by Jenna Jaxon
“If you’re going to uncover it, I hope you intend to do something with it.”
Penelope squealed with surprise as Will’s big hands closed around her waist. He dragged her on top of him, so her legs were tangled with his, and her bare breasts were crushed against his warm chest.
“Will!” She braced her palms against his shoulders and raised herself up so she could see his face. “You nearly scared the life out of me!”
He grinned up at her. “I had to do something to protect my virtue, didn’t I? You were about to debauch me.”
Penelope stared down into blue eyes twinkling with mischief, and her lips quirked. “It’s a bit too late to save your virtue now, my lord.”
“You’re right. Shall we get on with the debauching, then? I’ll start.” He cupped her breasts in his hands and stroked her nipples into stiff peaks with his thumbs, his gaze never leaving her face.
A moan slipped from between Penelope’s lips as he circled and teased. “Will, I want…”
“Do you want my mouth, sweetheart? I think you do. I think you want me to suckle you.” He slid his hands around her back and urged her to lean over him, his lips parting with anticipation. “Come here.”
Penelope gasped when his hot mouth closed over the tip of one of her breasts. He lavished attention on it, sucking and licking before he dropped a kiss over her heart, then wrapped his lips around her other nipple. He scraped his teeth lightly over the sensitive nub, and Penelope moved her hips against his as hot desire pooled in her belly.
Will groaned against her nipple, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he thrust up against her.
She slid her hand down between them to caress his straining shaft. Will looked down, and another groan rumbled in his chest at the sight of his hard length cradled in her palm. “Wrap your fingers around me. Now stroke me…yes.”
Penelope moved her hand on him, mesmerized by the way his thin, silky skin slid over the throbbing heat underneath. He let out a strangled moan and caught her hand in his, stilling it. “Put me inside you, Penelope. Now. Please, sweetheart.”
She shifted her legs so she was straddling him and pressed his damp head against her entrance. As soon as he felt her wet heat he moved his hips in a powerful thrust, seating himself deeply inside her, then wrapped his fingers around her thighs to steady her. “Put your hands on my chest,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Yes, just like that. Now move with me, love.”
His hips jerked in another thrust, then another, and after a moment Penelope took up his rhythm. Soft, breathless moans fell from her lips as he drove into her, stroking deeply inside her. She took as much of him as she could, her body greedy for him. The sweet ache between her legs intensified with each of his thrusts, until the tension in her core snapped, and waves of pleasure rolled over her.
“Will…ah, God…Will!”
“Yes. Come for me, sweetheart.” He thrust hard once, then again, his fingers gripping her thighs as a low, hoarse groan tore from his lips. He tipped his head back against the pillow, his back arching, his body tight as a bowstring as he rode his own release.
Penelope slumped forward, every limb boneless, and Will gathered her against him, pressing a tender kiss to her temple. She rested her head on his chest and let him stroke her hair until her breathing calmed, but then she stirred, dragged herself from his warm embrace and struggled upright against the pillows.
The patch of blue sky visible through the window was growing lighter with every passing moment. The sun was rising, morning was waning, and it was a long journey back to London.
She threw the coverlet aside, but before she could leave the bed Will caught her wrist. “Where are you going?”
Penelope glanced at the window, then back to Will’s face, already so dear to her. It broke her heart a little to look at him now, with his hair rumpled and his face still flushed from their lovemaking.
She was in love with William Angel. Last night with him had been a dream, but every dream must fade with the rise of the sun, and this one was no exception. “It’s getting late. It’s more than six hours back to London, Will, and Dinah will be anxious to—”
“No.” Without warning Will shoved the covers aside and leapt from the bed. He paused only to pull his breeches over his hips before he stalked over to the trunk she’d packed last night. Without a word of explanation, he began to snatch her things out of it, one by one.
Penelope’s mouth fell open. “Stop that, Will! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Unpacking your trunk.” His mouth was pressed into a grim, hard line. “You’re not leaving Cliff’s Edge, Penelope.”
Penelope wrapped the sheet around herself and rose from the bed. “Of course, I’m leaving. We agreed I’d leave once the play was finished. Nothing’s changed since then.”
“Everything’s bloody changed.” He tossed the top hat Dinah had worn in the First Act onto a chair, and the cards and false gold coins Penelope had tucked inside scattered across the floor. “You’re staying here, with me.”
Penelope hesitated. He was angry, and she didn’t want to end their time together with an argument. “I can’t stay here with you, Will, and you know it as well as I do. You have Lady Madeline to consider, and your brothers—”
He turned on her then, his face angry and incredulous at once. “This, from you? My God, Penelope, what did you imagine would happen this morning? Did you suppose I’d take you to my bed, then toss you aside and go chasing after Lady Lavinia? What of all your talk about a lady’s heart being the measure of her worth, and not her birth and title?”
Penelope shook her head, her thoughts in a muddle. She had said that, and she believed it to be true, but surely there must be proper, titled ladies in England who were also possessed of good, kind hearts? The sort of lady Will would be proud to call his wife?
“Not Lady Lavinia, but another lady, one who—”
“I don’t want another lady, damn you! I want you! I chose you!” He didn’t wait for an answer but went at her trunk again with a vengeance.
Gowns, slippers and sheets of paper flew in every direction. Penelope looked down at her things strewn all about the floor, and anger surged through her, heating her blood. Oh, why did he have to make this so much harder than it already was?
There was nothing she wanted more than to stay with Will always, but what if she did stay, and he grew to resent her when she couldn’t give him what he wanted? She couldn’t smooth Lady Madeline’s way in society, or help her make a brilliant match, and what if one of his brothers followed his example and took up with an actress? Will would send her away and it would break her heart, and then where would she be?
“I told you to stop that! It took me ages to pack that trunk!” She marched across the room, still clutching the sheet to her breasts, grabbed an armful of clothing off the floor and threw it back into the trunk. “You’re behaving like a madman.”
Will was tossing things out of her trunk faster than Penelope could toss them in, but all at once he stopped, and went still. He had a paper in his hand, and he was staring down at it. “What’s this?”
Penelope was shaking the wrinkles from the only day dress she owned, and barely glanced at him. “A page from the play, I expect.”
“No. It isn’t.”
She laid the dress in her trunk, then turned to him, surprised at his grim tone. “What, then?”
He scanned the rest of the page, his face going pale. “The Reformed Rake, by the Pandemonium Players. Rakehell, William Angel, Lord Archer. Gambler Scoundrel, Lord Christopher Angel.”
It took a moment before Penelope could make sense of his words, but the hurt in his voice soon brought understanding crashing down on her with brutal force.
Dinah’s character list. She must have slipped it in between the other papers, just in case Penelope changed her mind.
He held the page up, and asked, “Should I go on?”
She stretched out her hand to him. “Will, it’s not what you—”
“
Was it never meant to be a seduction, then? Did Silas send you here to write this, or did you simple seize the opportunity when it presented itself?” He glanced back at the bed, at the rumpled sheets, and when he turned back to her, his eyes were shadowed with pain. “You managed the seduction in any case, didn’t you? Clever girl.”
“No.” Penelope wanted to shout the word, but all that emerged was a shaky whisper. “None of what happened between us has anything to do with Silas! I would never—”
“It’s really quite perfect, isn’t it?” His voice was dull. “A foolish rake tosses aside his actress mistress to become a gentleman, and then is seduced by another actress he mistakes for a lady. Even better if the rake is a Tainted Angel, and the story is a true one.”
“I told you, Will.” Penelope was fighting to keep her voice from breaking. “Silas didn’t send us here. We were meant to go to Lord Snedley’s—”
“Yes, so you said. You had it you’d repulsed his advances, yet you jumped into my bed willingly enough.”
Penelope flinched at the ugliness of his words. Tears rushed to her eyes, and she wanted to cover her face, to hide them, but she raised her chin, and looked Will in the eye. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and she wouldn’t shrink away from him now as if she had.
“It’s no wonder you’re anxious to return to London. What a triumph!” Will waved the paper in the air. “Tell me, when will it be staged? Perhaps my brothers and I will come see it. It would certainly cause a sensation in London if the Tainted Angels were in the audience, wouldn’t it? Silas would be overjoyed, I’m sure.”
Penelope opened her mouth to defend herself, but not even a whisper emerged. What was the use? She could see by the hard, closed look on his face he wouldn’t believe a word she said. Despair pressed down on her, so cold and heavy she thought her knees must buckle from the weight.
Will tossed the sheet of paper aside as if it burned him, then turned away.
He retrieved his shirt from the floor by the side of the bed, pulled it over his head, and picked up his boots. He went to the door, but paused before he opened it. “I think it would be best if you left, after all.” He kept his back to her. “If you and Miss Bishop could take your leave within the next hour, I’d be grateful.”
Then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.
*****
Half an hour later, Dinah and Penelope were seated in one of Lord Archer’s carriages. Will, as good as his word, had ordered a footman to accompany them on their journey back to London.
Lord Oliver and Lord Christopher came out to the drive to bid them goodbye.
“Miss Hervey, and Miss Bishop. It’s been a pleasure.” Lord Christopher lifted each of their hands to his lips. “It’ll be dull as tombs here without the two of you.”
“Indeed, I’m very sorry to see you go.” Lord Oliver bowed politely, but his face was troubled. He knew something had happened between Penelope and Will, but he didn’t know what.
Neither Lord Archer nor Lady Madeline made an appearance—that is, not until the carriage was already part way down the drive. Then they heard a shout, and the carriage came to an abrupt halt. Penelope’s foolish heart leapt when she heard running footsteps approach, but it wasn’t Will who wrenched the carriage door open.
It was Lady Madeline, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Penelope! Dinah! I just found out you were leaving. I’m so dreadfully sorry to see you go.” She wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her dress. “Here, I brought this for you, and you must take it, Penelope.” She thrust a dark green bundle into Penelope’s arms.
Penelope shook out the fine, soft wool, and saw it was one of Lady Madeline’s cloaks. “Oh, no, Lady Madeline. I can’t take this.”
Penelope tried to hand it back, but Lady Madeline wouldn’t take it. “Please. I—I can’t bear to think of you being cold.” She leaned into the carriage and pressed her damp cheek against Penelope’s. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Penelope, and you, Dinah.” She squeezed Dinah’s hand. “I wish with all my heart you could stay forever,” she whispered in Penelope’s ear, her voice catching.
Penelope didn’t dare speak for fear she’d start sobbing. So, she only nodded, and kissed Lady Madeline’s cheek.
“Here. Will asked me to give you this. I’ll never forget you, Penelope! Goodbye!”
Lady Madeline pressed a pouch into Penelope’s hand, then stepped back and closed the carriage door. The coachman flicked the reins, and the carriage moved briskly down the drive and around a corner. Cliff’s Edge vanished from sight.
Neither Dinah nor Penelope spoke for the first few miles, then Dinah grasped Penelope’s hand and asked gently, “What did Lord Archer give you?”
Penelope looked down at her hands, surprised to see the bag Lady Madeline had given her clutched tightly in her fist. She’d forgotten it.
She loosened the string and upended the contents of the bag over her hand.
A pile of gold sovereigns dropped into her palm.
Dinah gasped softly. “Oh, my.”
Penelope stared down at the coins until they went blurry in front of her eyes. It was only then she realized she was weeping. This time she didn’t try and hold back her misery. She pressed her face into the green wool cloak and soaked it with her tears.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
London, January 5, 1812
Twelfth Night
It took Will less than a day to acknowledge to himself he’d made a mistake with Penelope, but gentlemen in love being what they are—bewildered, stubborn and irrational—it was three more days before he could bring himself to admit his folly aloud.
It might have taken longer if his siblings hadn’t finally lost patience with him. None of them had been at all pleased to see Penelope leave Cliff’s Edge, but it had taken a day or two before their muttered complaints had turned to demands, and then to outright threats.
It started at the dinner table, with an announcement from Christopher.
“I’ve got it all figured out. We’ll beat Will senseless, then toss him into a coach with instructions to the driver to dump him off in front of the Pandemonium Playhouse. Miss Hervey will find him there bloodied and bruised, take pity on him, and bring him home to Cliff’s Edge.”
“That would certainly be preferable to watching him mope about here with that woebegone look on his face.” Oliver’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “Look at yourself, man! Hair askew, cravat winkled, and what the devil happened to your coat? Is this how a gentleman comes to the dinner table? You look a mess.”
Maddy tossed her napkin aside with sigh. “For pity’s sake, Will. ‘The Reformed Rake’ by the Pandemonium Players? Why, I’ve never heard such nonsense. Penelope would never do something so low.”
“Of course, she wouldn’t. Good Lord, you’re dense about women, Will.” Christopher gave a disgusted shake of his head. “Anyone can see Miss Hervey’s as sweet as they come.”
Will pushed his fork about his plate, his mouth drawn into a sulky line. “I saw the paper myself. What other explanation is there?”
But Will didn’t need to hear Penelope’s explanations. He only had to recall the stunned look on her face that morning to know he’d made a terrible mistake. The hurt in her dark eyes, the tears she wouldn’t let fall hanging on her lashes…
He’d had nightmares about it, every night since he’d sent her away.
“Dozens, I’d imagine. Here’s an idea for you, Will.” Oliver leaned forward in his chair. “Why don’t you ask her? It’s amazing the things one learns when they ask.”
Will didn’t need to ask. All he needed, all he cared about was finding a way to get her back.
His fork hit his plate with a clatter, and he let his forehead drop into his hands. How could he apologize for such a thing? She likely never wanted to see him again, and he didn’t blame her. “I don’t know what to do.”
Oliver finished his wine with one deep swallow. “I’ll tell you what you don’t do. You don’t lay abou
t here like some pathetic jilted lover. Go to London, find Miss Hervey, and don’t return to Cliff’s Edge until you’ve convinced her to come back here with you.”
“Grovel.” Christopher nodded wisely. “The on your knees sort of groveling, I mean. Women love that.”
Maddy rolled her eyes. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Women don’t care about groveling. All any woman wants is to be listened to when she speaks.” She gave Will a stern look. “When you find Miss Hervey, listen to her. Do you think you can manage that?”
Will gave a meek nod. He’d listen, then he’d grovel. He’d do whatever he must to get Penelope to forgive him.
“Good. Then go to London and bring her home.”
Once Will made up his mind to go, he couldn’t get to Penelope quickly enough. By the time the sun had crested the horizon the following morning he was in his coach and on his way to London. They stopped only to change horses and refresh themselves, and it was just past noon when he arrived at his Mayfair townhouse.
He hadn’t any idea where Penelope lived, so he was obliged to wait until the Pandemonium’s evening performance began to see her. He bathed and changed and cursed with impatience as the hours crawled by. By the time the curtain rose that evening he was tempted to leap from his box, storm the stage, snatch Penelope into his arms and take her straight back to Cliff’s Edge.
There was only one problem. Penelope wasn’t there.
Will’s gaze roamed over the players again and again, his heart pounding with trepidation. Florentina was in the center of everything, of course, prancing and pouting her way through the performance as she always did. Behind her, at the back of the stage was the usual collection of actresses costumed as bar maids and whores, but not one of them was Penelope. Her light, graceful figure, the way she moved—even in her dark wig, he would have known her anywhere.
She wasn’t on the stage. He was certain of it.
Where the devil was she? Not more than five days had passed since she’d fled Cliff’s Edge. There was no way she could have left London in so short a time, was there? Where would she have gone, and with whom?
