said Penelope as she sat down next to the chair Ashton was sprawled in before the fireplace in her bedchamber. “She looked so happy.”
“Good. At least we will not have rain.” He grinned when she laughed. “I still find that hard to believe, you know.”
“So do I, but I have heard of an ancestor who was said to be able to do it. Unfortunately, he was burned.”
“Ouch.” He got up, grabbed the pillows from her bed, and placed them on the floor. “Come sit with me here.” He sat down and held his hand out to her.
Penelope sat down beside him, settled herself comfortably in his arms, and sighed with contentment. “I am fully healed, you know.”
He kissed the back of her neck. “I know. ’Tis just difficult to rid my mind of the image of you racked with fever.”
She turned in his arms and kissed his chin. “I could help to banish that image.”
Ashton slowly fell back against the pillows. “Are you certain? ’Tis well entrenched.”
He stroked his hands up and down her slim back when she lowered her body on top of his. The way she smiled at him made his blood run hot. It was a mix of amusement and beguilement. And there was no doubt that he was thoroughly beguiled. She kissed him, and as he savored the sweet heat of her mouth, he undid her gown.
There would be no sweet kiss good night this time. After seeing her wound, seeing how firmly it was closed and healing, he knew he did not have to wait any longer to taste her passion again. It was not until he had tugged her gown off and tossed it aside that he realized he might have to savor her later. It had been too long and his body was too hungry.
Penelope tugged and pulled at Ashton’s clothes until he was gloriously bare-chested. She sat astride him and ran her hands over the smooth, hard breadth of his chest. Her whole body ached for him. Her dreams had been filled with the memory of the time they had made love and now she was nearly desperate to make those dreams come true. She reached for the placket on the front of his trousers, the hardness she felt there only adding to her need for him.
Ashton groaned as the feel of her fingers brushing against him while she undid his breeches drove him mad. “In a rush, love?” he asked and ran his hands up and down her slender legs.
“It has been a long time.” She freed him from his breeches and clasped his erection in her hand, savoring the hard, hot length of him. “You wish to go slowly?”
“No.” He pushed her onto her back. “It has been a long time.” He shoved up her shift until she was bared from the waist down and then rubbed himself against her. They both groaned. “I will go slowly next time.”
