The poor thing. Julia had noticed the maid’s bruises as she bustled around before the performance, helping the actors to dress and organizing the few props they had brought into the home where they’d been hired to entertain. If only they’d known whose home it was! But somehow her disguise had gone undetected and they’d escaped. Thank heaven for that.
It had been close, though. At one point after they had overheard Fitzgelder’s plan to murder his cousin on the road it seemed Lord Lindley might have discovered them. Fortunately, the man had not realized they’d overheard. He let them go without raising an alarm.
Likely he regretted his error later. It seemed Fitzgelder had not realized his precious locket was gone until she and Sophie were nearly gone. He’d raged about it but they made it out of the house and disappeared into the night without her identity ever being known. It had been nothing short of a miracle, actually.
The plan then was to go north to warn Rastmoor, then go to meet Papa at a friend’s home in Gloucester. Then she would forget this had ever happened. Fitzgelder would never know how close he’d been to the family that made a fool of him three years ago. Very simple. Yet Papa was clearly not in Gloucester. What in heaven’s name were Giuseppe and his Poor Players doing out here now?
Perhaps Papa found out Julia was in trouble. Yes, of course the other actors would have left after their performance and gone directly to warn Papa that Julia had very nearly been found out. When she ran away with Sophie heading toward Warwick, they must have realized something was wrong. They would have gotten word to Papa.
But of course that’s what happened. Papa couldn’t have been very far from London by that time; he must have gathered the troupe and set out to find her. Likely he’d been following her all along! Oh, dear, dear Papa. He must be worried sick.
Indeed, what if he discovered she was with Rastmoor again? Heavens, if he’d followed her here, he would most certainly know that. And he wouldn’t likely care for it, either.
Well, she’d best see to it that Papa did not have reason to meet up with Rastmoor. For everyone’s sake, that uncomfortable scene simply had to be avoided. She’d best find out where the troupe was staying and get herself there before Papa showed up here.
She’d have to leave in the night, obviously. Then they could disappear. She’d done what she’d set out to do—she’d warned Rastmoor. Now it was up to him to save himself from whatever Fitzgelder had planned. He would be fine. Now that Papa was nearby, soon she would be fine, as well. Somehow.
All she had to do was choke down the last few bites of her dinner, then mime exhaustion and take herself up to bed. Would Rastmoor follow? No, of course not. He would be busy with his family tonight. This news about Penelope had clearly unhinged him. No doubt he would have much to discuss with his mother and younger sister. A merely convenient lover was probably the last thing on his mind right now, especially since she’d so graciously taken care of whatever basic needs the man might have had just a couple of hours ago. Twice, as a matter of fact.
So she’d have no distractions tonight—leaving would be the easiest thing in the world. She had no belongings to carry and no one she owed any explanations. Leaving was just a matter of walking out the door. Although, of course, she’d have to wait until the house was quiet and the servants were abed. Surely if anyone saw her attempting to leave, they’d alert Rastmoor.
That meant she’d have several long, empty hours to pass before she could escape. Pity she couldn’t make the best of them. After all, once she was back with Papa, it was unlikely she’d ever speak with Rastmoor again. Or so much as look at him. Or do anything with him, for that matter.
And, by God, she did rather enjoy doing things with him.
She stabbed at the half-eaten fish on her plate. Good Lord, but what was she thinking? Papa was nearby, her own life and identity was right around the corner, and she would rather risk it all for another quick tumble with a man who despised her? Honestly.
She was a member of the gentler sex, wasn’t she? Despite her circumstance, she’d been raised like a lady. She didn’t need the constant pawing and groping of primitive urges. She’d do quite well on her own tonight—peacefully unmolested until such a time as she might slip away. Alone. The way she’d likely be for the rest of her life. Chaste and maidenly, as far as anyone else knew. Never to taste passion again. Ever.
So perhaps she’d best take advantage of things while she could, since it was going to have to last her a whole, loveless lifetime. Surely Rastmoor wouldn’t need to spend the entire night lecturing his sister, would he? He had to go to bed sometime. And truly, if the man was worn out from exertion, he’d sleep much better and be less likely to hear her stealing away. Right?
Of course it was.
She carefully took up her spoon and just as carefully dropped it into Rastmoor’s lap. It got his attention, of course. Even more so when she reached to retrieve it.
But before she could be sure whether or not he recognized the invitation, Dashford’s stiff butler interrupted. Indeed, it seemed the butler was not the only thing in the room holding itself ramrod straight. However, he was the only one standing in the doorway clearing his throat as if he had something dreadfully important to say.
“You have a guest, my lord,” the butler announced clearly.
“In the middle of supper? Who is it, Williams?” Dashford asked.
Julia sucked in her breath. Could it be Papa? Had he come already? She quickly withdrew her hand.
Would Papa cause a scene? Would he call Rastmoor out with dueling pistols as he’d threatened to do those three years ago? Oh, she hoped not! Were either man to be shot full of holes, that would certainly put a damper on any plans she had for a final night of unbridled passion. Oh, this was dreadful. If only it might turn out not to be Papa. Perhaps it was simply one of Dashford’s tenants, or the local vicar, or . . .
“It is a Mr. Cedrick Fitzgelder, sir,” the butler replied.
Oh hell. Now that put a damper on her night of passion.
The spoon slid off Rastmoor’s lap. It clattered loudly onto the marble floor, but no one seemed to notice. Everyone was reacting in his own way to this unexpected news. Fitzgelder—the man who wanted to murder half of them and forcibly seduce the rest—was here!
Dashford glanced at his wife, and she shrugged. The dowager Lady Rastmoor glanced at her son, and he scowled. Julia happened to glance at Penelope. She smiled.
Really? Penelope smiled? Heavens! Perhaps once the murdering was done, Fitzgelder would encounter less resistance than expected in carrying out the rest of his plan. If only it had simply been her vengeance-seeking papa at the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Dashford had sent Fitzgelder on into his office. Rastmoor sent the sturdiest footman he could find to stand at the door and keep him in there. By God, he was not about to have that poxy bastard wandering his friend’s home while Julia and Penelope were in it. What on earth did Fitzgelder think, showing up here like this?
And why didn’t Dashford immediately offer the nearest shotgun to let Rastmoor deal with the vermin the way any reasonable man ought? Honestly, inviting the bastard in? Dashford was being too bloody polite—giving the ass a quiet place to sit, sharing a fresh decanter, treating him like he was actually welcome here. Useless. The minute Rastmoor knew all the women were safe in their rooms, he was going to see about undoing all Dashford’s kindness and throw the bastard out.
But first he needed just a few quick answers from Penelope.
“So exactly how long have you let yourself be Fitzgelder’s little plaything?”
His sister’s eyes grew huge. At least she had the good taste to feign shock, although surely she expected this line of questioning when Rastmoor demanded she remain to speak with him while everyone else declared themselves well fed and scurried off to their various bedrooms. His mother had seemed reluctant to leave Penelope to face him alone, but eventually Rastmoor’s stern looks won out. She’d retired with the rest of the gr
oup.
For her part, Julia had been only too eager to retire. Good. He hoped she was in no hurry to socialize with the man she claimed had married someone in her place. Just to be on the safe side, though, Rastmoor had another footman assigned to stand guard near her chamber with instructions not to let anyone in—or out.
All he had to do now was pry the truth out of his sister.
“Answer me, Penelope.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to say. Honestly, Anthony, I can’t believe my own brother would think such things of me!”
She’d been too damn evasive for him to expect he’d like the truth when he finally heard it. By God, he was going to storm into Dashford’s study and kill Fitzgelder with his bare hands in about five minutes.
“Just what am I to think, Penelope? You’ve been carousing with Fitzgelder, of all people.”
“I most certainly do not carouse.”
“Then how the hell did you end up on polite terms with the likes of Fitzgelder?”
She had the gall to roll her eyes. “He was presented to me at Mrs. Parkerstone’s rout. Somehow the lady who gave the introduction must have had no knowledge of our connection. Well, I couldn’t very well be rude, could I? He asked me to dance, and I felt there was nothing to do but accept.”
“Oh, certainly. And if he had asked to take you off to a dark alley somewhere?”
“Of course I would have declined. It was quite raining and cold that evening—a walk through a dark alley would have destroyed the lovely new gown Mamma had made up for me, not to mention the adorable slippers to go with it.”
The table rattled when he pounded it.
“By God, Penelope! What else went on? Did you meet him beyond that?”
“Yes, I met him. All right? He turned up everywhere we went. I know you’ve always hated the man, but he was nothing but charming toward me. All I did was respond with common friendliness in return.”
“And just how much common friendliness did he get from you?”
She frowned at him. “You keep insinuating things. I don’t care for it.”
“And you keep avoiding things. Just how far did this relationship with Fitzgelder go?”
“I won’t justify your accusations with an answer.”
“Then I’m left to assume you have a great many things to answer for.”
“Certainly nothing so sordid as the dozens of things you must have to answer for,” she said, picking at a crumb on the table and coyly avoiding his eyes. “Perhaps we ought to compare stories, Brother dear? I would so love to hear the details of that little actress you were engaged to a couple years ago. Oh, that’s right. She died, didn’t she?”
Oh, but that was low. He took a long, careful breath before continuing. “We are not talking about me, Penelope. We’re talking about you. What has passed between you and our cousin that convinced Mother to drag you away from the season and come rushing out here to find me?”
She sighed. “You’re determined to think the worst of me, aren’t you?”
“You’re giving me little reason to think otherwise.”
“You shouldn’t need any reason to think otherwise! I thought you knew me, Anthony.”
“Apparently not. But I do know Fitzgelder.”
“Do you? I daresay there are some things you don’t know about him.”
For the first time she met his gaze. Why had he never realized she had the eyes of a grown woman? What on earth had he been doing lately while his innocent little sister was growing up? Perhaps Mother had been right. Perhaps he should have been with them in London.
“What don’t I know about him, Penelope?” he asked slowly.
“You don’t know that he claims to love me,” she announced. “He says I have captured his heart.”
“Bullshit. Fitzgelder has no heart.”
“He says he wants to marry me, Anthony, but he knows you’ll never consent. So he asked me to pledge in secret.”
“By God, Penelope, you did no such thing!”
“He begged me not to mention it to you or to Mother.”
“Of course he did! He has no idea of honoring that pledge beyond what benefits him. Besides, he knows I’ll goddamn kill him.”
“It might interest you to know he made a generous gesture of his love.”
“Oh, Lord. Just how generous was his love, Penelope?”
“You have a disgusting mind, Anthony. It’s nothing like that. He gave me a ring.”
“A ring?”
“He told me it once belonged to our grandfather.”
What? Fitzgelder had his grubby hands on some family heirloom, and he willingly parted with it? That hardly sounded believable. “Oh? And just what did he expect you to do in return?”
“See, there you go again, thinking poorly of me.”
“I asked what he expects to get in return for his generous token!”
“All right. He expects me to ignore all other proposals until he has proven to you he’s not the black sheep you apparently think him. That’s not so terrible, is it?”
“That’s all he asked for?”
“Well, that and the silly old locket.”
“The locket? You mean, our father’s old locket?”
“Yes, that’s the one. He said it had been his father’s before it was passed on to ours. He wanted it for sentimental reasons.”
What? Penelope gave him the locket? The locket that was the cause of all this current frustration and excitement? Damnation, so that’s how the bastard got his hands on it. He knew what the thing contained, and he used Penelope to get it. Now he would use it against her—against all of them.
Dear Lord, did his little sister have any idea what that simple piece of jewelry contained? Obviously not. Mother must not have told her. He drew a deep breath, rubbed his aching temples, and wondered how his day could get any worse.
He shouldn’t have wondered.
“I guess it was probably wrong for me to tell him where Mamma and I were headed, wasn’t it?”
No, she couldn’t possibly have just said that. Had she? She was the one who told Fitzgelder where to come find them all? Hellfire and damnation! Here he’d been wondering if Julia had done that, when the true culprit had been his own flesh and cotton-headed blood.
“Our mother took you away from London to keep you safe from that weasel, and you gave him permission to follow?”
Penelope just shrugged. “It only seemed right, seeing as how he is practically my fiancé.”
“Like hell he is! I swear, Penelope, I never imagined you to be so want-witted. Good God, do you know what you’ve done?”
Now she actually smiled at him. “I believe I do, yes. Now, if you would just let me explain—”
“I don’t want an explanation. I want you to assure me you’ve not gotten yourself into such a condition that I’ll be obligated to force Fitzgelder into marrying you before I put a bullet through him.”
There. He’d said it. He’d given voice to his worst fear, and now there was nothing but to anticipate her answer. She didn’t keep him waiting long.
“Oh, honestly, Anthony,” she replied with disdain. “Of course I haven’t let that happen. Really now! As if I could ever be so stupid. A lady may flirt upon occasion, but she never gives up the merchandise without a bill of sale.”
With a meaningful huff she crossed her long arms and pouted extravagantly. All Rastmoor could do was wonder where on earth a sheltered miss like Penelope had gotten such a colorful expression. Not that he was arguing with the results, actually, if it had helped keep her safely from ruination at the hands of Fitzgelder, but he’d see snowflakes in Hades before he let his sister go around speaking that way.
“That’s hardly becoming of your station, Penelope,” he reminded her.
“Oh? Well, perhaps if you hadn’t always been so busy off chasing actresses and . . . and opera singers, you might have found a few spare moments to spend with us to help ensure I was provided with a proper understanding of what, exac
tly, is becoming of my station.”
“Now don’t try throwing this in my face, Penelope. You’ve been provided a most excellent education in all things maidenly and proper.”
“Yes, and demmed boring it’s been, too.”
“Don’t attempt to change the subject! We are discussing just what it is you and our bloody cousin have been getting up to together.”
“And I told you. He wants to marry me, so I gave him Papa’s old locket. Now, if you’d just let me explain . . .”
Dear God, they were going in circles here. It was making his head pound. He was just going to have to tell her, once again, that Fitzgelder was a bounder and a blackguard, and she was never to have anything to do with him again. His lecture, however, was interrupted before it began.
Dashford stepped into the dining room and cleared his throat. Hell, but if the man hadn’t been born with the bluest of blood in his veins, he’d have made a fair butler.
“Our guest is getting a bit impatient, I’m afraid,” he said, nodding his head back toward the direction of the study where Fitzgelder cooled his heels.
“Fine,” Rastmoor said, rising to his feet. “I might as well go talk to him then, for all the straight answers I’m getting here.”
“I’ll go with you,” Penelope offered, also rising to her feet.
“Like hell you will! No, you will go directly up to your bed.”
She simply glared at him, apparently unconcerned with whatever impression Dashford must be gathering of her as he watched from the doorway. “I think I should be there when you speak with our cousin.”
“And I think you should be safely locked away in a tower while I speak with our cousin. Go to bed, Penelope. I’ll deal with Fitzgelder.”
Damsel in Disguise Page 21
