by Jenna Jaxon
Will dragged a hand down his face.
It couldn’t be too late…
A sudden thought occurred to him, and he dropped his hand and leaned forward eagerly in his seat. Penelope wasn’t there, but mightn’t Miss Bishop—
Yes! She was there at the far right of the stage, her dark hair hidden under a long brown wig. Relief flooded through Will, so intense he was momentarily dizzy with it. He’d speak to Miss Bishop at the end of the performance, and she would tell him where Penelope was.
All he had to do was suffer through another few hours of Florentina’s shrieking, then he’d have Penelope in his arms.
Will rested his back against his seat, and settled in to wait.
*****
Silas fired Penelope three days after she and Dinah returned to London.
Not because of the ten pounds. No, he’d been happy enough to close those golden guineas in his fist—so happy, he hadn’t much cared whether they’d come from Lord Snedley’s purse or not.
Ten pounds was, after all, ten pounds.
No, she’d lost her place at the Pandemonium because of an entirely different disaster—one she hadn’t even seen coming. Foolish of her, really. She should know by now another disaster was always lurking in the wings.
How Florentina had discovered she’d spent four days at Cliff’s Edge with the Tainted Angels, Penelope hadn’t the faintest idea. She may have overheard Dinah whispering to another one of the actresses about it, or perhaps she’d had it from one of Lord Archer’s house party guests.
In the end, it didn’t really matter.
Florentina had had a screaming tantrum in her dressing-room backstage. By the time it was over, so was Penelope’s career as a Pandemonium Player. She’d hardly had time to remove her wig before Silas tossed her out the door.
There’d been nothing she could do to stop it. No way to save herself—
Well, that wasn’t quite true. There’d been one way. She could have rewritten ‘Boughs of Folly,’ into ‘The Reformed Rake,’ and given the play to Silas.
Florentina would have forgiven Penelope any sin for the chance to humiliate Lord Archer, and Silas…well, Silas didn’t care about Penelope’s sins. He cared only for money, and all of London would have come to the Pandemonium to watch their favorite rake’s bumbling attempts to find his one true love and redeem himself.
Dinah, in a panic over Penelope’s desperate situation, had begged her to take her one chance to get back into Silas’s and Florentina’s good graces. And really, what did she have to lose? Why shouldn’t she reap the rewards of a crime for which she’d already been convicted?
But Penelope hadn’t been able to do it.
The more fool she…
That one act of honor would be her last.
Dinah had been right all along. She’d warned Penelope a day would come when she could no longer afford her scruples, and that day had arrived. She hadn’t given up the play to Silas, but she had given up something else.
Herself.
To Lord Snedley.
After her first lover abandoned her, Penelope had sworn to herself she’d never let another man own her—her body, or her heart.
She was an actress, yes, but she wasn’t a whore. Society might not make much distinction between the two, but Penelope always had. She’d had to. If she didn’t, the person she’d once been—the vicar’s daughter from a small village in Berkshire—would be lost forever.
Then where would she be? Who would she be?
Now she knew. She’d gotten her answer two days ago, when she’d agreed to become Lord Snedley’s mistress. She was an actress, and actresses—the lucky ones, that is—remained actresses only for as long as it took to become the mistress of a wealthy, powerful aristocrat. The reason most of them took to the stage in the first place was to secure a protector. Why should she be any different?
She should have seen from the start it would come to this, and succumbed to the inevitable the night she’d walked through the door of Lord Snedley’s country house in Essex. She wasn’t the vicar’s daughter anymore. She wasn’t a lady, or anything close to one. There would be no more Christmas miracles, and no winter gardens in her future. London, the stage, men like Lord Snedley—this was her life now. The sooner she accepted it, the better her chances of survival.
Penelope had been gazing out the window of the cramped flat she shared with Dinah, staring at the dim London streets below. Her few belongings were packed into the small traveling case resting at her feet. The carriage Lord Snedley had sent for her would arrive any moment.
Tonight’s performance at the Pandemonium would be over by now. Dinah would be returning soon, and Penelope wanted to be gone before she arrived. There was only one thing left she needed to do.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pouch Will had given her. She emptied the guineas left inside into her palm and set them down in the middle of the small dining table, where Dinah would be sure to find it.
For a moment she stared down at the empty pouch still clutched in her hand, and thought of Will as he’d been the night she’d brought him to her bed. Tears threatened, but Penelope squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to let them fall. She’d had her Christmas miracle—an unforgettable night with the man she loved—but now it was Twelfth Night, and her miracle was over.
She heard the sound of carriage wheels then, rumbling over the cobbles. She opened her eyes, crossed to her window, and looked out to find a luxurious traveling coach waiting below.
Penelope frowned down at it, her brows drawn together. Lord Snedley had said they were to remain in London for a time, so why had he sent a traveling coach to fetch her? She peered down at it, trying to make out the crest on the door, but it was too dark. Still, it must be Lord Snedley’s, mustn’t it? It wasn’t as if crested coaches were a common sight in this part of London.
Penelope grabbed her case just as there was a knock on the door. She hurried forward, expecting to find one of Lord Snedley’s servants on the other side. When she saw who was there instead, her heart shot into her throat, stealing her breath.
Will burst through the door. He was panting, and his lips were tight. “Is Snedley here? If that lecher has laid even one fingertip on you, I swear I’ll—”
“No, you won’t.” Penelope’s voice was quiet, but it silenced Will at one. “It’s no business of yours what I do. You have no reason to be here, Lord Archer. You need to leave at once.”
She moved to the door and held it open, but Will raised both hands in protest. “Wait. I do have a reason. Please, Penelope. I—I just want to talk to you. Let me stay for a moment.”
Penelope couldn’t imagine what he had to say to her. Hadn’t it all been said? But she backed away from the door, because in that strange, frozen moment, she couldn’t think what else to do.
Will closed the door, but then he seemed to be struggling with what to stay. He stood before her, twisting the brim of his hat between his hands. “I can’t eat, Penelope. I can’t sleep. I can’t even think.”
She tried to steel herself against the misery darkening his eyes, but her foolish heart insisted on battering at her ribs, as if it thought it could get free of her chest and leap into his arms.
But one couldn’t trust one’s heart, could one? That absurd organ may not yet have learned to be wary, but the rest of her certainly had. “What are you doing here, Lord Archer? I’m on my way out.”
He stepped forward, his face dark with anguish. “No. Dinah told me you…you can’t go with Snedley. I can’t…I won’t let you. Please, sweetheart. The other day, at Cliff’s Edge, I never should have…I know you never would have…I made a terrible mistake.”
The thought of Lord Snedley touching her made Penelope’s flesh prickle with disgust, but with Snedley, at least she’d know who and what she was. It was easier to give up than it was to keep hoping—easier to stop fighting and accept her fate.
No hope, but also no heartbreak…
She raised her chin,
her features carefully blank. “That’s unfortunate, my lord, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
He flinched at this cold reply, but his lips pulled into a determined line. He took another step forward, until he was so close the folds of his coat brushed her skirts. “It’s everything to do with you. I came here to take you back to Cliff’s Edge, because I can’t bear to be there without you.”
Penelope’s nose started tingling, a sure sign she was seconds away from bursting into a flood of tears. She didn’t want him to see them…couldn’t let him see them…so she whirled around, giving him her back. “For how long, Will? Another night? A week? Until you tire of me?”
He was across the room in two long strides. “Is that what you think?” he asked quietly. His hands closed around her upper arms, and he turned her to face him. “That I want to make you my whore?”
Penelope blinked up at him. He was gazing down at her, his blue eyes dark with regret. “I—I don’t…”
He touched his fingers to her chin to keep her from looking away. “Did you think I’d take you to my bed on a whim, and then let you go without a second thought?”
“No. I just thought…”
I’m not a lady, only an actress…
I have nothing to offer you…
I’m not the lady you want.
She pulled away, unable to meet those glittering blue eyes. “I’m sorry you’re lonely, my lord, but I daresay Lady Lavinia would agree to—”
His blue eyes flashed as he gazed down at her. “I don’t want Lady Lavinia. I never did. I want you, Penelope. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you on stage. Your hair drives me mad. I dream about your lips parting for me, opening for my kisses. Your smile, your laugh, and this sweet, sweet face…” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You’re all I can think about, all I’ve ever wanted.”
Penelope knees were shaking under her skirts. Oh, how she wanted to believe him! But even as his words made her heart leap with joy, the rest of her was already peering around the corner, dreading the next disaster.
The tears she’d tried to hide were falling down her cheeks now, but she raised her chin and met his gaze with her own. “No, Will. I’m not everything you’ve ever wanted. I’m not a lady. How long do you suppose it will be before you start resenting me for it? Halfway through Lady Madeline’s failed season, or—”
He jerked her hard against his chest. “You are a lady. You’re my lady, Penelope. My one true love.”
My one true love….
He gazed down at her, his blue eyes soft. “The last night of the play, you looked at me when you spoke of your one true love. You looked right into my eyes when you promised to stay with your one true love forever. Were you just reciting your lines, Penelope? Were you acting, or were you making that promise to me?”
Penelope’s breath caught at the tenderness on his face. “Those words were for you, Will, and I meant every one of them.”
“Then I’m holding you to your promise, sweetheart. Come back to Cliff’s Edge with me. I want to marry you, Penelope. I want you to be my wife.”
Will’s voice broke on the last word, and Penelope let out a soft sob and buried her face against his chest. His words, the sincerity of them, the love plainly woven into every syllable, undid her.
He pressed his lips against her hair with a desperate moan. “I know you’re afraid. I know I hurt you, and I swear I’ll spend every minute of the rest of my life to gain your trust back. Please, Penelope. I love you so much, sweetheart. Can you…” He held her gently away from him so he could look into her eyes. “Do you think you could ever love me? Maybe not now, but once I’ve proven myself to—”
She pressed her fingertips to his lips to quiet him. “I do love you, Will. I’ll marry you, and I’ll stay with you always.”
A low groan tore from Will’s throat, and then he was kissing her and murmuring promises against her lips. He told her he’d missed her, and that he’d never let her go again. He told her he loved her—that his heart was forever hers.
Penelope wrapped her arms around his neck, and she believed every word.
It was midnight, on Twelfth Night. Not a single star was visible in London’s night sky.
Christmas was over, but their miracle had just begun.
EPILOGUE
Cliff’s Edge, Essex
Twelfth Night, 1813
“Whatever happened to the costume you wore at last year’s Christmas farce?”
Penelope laid down her quill and turned around in her chair to glance at her husband. “What, you mean the prostitute’s costume?”
“Ah, yes. The prostitute’s costume, with the short, ruffled skirts and the low, tight bodice.” Will was lounging on the bed, his arms under his head and a dreamy smile on his lips. “Fetching little scrap of a thing, especially on you. How come you never wear it anymore? I miss it.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting, my lord, that the Countess of Archer venture onto the stage dressed as a prostitute?”
He rolled lazily over to his side and propped his head on his hand. “God, no. I didn’t say a word about the stage, my lady. I was suggesting you wear it here, for me, in the privacy of our bedchamber.”
“You’re as wicked as you’ve ever been, Lord Archer,” Penelope scolded with a smile. She liked to tease her husband about his roguish ways, fondly referring to him as her Gentleman Rake. “Now hush, will you? I’m nearly done with this.”
Will let out an impatient groan. “Can’t that wait until tomorrow?”
“No. I promised Maddy I’d have it finished by tomorrow morning so she could read it before the performance tomorrow night.”
Will had insisted on having another Christmas house party this year, and Penelope was writing a new play especially for the occasion. Their guests had insisted there be a Christmas farce, which perhaps wasn’t surprising, since there were a number of actresses among them.
“Maddy will understand. Come to bed, sweetheart.”
Penelope was reading over the lines she’d written, but the deep, husky note in his voice made her glance up at him. She wore only a thin white night rail, and his gaze was fixed on her breasts. A shiver of awareness darted down Penelope’s spine, but she remained in her chair, tapping her quill against her quirked lips. “This will go much more quickly if you help me. Shall I read the Second Act aloud to you?”
“What, the entire Second Act? That will take ages!” Will flopped onto his back on the bed. “What’s gotten into Maddy, anyway? Why must she have the pages in the morning? The performance isn’t until tomorrow night!”
Penelope gathered up the papers spread across her dressing table and arranged them in a neat pile. “She’s nervous. I think it’s quite sweet, really.”
“She’s been on stage before. Why should she be nervous?”
“Why, because of Lord Notley.”
“Notley?” Will frowned up at the ceiling. “What about him?”
Penelope let out a sigh. “Goodness, gentlemen are dim about these things. It’s a wonder any of you ever marry. She’s in love with him, of course, and he with her. Do you mean to say you haven’t noticed? Lord Notley’s hardly left Maddy’s side since he arrived, and every time he looks at her, her cheeks turn as red as a peony.”
Will jerked upright in the middle of the bed and turned a wide-eyed look upon his wife. “I never noticed a blessed thing. Notley, and Maddy? Are you certain?”
“Oh, yes. Quite certain.” He looked so stunned Penelope finally took pity on him and crossed the room to join him on the bed. “Aren’t you pleased? I think they’re lovely together.”
“I hardly know if I’m pleased or not.” Will was still shaking his head in wonder, but he reached for Penelope, his strong arms steadying her as she heaved her heavy body onto the bed.
When she was settled at last, she nuzzled against him with a contented sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Maddy as happy as she is now, and they’ll have bea
utiful children, you know. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, the boys and the girls.”
Will ran a caressing hand over his wife’s swollen belly, then leaned over to press a reverent kiss there, just as he did every night. “I am pleased,” he murmured after a moment. “Notley’s a fine, steady fellow. He’ll take good care of Maddy.”
They lady quietly for a while. It was a clear night, and the moon’s bright rays spilled through the window and fell across the bed, where Penelope lay with her head on her husband’s broad chest, and his arms around her.
Penelope’s eyes were drifting closed when Will stirred. “Are there any other love affairs I should know about? Oliver, or Christopher, perhaps?”
Penelope grinned at the eager note in his voice. Oliver and Christopher had made great strides taming the worst of their roguish impulses over the past year. There had been no more duels or carriage crashes, but there was still a bit of the devil in them, and she knew Will would be easier once they were each safely settled.
“Well, let me see. Christopher has his eye on Miss Everard. She’s a sweet thing, and would make him an excellent match, but it’s too early to tell whether there’s an attachment there, or just an innocent flirtation.”
“Christopher, innocent? I’ll make it a point to keep an eye on Miss Everard’s virtue from now on, thank you.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry on that account. Christopher’s a gentleman, just like his eldest brother.”
“Thank you.” Will dropped a kiss on her temple. “What about Oliver? Is he in love with anyone?”
“Yes,” Penelope replied without hesitation. “He’s in love with Dinah, and has been for the past year, but he won’t admit it. She’s in love with him as well, but pretends she isn’t. Two more stubborn, contrary people I’ve never seen, which of course means they’re perfect for each other.”
“Good Lord. Poor Dinah, to be saddled with Oliver as her one true love.” Will chuckled against Penelope’s neck. “Now, their children will be regular little hellions.”
