Penelope’s Pleasure (A Gentleman’s Guide To Understanding Women Book 1)

by Deborah Villegas

  He leaned back and his mouth firmed into a set line. “How well educated are you?”

  She bit her bottom lip. The throb in her side at odds with the tightening of her stomach. “Hell Spawn’s had a few lady friends.”

  The image of Hell Spawn mounting a mare brought heat to her cheeks, and by the way Edward’s nostrils flared, he imagined the same.

  He stood abruptly and turned toward the door. “Remove your shirt. I’ll go get fresh water and bandages.”

  The soft click of the door released the tension she didn’t realize she’d felt until her body sagged. She was playing with fire, and the man was an inferno.

  She peeled her shirt off but kept the binding around her breasts—a necessity when she rode without stays and at the moment, a blessed barrier. She winced when she stood and moved with care to the bed. Now that she was back in the safety of her room, the pain she had ignored barreled through her and left her trembling. She didn’t have the strength to remove the hasty bandage.

  Edward slipped into the room carrying a basin, cloths, and if she was correct, a bottle of courage. She hoped it was full.

  He set the basin next to the bed, lit several more tapers, and then frowned at the bandage. “This is going to hurt.”

  “No doubt. Is the bottle for you or for me?”

  He poured two glasses. “Both of us.”

  She drank hers in two swallows and held out her glass to be re-filled.

  Edward poured another round, and then a third for her. When she held the glass out for a fourth, he shook his head.

  “I don’t want you sauced, just relaxed. I need to remove your bindings.”

  Her face flamed and not from the whiskey. “Why?”

  “Because they are bloody, Boots. Don’t tell me you have a sudden case of modesty.”

  His tone was light with a hint of teasing and with swift efficiency, she was barred from the waist up and broiling with embarrassment.

  His sharp intake of breath and rapt perusal of her naked torso not to mention the sudden coolness of the air puckering her nipples almost sent her flying under the covers like a hare to ground. Almost.

  She remained motionless and waited for him to raise his gaze, annoyed by both her embarrassment and by his lack-there-of.

  When he did look at her, she wished he hadn’t. Exuberant lecher came to mind.

  Edward pushed her down, cupped a breast, and brushed his lips across her mouth. “Lie on your side. The sooner we get this over with,” he hesitated with a squeeze, “the sooner I can finish your interrogation.”

  Interrogation? Leave it to Edward not to be swayed by lust. She had to think fast. Ferris’s life was at stake. She affected a wince and looked down at her wound. “In that case, we’re going to need another bottle.”

  “Oh, no. I want you awake. We are going to discuss your moonlight hobby. I want to know why you are playing this dangerous game, how you managed to get your groom to agree to become your accomplice, and who put you up to it.”

  Penelope gazed at her intended through shuttered lashes and a soft winsome smile. “Why, darling, don’t you remember? You suggested it.”

  Edward leaned back. “I did no such thing.”

  “Yes, you did. The night you told me you had to leave for London.”

  “I warned you to beware of highwaymen, not become one.”

  “I suppose it all in the interpretation.”

  “Your escapades could get you killed or hanged.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You would never allow that to happen. Now if you don’t mind, may we get on with the matter at hand. I think I’m starting to ooze.”

  Chapter 16

  Penelope sat up and stared at Lizzy, standing not three feet away, screaming. She stopped long enough to inhale and let loose another. This one longer, higher-pitched, and worthy of a harpy.

  The door crashed open. Reggie, Garrett, and Addison burst into the room, pistols at the ready.

  Lizzy pointed a shaky finger at the bed then promptly fainted.

  The lump beside Penelope shifted, and Edward propped himself on his elbows with a very dark scowl.

  The blood drained from her face, and she flopped back against the pillows. Please let this be a nightmare.

  “You had better have the answer we want to hear Lord Westfield.” Reggie’s tone was icier than winter sea spray across a ship’s deck.

  At least the pistols had been lowered. She didn’t need another grazing.

  Edward sat farther up, repositioned his pillow, and leaned against the headboard with unaffected arrogance. “I have not thoroughly compromised your sister if that is what you are hoping to hear.”

  Reginald stepped closer to the bed and yelled. “That is not the correct answer.” He gripped his hair and pulled at it like a lunatic. “Good God man, we have given you ample opportunity.”

  Yelling was usually better than Reginald’s frigid composure. Usually. He paced the base of the bed from post to post then stopped and stared as if horrified. “Are you? You don’t prefer…”

  Edward sat forward, muscles straining and veins popping. “Don’t even say it or I’ll meet you under the elms in an hour.”

  Penelope leaned over. “You did play with my balls.” Years of practicing the pompously tedious pout paid off when Reggie choked. Ferris would have been so proud.

  Amanda pushed through the throng tying her robe and stood at the foot of the bed. Levity danced in her eyes. “Well?”

  Penelope leaned back, smoothed the covers, and sighed. “He snores almost as loud as Reggie.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I don’t suppose so. When he gets old, one would know he wasn’t dead.”

  Amanda frowned a nod. “Good point.”

  “He does take up quite a bit of room though, and he’s clingy.”

  “That might not be a problem in the winter as long as he doesn’t have cold feet. How was the ride?”

  “I haven’t taken him through his paces yet, but he appears to be well seated.”

  “Well enough to purchase?”

  Penelope bit her lip and considered the question. “I’m not sure. I should probably try out a few others, then weigh my options before I make a final decision.”

  Amanda studied Edward as if she were weighing his merits and then gave her a wink. “Don’t forget to check his teeth. You don’t want one that’s constantly grinding his molars.” She cast a dubious glance at Reggie, who was, then waltzed out of the room. “A brisk morning’s ride is always nice.”

  Garrett elbowed Addison. “I think I figured out who wrote the question about the horse.”

  Penelope wasn’t sure who Reggie wanted to kill.

  “Lord Westfield, if you are unfit to cross the finish line, you leave me no choice but to find someone who can.”

  Reginald shoved his brothers out of the room and with one last meaningful glare, he slammed the door.

  Edward jumped out of bed and grabbed his shirt. He still wore his britches. Then again, she was still wearing hers too.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get a special license. I’ll be damned if anyone tries to count the months till our babe is born.”

  “Babe?” She stared incredulously. Was he serious? She jumped out of bed naked to the waist and grabbed a pillow to her front. “I may have peaked in the stable, but I haven’t looked in any stalls, and I certainly haven’t ridden any horses—yet.”

  Edward yanked on his boots. “There won’t be any other horses. You will ride one stallion only, and that stallion is me. If you are to be my Duchess, I won’t stand for any rumors of bastardy. My name will not be sullied.”

  Edward’s words seeped into her like a slow poison that left her numb. Had he heard the rumors of her own bastardy? Would she suffer the same fate as her mother? Ostracized? Shunned? Forced into exile?

  She noticed movement around the bed and froze. Lizzy.

  Edward shoved his shirt into his britches and fastened his fall. “W
hat?” He looked beyond and his low growl registered like a rumble through her chest.

  Without taking her eyes off Edward, she spoke. “Lizzy, if you don’t leave this instant, I will dismiss you without reference.”

  Penelope didn’t have to turn to know that the maid followed her order. All she had to do was track Edward’s glare and hear the quick slap of the door.

  “I won’t marry you, Lord Westfield.”

  Edward snagged her cravat from her dressing table and proceeded to twist it into an impeccable knot. “Are we back to formalities, Boots?”

  She hugged the pillow tighter. “Get out.”

  He stepped toward her.

  She stepped back.

  He took another step.

  She stepped back again, and her backside hit the bed.

  He took one more step, and she felt the heat of his anger.

  He tilted her chin up, but she refused to look at him. The knot at his neck was safer.

  “You will marry me Miss St. James or your brother Ferris will swing from a smuggler’s noose at Newgate.”

  Ferris? A Smuggler? His words rattled through her brain like a handful of jacks against the baseboards. “I know too much. I’ve seen too much. I’ve taken too much. I’m a walking dead man.”

  Her heart stopped. She met Edward’s gaze, and the frozen tundra of indifference replaced the heat.

  “Do not ride today or tomorrow. You need to give your side time to heal.”

  Penelope froze. All she could manage was a nod. Reginald’s temper didn’t come close to Edward’s, and he was near to displaying it in all its icy glory. Of this, she was certain.

  He leaned in and brushed her lips, and then he was gone.

  She sank onto the bed after he shut the door, a shaking bundle of nerves. He didn’t have to say a word. The kiss was a warning. A threat. A promise. A pledge.

  Retribution.

  But for what? What did he know about her brother?

  Whatever it was, she needed to find out, and that meant finding Ferris.

  * * *

  Edward walked into the breakfast room, served himself a cup of coffee from the sideboard then took Reginald’s seat at the head of the table, and waited for the Earl of Stansworth. He had to give Reginald credit for his staff. The footman took Edward’s usurpation in stride.

  He was halfway through his second cup and the paper when Reginald appeared. Edward sat back as if he had every right to the seat. He was the ranking peer after all.

  Reginald stopped in the doorway, and the room chilled ten degrees.

  Edward gave him a passing once over and went back to the paper as if Reggie wasn’t worth his time of day.

  His temporary nemesis flared his nostrils and took a seat at the opposite end. The ducal slight had hit its intended mark.

  A place setting was quickly set at Reginald’s end, and another paper appeared before him. Reginald proceeded to commence with breakfast as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Both men ignored one another.

  A servant approached Edward, handed him a card, then retreated. After a quick scan, Edward finished his coffee and set his napkin aside. He glanced at Reginald and noticed with satisfaction that he seemed to be more interested in Edward’s usurpation of position in his household than his eggs.

  Unhappy did not begin to describe Reginald’s countenance.

  “When you have finished breakfasting, Lord Stansworth,” Edward frosted him with a withering glance, “I require your presence in the library.”

  Edward picked up his paper and without waiting for a response headed toward Reginald’s private domain.

  He entered the library and decided to throw Reggie a bone and not sit behind the man’s desk. Instead, he sat in one of the matching seats.

  It didn’t take long. Edward only made it to the end of the first column of the latest accounting of the Gentleman Bandit’s madcap escapades before Reggie joined him.

  Penelope would be pleased to know she hit the front page. “Gentleman Bandit Shot.” The article was a disappointment, and thankfully there was no mention of himself other than a vague reference to a high-ranking peer that had been with the constable at the time of the robbery.

  “You wished to speak with me, Westfield?” Reginald sat behind his desk.

  Edward folded the paper so that the article was displayed front and center and set it on the corner.

  “I will ask you one more time to have the bans read. If you refuse, I will ignore proper protocol and procure a special license. By the end of the week, Penelope will be my wife.” That would keep her safe since none of the St. James seemed to have the ability to maintain their sister or her midnight escapades.

  Reginald leaned forward. “No. Not unless she has been compromised and if you marry her without my consent, her dowry will be forfeit.”

  “I am the Duke of Berwick.”

  “And I am—”

  “Not the Duke of St. James.”

  Reginald worked his jaw. “I am Penelope’s oldest brother, and in charge of her interests in my father, the Duke of St. James’ stead. I may not hold the title, but I am the head of the family, and I do hold all of the cards, your Grace.”

  Edward studied his soon to be brother-in-law. Dammit, he liked Reginald. The man would be formidable one day. “I suggest you hold your cards very close and your family even closer.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “That is a warning, pup. I didn’t compromise your sister for two reasons. One, I will respect her as will be her due when she becomes the Duchess of Berwick, and two, I was busy attending to her bullet wound.”

  Reginald paled.

  Edward stood. He had gone the noble, honorable route. His conscience was clear. “Take care of your house, Stansworth. For it is built from those very cards you hold so dear and can easily be destroyed with a gentle breeze.” He turned to take his leave but stopped at the door. He had one more tidbit to pass along. Not out of duty but because of the common thread they both shared—the heavy weight of the familial encumbrance of responsibility, and Reggie bore that burden times four.

  Reggie scanned the paper Edward left on the corner of the desk. His face a combination of shock and disbelief and gut-wrenching comprehension.

  He glanced up as if sensing he was not alone and raised the proverbial St. James apathetic brow. Only this time there was a crack in his indifference. Concern glistened behind his lowered lashes. “Yes?”

  “Find Ferris. He is in the eye of the storm.”

  Chapter 17

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Amanda watched the red door of the molly house from the dark shadows and scratched her wig. She wore Reggie’s buckskin britches well.

  Penelope shushed her. They were in Cheapside just across from the alley of Ferris’s nefarious introduction to the painful reality of debt collectors. It was late. It was cold. It was the last place on her list.

  It was the only place that had a direct connection between the note holder and her brother. Neither of which she could locate.

  The constable had turned out to be quite philanthropic. His purse held over a thousand quid. Twelve hundred to be exact. Why anyone would travel with that much money amazed her. Reggie never traveled with more than fifty, and that was only if he was traveling a great distance and planned to be gone more than a fortnight. Fifty pounds was a lot of money to carry, but twelve hundred boggled her mind. So much so that she began to wonder why.

  Not that she had anything else to do. Shortly after Edward’s departure, Reggie had cornered her, inspected her new tender-to-the-touch souvenir, forced a confrontation, extracted a confession with the morning paper rolled into a paddle—not that she was forthcoming—the sibling code of honor was sacred—then he locked her in her room and cut down her only escape route. She was going to miss that tree.

  The only person allowed in was Lizzy. Of course, that didn’t stop Amanda. She was surprisingly resourceful and a veritable font of information.

 
Reginald flew off to goodness knew where leaving the entire household in an uproar. Spitting commands, threats, and dire warnings to any and all who disobeyed on his way out the door—especially Miss Bishop. The St. James temper was on full display. Even Garrett and Addison were surprisingly surly.

  Two gentlemen in top hats and canes strolled arm in drunken arm to the red door, rapped a code, and gained entrance.

  “Come on.” Penelope dashed from her hiding place and made it to the door just behind the other men as if she and Amanda were part of their group. The door was about to close, and she stuck her arm through. “Hang on good fellow,” she slurred, lowering her voice an octave.

  Amanda put her shoulder to the door and promptly fell into the narrow entry. “The night is young, and we were told the boys here were even younger.”

  The burly gent acting the role of butler picked her up by the lapels. “I’ve never seen you two before.” He gave her balls a good squeeze, decided she would do and let her go with a motion toward the stairs.

  Penelope sighed with relief. Amanda couldn’t walk without clinking so they had to resort to small potatoes wrapped in hosiery.

  He turned at a crash and headed down the hall. “The lads are in the room at the back. Take your pick and give the money to his lordship.”

  Amanda frowned at his retreating back. “What do you think he meant by that?”

  Penelope pulled her into the parlor across from the stairs. “I don’t know.”

  “Now what?” Amanda hissed.

  Good question. Penelope hadn’t thought that far. She didn’t think they’d ever make it inside. Not that the plan was to go inside at all, but it was cold, and waiting was passive. “Now, we look around. Get a feel for the place and mimic the rest of the um, gentlemen.” She blinked, and her cheeks heated. Men in various stages of dress, not that they were undressed, milled about. Some sported fans, a few in dresses, and one or two heavily made up to resemble ladies of the ton.

  Amanda pinched her and headed toward another room. She had taken to wearing Hessians like a cock to a fight.