“Cousin, why didn’t you write you would be visiting? Mother will be over the moon to see you. Has Aubry traveled with you? Where are you staying? However did you convince your father to bring you to London during the busy season?”
Penelope laughed with the overflowing inquiries. “One question at a time, Lizzie. It is good to see you.” They held hands and stared at each other as if the crowded retiring room was not noisy and overbearing.
“You look lovely. Now tell me everything. Why are you in London when I had no idea I would be seeing you?” Elizabeth squeezed Penny’s hands and led her towards the far wall.
“In truth, I had no idea I would be here.” They moved to a newly vacated settee and made quick work of becoming reacquainted.
“I’m sorry to hear of your father’s passing. My family will be saddened as well, but I’m sure my brother will be happy to learn you’re in London.”
Penelope averted her eyes, feeling remiss in her explanations. While she did manipulate the facts, her version of the past allowed her conscience not to suffer too dreadfully. She offered a more gilded recounting omitting her state of distress and destitution, as well as the humiliation of being left at the altar. Otherwise she would never have hope of finding Simon without unwelcomed intrusion and distasteful scandal.
“Please promise not to tell your family I am here searching for someone. You do recall your brother’s suit, don’t you? The last thing I need is Carrick prodding me to accept his proposal. Your parents will see it as a way to secure my future, but you know it’s not what I want. Until I find Simon, my plan must remain in confidence.”
She clasped her cousin’s hands, needing to hear Lizzie vow loyalty even though Penny reserved worry over the decision. They shared a close relationship and she relied on the bond to ensure her cousin’s co-operation.
“If it’s what you wish then I agree, but I will have to tell Mother eventually. I know she didn’t keep in touch with your father, but she’ll be livid when she learns of his passing. Are you sure you don’t want me to ask Carrick for help?”
“No.” The emphatic syllable could not be misconstrued amidst the din of the retiring room.
Lizzie let out a short laugh. “It’s inevitable your secret won’t remain unspoken long. My mother discovers everything, but I’ll check the social register and ask my acquaintances if anyone knows Simon Maddock. I’ve never heard the name mentioned. Are you sure it isn’t fictitious?”
Out of depth when it came to duplicitous behavior, Penelope grimaced. “Honestly, I never considered the thought. It does add another shade of color to this already complex problem.” She paused, attempting to gauge whether or not her cousin would support her word. “Please keep my confidence. It’s dreadfully important.” The forlorn note in her voice could not be mistaken.
“Agreed.”
The two cousins hugged to seal the promise, but Penelope fell silent wondering how soon she would find herself in the middle of another complicated explanation.
“Enough of this dreadful talk. You wrote you were the veritable toast of the town. I daresay you look wonderful. Has society embraced you?” Briskly changing the mood with her words, Penelope folded her hands in a demure pose, happy she had made the last-minute decision to wear her new gloves.
“La, did I say those things? I enjoy being out in society, but it’s troubling all the same. The gentleman who has caught my eye is the only one yet to ask me to dance even while I cross his path whenever possible. I always reserve a waltz.” Elizabeth raised her wrist and for emphasis wiggled the card hanging there. “But it’s never his name filling a slot.”
Penelope pitied any lady who set her eye on the same gentleman as Lizzie. Her cousin did not like to be thwarted. Elegant, reserved and beautiful, Elizabeth Bretton won everything she wanted.
“Mother says if I don’t dance with him soon and make a lasting impression, she’ll take matters into her own hands. I understand his mother is equally anxious to see him settled.” Lizzie rose to her feet and signaled for Penny to follow. “If we hurry, I may be able to locate him in this ridiculous crush. When I point him out, you’ll see why I’m determined to have him. No gentleman is as handsome and beautifully formed.” A spark of determination gleamed bright in Lizzie’s eyes. “Sometimes I spend all night looking for him only to discover he’s left early, but I will not give up.”
Penelope trailed after her cousin who experienced no trouble maneuvering through the crowd in her role of reconnoiter. Like a whirlwind, Lizzie managed to extemporize her level of words although confined on all sides by guests. Bewildered, Penelope gasped in relief when they finally stopped.
“Over there.” With her gloved pointer finger, her cousin indicated a cluster of gentlemen near the terrace doors. “Do you see him?” She rose on tippy-toe and peered across the room.
Penelope followed suit. She recognized Harold at the far end of the room, the object of Lizzie’s indication. True to form, a small group of optimistic females stood twittering nearby.
“Yes, Lord Chadling?” Penny dropped from her perch, but between the chattering guests and the intensity of her cousin’s gaze she wondered if her words registered.
“Not Lord Chadling. Good heavens, he’s a dandy. That’s not who I mean.” Lizzie’s voice expressed impatience. “Look beyond him. Yes, now you’ll have a clear view.”
Penelope rose on her toes following Lizzie’s instruction, an inkling of trepidation accompanying her intention as she glanced across the room.
“Do you see him? Isn’t he wonderful?” Elizabeth nudged her with force.
Oh, she saw him alright, as handsome and beautifully formed as described. And while she gazed across the room, he also looked up, matching her eyes and causing her heart to squeeze in a tight panicked rhythm. Whatsoever would she do now? Her cousin had set her eye on Phineas. With all the eligible men in the world, how could that even be possible? And why did her life insist upon becoming ever more complicated?
Chapter Twelve
“Phineas?” The single word exploded from Penelope’s lips before she could prevent it.
They remained in the same dense crush, but Lizzie’s head whipped to attention, causing her long blonde curls to bounce with the motion.
“Do tell me you’re acquainted with Viscount Fenhurst. You call him by his given name?” Lizzie viewed her with wide inquiring eyes, lips poised as if awaiting the impartation of a deep dark secret.
“Yes.” Penny squeaked past the nervous lump in her throat. “Aubry and I are residing with his family while in London. We are guests of the Countess of Fenhurst.”
“How absolutely perfect!” Her cousin clasped her gloved hands together. “Now I will definitely have him.”
Penelope took a deliberate breath to maintain her equilibrium. The room spun faster with each syllable of her cousin’s exuberant babbling.
“You must introduce me. It can only be destiny that would bring you here and have you befriend the viscount. He is exceedingly handsome, isn’t he? Have you noticed his eyes?”
Struggling to process information, Penelope considered which question to address first while Elizabeth drilled her with a stare intent on gaining her word she would instigate an introduction. At a complete loss, Penny wondered if she would experience her first swoon.
Of course she’d noticed his eyes. Their amber gaze caused butterflies to take flight within her whenever she caught his attention. Very little went unnoticed concerning Phineas. Her perspicacity responsible for the awful feeling at present in realizing her cousin wished to claim him. She allowed a slight pause, hoping to quell her emotions.
“Yes, his eyes. His eyes are quite…quite. Just quite.” She failed to expound on the subject and it didn’t seem to matter as Lizzie prompted her with another request.
“Promise me you will assist me. It will be so easy now.”
Lizzie’s expectant plea caused her to nod with wooden assent as the words to affirm she would help her cousin catch Phineas
’ attention refused to form. Of course, Phineas would prefer Elizabeth. What gentleman wouldn’t admire her refined beauty and ample dowry, qualities Penelope sorely lacked?
There would be no escaping the inevitable. Phineas stepped forward not a moment later, his speculative smile focused on her alone. All aforementioned butterflies awoke in a fluttering panic and Penelope admired her new gloves and shifted anxiously in her slippers. Eyes, yes, breathtaking eyes, but had her cousin ever noticed the charming cleft in his chin? She itched to run her finger over it, or better, taste the indentation with her tongue.
“Miss Rosebery.”
His voice, a silky promise, stirred the air as if they alone existed in an empty ballroom. She met his gaze, a quizzical cast in his eyes. Still she could not float willingly into his arms for a waltz when her cousin stood aside her digging an elbow into her ribs. The silent communication screamed volumes.
“Lord Fenhurst, may I present my cousin, Lady Elizabeth Bretton.” To her ears, the introduction lacked enthusiasm. She wondered if Phin noticed.
“I am pleased to meet you, Lady Bretton.” He brushed a brief kiss to Elizabeth’s gloved hand. “If I am correct, your mother recently contacted mine in regard to a tea party? Or a poetry reading? I’m not sure which.”
Turning to Penelope, he inclined his head and smiled. That Phineas smile. The one that made her feel like pudding.
“You owe me a waltz, Miss Rosebery.” He offered his arm and Penny slid a sideways glance in her cousin’s direction, curious as to what she would garner from the interaction. To her confusion, Lizzie seemed joyfully absorbed in the situation, leaning toward her ear right before Phineas led her away, the vehement whisper echoing straight to her toes.
“Speak to him about me. You promised.”
Her cousin’s words fell away on the first notes of the waltz. Neatly fitted within Phineas’ hold, she swept into the dance. His fingers flexed around her hand and guided the small of her back, while her body tingled in exhilaration. For the space of a heartbeat nothing else mattered.
“So, I have acquired another piece to the puzzle.”
A brief spark of panic jolted her to awareness, but she discovered his expression was not at all serious.
“You find me a curiosity, then?” Her eyes dropped to his mouth and her tongue darted out to skim over her bottom lip.
“More an enticing little mystery.”
They circled the dance floor in expert harmony, their bodies in tune as if waltzing were their favorite pastime.
“I didn’t realize you had relations here in London. Does your cousin know of your predicament?”
His casual tone betrayed the sincerity of the question and she stared at the third button of his waistcoat. Phineas was an intelligent man, worldly in ways she had no idea. Allowing him to draw quick conclusions after meeting Lizzie was the only option. What explanation could she ever offer to make sense of her past?
“You needn’t answer if you do not wish. It is not my intention to cause you discomfort.”
He leaned in to deliver the words and his grasp around her frame tightened as if to emphasize the sentiment. Emotion enveloped her as he drew closer, igniting the scant space between them with an intangible pull that coaxed her further into his arms. Did she imagine the attraction?
She missed a step and Phineas maneuvered them with ease, away from another dancing couple, a gentleman possessing similar stature and coloring as Simon.
“Thank you.” She straightened her spine and grappled with the incongruous emotions Simon’s duplicity evoked. She would not allow the fragile connection, shimmering and swirling between her and Phineas, to disappear.
“I’m wondering if I should ask Maman to direct Aubry’s dance instructor to spend a session with you. Do you not enjoy waltzing? I feel as though I’m escorting a broomstick across the dance floor.” He arched a brow with the droll comment, his voice filled with indulgent affection and she giggled despite herself.
She dared another glance from beneath lowered lashes and her breath caught. Lord, but he was handsome. All around them candlelit chandeliers glistened, music strained and dancers whirled, yet nothing captivated her but his eyes. Long lush lashes framed the light hue of his irises with exquisite contrast. How would it feel to be the object of his affection, if only for one evening? To be cherished and adored by this wonderful man? A pang of longing sliced through her heart weakening her resolve.
“Now, that’s better.”
He trailed his hand along the side of her gown with smooth finesse before resting it again at her waist, his sudden caress, almost possessive, kicked her heart into an erratic rhythm. She glided through another turn, her glove securely nested within his, her eyes lost in the sensual promise of his glittering stare.
“If this is our waltz, my boon, I want it to be enjoyable or I’m remiss in my ability to charm a beautiful lady.” Amusement flirted with his husky command.
She offered him a tremulous smile. “Please know I am thoroughly charmed. I apologize for my thoughtlessness. Never doubt your appeal.” She did not wish their dance to pass with anything aside from joy. If this was her one opportunity to be held in his embrace she wanted to remember every nuance with desperate clarity.
And then no need for conversation existed beyond the natural fluidity of their bodies mingling with the waltz. Music hummed over her skin, sensitized to every detail, the friction of Phin’s gloved hand clasping hers, the exquisite pleasure of his palm resting against the small of her back as he led with gentle pressure through each sweep and revolution. His skin, scented with expensive French cologne, hardly compared to the rich security of being held in his arms. Strong and graceful, their bodies in heavenly synchronicity, the flittering thought of perfection rose unbidden and rang true.
Every time she dared inch her eyes upward, he must have sensed her attention because he was always there, gazing into her eyes and deeper, touching her soul as if they danced alone in the ballroom except there were easily over one hundred people spinning in circles around them. Somehow within the unbearable crush, their waltz remained private and intimate, their bodies keenly aware in silent communication with every glide and twirl.
Her pulse hammered triple time echoing each pinnacle of sensation, and she swore were she given the smallest inclination Phineas experienced the same, she would slip from his hold into his embrace and offer her heart. It mattered not in the least she would break the same promise she avowed only moments before.
“I’m sorry, Penelope.”
His voice sounded as sincere as she’d ever heard it, and she raised her eyes in question as they twirled through another turn. “You’re sorry? Whatsoever for?”
She couldn’t tell him she dreamed of this, when he would hold her in his arms and lead her through the dance as if they were one together, their bodies perfectly matched.
Instead, she gazed at his face, as handsome as any rogue or rake and as honest as the most revered hero.
“Because I know it’s wrong.”
The deep tenor of his confession caused her breath to catch. One lock of hair fell across his forehead as he leaned in to deliver the words, the husky whisper teasing dangerously close to her ear. He turned her near the corner and his hand swept over her ribcage as if he could not keep from the touch. Their bodies somehow moved much closer, the demanding heat of his nearness causing her to stifle a shiver of excitement. She needed to say something, anything, but words were difficult and emotion all too easy.
“Dancing? Asking me to dance is far from improper. We’re attending a ball, are we not?” She tried to laugh, but it wouldn’t come, her questions fraught with unidentifiable sentiment.
“It’s not the dancing for which I am apologizing.” He paused before leading her through an elegant series of steps. “Dancing with you is the best thing I’ve done in a very long while.”
“Then what…” But she failed to finish her sentence as he swept her from the floor and into a curtained alcove at the
far end of the room. It was there to conceal the passage of servants entering and leaving the ballroom, but right now stood empty and dark.
Her heart thundered a chaotic beat.
His lips descended to hers with precise accuracy and the last coherent thought that skittered through her mind confirmed he tasted so male and burned so hot, she would melt into liquid under the pressure of his mouth.
But to melt would be to miss it and with the realization she regained her wits, and answered his sensual assault with her own expression of emotion.
In less than a breath, the kiss turned erotic. One minute he lowered his mouth to hers in a tender, reverent press of affection and the next, after she answered his pleasure promise, their bodies communicated on an elemental level of want and need.
He backed her to the wall with the subtle pressure of his thighs, his hands cupping her face as he eagerly explored her mouth, his tongue running the line of her lips, his hot breath an invigorating entreaty to fuel their fire. Strong fingers threaded beneath the hair at her nape, the pressure of his fingertips against her scalp sending tingles of anticipation and curiosity throughout her body.
She moved her trembling palms up the front of his waistcoat, further to his broad shoulders, and then finally around his neck, her fingers interwoven in the hair at his collar, the brush of the silky strands an aphrodisiac to heighten their kiss.
Her clothes suddenly seemed too heavy, the air too hot and suffocating, and again she considered the possibility he would melt her into a pool of water at his feet if his mouth continued to offer her exquisite pleasure with nothing more than a kiss.
She drew a tremulous breath and as she did, he slipped his tongue between her lips into the hollow of her mouth. At first she froze at the intrusion of his hot, smooth parry, the friction causing sparks of excitement to shoot through her and settle much lower, until she answered each rub with a stroke of her own. Every sensation in her body heightened with the liquid caress of his tongue against hers. Desire mounted, indescribably in tune to the coiled strength of their bodies, his masculine scent, the smooth, hard planes of his chest, the rub of her silky underclothes against her own skin, the pebbling of her nipples inside the press of her corset.
The Midnight Rake Page 12
