LOVE FOREVER AFTER

DARK LORDS AND DANGEROUS LADIES

PATRICIA RICE

Love Forever After

Patricia Rice

Copyright © 2016, 1990 Patricia Rice

First Publication: 1990

Book View Cafe: 2016

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Rice Enterprises, Dana Point, CA, an affiliate of Book View Cafe Publishing Cooperative

Cover design by Killion Group

Book View Café Publishing Cooperative

P.O. Box 1624, Cedar Crest, NM 87008-1624

http://bookviewcafe.com

ISBN 978-1-61138-711-7

CONTENTS

FREE Exclusive Novella

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

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About the Author

Also By Patricia Rice

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AUTHOR’S NOTE

DEAR READERS:

I sold my first book in 1982, back in the days when all I had was an old Bic pen and a college-ruled notebook to scribble in while the kids played in the yard. I had to buy a used Underwood typewriter with a stuck S key to type up my proposals because we didn’t have money for anything more. Needless to say, those first books were typed once and not again. The editor would go through with red pencil, I’d make copies of the page, type up a new one, and clip them together. After I was making enough money to afford it, I graduated to cutting and pasting new sentences onto old pages and making a clean Xerox copy. Since books were cheap to print and readers loved big thick books, we didn’t do a lot of cutting or editing.

It wasn’t until the 1990s that I had enough money to indulge in a new computer—one where I saved each chapter to a huge floppy disk.

Most of the books I’ve labeled as English Historical Romance Classics were written in my typewriter days. They include everything from Georgian England through the Regency era. I’d call them English Classics but that sounds like Victorian literature.

They have been edited of excess verbiage and perennial head-hopping. At the time, the author omniscient voice was popular and justified watching scenes through the heads of servants and doting family. I’m afraid the multiple head spinning would drive the modern reader into gales of laughter or angry book heaving. But I have left enough in to understand the voice in which it was written. To do otherwise would deprive the book of the lovely flavors I instilled at the time of writing. The story and the characters remain unchanged. We were fond of old-fashioned melodrama back then, and I’d be fascinated to know if you enjoy the Perils of Pauline style.

I hope you’ll sink in and stay there and enjoy a good rousing tale of love lost and won again.

Thank you so much for reading!

CHAPTER 1

PENELOPE CARLISLE SWUNG her basket and climbed the hill to the bud-filled orchard. A mist settled over her cloak, and the new apple leaves dripped on her bare head, but she gloried in the scents of blossoms.

Without warning, a massive shadow materialized through the mist between the trees, startling her into stepping backward.

The black-cowled figure resembled the specter of death in her father’s old books, except there was nothing gaunt about this creature. The man used his huge thoroughbred as a crutch, limping along with his arm thrown over the saddle.

As he came closer, she froze, leaving the stranger to speak first.

“How far is it into the village?” His voice was deep, as if emerging from the depths of a hollow barrel.

Shaking off her superstition and falling back on her usual courtesy, she replied, “The village is a good half-hour walk from the vicarage gates, and we are some ten minutes from there. Has there been an accident? Are you injured?”

Droplets fell from the gnarled branches, and a gust of cool wind flapped the stranger’s cloak. Penelope wished she could see his eyes beneath the hood. Self-consciously, she tugged her old cloak tighter at the throat, aware that her skirt did not reach her ankles.

“Thor lost a shoe about a mile back, and the leg is one that has only recently mended. I did not wish to strain it with my weight. If you could direct me to the vicarage gate, I shall find my way from there.”

That did not explain his limp, but Penelope politely refused to pry. “It is time I returned. I will show you the way if you do not mind wetting your boots. I failed to mention the walk to the vicarage is through the field and not by road.”

Penelope thought she heard him chuckle as she led him down the path through the orchard. She had not meant the remark to be funny. Some gentlemen were very particular about the polished leather of their expensive boots. Admittedly this man did not wear fashionable Hessians, but good, solid knee boots, yet they looked costly to her eye. Even oddly garbed as he was, she could see the quality of the fabric in his cloak and knew the cost of the high-strung thoroughbred.

“My boots have seen worse than good, clean Hampshire mud. Lead on, my lady.”

My lady! Surely he did not know her. No one around here used her title. It was a quite ridiculous title in any account. It must be his manner of speaking. She would certainly remember if she had been introduced to anyone the size of this man.

“We do not see many strangers in these parts, sir. I meant no insult.” Penelope lifted her skirts as she reached the grassy field, though there was no real need of it. She had already soaked her hem in the longer grasses.

“And none was taken. Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Graham Trevelyan. I will be a guest of the Stanhopes at the manor, should I ever reach there. Would you know how much farther on it would be?”

“I am called Penelope Carlisle, and Stanhope Manor is not so very far if you could ride. I would not recommend walking the distance.”

Considering his pronounced limp, she wondered if it would not be better to lame the horse than himself.

“I trust there is some sort of blacksmith who can shoe the horse in the village?”

“Yes, of course, but the village is the opposite direction of the manor. You will be out of your way.”

Perhaps because she was bored and was eager for company, perhaps because she could not allow someone obviously in pain to walk such a distance, perhaps just out of simple curiosity, Penelope offered her hospitality.

“Why don’t you come in and have tea with us while one of the boys walks your horse to the smithy? I promise the boys are very reliable and will be thrilled to death to be put in charge of such an animal.”

“Your brothers, Miss Carlisle?” His tone showed interest as he glanced down at her.

She turned laughing eyes upward. “One would think so, but no, Mr. Trevelyan, they are just neighbor lads who help me out from time to time, though sometimes I am persuaded their appetites cost me more than wages.”

The vicarage came into view, and Penelope gazed upon its ivy-covered brick walls with fond pride. She had been born and reared here, and though there had been many a time she had railed against the fates for making her poor, she had always loved her home. The neatly tended lawn and shrubbery welcomed them now.

Her guest hesitated at the gate. “Your offer is a tempting one, Miss Carlisle, but perhaps it would be better if I were to go on.”

Penelope pushed the gate open and held it for him. “Fustian. Augusta will be delighted to have company, and I assure you, she makes an excellent chaperone.”

The cowled stranger reluctantly entered, his head turning to take in the cottage, the neatly mended picket fence, and the empty stable at the end of the drive.

“Is your father at home? Perhaps I should speak with him?”

Penelope smiled. “Only if you wish to continue on to the churchyard. My father has been dead this year or more.”

Before she could say more than she should, two lads of eleven and twelve raced each other around the corner from the kitchen garden.

“Penny! Penny! Can we walk him, can we, please?” They ground to a halt before the magnificent thoroughbred, their reverent gazes scarcely noticing the cloaked man.

“George, Thomas, behave yourselves, please. This is Mr. Trevelyan. Make your bows.”

The two scrambled to attention, made short, formal bows, and offered their hands. “How do you do, sir?” came from both suspiciously chocolate-covered mouths.

He shook both grubby hands, then glanced at her. “Do all children always mind you so well, Miss Carlisle?”

“Oh, George and Thomas are good lads. They just need to be reminded of their manners. Do you think you could trust them to walk your horse into the village and back? I will vouch for them.”

“You must promise to walk him both there and back,” he told the boys. “He is much too strong for you to ride, and you will hurt both Thor and yourself should you try.”

“We’ll be careful, sir,” piped both boys.

“Then I will trust you with him. He is as well-behaved as whoever leads him.” Trevelyan slid a walking stick from a sheath on the saddle. He released the horse and handed the reins to the boys.

Leaning on the heavy stick, he watched as they disappeared down the lane, then followed Penelope to the cottage.

Inside, Penelope flung her cloak on a rack in the entry, then turned to similarly dispose of the towering stranger’s. Perplexed that he had not removed it, she wondered if his injury was such that he could not.

She held out her hand in a gesture to help. “We have no servants, unless you wish to call Augusta one. If you would permit me—”

A large gloved hand hesitated over the clasp, and Penelope sensed his searching gaze.

“This is perhaps not a good idea. I do not wish to frighten you. If you will just guide me to the kitchen, I will make myself comfortable there until the boys return.”

Penelope began to understand his hesitation, but she did not know how to ease his fears. Remembering a young man in the village who had been severely maimed on the battlefield, she tried to gauge the stranger’s feelings by this example.

“I am the daughter of a vicar, Mr. Trevelyan. My mother died when I was but twelve, and I have carried out her parish duties ever since, including tending the sick. A vicar and his family come to know all the evil and good, beauty and ugliness of human life. You do not strike me as an evil man, Mr. Trevelyan, and only evil can frighten me.”

“That is a very pretty speech, Miss Carlisle, but I daresay you have never been faced with a visage as beastly as mine is said to be. Few women care to be in the same room with it. None offer to take tea with it. Your kindness momentarily distracted me. Do not let me take advantage of it. Show me the kitchen.”

“Upon my word, you do make it difficult! And what would you do there, terrify Augusta into a witling instead of me? Take off the cloak, sir. I can certainly deal with any beast that the ladies at the manor can.”

At this scolding the stranger unclasped his cloak and shook off his cowl. Defiantly he watched her reaction.

Penelope met his maimed stare without flinching. The one golden eye she could see appeared arrogant and rebellious, but not terrifying. With a black patch covering the other eye, all his intensity centered in this one, and she would not wish to see it angry.

She surveyed the remains of what once might have been a handsome face. Prematurely silver hair surrounded a high brow that pulled into a pucker above the patched eye. A long scar drew the skin together from his temple down over his eye and through his high-boned cheek. The whole side of his face disappeared beneath the mangled tissue of scars, and Penelope wondered how he could open his mouth to speak. His mouth on that side had been savaged.

“You should thank God each day that you are alive,” she stated simply, then held her hand out for the cloak.

“For years, I cursed God each day that I did not die. Do not ask me to make any larger steps just yet.” He surrendered the cloak. When she faced him again, without flinching, he followed her to the parlor.

“I am not my father. I will not preach. Am I permitted to ask in which battle you took your wound?” She showed him a chair at the fireside where he could warm himself. The sound of footsteps down the stone passageway indicated Augusta had heard them and was hurrying this way.

“No battle. I could have accepted a war wound. No, this was a casualty of too much carousing and being in the wrong company at the wrong time. It is rather difficult to accept that one has wasted one’s youth and ruined his future. You are too young and too good to understand that.”

“I am neither very young nor very good, but that is not the topic, is it? Here comes Augusta. I believe she may have scones today.”

Trevelyan turned the mutilated side of his face to the fire as the elderly woman pattered into the room. As Penelope explained the situation, he nodded without turning around.

“I shall fetch the jam from last summer’s berries,” Augusta replied excitedly, apparently seeing nothing amiss in the gentleman’s staring into the fire. “And there is still some of that honey left from Mr. Stillwell’s hives. . .” She drifted out again, leaving the chilly parlor in silence.

“Is she a relative?”

Penelope curled up in the chair opposite his. She saw no reason for formality. “Augusta is better than a relative. Most of my relations are cold, unfeeling people. Augusta is the warmest, cheeriest person I know. I rather think she came with the house. She was here when I was born and has been much a mother to me as my own. I cannot imagine this place without her, though I know she is much older than my father was when he died. Perhaps it is not the good who die young, after all.”

“I’ll argue that,” Trevelyan grumbled, finally turning from the fire. “I and a lot of others like me would have been long dead did it work your way. You must come around to it and admit your Augusta is a wicked woman and your father a saint.”

Momentarily startled, Penelope realized he jested and laughed. “If that be the case, I should prefer to go to hell with the sinners and Augusta. Preserve me from the saints!”

His crooked mouth turned upward in an imitation of a smile. “Surely, you cannot hint the late vicar was less than a saint?”

Penelope lifted her hand to make a gesture, then returned it to her lap. “I will not speak ill of the dead, but he was a man with all the faults of a man. No one would decry him as a saint.”

Augusta bustled into the room carrying a tray and the best china. Penelope held her breath as the contents clattered and clanked under the old woman’s uncertain grip, but she knew better than to offer assistance. In the presence of company, Augusta would have been insulted to have anyone else wait on guests.

“The scones are still warm, my lady. Will there be anything else?”

Penelope caught the stranger’s one visible eyebrow arching at the title, but she offered no explanations. Although they often shared tea in the kitchen, she knew the older woman would refuse to join them now. She exclaimed in delight at the repast dredged up from nearly bare larders and gave her companion a warm smile.

“I do not know what I would do without you, Gusta. The scones looks delicious. If you don’t mind, I’ll serve Mr. Trevelyan.” Her broad wink hinted of the nice coze they would have later to discuss the afternoon’s occurrences.

Augusta returned the wink with a grin and a quick curtsy and hurried off, her fragile frame looking as if a wind could lift her from her feet.

When Penelope turned to face her guest again, he gave her a quizzical look. “My lady?”

This time, Penelope did gesture eloquently. “Baroness. Penelope, Baroness Wyndgate, if you please.”

CHAPTER 2

GRAHAM, Viscount Trevelyan studied his too-slender hostess in her outdated, girlishly modest white gown and felt the first stirring of an outrageous idea. It had been a long time since any woman had captured his jaded interest, but charming as she was, it was more Lady Penelope’s background than her person that fascinated him.

“A title and good looks will give you entree to most of London’s fashionable houses. Why are you not whirling about the city, setting your cap for a wealthy young man?”

The baroness sent him an amused look as she poured the tea. “Putting aside your flattery, wouldn’t I make quite a sight whirling about the city in this gown? Provincial that I am, even I am aware the fashions have changed. And I am much too old to be setting my cap for a young man. Any day now I expect to retire to one.”

“Too old?” He raised his unscarred eyebrow. “Then I had best make my funeral arrangements whilst I can still toddle about. You are funning me.”

A knock at the door intruded. Before she could rise to answer it, the door exploded open. Two golden-haired children tumbled laughingly into the passage, followed by their harried mother who peeped around the corner into the parlor. Spying Penelope first, she gave a visible sigh of relief while the two youngsters raced down the hall to the kitchen.

“Penny! I am so glad you are here. I must go into the village. . .” She stopped at the sight of Trevelyan, even though he’d turned back to the fire. “Oh, I am sorry, you have company. Excuse me, the twins begged so, but I’ll gather them up. . .”

“Fustian! The twins will be fine here. Mr. Trevelyan has injured his horse and himself and is resting before traveling on to the manor. If you would, when you are in the village, have one of the Widow Baker’s boys carry a message out to the manor telling them where he is and that he will arrive as soon as his horse is shod. Is there any other message you need send, sir?” She turned to her guest.

“No, that is much more than is necessary. They will not worry about me.” Trevelyan acknowledged the other woman’s presence without revealing his face. “I will thank you in advance should you stop by the smithy and be certain two small boys are warned again not to ride Thor.”

“Of course, sir. I will be more than happy to. I will tell the twins to remain in the kitchen and not trouble you.” The woman sent Penelope an anxious, puzzled look.

The twins erupted into the room again, each holding a sugary biscuit in one hand. “Penny! Play games with us!”

Trevelyan flinched, but his hostess grasped the empty hands of both six-year olds and steered them toward the door. “Kiss Mama good-bye first, then sit yourselves properly on the settee where you belong.”

Obediently the twins did as told, and their mother was persuaded to take her leave.

WHEN PENNY RETURNED to the parlor, the twins were happily whispering between themselves. Trevelyan had retreated entirely behind the chair back, not easy for a man his size to do.

“John, Janie, I have company for tea today so I cannot play. Do you wish to sit with Gusta and play with the kittens or stay and have tea like a proper lady and gentleman?”

Janie’s eyes widened to blue saucers. “We can have tea and scones and sit in the front parlor? May I pour tea?”

Her brother gave her a look of irritation. “Who wants to sit in an old parlor? I want to play with the kittens.”

“Very well, John, go on back to the kitchen and tell Augusta we will need another setting in here.”

When the boy ran off, Penelope took a deep breath and muttered a silent prayer before introducing the terrifying gentleman to the little girl. He would not like it, she already knew, but she would not turn away old friends for new. “Janie, I would like you to meet Mr. Trevelyan, my friend. He has been in an accident and hurt his face. You may pour tea when Augusta brings the cup and saucer.”

Speaking in firm, no-nonsense tones, she answered Janie’s questions before they could be asked and diverted her attention before she could stare. The little girl bobbed a curtsy before the silver-haired gentleman, gave his crumpled face a look of curiosity, then climbed up in the chair Penelope pulled up for her. She crossed her hands politely in her lap and waited for Penelope to sit.

“May I have a scone now or must I wait for Gusta?”

Trevelyan watched in apparent fascination as the golden-haired hoyden turned to model child. Even the child’s surreptitious glances toward him did not divert his captivation.

“You are very quiet, Mr. Trevelyan. Have I offended you by inviting another guest? We are a most informal household, if you have not already surmised.”

“No, I am not offended, merely amazed. How do you do it? It is as if you wave a magic wand and turn little monsters into fairy creatures. I have never seen the like.”

Janie took umbrage at what she perceived to be a slur to her best behavior. “I am not no little monster. Aunt Penny says I am a fallen angel.”

Penelope covered her laughter with one hand and sent a look of amusement to her guest, who received it in the same spirit. A grin twisted his mouth.

“You most certainly are, Miss Jane. I have a daughter just about your age, so I know all about angels.”

“You do? Can she come play with me sometime?”

IT HAD BEEN a long time since Trevelyan had shared laughter with anyone, man or woman, and the comfort of this tiny cottage relaxed his usual wariness. Even as he chatted nonsense with the little girl, he felt the lady’s questioning gaze on him. He did not attempt to explain. There was plenty of time to do so in the future.

When he finally departed the enchanted cottage and arrived at the manor in time for a late dinner, he set about finding the answers to his questions. The Stanhopes were both family and friends, and he had no fear of their sympathy or horror.

His sister entered the study to perch on the arm of his chair and kiss his hair as he finished his brandy. “The city must be dreadful this year to bring you all the way out here. You never visit, you know. How is Alexandra?”

“Well, as usual, and you are blooming, Adelaide. Married life suits you, though how you can isolate yourself out here I cannot know.”

“Fie! I know you too well, Trev. You adore the Hall, and if it were not for your evil pursuits in the city, you would bury yourself alive in the country. If you wished to escape London, what brings you here instead of home?”

“That is a cruel taunt, Adelaide, and you know it. The Hall is yours anytime you want it. I cannot go home again. Let us change the subject. I notice you have invited any number of your illustrious neighbors for the evening. Why do you not invite the baroness?”

“The baroness?” Adelaide looked momentarily bewildered. Younger than him by some years, she still had a child’s blond fairness, though her face spoke of mature intelligence. “Oh, you mean the vicar’s daughter! Whatever made you ask of her?”

“I will tell the story later. I did not mistake, she is a baroness is she not?”

“Oh, you did not mistake. She comes of very good family, very few of them left now, I understand. The father was a younger son of a younger son or some such when he became vicar. Carlisle unexpectedly inherited the Wyndgate title and a small sum a few years back. Hied himself off to London where he drank and gambled to excess and was scarcely seen again until they carried him back in a coffin. I don’t know why Lord Chase never turned the Carlisles out of the vicarage. I suppose Chase never was much of one for religion. The new Lord Chase is a different story, I hear. Now that you bring the thought to mind, I heard some mention young Samuel was asking around about a man suitable for the position. He’s rebuilding that little church over the hill, you know. Oh, dear, I wonder where that will leave the little baroness?”

Years of his sister’s company had taught Trevelyan to sift through the maze of her thoughts and follow their direction. He did not like to think of that cheerful cottage in the hands of some stiff-necked parson, but that seemed to be the message Adelaide conveyed.

“I daresay she has relations to go to if worse comes to worst, but you have not answered my question. Why did you not invite the baroness this evening?”

Adelaide ruffled his hair and rose. “I sometimes think the accident muddled your brains more than your face, big brother. I may invite her as much as I like, but she will not come because she has no clothes. Now make yourself at home and quit scowling like some ferocious beast. Lady Chatham just glanced in here, and she looks ready to faint.”

PENELOPE EXPRESSED no surprise when Graham Trevelyan appeared on her doorstep the next morning. Over a spirited game of chess, he gave her the latest gossip of the courtship between Princess Charlotte and the Prince of Orange, and she advised him of the best place in the village to send mending and to obtain medicinal herbs.

When he appeared a second and third day, Penelope’s curiosity almost overcame her good breeding. She had learned that this oddly reclusive man disliked meeting strangers and hated to be an object of pity or rude attention, but the steady stream of visitors through the cottage did not seem to deter his visits. She sensed his need for companionship, but surely the manor folk could give him that. Whatever his reason, she enjoyed the diversion, and she welcomed him, until the day she refused a written invitation to Stanhope Manor.

She heard the furious gallop of his horse but did not anticipate the angry gleam of his golden eye when she answered his knock.

Stalking into the passageway and slamming the door behind him, Trevelyan waved the letter with her refusal beneath her nose. “Why? Is this an example of country manners? I may visit here but you may not visit me? I thought to offer you some recompense for the hospitality you have bestowed upon me, and this is what I receive in reply?”

“Do come in, Lord Trevelyan.” Penelope expressed her anger with irony, emphasizing the title she had learned not from him but from gossip. “Or will you no longer darken my doorstep because I cannot cross yours?”

“Cannot? Or will not? Has my family caused some offense that you cannot accept an honest invitation? I offered to send around a carriage so you need not walk the distance. I even asked that you bring Augusta so you could be certain I had no evil intent. Why can you not cross my doorstep?”

His rage carried him into the parlor where the combination of his massive size, swirling cloak, and heavy walking stick threatened the row of figurines on the bric-a-brac. He wore his silver hair much too long for the current style, and it escaped about his forehead in wild dishevelment, emphasizing more than ever his resemblance to a maimed lion.

“Upon my word, my lord, you will make yourself ill before you terrify me. Roaring may work very well with frightened servants, but do not try it here. I have excused you much, but I will not excuse your rudeness in my own home. There is no law anywhere that compels me to accept your invitation as if it were a royal summons. You have received all the answer I intend to give and more than you deserve. Good day, sir.”

Penelope stalked out of the room, leaving him to dismiss himself.

She buried her face in her hands as the front door slammed. Pride goeth before a fall, they said, and her fall would be a mighty one if the height of her pride served as any measure. But she could not bear the titters of the manor’s inhabitants as the Baroness Wyndgate was introduced as a country mouse wearing threadbare skirts. She did not mind her looks so much on her own ground, but to be laughed at by people who were supposed to be her equals was more than pride could allow.

She hoped she had not wounded the viscount’s feelings too badly. He meant well, she was certain, and obviously he had been hurt many times before to act with such rage, but she simply could not countenance his behavior. He had been less than honest with her by not giving his full title, as if she would have taken advantage if she had known. He had been given what he deserved, but she could not help be happy about it.

The next day, the winds of gossip brought the first harbinger of disaster. Penelope set aside concern over the viscount’s absence, and before she worked herself into a panic, strode across the fields to confront Lord Samuel Chase.

After an hour in his company, Penelope reeled from the mansion in shock. She did not know how she ended up wandering up the hill to the orchard once again. This time, the mist was more of a drizzle, but she scarcely felt the damp as she stared over the familiar vista. From here she could see all of the countryside, the village like little toy houses in the distance, the vicarage just beyond that grove of trees. A welcoming swirl of smoke drifted from the chimney, and she nearly cried at the thought of never seeing that cheery kitchen again.

Lead lay where her heart belonged. The vicarage was her home. Augusta was her family. How could she part from both of them? How would she tell Augusta she no longer had a home?

That hurt the worst. There had to be a way. No one could be so cruel as to tear an old lady from the only home she had ever known.

But his very pious lordship had not sounded particularly concerned for the fate of a single old woman in the face of his grandiose plans of restoring church and faith to these benighted denizens.

The twig she held between her fingers snapped. Her life had been one series of blows after another, but she had always had the cottage and Augusta’s shoulder to cry on. What cruel fate had stripped her of what little she had left?

A different fate in the form of a shadowy hulk materialized out of the mist. This time, however, Penelope knew his name, and she did not bother to approach him. She did not need one more humiliation this day.

The viscount placed his weight on the walking stick and dragged his stiff leg until he reached Penelope’s side.

“You have heard,” he stated without preamble.

“Was I the last to know?” she asked bitterly. “Did you stay to watch me fall or help to bring me down?”

“That’s unfair, Penelope.” It was the first time he had called her by her given name. “I heard rumors that first night. It is not easy for me to make acquaintance with strangers, but I have spent these last few days trying to talk him out of it. Lord Chase is quite a determined young man.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she turned them to his scarred but troubled visage. “The cottage is his. I have struggled to pay the rent on it for years. I cannot say he is wrong in asking us to leave, but how can I tell Augusta? She came there when she was but a child. She knows no other place. I can go to one of my cousins, I suppose. They might resent another mouth to feed, but I can make myself useful. What promise can I make of that for Augusta? She is old and frail. To uproot her would be cruel enough. To force her to work in a stranger’s home and be treated as a servant would break her heart.” She choked back a sob and turned away.

“His noble lordship has granted that if he sells the cottage, it will enable him to build a new and better one closer to the church,” Trevelyan said.

Penelope uttered a hopeless laugh. “Fine, and would he sell it for what I pay in rent each year? Would that buy him a nice, new vicarage for his pious parson? Do you know how many dozens of eggs, how many pints of jam it takes to make that rent? If it were not for the small sum my mother left for me, we would starve. And even that small sum cannot buy a house.”

The viscount looked prepared to be stoned as he replied, “I could buy it for you.”

Penelope threw him an incredulous look, then shook her head in anguish, and started down the path to the cottage. “I thank you for the thought, but you know I cannot allow that.”

Trevelyan could not keep up with her hasty steps. Instead, he hoped she would hear him before he had time to change his mind. “You could if you were my wife.”

Penelope’s steps slowed. She sank to a fallen log and wrapped her arms around her knees.

Understanding her dilemma, Trevelyan eased into a position against the tree in front of her. She wore no hood or bonnet as usual, and rain dripped from a loosened curl. She had lost the sparkle of life he had so admired. He knew what little he had to offer would not return her joy, but it was a choice, of sorts.

“You do not need to answer immediately. I have had all week to think of it and you have not. I understand Lord Chase has not yet promised the vicarage to anyone. There is time.”

“All week?” Penelope peered upward. “You courted me all week, knowing this day might come?”

Keeping his scarred face in shadow, Trevelyan tried to explain. “I told you I have a daughter. She has never known a mother, only a succession of housekeepers and nannies and governesses. Because I was so long in recovering from my injuries, she scarcely knows me, and I terrify her. She is a very quiet, sensitive child, and she quails at the sight of me. She needs a mother. She needs someone permanent in her life, as you have Augusta. Should anything happen to me, she would have no one. You offer the perfect solution, Penelope. You were meant to be a mother. Can you not consider my daughter a little when you decide our fate?”

He had no right to force her to make such choices.

But force her, he did.

CHAPTER 3

THE GILT-FRAMED LOOKING glass reflected a white face and shoulders above an even whiter lace-edged night shift. Distraught, Penelope wondered if this day had finally made a ghost of her. She pinched her thin cheeks and a spot of red appeared, but in the light of two tapers, the effect did not enhance her complexion.

Strands of gold glinted through her pale brown hair, and she wondered if she ought to let down her heavy chignon or plait it as she usually did before retiring. She desperately tried to recall the few romances she had read, but she had no memory of one mentioning what happened to the heroine’s hair on her wedding night.

She began removing pins while watching the closed door to the next chamber, fearful of the moment when that door should open. She jumped at every imagined noise, and the thick strands of her hair were soon knotted and unmanageable.

She murmured curses a vicar’s daughter shouldn’t know as she reached for the familiarity of her ivory-backed brush. Some unseen maid must have unpacked her few things while her new husband had been introducing her to his London household.

A pang of homesickness struck, and Penelope bit her lip to prevent crying out. At home now Augusta would be brushing her hair, and they would be discussing the Smiths’ new baby or the time to plant the spring onions. She would be with friends in the familiarity of her shabby room, instead of this elegant but unknown chamber. Augusta would untangle this wicked mane and soothe her fears—some of them, at least. But Augusta had chosen to stay behind, not wanting to leave the home she loved nor intrude upon the newlyweds.

Remembering her fearsome bridegroom preparing himself beyond the other door, Penelope hastened to make order of her hair. As she brushed, she studied her night shift’s low neckline and wondered nervously if she should not have chosen another gown. Would such lack of modesty entice or enrage the stranger she had married?

But Augusta had made this gown for her wedding night, and it was the most beautiful thing Penelope owned. If only for this one night, she looked almost pretty.

It did not seem to matter to her new husband that she had been an old maid at twenty-two, but it mattered to Penelope. Men preferred young girls. She felt certain his first wife must have been young. How would she compare? It would have been easier if she were some young ingénue head-over-heels in love. There ought to be some tingling of anticipation, some hope of love to brighten this moment, but she felt only apprehension.

What was taking Trevelyan so long? If he would only come, perhaps she would remember what madness had possessed her to agree to this marriage.

Glancing around the shadow-enshrouded grandeur of the room he had brought her to, Penelope knew deep within her what she had done, but her heart had not yet accepted it. In a few minutes she would give her body to a man she scarcely knew, whom she could not and never would love, and her heart and mind and body all screamed denial.

Not that she knew much of what happened between man and wife. Her mother had died before she reached an age when such explanations would normally come, and her father would never have thought of making such explanations even had he lived. And poor Augusta—well, she had tried, dear thing, but Penelope had learned more from barn animals than Augusta could teach her. That little bit of knowledge only multiplied her fears, not just of the act, but of the man himself.

Not knowing if she should wait in the curtain-hung bed or sip the wine on the table, Penelope stirred the glowing embers in the hearth into small flames. She shivered even so, and her eyes filled with tears.

GRAHAM’S SHOULDERS drooped at the sight of his bride’s despondency as she stared into the fire. Exhausted, she had slept in his arms for almost the entire carriage ride to London, and the memory lingered. Her warmth had stirred a protectiveness he had not expected, a protectiveness he had not felt for many years. He had chosen this woman because of her maturity and independence, but he had forgotten how fragile and innocent a young woman could be.

She had never been from her home before. He should not have made her leave on their wedding day. But she had refused to go to his sister’s manor without a trousseau, and he could not impose on the limited resources of the vicarage. The choice had been Penelope’s, but she had only chosen the lesser of two evils with each decision that had led to this moment.

With a sigh of resignation, Graham rapped his walking stick against the hardwood floor and proceeded into the room.

Penelope leapt, startled, from her seat. She had not heard the door open, or noticed his approach. He had a way of moving silently that did not match his size or lameness. Hair tumbling over her barely concealed breasts, she felt naked beneath her husband’s appraising stare. She had never worn anything so revealing in her life, and certainly had she never stood before a man in such disarray. She could not raise her eyes to meet his.

“All women should look as you do when they come to their husbands on their wedding night.”

Did she hear a note of regret in that gruff voice? Penelope raised her gaze, prepared to flee at any untoward movement, but Trevelyan merely rested his weight against his stick and studied her. He had doffed his formal frock coat and cravat and replaced them with a deep green satin robe. She studied his powerful, stockinged legs, then the glove he still wore on his left hand. She had never seen him remove the glove. One more thing she did not understand about this man.

“I am trying. . .very hard, to be a proper wife, but my instructions have been few, I fear.” She said this less smoothly than she had hoped.

Graham caressed a strand of her hair, then gestured toward the chair she had just vacated. “Sit. There are a few things we should have discussed before now, but they did not seem proper topics for an unmarried maiden. You may still be maiden, but you are most certainly married now, for better or worse.”

Trying to conceal her nervousness, Penelope took the chair indicated. Out of habit, she curled her feet up under her. She did not understand the slight upturn of her husband’s lips, but it gave her strength enough to return his gaze. She wished he were not of such a formidable size.

“Penelope, stop looking at me as if I had suddenly grown two horns and a tail. I do not intend to touch you this night or any other night. Does that satisfy some of your fears?”

She blushed as Trevelyan loomed over her. “I am not sure I understand, my lord.” She hesitated, hoping he would help her, but he only waited for her to continue. “I. . . We are man and wife. I agreed to that. You need not. . .” She stammered to a halt, unable to finish.

Graham poured a glass of wine and handed it to her. “You could at least learn my name now that we are married. Most people call me Gray, a rather apt appellation, you must agree.” He ran his hand through his thick silver hair.

Penelope took the glass and almost smiled. “I prefer Graham. It sounds very distinguished. I think I can manage that command. Are there any others?”

“Are you a genie who will obey my every whim? My wishes are few, but rather impossible, of course.” He leaned against the bed’s edge, keeping a safe distance.

“If I am a genie, I am not very good at answering my own wishes, but I shall try my best to answer yours.” This half-jesting manner of speaking they had fallen into from the first relaxed Penelope to a degree. Talking was something she knew how to do. If she did not look at him, she could almost forget where she was and what was expected of her. She could pretend they sat over the tea tray in the cottage.

“Then we will test your strengths on very small commands, at first. Call me Graham, do not interrupt me until I finish, then say, ‘your wish is my command,’ and hop off to bed and sleep.”

Pressing her lips tight to keep from smiling, Penelope did as told.

“You could have at least said, ‘Yes, Graham,’” he complained with a hint of self-mockery. “Well, then, let me try to say this as politely as I am able. This is London. You will be moving in circles a little different from the one you are accustomed to. Their customs may seem a trifle odd, but they’re all for the best, under the circumstances. You have heard of marriages of convenience?”

The smile slipped away, but Penelope nodded. “Yes, Graham.”

This bit of spirit seemed to reassure him, and he continued. “That is what we have. I wanted a mother for Alexandra, and you wanted a home for Augusta. We have accomplished that. You are very young and inexperienced, and I have no intention of taking advantage of that fact. I want you to learn about London, have the coming out you should rightfully have had, feel the freedom to fall in love as you will. All I ask in return is that you be discreet, that you do nothing to impair your relationship as mother to Alexandra, and that you not interfere with my manner of living. I think I know you well enough to trust you in that.”

Young? He thought her young? A dozen questions danced in her head, but she remembered his command. She nodded her head. “Yes, Graham. Your wish is my command.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Smiling sadly, he dragged himself from the bedroom.

Closing the door between them, Trevelyan leaned against it. With effort, he pushed himself upright again and rang for his manservant. Without waiting for a reply, he peeled off his glove and reached for the gargoyle guarding the heavy wardrobe by the window. A grating noise rose within. Leaning his walking stick against the wall, he threw open the wardrobe door and vanished inside.

The portly servant who appeared shortly afterward was not surprised to find the chamber empty. Closing the wardrobe doors and securing the chamber locks, he settled on a long settee and waited.

WHETHER FROM WINE OR EXHAUSTION, Penelope slept soundly in her grand bed that night. She woke to the distinct impression that she was no longer alone. Judging by the light behind her eyelids, it was daylight, but she feared to open her eyes. She held still, trying to find the source of the impression. She sensed the bed was empty of anyone but herself, and she gave a mental sigh of relief. There could not be anything more frightening in a London townhouse than her husband. She would have to wake and see.

Her first full sight of her new home left her awestruck. Pale blue satin draperies looped about her bed, and a matching comforter kept her snug. A veil of fine gauze hid the room from clear view, but she could detect long windows and a pillow-filled window seat. It would be easy enough to lie here and pretend she was a princess, but it wasn’t in her nature to be idle.

She drew aside the veil of gauze and immediately encountered the dark gaze of an elfin child perched in a blue and gold brocade chair in the corner. The child did not speak as they studied each other.

The girl could be no more than five or six, but her thin features held an unexpected maturity. Black hair tumbled about a heart-shaped face, but Penelope noted a resemblance to the father in the strong line of her jaw and the set of her thin lips. Quiet and sensitive she might be, but Penelope was willing to wager an obstinacy and temper to match her father’s lurked behind that innocent exterior.

The child broke the silence first. “Are you my new mama?”

Word traveled as quickly in London as in the village, Penelope surmised, searching for the proper reply. “I have always wanted a daughter. Do you think we’d suit?”

Alexandra’s face broke into an enchanting and unexpected wreath of smiles. “Will you take me to the park?”

“I should think so, as soon as I find out how. I’ve never been to London before.”

“I’ve been to the park before,” she declared. “I saw a little girl there riding a pony. Can I ride a pony, too?”

“I don’t know why not. Do you know how to ride?” Penelope wondered in which of the massive wardrobes her dressing gown had been stored, but it seemed more important to learn about Alexandra than to look for it.

The child shook her head negatively. “But I know I can if I just have a pony,” she added defiantly.

“I can’t promise you a pony. That’s for your papa to say,” Penelope said.

Alexandra grew paler. “He won’t give me one. I’ve been a bad girl.”

At just that moment the connecting door opened. Without a look back, Alexandra dashed for the hall door on the far side of the large chamber. Penelope cast aside the covers and set her feet to the Turkish carpet, catching Alexandra just as Graham entered.

He remarked dryly, “I see you have met my daughter.”

Penelope regretted her instinctive reaction to the girl’s flight, but now that it was done, she intended to make the best of it. She sat back down on the bed and held the child in her lap.

“We were having an interesting conversation before you came in.” Penelope pushed Alexandra’s hair back from her eyes, but the child buried her face against her shoulder and wouldn’t look up. “Alexandra, why don’t you ask your papa about the pony? If you want something badly enough, you have to be willing to fight for it.”

“I can’t,” came the whisper from her shoulder.

Penelope glanced from the child’s head to the father’s expressionless face. Her heart went out to both of them, and she prayed she had the ability to bring them together again. If Trevelyan could save her home and Augusta, surely she could show this terrified child the love behind that wounded face.

“Alexandra would like to be able to ride in the park, but it seems she has no pony and cannot ride. I know nothing of London, Graham. Is it possible for little girls to go riding in the park?”

“I see no reason why not. She will need to learn to ride, first.”

Alexandra’s head jerked upward, and she peered suspiciously over her shoulder. Saying nothing, she clung tighter to Penelope.

“I can, I know I can,” she whispered.

“I could teach her, Graham. I’m not a great equestrienne, but I can certainly teach her to ride a pony. Could it be arranged?”

He studied the small dark head turning with a wary look of hope in his direction. A similar look appeared on his face as he met Penelope’s eyes. “I will have my groom hunt for a suitable mount for both of you today. There shouldn’t be any difficulty.”

The tension left the child’s small frame. She abruptly scrambled down from her seat. With a quick, bobbing curtsy halfway between her father and Penelope, she said formally, “Thank you very much. Mrs. Haywood will be looking for me.”

This time, when she ran for the door, Penelope let her go. When she turned back to Graham, she found him studying her, and she remembered her attire. Blushing, she pulled the covers up, to find her efforts rewarded with his half smile.

“You will do very well, Lady Trevelyan. Shall I have your maid come up now that my daughter has introduced herself in her own inimitable manner?”

Penelope frowned. “I think I must talk with this Mrs. Haywood. Is she the governess?”

“Yes, a very respectable widowed lady. She has done well given Alexandra’s propensity for disappearing at any hour of the night or day. Shall I send for her?”

“Not yet.” Penelope wriggled under his gaze, not certain if she should reveal her suspicions. “Alexandra said you would not give her a pony because she was a bad girl. Have you told her that?”

Graham looked startled. “Me? The child runs every time I come in sight. I would have no idea if she were good, bad, or indifferent, no less the opportunity to tell her so.”

“That’s what I thought. Well, I will talk to Mrs. Haywood and take care of that shortly.”

“Devil take it, Penelope, what are you trying to tell me? That the prim, upright Mrs. Haywood has been calling my daughter a bad girl? From all reports, the child is incorrigible, but bad will suffice. I admit, calling her bad does not sound like a healthy practice, but what else can you say?” He sounded exasperated.

Penelope returned his irritation. “The child is neither bad nor a model of good behavior, as any child that age would be. What concerns me is that she connects you with her bad behavior. I very much suspect Mrs. Haywood has threatened to hand her over to you every time she misbehaves, rather like the mothers in the village threaten their children with hobgoblins if they don’t behave.”

Graham uttered a curse that was new to Penelope’s repertoire, but her curiosity as to the origin of the word did not prevent her leaping from the bed once again to keep him from storming off after the governess. She spread her arms over the door and met his glare.

“If she is a good governess, you do not want to lose her. Let me take care of this, Graham.”

The fire in that one golden eye warned he was severely tempted to bring his stick down over her head, but taking a deep breath, he refrained. “Only with the exception that if you find she is the one who has made my daughter fear me, you will allow me the pleasure of tearing her limb from limb.”

“Thank goodness I never met you before you learned to curb your temper. We would most certainly not have got on at all.” Penelope stalked from her position before the door and threw open the wardrobe. Somewhere she had to find her dressing gown. “And I won’t tell you anything if you’re going to lose your temper with some poor old woman who doesn’t know any better. People can be very stupid sometimes, but that is no reason to tear them limb from limb.”

“What happened to my wish is your command?”

“I’m still working on it.” The wardrobe muffled her reply.

“Work harder,” he murmured from right behind her.

Before Penelope could react, a strong arm caught her by the waist and lifted her into the wardrobe. Overwhelmed by the heat and strength of him, she failed to even peep a protest at the mishandling. She heard him call out as the door closed, “I’ll send your maid to rub the magic lantern,” and then it went dark.

ONCE RELEASED from her embarrassing imprisonment, Penelope did not see her husband again that day. He had apparently made it known to the staff that they were to defer to her wishes on all household matters, for she spent the remainder of the day answering questions that had long been neglected by the master of the house.

She also had a long talk with the prim Mrs. Haywood who objected coldly to any interference in her realm. When Penelope made it clear that dismissal would result if she threatened the child again, the governess hastily reassessed her position. They parted with the decision that Penelope would be the one to deal with misbehavior.

Even as she took the reins of the household in hand, Penelope could not let go of the embarrassment of being locked in a wardrobe on her wedding morning. That the maid hurried in shortly after did not excuse Graham’s behavior, though by the end of the day Penelope was able to look at it with humor. Still, if he thought she truly was a foolish girl who would accept such treatment, he might as well learn otherwise right now.

When she learned that the cook routinely sent up a cold supper platter to his lordship in the evenings, Penelope offered to carry the tray herself. The kitchen staff approved with knowing smirks, but when she also removed a large measure of pepper from the condiments cabinet, they gaped with incomprehension.

Since her new husband had ignored her all day and made it clear that this was a marriage in name only, Penelope felt confident that he had not changed his routine on her account. She knocked on his chamber door, but only John, his manservant appeared.

“I have brought Graham his supper. Is he not feeling well?” she asked solicitously. She knew the household spoke of her husband as an invalid, but other than his handicap, she had seen little evidence of ill health.

“His lordship has taken to his bed for the evening, my lady.” The portly servant gazed upon her with a look much like sympathy. “The traveling has caused him much pain. He always takes to his bed after a journey.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, and she had second thoughts about the pepper-laden meal. “Perhaps I should fetch some liniment and compresses. I know how to nurse the sick.”

John remained adamant. “His lordship would not want it. He will be fine by morning. I will take the tray and place it by his bed in case he wakes during the night.”

She had no choice but to hand over the meal and return downstairs. Sometimes she was too hasty in her judgments. Graham’s irascibility might mean that he felt unwell. She would have to be more careful in the future.

Despite these charitable thoughts, the picture of his reaction to the sabotaged meal made her smile. He deserved that.

In the empty bedchamber John helped himself to the supper his lordship seldom ate. Within minutes his eyes began to water. His throat and tongue turned to fire, and even an entire glass of wine did not quench the flames. Wondering if he had been poisoned, he sniffed the food and instantly sneezed half of it off the plate.

Alternately sneezing and gulping wine, the tormented man had reverted to a limp rag with a red nose slumped in his chair by the time the viscount crept back into the chamber. Graham took one look at his miserable manservant and lifted the cold remains of his supper to his nose. He sneezed and heaved the dish into the hearth, but a smile twisted his lips as he realized the deviousness of his bride’s revenge.

At the sight of John’s miserable look he chuckled, and at the man’s malevolent glare, Graham roared with laughter.

CHAPTER 4

THE NEXT DAY Penelope decided Graham’s revenge was more fiendish than she could possibly have imagined. Shortly after breakfast she was inundated by a parade of tradesmen, milliners, glove-makers, jewelers, seamstresses, cobblers, and modistes he had ordered to attend to her wardrobe.

She had nary a minute’s quiet for the remainder of the day. Not only must she try everything on and be measured and pinned and stuck and turned about like a cloth doll, but she had to endure the audience of half the staff at one time or another as they besieged her with questions about menus and linens and minor household emergencies. Whether Graham intended revenge or generosity, she did not care by mid-afternoon. If he had put in an appearance, she would have scarred the other half of his face.

Instead Alexandra materialized like a magic fairy. Perched on a dresser out of the chaos, she bedecked herself with stray feathers, over-large kid gloves, and a scrap of pink satin that had been thrown aside.

Penelope reluctantly ordered muslin gowns for day, a pair of gloves, and a hat and pelisse. The modiste protested that wardrobe was barely suitable for a servant, that a viscountess must have much, much more.

“I cannot possibly need more! Perhaps a gown for dinner, that gold crepe is very fine, but I cannot justify more. Lord Trevelyan does not entertain, there is no need. . .”

Over her protests a basted gown of lilac silk was pinned in place. The mirror revealed a fashionable lady with a neckline scooped low over her breasts, but Penelope could no more imagine herself appearing in public like that than she could imagine doing somersaults before the Regent.

“I can’t wear it,” she insisted, picking at the pins in an attempt to free herself.

“Oh, no, my lady, it is perfect for you!” the modiste exclaimed, gesturing for a jeweler waiting nearby.

The clerk rushed forward with a display of his wares and the modiste chose a splendid display of amethysts and diamonds, placing it around Penelope’s throat to demonstrate the effect. “See? A gown like this is made for royalty. His lordship will be proud of you.”

“His lordship will think me a very expensive investment should I indulge myself so,” Penelope scoffed. “I would have to have his permission before I could possibly agree.”

Figuring that would sabotage the saleswoman’s plans, Penelope waved away the necklace. The chances of these people daring to face her husband seemed small. She had already learned enough from the staff to know Trevelyan seldom ventured from the house, that he used his secretary and footmen to carry out his business by letter. Should he walk in here now, in all likelihood these tradespeople would flee in terror.

She had not reckoned on Alexandra. From her corner the child piped, “Papa is downstairs in the study. Why don’t you ask him? If he gives me a pony, he ought to give you something pretty. Can I have a frock just like that when I grow up?”

The modiste stepped back triumphantly as Penelope struggled to answer the child’s question. “Of course you may have nice frocks when you grow up, but we need to find you a riding habit right now. I don’t think we should disturb Papa.”

“Oh, he won’t mind,” Alexandra announced cheerfully. “He sent me up here to see how you were doing. I’ll fetch him if you like.”

Penelope contemplated the satisfaction of allowing the child to do just that, but it would be unfair to Graham to expose him to these people. There was nothing for it. She would have to ask him just what he intended for her to buy.

With a sigh of resignation she lifted the lilac skirt, and in stocking feet traipsed off to Graham’s study.

He rose slowly to his feet when she entered, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. “I see Madame has had time to whip something up for you already. She is a clever lady. Come closer and turn around. Let me see.”

Penelope hadn’t expected this sort of interest in her wardrobe from a man who seldom kept his coat on and who wore only the plainest of cravats and waistcoats. She advanced at his command, spinning around to show the elegant frills in the back, then curtsying wryly.

“I think it a trifle indecent even for a genie, my lord, but I promised I would ask your opinion. I did not mean to disturb you on so trivial a matter, but your daughter seemed to think you had some interest.”

As she realized Graham’s gaze lingered overlong on her daring décolletage, she hastily retreated toward the shadows. She cursed herself for not thinking to bring a shawl.

“I most definitely have an interest. I like to see where my money goes. It seems well spent in this case. It’s a decided improvement over those drab high-necked muslins of yours. Have Madame make up as many as she likes. It might behoove me to come down to dinner occasionally to see what Madame creates, if not just to keep an eye on the seasonings.”

Penelope had the grace to blush, but before she could reply, a knock on the door interrupted. A footman waited, card tray in hand. Graham glanced at him with impatience.

“What is it?” His growl was so curt, the servant literally shook in his boots, but his reply caused an even greater roar. “Guy Hamilton? That’s impossible! Have him in. No, wait,” he glanced toward Penelope in her scanty gown and stocking feet. “Tell him to—” But it was already too late.

A tall, slender gentleman in his early thirties swept through the door, his dark blue eyes seeking and finding Graham. Penelope noted his blond hair did not have the latest fashion of dishevelment, but gleamed smooth above a high brow, intelligent eyes, and well-formed features. His blue superfine fit perfectly, revealing wide shoulders and narrow hips concealed in tight, buff pantaloons. He seemed the epitome of all a London gentleman should be, and he greeted Graham without pity or condescension. She liked him at once.

“Gray, you damned devil,” the stranger hooted, “I had been told you were all but on your death bed, and look at you! I knew it had to be lies. Now tell me—”

Graham cut him off, gesturing toward Penelope in the shadows. “Penelope, I would like you to meet an ancient friend of mine, Sir Percival Hamilton.”

Hamilton’s gaze swiveled to Penelope as Graham concluded, “Guy, I would like you to meet my wife.”

“Sir Percival, so pleased to meet you.” She held out her hand as steadily as she could. She was unaccustomed to greeting strangers in evening gown and stocking feet.

“Lady Trevelyan, this is a delight.” He bowed deeply over her hand. “If you had warned me this would be a formal affair, I would have dressed accordingly.”

“We were discussing fashion, Hamilton. My wife is something of a prude and objects to my taste in gowns. I need not ask your opinion of it.” This last had a wry note as Graham settled back into his desk chair.

“If you do not mind my saying so, the color compliments your lovely eyes, my lady. For what occasion is it to be worn? I must be certain to obtain an invitation to see the full effect on the male populace of London.”

Penelope hesitated, glancing to Graham for aid. She had no occasion for such a dress, but surely this man ought to know that? Graham came to her rescue, but not in the manner expected.

“Penelope has never had a proper coming out. I thought perhaps I ought to invite a few friends over so she might be introduced.” There was a wariness to his voice as he watched Hamilton.

“A few friends will not suit for a gown like that. You will need to have a crush of some sort to do it justice. No one even knows you’ve married. You could make it a formal announcement party.”

“You have been away too long, Guy, and the battlefields have obviously addled your brains,” Graham responded, unruffled. “I have no intention of setting myself up as an object of curiosity for half of London. The gown can be saved for another occasion.”

“I do not need the gown at all, Graham.” Penelope stepped closer to her husband, touching his hand. “It is thoughtful of you to consider it, but I am quite content here. I do not need a come out or fancy gowns. Let me return upstairs and tell them no.”

“By Jupiter, if you think I will selfishly keep you from your proper society as your father did, you think wrong, my lady. You will have that gown and every other and there will be no further debate!” Graham roared.

Hamilton stepped in to intervene, apparently fearful such a roar would send a delicate female flying from the room in tears.

Penelope simply withdrew her hand from her husband’s and inquired, “That is your wish, my lord?”

To Hamilton’s obvious amazement, Graham’s ravaged face hinted at a smile. “Consider it your command.”

Penelope wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. “So be it. You shall be bankrupt by the morning.”

She sailed out of the room, head held high, stockinged feet gliding across the polished floors. Both men watched with admiration until the door closed behind her. Then Guy put an end to his friend’s chuckles by throwing himself into a nearby chair and demanding, “What the hell is going on here?”

Graham met his gaze coldly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Guy leaned forward, studying his friend’s scarred and damaged face. “I still do not believe it. When I joined that bloody war, I thought you were as good as dead. The physicians said you didn’t have a chance.”

“And so you went to war so you could die too?” Graham asked irascibly.

His friend waved away the question. “When I got back a few days ago and made inquiries, everyone agreed you still lingered at the gates to hell. No one has seen you. You haven’t been anywhere. They gave up visiting when you turned them all away. Then I heard about Exbury, and Deauville, and Rochester, and a few others, and I knew, by God, it had to be you. Now tell me you don’t know what I mean.”

Graham grabbed his stick and rose painfully from the chair, dragging his lame leg to the grate. Balancing the stick in his gloved hand, he reached for a piece of kindling with the other. The effort almost unbalanced him, but he regained his composure and stirred the fire. Soft applause brought a scowl to the mobile part of his face.

“I heard about one or two of our old club mates. What of the others?” Graham asked, turning around with all trace of the scowl smoothed away.

“They’re dead or gone, you sapskull, and don’t tell me you don’t know it! Exbury, that weak little snot-nosed bantam joined the cavalry and went off to war and never returned. Deauville discovered a plantation in the Caribbean none even knew he owned and hasn’t been heard of since. Rochester had his throat cut in a rather unsavory gambling hell. Smyth dueled with a phantom and lost. Why in hell am I telling you all this when I know good and well you have savored every detail of their demises?”

“Hamilton, you always had more imagination than sense. If it eases your mind to believe I am what I once was, I will spare your delusions. Just do not mention them to Penelope. She knows nothing of my past, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“Damn it all, Trev, it does not ease my mind! I should have been there with you. It was just as much my fight as yours—”

Graham held up his hand to his old friend. “No more of it!”

Hamilton glared rebelliously, but without Graham’s cooperation, no more could be said. In resignation Guy threw himself into a chair and regarded his friend’s patched eye with interest.

“I remember the time you played Bluebeard at that theater in—where was it? Salisbury? Damn good performance, Trev. If you had not been born with buckets to spend, you would have made a damned fine actor. Pity you grew so much bigger than the rest of us. Hard to disguise someone head and shoulders taller than the rest of the populace,” he mused.

“Hard to disguise a face as handsome as this one, too,” Graham snorted, unconcerned by his friend’s insinuations. “At least you’ve kept yourself in one piece. What do you intend to do now that Boney has hied himself off to his deserted island?”

“Settle down. Get married, I fancy.” Guy stretched out his long legs and contemplated the polished toes of his boots with boredom. “’Tis the season, is it not? Think there’s any more out there like your Penelope? I’ve never had a lady greet me before in bare toes and then stick out her tongue at me. Where can I find another such rare gem?”

Graham made an impolite noise. “Take a fancy to someone else’s wife this time, Hamilton. Make it easier for both of us.”

Guy lifted his taut face to meet Graham’s harsh gaze. “I can never tell you how sorry I am. I should not even be here, but I could not stay away. Even Boney couldn’t kill me, although, I daresay I walked in front of enough of his bullets. That must mean I have some other purpose in this world than to send up Spanish flowers, don’t you agree?”

The harshness fled his face and a note of regret tinged Graham’s reply. “You’re a damned fool, I agree, but you are not the only one. Brandy?” He reached for his decanter.

LATER THAT EVENING, Graham startled Penelope by appearing in her doorway while she stared in dismay at the profusion of drawings and fabrics the modiste had left behind. She had never seen such extravagance in her life, and Graham’s appearance provided distraction, if not relief.

“This is sinful. I cannot possibly wear all these, Graham. What does one do with these things?” She picked up a useless frill of a hat that balanced precariously between her chignon and her forehead, a sweeping feather sprouting from its brim to tickle her eye.

Graham limped into the room to inspect the object of her disdain. “I think you are supposed to wear some of those silly curls along here.” He drew a line along her temple. “Then do something horrible like chopping all that lovely hair so you can wear it like so.” He moved the hat back to perch more precariously at the back of her head. He surveyed the result. “But I recommend throwing it away altogether.”

Penelope flung the offending article across the room. “Thank you. Now if we could equally dispose of the remainder of this extravagance, I’m certain there is some poor soul out there who could better use the money than your Madame Whatever-her-name-is.”

Graham leaned against the bed and regarded his wife with amusement. “Madame is so well-known that she need only be called Madame for anyone to know of whom you speak. Other women would give their firstborn sons in exchange for just one of those gowns you so casually scorn. Do not let your opinion get about or you shall be condemned as the same sort of freak as I.”

“They shall do that in any case. You saw Mr. Hamilton’s reaction to my provincial ways. I trust you did not have your heart set on a wife who set the standards for the haut ton.” Penelope swept aside a mountain of delicate lingerie and curled up on the brocade chair much as Alexandra had done the day before.

“For Alexandra’s sake, you must have some acquaintance with society, and it wasn’t your provincial ways that attracted Guy’s notice. You have made your first conquest, my dear, although I recommend you do not take it too seriously. He tends to fall in love with any woman who bears his company for more than two minutes.” He watched for her reaction.

“He did not strike me as being quite that foolish.” Penelope returned her husband’s gaze with equanimity, wondering where this conversation led. She had already learned her husband was not given to idle talk.

“Then, you will not object if he acts as host in my place for the dinner I intend to give in your honor? Admittedly it is an awkward situation, but I cannot think of a better way. If my sister would ever come to town, that would be more appropriate, but she seems content where she is.”

Penelope fought her dismay. “You would have me attend my first social occasion on the arm of a man I barely know? Oh, surely Graham, if I must be launched, it could be in the company of just a few of your close friends. I would be much more comfortable with you at my side.”

His brow went up in genuine surprise. “Would you? What an odd sort of person you are, Lady Trevelyan. I should terrify the company and leave them with no stomach for their dinners. No, it will be better my way. If we have the dinner here, I will not be far away. There should be no trouble over it. Hamilton is a good man. He can be trusted.”

“Is this another of your commands? I thought we were to begin with simple ones.” Penelope hid a sinking feeling. She had not quite understood what Graham meant by a marriage of convenience. It was convenient not to have to sleep together, but to pretend she had no husband at all was not within the bounds of propriety that she knew. Wives simply did not let other men escort them to social occasions, but he seemed to think otherwise.

“It will be quite simple, you will see,” Graham assured her as he retrieved his walking stick. “By this time next month you will be a part of the social whirl and will forget you have a husband.”

Penelope stared in apprehension as the door closed behind him. He might wish to forget he had a wife, but how could she ever forget a husband such as hers?

CHAPTER 5

PENELOPE GAVE the glittering dinner table one last critical look, adjusted a crystal wine glass, removed a wilted marguerite from the flower arrangement on the sideboard, and sighed. She had never given a formal dinner party, and it was increasingly obvious that Graham’s domestics were either very new or long out of practice. If she lived through every disaster looming on the horizon, she could walk on water.

Dashing back up the stairs, she took a hurried look at the coiffure her lady’s maid had arranged. Wisps of honey-brown hair already escaped their imprisoning pins. She had not quite intended an artfully disheveled look, but there was no time left to remove all the pins and try to catch all those stray pieces that had been the bane of her life. Twirling the loose ends around her fingers, she succeeded in creating a halo of light curls about her face. That would have to suffice.

She had refused to wear the low-cut lilac gown, but finally succumbed to Graham’s insistence that she need not wear high necks and long sleeves for evening. She had decided on a simple Italian gold crepe with a ruffle of creamy lace at the throat and cuff. Though her throat and much of her shoulders were shockingly bare, the lace made her feel a trifle more modest.

She spun around at a knock on the door, then watched anxiously for Graham’s reaction as he entered. Dressed in a gray frock coat and pantaloons against an immaculately white cravat and waistcoat, he presented an enticing figure of masculine virility and grace, if one did not have to look above his neck cloth.

Then he leaned on his cane and dragged himself into the room and the image dissipated. Even stooped and tilted to one side, he stood taller than Penelope, and she had to look up to try to read his expression. It was useless interpreting the glow in one golden eye. “You must have your tailor construct eye patches to match your coats, my lord. The black is quite distracting.”

She almost raised a grin. Graham rested both hands on the massive head of his cane and looked her over. “That fashion suits you. If I can persuade you from your high-necked frocks, I might consider your suggestion for eye wear. I’ll cast it up before the Beau the next time I see him.”

“Guy tells me Mr. Brummell is no longer in favor, and that you are quite free to dress as you please. I do wish you would come down with me tonight.”

“Mr. Brummell did us all a favor when he encouraged daily bathing. I’ll not desert him for that flock of perfumed peacocks who surround the Regent now. Beau would not appear in public looking as I do just to see how many stomachs he can turn. Nothing should detract from your introduction to society, my dear. I’m more than content to watch from the sidelines.”

Penelope grimaced. “You are throwing me to the wolves, Graham. Will you at least be within screaming distance and come to my rescue when the flambé sets the draperies on fire and the gentlemen use the champagne fountain to douse them?”

This time, he did chuckle, and he caressed her cheek with his gloved hand. “I’m not certain of how much use I will be, but I’ll stand and scream beside you should that be the case.”

“Very gentlemanly of you, I’m sure.” The whisper of his glove along her cheek made her nerves jump, and she was almost relieved when the maid arrived to tell her Sir Percival was here.

“Before you go down, I thought you might want to wear these. They should go well with the lace.” Graham’s hands slid around her throat and hooked a collar of pearls at her nape.

Startled, Penelope touched the translucent glow of ivory about her neck and looked up to meet her husband’s gaze in the mirror. “I have never seen anything so lovely. Is it a family heirloom?”

Graham did not answer, but appeared fascinated with her reflection in the mirror. He touched one bare earlobe and frowned. “I did not think. You should have earbobs, too. I am quite out of practice, I fear.”

His gaze didn’t dwell long on her ear. Penelope gulped as her eyes met the heat of his in the glass. He did no more than touch her shoulder, however.

“Guy will think you have grown hen-hearted, my dear. Your guests will be arriving soon. You’d best go down.”

Penelope gathered her courage and pressed a kiss against his good cheek. “Thank you, Graham. I shall try my best not to shame your family tonight. Wish me luck.”

He shook his head in amazement. “You have no idea of your feminine charms, my dear, which only makes you that much more attractive. I will have to peel your suitors off the walls before the week is out. I’ll be in the library with a good book and brandy should you need me.”

Laughing at his assessment, Penelope departed in a flurry of dancing curls, rustling skirts, and lavender scent.

Guy had only just presented her with a posy of gardenias when the first guests arrived. In the next hectic minutes, Penelope clung to the posy as she greeted the elderly Earl of Larchmont and his dashing countess, several lords of varying ranks but all seemingly well acquainted with Guy and Graham, and a requisite number of young ladies and their doting parents. All greeted Guy with the ease of long acquaintance, received Penelope with polite words and concealed curiosity, then glanced around the drawing room as if searching for some lost object. Hiding their disappointment at not finding what they sought, they joined the growing throng of guests in the salon.

In a lull between arrivals Penelope whispered to Guy, “They are looking for Graham. Are they all old friends of his?”

Guy gazed cynically over the crowd. “Oh, yes, of one sort or another. After all these years I suspect they mostly come out of nosiness, however. Producing Trev would provide their entertainment for the evening and raise their popularity as the possessors of the latest on-dit for many nights to come. He was right not to come down. This way you will be the subject of conversation for the next day or two. Speculation has already begun, I’m certain. Prepare yourself.”

Penelope saw what he meant when she circulated among the guests. This gathering was not so very different from a village with a stranger introduced in their midst. She had thought London would be much more cosmopolitan, but the small circle of the haut ton was as confined as her home. Any new face offered excitement. The story of how the provincial baroness nabbed the reclusive viscount promised much divertissement.

Penelope preferred to be equally elusive. She answered all questions concerning how she met Trevelyan with “through his sister,” and anything hinting at his health was answered “well enough.” Since society had thought the viscount at death’s door, “well enough” took on several meanings, but none dared question “well enough for what?”

Dinner did not prove quite the disaster Penelope had feared. Trev had chosen his guests well, and animated conversation covered the flaws in the service. Penelope winced as a carafe of wine nearly missed landing in the countess’s lap as the confused footman approached her from the wrong side. She sent up a silent prayer that no one noticed the new serving maid picking up a fallen potato and replacing it in the serving dish.

The elderly Countess of Larchmont patted her hand after the last remove. “You are very brave, girl. I had hysterics at my first dinner party when the maid nearly took off the prime minister’s wig with a serving fork. They had to carry me out and give me smelling salts. Let’s leave the men to their vile habits and withdraw to that charming salon of yours.”

With a grateful smile, Penelope did as suggested. She had been relying on Guy all evening to supply names to faces, and she threw him an imploring look as she rose to lead the ladies out. His appreciative glance followed her out but did not provide the support she needed to endure the interrogation ahead.

Within minutes of seeing that her female guests were comfortably situated, Penelope was caught in a circle of older ladies. She listened to the stories of Trevelyan’s first wife, of her beauty, wealth, and charm and of what a handsome, romantic couple they had been. A love match, they said. They shook their heads sadly over the tragic ending to the glittering fairy tale, the fateful carriage ride that had killed one, and maimed the other for life.

Penelope sensed they waited for more, eager to embellish their tales, but she had nothing to offer. She knew even less of her husband than they. Pride kept her from admitting that she was any less than the first viscountess.

Caught up in her own concerns, Penelope lost track of her younger guests. She did not notice the absence of one of the more intrepid girls until hysterical shrieks echoed from above stairs.

The men had begun to join them when the first shriek split the air. Terrified, Penelope glanced up in search of Guy. He caught her frozen look and reacted the same. They hurried for the stairs and Graham.

The crowd surged along with them, but Guy was swifter and Penelope right on his heels. The butler and Graham’s manservant rushed to block the stairway. Several of the younger men broke through and followed.

The screams had stopped by the time Penelope shoved open the half-closed door of the library. With the velvet draperies drawn, the chamber was dim at best. Tonight, only a candelabra and the fire lit the Chippendale wing chair at the hearth where Graham usually sat to read. The chair was empty, but Penelope found her husband leaning over the sofa.

Ignoring the whispered comments and hesitation of the young men behind her, she closed the door in their faces and rushed to Graham’s side. The stricken look on his poor, maimed face cut her to the quick.

She looked down to see which foolish chit had caused his pain. She vaguely remembered being introduced to the strawberry-blonde miss with the irrepressible dimple and dancing gray eyes, but she remembered nothing else of her. The bacon-brain was already coming around and would probably begin screaming all over again when she saw Trev’s piratical features over her.

Touching a hand to his coat sleeve, she nodded toward the door leading to their suite. “I’ll take care of her, Graham.”

Guy slipped into the room. Verifying his friend blocked their company from entering, Graham nodded and departed.

“She’s coming around.” Penelope diverted the attention of two young men that Guy allowed to enter the now-Graham-less library. “Will someone pour a glass of sherry? There should be some glasses in the case over there.”

Guy knelt beside the sofa and made a pillow of his arm while the two would-be knights-errant brought the requested refreshment.

“I say, was Trevelyan here? Rude of him not to stay. Not at all like, considering.” The younger gentleman with the high shirt points glanced at the crackling fire and the chair beside it.

Penelope bit back a caustic comment. “The lady must have seen one of our legendary ghosts. Graham left to inspect the old stairwell to see if someone is playing tricks.”

They seemed to accept that explanation. After ascertaining that the fainting beauty would recover, unharmed, the two young men prowled the paneled walls, looking for hidden passages.

A shudder went through the distressed maiden as she glanced at the hearth. She gratefully sipped at the sherry. “I am so sorry. I do not know what came over me.”

Guy appeared reluctant to release his lovely patient, but Penelope removed the glass from his hand and inserted herself in front of him. “I was just saying that you must have seen one of our family ghosts. We’re quite acquainted with them, ourselves, and often forget to caution others.” Penelope added a warning look.

Not unintelligent, the girl lowered her eyes. “How very Gothic,” she murmured.

“Tell us, Miss Reardon, what did the spirit look like? All white and whispery? Did it say anything?” A younger gallant leaned over the sofa while his companion lit a candle.

“I cannot say. I vaguely remember, the shock. . .” Her words drifted off as her undaunted mother swept into the room.

Lady Reardon had a fiery eye for the gentlemen leaning over her daughter. The young gentlemen backed off, allowing the lady to send a questioning look to Penelope.

“Miss Reardon seems to have taken a fright. We seldom entertain in these rooms because they are so very dark.” Penelope allowed just the barest hint of reproof to enter her voice. She would not have Trevelyan hunted down in his own rooms.

“I don’t know what’s come over her. Dolly, are you all right? Whatever possessed you to wander up here?”

After the abject Dolly murmured apologies and trailed out after her mother, Penelope slipped through the adjoining door. Trevelyan stood in front of the fire in the small salon.

His features were an impenetrable mask. “How is she?”

“She’ll live,” Penelope said dryly. “I don’t know what possessed her to come up here. Did she give you a dreadful fright?”

Graham’s mouth pulled up in what might have been a wry smile as he mimicked her phrasing. “I’ll live. I’m sorry to have broken up your dinner party. Since it wasn’t the flambé and you weren’t the one doing the screaming, I thought perhaps you would not need me to scream in accompaniment. Was I wrong?”

Penelope smiled. He hid his pain to assuage hers, and she understood why she had consented to marry him. Fearsome as his features might be, and terrible as his temper was, she knew he hid a gentle nature, and she felt secure in his company.

“I think a singular roar to match Miss Reardon’s shrieks would have given all London something to talk about for weeks to come. You have disappointed me, but I’ll forgive you this time. I’m certain tonight will provide enough meat for gossip-broth until we come up with something better.”

“Lady Trevelyan, I suspect that innocent exterior hides a wicked tongue and a cynical mind. I believe we suit.”

Graham’s chuckle gave her a curious pleasure. “You may be right, though what that says for either of us I’m not prepared to dwell on.”

She left him so she might tend to their guests downstairs. Guy hurried to protect her from the crowd, but she merely asked after Miss Reardon.

“The silly chit has gone home moaning of ghosts and spirits,” the countess announced disdainfully. “Has Trevelyan come up with a better explanation? Where is the boy?”

“Higdon says he’s up and about and searching for Dolly’s ghosts. Why ain’t he down here?” another voice demanded.

Ignoring this rude question, Penelope answered the countess. “There’s something of a draft in the upper hall. Graham believes Miss Reardon may be a reader of too many Gothics and too much imagination. He apologizes for not joining us tonight, but he’s not well enough yet to be comfortable for long in public. I did not know him before the accident, of course, but I understand he has changed considerably. You must be patient with him.”

“Of course, you are perfectly right, my dear. Give the dear boy my regards, will you? And you must certainly make every effort to attend my ball next fortnight. Hamilton, you will see to that, won’t you?” The countess’s dark eyes settled on Guy.

The remainder of the guests followed the countess’s lead. Issuing invitations, assurances, and messages for Graham, they took their leave. The evening had been every bit as entertaining and enlightening as they had hoped.

When the last of the guests had been handed into their carriages and the front door finally closed, Guy and Penelope took a well-deserved rest in the intimacy of Graham’s study where the bustle of maids cleaning below would not disturb them. Penelope gestured toward the decanter of brandy.

“Help yourself, sir. I am too weary to stir.”

Continuing to stand, Guy declined and leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his blue frock coat. “I’ll be off, too. You need your rest after this ordeal. You need become accustomed to city hours.”

“I need become accustomed to many things. I am grateful for your services, Guy. I may call you Guy after tonight, mayn’t I?”

“Of a certainty, though I fear to call you any less than Lady Trevelyan. You are quite formidable, you know. I don’t know where Gray was lucky enough to find you, but he has chosen well. Your performance tonight exceeded all expectations.”

Penelope gave a weary smile. “You see only the result of many years of experience in shepherding my father’s parishioners through public occasions. Luckily tonight the most intimidating guest was the kindest. I feel I ought to send the countess a bouquet in appreciation.”

“Bring Trev to her ball and you will have acquitted yourself of all obligation.” Guy’s gaze was almost caressing as he bowed over her hand, and lifted it to his lips.

When he departed, Penelope banked the fire. To her surprise Graham lurked in the shadows of the far door.

“I did not mean to disturb you,” she said. “Why did you not make yourself known?”

In the light of one lamp she gleamed like a golden flame against the darkness, and Trevelyan experienced an unexpected jolt of pain. He had seen the way Guy looked at her, witnessed the intimate manner in which his friend had kissed her hand, and felt the old familiar jealousy gnawing at his insides. It had become habit, he supposed. It would not do to give in to such feelings.

He bestirred himself to answer gruffly, “Guy is a fickle fellow. You would do better to look elsewhere. I will not keep you from your bed. Goodnight.”

CHAPTER 6

THE NEXT DAY a footman carried up the card of Lady Reardon, and Penelope was obliged to greet the first of her morning callers.

Garbed in what Graham termed one of her “high- necked muslins,” her hair smoothed into a chignon, she greeted her visitors as she entered the small salon. “Lady Reardon, Miss Reardon, this is a pleasant surprise. I hope you have quite recovered from last night’s unpleasantness.”

The strawberry blonde dropped her head in embarrassment, and her mother glared at her with stiff-necked ferociousness.

“Delphinia has something she wishes to say to you, Lady Trevelyan.”

Penelope felt an immediate sympathy for the girl. She looked no more than eighteen or nineteen and judging by the simple white frock she wore, this was most likely her first Season. It must be tremendously difficult to rein in high spirits and imagination and behave as a mature adult at all hours of the day, particularly if the adult to be imitated was the imposing dowager.

“Oh, it is my place to apologize, Lady Reardon. I should never have neglected my guests so that one was allowed to become lost in this gloomy house. It is quite old-fashioned. Trevelyan was saying just the other night that we must do something with it or level it and build another.”

This blatant nonsense raised the girl’s head, and she replied spiritedly, “I beg of you, do not do so! Modern architecture is so uniformly boring, but this place has been constructed in a grand style! I much prefer the Gothic details. The gargoyles are superb. Please, I am so sorry I made a fool of myself last night. I wish wholeheartedly to give my apologies to Lord Trevelyan.”

This headlong speech set Penelope aback, but she warmed to the topic. With a mischievous smile she answered, “I am rather fond of the gargoyles myself, Miss Reardon. They really can be the friendliest of creatures, though they frighten the unwary intruder dreadfully.”

Lady Reardon appeared nonplussed, but Dolly giggled as she recognized the hidden meaning.

“They frighten dreadfully, I admit, but I will not be caught by surprise again. His lordship must think me a proper widgeon. I could not blame him if he never wished to see my face again, but I really must apologize for disturbing him and offer my gratitude for his solicitude. Do you think he would permit it?”

“He receives few visitors, as you must understand, Miss Reardon. I will convey your messages to him, however.” Turning to the dowager who appeared relieved that the conversation had taken a sensible turn, Penelope added the mollifying touch. “Lady Reardon, you are to be commended for having such an understanding daughter. I do hope we can become better acquainted. I have met few people in London, and it would be lovely to have someone to converse with.”

As they made arrangements to ride in the park, Guy appeared and insisted on being included in the party. Penelope reminded him that the outing must necessarily include Graham’s daughter, but he did not seem deterred. Only when the butler announced the arrival of Lord Higdon and Mr. DeVere did Guy’s smiling countenance lose some of its brilliance.

He looked up sharply to Penelope. “DeVere? Is he usually a visitor here?”

Penelope gave a helpless shrug. “The name means nothing to me.”

Lady Reardon finished buttoning her glove and gestured for her daughter to follow. Shaking Penelope’s hand, she offered, “Mr. DeVere is the younger son of a baron. He has been abroad in the military, I believe. A well setup young man. You need not fear his acquaintance. Good day.”

The gentlemen doffed their high-crowned hats as the ladies departed. Penelope remembered Lord Higdon as the gentleman of the high shirt collars from the night before. She repressed a smile as she noted today’s haberdashery included points that would make suitable blinders if they did not poke his eyes out first.

DeVere hesitated in the doorway, and her gaze was drawn to his refined air of intelligence and elegant attire. While he was not handsome, his looks were striking, and she felt the warmth of his regard.

The stiffness of Guy’s greeting was matched by the formality of the stranger’s, however, and she reserved her welcome to a polite nod. Since Higdon seemed eager to further his acquaintance, Penelope took her seat and the newcomers did likewise. Guy remained behind Penelope, resting his hand against her chair back, and she suspected, glowering at DeVere. What did Guy know of her visitor that she did not?

“Lady Reardon seems to believe you’ve been in the military, DeVere. Which regiment?” Guy did not believe in mincing words.

“Lady Reardon is mistaken.” DeVere accepted the cup of tea Penelope poured. “I am in the diplomatic corps. Now that negotiations for peace are under way, I have been given leave to visit my family. I understand you made it through the war without harm?”

If there were a sneer behind these words, Penelope could not detect it, but the tension between the two men was palpable. Guy had seemed such an amiable gentleman; she did not understand his change in character.

Blessedly the visitors only remained long enough for Higdon to offer his felicitations on the dinner and to determine whether Penelope intended to visit Almack’s. They rose as another flurry of guests arrived, and she had no chance to question Guy before he, too, was compelled to leave.

In all events, by that afternoon she found it a great relief to be in the company of a child again. When Guy returned to claim their company for a ride in the park, she informed him with relish he would have to ride with Miss Reardon in the phaeton, since Penelope intended to lead Alexandra’s new pony. Guy seemed momentarily nonplussed at being relegated to entertaining a schoolroom miss, but he overcame his dismay with aplomb.

In fact, by the time he returned the Trevelyan ladies to their door, he seemed in a positive hurry to return to the waiting carriage and Miss Reardon. Penelope laughed and caught his hand as he reached to doff his hat. “No, sir, that is not necessary. We require no further attendance. You may return to Miss Reardon.”

Guy grinned. “You are supposed to sulk that I would part from your company so easily, my lady. Someone needs to teach you the rules of the game. I shall be by this evening to commence your lessons.”

“That will be amusing.” Penelope laughed before sending him on his way. She turned back to the hall to dispose of her hat and gloves.

Trevelyan waited in the doorway of the salon. His expression revealed nothing of his opinion, but Penelope felt a weakness in her knees as his gaze rested on her before he turned to his daughter. She could feel his disapproval, but since he said nothing, she could make no reply. She turned her attention to Alexandra who regarded her father warily.

“Give Harley your bonnet, Alexandra. I think Mrs. Haywood will excuse you this once if you don’t change for tea. Why don’t you go in and tell your papa how well we did in the park today?”

Her small face brightened in excitement. Her father held out his ungloved left hand to escort Alexandra. “We will let Penelope change out of her riding clothes while you tell me how many times she fell off her horse. I wager both of you spent more time picking daisies than on horseback.”

Penelope took a deep breath of relief at Alexandra’s giggle and hastened upstairs to change. Graham did not make a habit of sharing tea with them, but she hoped to change that. He could not spend the rest of his life hiding in his rooms. For his own sake and Alexandra’s, she would have to draw him out in public, gradually, of course.

By the time she reappeared in a sprigged muslin with a scooped neckline to please her husband’s tastes, father and daughter were conversing over tea and cakes. Alexandra was much too young to be in the drawing room, but Penelope had no intention of reprimanding either of them.

“I categorically deny everything she tells on me,” she announced, sweeping into the room and taking her place beside the tea table. “And I see someone has already stolen my éclair.”

Alexandra rolled off in a fit of giggles as her father hurriedly popped the last bite of the missing sweet into his mouth. Penelope sent him a severe look before brandishing the plate of finger sandwiches.

“You should be ashamed of yourself. How will Alexandra learn to eat properly if her father makes a glutton of himself?”

Graham meekly accepted one of the minuscule concoctions while Penelope set an assortment on his daughter’s plate. He eyed the sandwich with misgiving before bringing it to his mouth. When the entire treat disappeared in one bite, Alexandra went into gales of laughter again.

Penelope had to bite her lip to keep from joining in. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten, my lord?”

He drank his entire cup of tea while thinking about it. “Well, luncheon had already been cleared away when I came down, and I don’t remember anybody carrying up dinner during the excitement last night, so I suppose—”

Penelope’s cry of dismay produced a satisfied smirk on that corner of his mouth able to display such feelings.

“Oh, Graham, I never. . .! Surely John brought up something. He cannot have been so forgetful as I.”

Trevelyan gleefully helped himself to the next largest cake on the platter. “I assure you, my lady, the excitement quite drove the wits out of his head. Had I not been terrified of Cook, I would have ravaged the larder, but instead, I have endured quietly, unprotesting, until now.”

Alexandra held her hands over her mouth to stifle the giggles threatening to erupt at her father’s enormous bouncer. Terrified of Cook! That lofty personage quaked at so much as a sight of his formidable employer.

Triumphantly, Alexandra conquered her laughter to point out the obvious. “There were plates and saucers and bread crumbs all over Papa’s desk this morning. I heard the maids scolding John for it. Cook says Papa could eat a cow whole if he cooked it for him.”

That sent both Penelope and Graham into whoops.

GRAHAM ENTERED Penelope’s chamber that evening just as her maid was leaving. Nervously she noted he had returned to the enigmatic stranger, but she gestured for her maid to close the door as she departed.

She clasped her hands as he studied her pale green satin gown. Green ribbon accented the high waistline and puffed sleeves, but his gaze lingered longest on the expanse of skin revealed by the fashionable neckline. Penelope flushed as he regarded her freckles with interest.

Sweeping up her fringed shawl, she wrapped it around her. “Is the gown not to your liking?”

“On the contrary, I had not expected to like it so much. You had better pin the shawl securely or Guy will find it difficult to follow the performance on stage.”

“I will stay home if you prefer. You were the one who suggested I become part of London society. I did not think I could refuse the countess’s offer of her box this evening, and I know no one else to ask to accompany me. Should I cry off?”

She desperately wanted to see a professional theater performance, but not for a moment would she allow Graham to see her desire or disappointment. Her obligation to him was tremendous, and she felt as if she had returned very little of it. His wish, literally, was her command.

“I can see you are eager for this outing. I have no right whatsoever to ask you to stay home. You are free to do as you please, Penelope. I will not go back on my word. I just do not want to see you hurt. There are bound to be men of more stable character than Guy. The fault lies with me, I suppose. Had I kept in touch with my acquaintances, I might be in a better position to introduce you to suitable ones, though at the moment I can’t think of who they would have been.”

Penelope heard the wry twist of his words with interest. She knew so little of him. He had apparently moved in the upper echelons of society before his accident, and society seemed to remember him with kindness. Why had he deliberately turned his back on his friends at a time when he most needed them? His cynicism now made it seem as if he did not approve of his former acquaintances. Surely that did not apply to society as a whole?

“Graham, I would be perfectly content accompanying you to the theater. I do not need suitors. Indeed, I am happy without them and have been so for many years. Perhaps I am not romantic. I have never once even developed a schoolgirl crush on any of my acquaintances. You have married a proper old maid.”

“I have married an innocent country miss who knows nothing about love and romance.” Graham leaned on his cane and his one golden eye sparkled as he observed her embarrassment. “I would taint your innocence with my opinions of love. You are entitled to try it for yourself before we compare notes.”

“There are many kinds of love, my lord, I know that. So don’t think me completely innocent. I just don’t believe in the romantic kind. That’s for fairy tales.”

“And you think Shakespeare wrote fairy tales? You pretend you have a hard heart, my lady, but I think you have had no occasion for it to be touched. You are ripe for the plucking, my dear. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She laughed at him and went her way, but if she did not heed his words, Graham did. If he knew anything of the female persuasion at all—and he certainly was no stranger to the ladies—Penelope was vulnerable to the first eager suitor to whisper sweet words in her ear. Why should he stand by and let someone else break her heart? There must be ways he could do it much more gently himself. The idea had merit. He needed only time to reflect on it.

Tonight, he had other plans.

GENTLEMEN WERE NOT unusual in this particular gambling hell on the unfashionable East End, but the one sitting in the dimly lit corner with his petticoat choice of the evening did not fit in even here. Admittedly the piratical shock of disheveled black hair, narrowed eyes, and the fencing scar marring one handsome cheek gave the impression of one well acquainted with these denizens. However, his obvious boredom with the buxom miss at his side and the manner in which he threw his cards down upon the table without interest showed a lack of dissolution. One simply did not play solitaire when all the world’s vices beckoned.

His interest heightened at sight of another gentleman working his way through the smoky maze of crowded tables and drunken occupants,. With a flick of his wrist he sent his female companion to capture the newcomer’s attention. Within minutes the two men warily faced each other.

“Should I know you?” The newcomer flicked his gaze over the solitaire player with no attempt to conceal his dislike. Both men were dressed in the height of fashion—skin-tight pantaloons, cutaway coats, and neatly starched white linen—but the solitaire player carried off his attire with a casualness bordering on contempt, whereas the darker man appeared stiff and formal.

“Not likely, but my cousin assures me you’re the man to see. DeVere, is it not?”

Without admitting the correctness of the appellation, the other man asked, “And you?”

“Chadwell. You’ll not have heard of me. I am Trevelyan’s American cousin, on his mother’s side, naturally.” For a brief moment, Chadwell’s narrowed eyes widened to a golden gleam and a charming smile danced across his face. The lady at his side cooed and leaned over to kiss his lean jaw, but Chadwell brushed her aside and began flipping cards on the table with disinterest again.

DeVere didn’t appear appreciative of this introduction. “You don’t sound like a savage. Why are you here?”

Chadwell shrugged. “My parents are English. Why should I talk like a savage? You want to hear my Yankee accent? I can do one very well if the occasion suits.”

DeVere snorted. “So could Gray. And French, and Spanish, and Hindustani, I suppose, if he put his mind to it. The two of you are very alike, now that I notice it.”

“Were very alike. Since a certain accident, he’s no more than a helpless cripple, a maimed one at that. But, of course, you know nothing of that.” His tone implied that DeVere knew a good deal more than he would admit. “That’s why I’m here. Gray tells me you are acquainted with a certain party referred to in the note that brought you here.” Chadwell did not look up from his card game.

“If I am correct in assuming your reference to a charioteer is the same person with whom I am acquainted,” DeVere agreed coldly. “There are not many of the old club left. Is that your doing?”

“You flatter me. But the charioteer remains, as far as one can tell. As do you and a few others Gray does not hold responsible for his wife’s death. From what I am told, you are far from an innocent man, but my interest is not in your vices. I want the charioteer. In turn I will give you the name of various parties who have an interest in seeing the allies’ peace treaty come to naught. They have hired an assassin to strike the foreign dignitaries arriving. I am compelled to report them as soon as I have proof, but you may do so in my stead in exchange for the information I want. Your superiors will be unable to deny your promotion again after that, will they?”

For the first time DeVere appeared interested. He studied Chadwell thoughtfully. “You are physically similar to Graham,” he mused aloud. “Except Trevelyan is a Corinthian of the first water and you lack his polish and manner. The coloring is different, of course. Do you have his punishing fists and ability with a rapier?”

Chadwell shrugged. “I didn’t learn at Gentleman Jackson’s, if that’s what you ask.”

“Graham would never indulge in this subterfuge,” DeVere stated. “Bargaining with the lives of powerful political figures would have been beyond his conservative conscience. Am I allowed to inquire after your interest in the charioteer?”

“No.” The one word, spoken sharply, ended that avenue of speculation. Chadwell looked up at DeVere with a challenge in his eyes.

“Very well.” DeVere shrugged. “You have the right to get killed dabbling in other people’s lives, although avenging Graham’s wife is a futile crusade, if that’s your goal. The information you seek isn’t at my fingertips, but I can locate him. Will you send me a note when you have your proof?”

“Of a certainty.”

The two men did not shake hands in parting. DeVere worked his way back the way he had come, while Chadwell remained behind, shuffling his cards.

The blonde at his side clutched the width of his upper arm and whispered with concern, “I don’t like ’im. Is it true what he said about yer gettin’ killed?”

“We all have to die sometime, Nellie. Now show me where you saw those children. I might as well accomplish something constructive with this evening.”

CHAPTER 7

THE POUNDING at her chamber door did not resemble Graham’s abrupt knock. Penelope wearily dragged herself from the depths of sleep to contemplate the gray dawn and the source of the noise. After the theater she had joined Guy and several other couples in a late supper, and she had arrived home shockingly late. She was not ready to wake.

The pounding continued, howbeit discreetly, and an anxious voice called out. “Oh, my lady, please wake up. Mrs. Haywood says you must come quick.”

There was a whispered conference in which someone recommended going up to the attic and fetching my lady’s personal maid and sending her into the viscountess’s chamber, while the first voice expressed as much fear of doing that as disturbing the lady.

This foolish debate roused Penelope sufficiently to realize some household emergency had taken place. Not wanting the noise to disturb Graham, she sat up and reached for her robe, then called for the maids to enter.

Alexandra’s nursemaid bobbed a hasty curtsy and launched into her woes. “It’s Miss Alexandra, my lady. Mrs. Haywood says you must come. I told her I could not wake you and you being up and about all night, but she won’t hear of nothing else but I come to fetch you.”

Penelope found her slippers and tightened the belt of her robe. “What is it, Peggy? What’s wrong with Alexandra?”

“It’s the fever she’s got. Burning up, poor little thing, and nothing will bring it down. She’s crying for you, but she can’t hardly talk, her throat’s that swollen up.”

Penelope didn’t need to hear more. She hurried down the hallway to the nursery.

By the time Graham had wakened and was apprised of the situation, a physician had come and gone leaving instructions, liquids, and unguents. Alexandra continued to moan and suffer the effects of fever, and a rash was breaking out all over her pale face and chest.

At Graham’s entrance Penelope glanced up with relief from where she sat beside the bed applying cold compresses.

“Oh, Graham, I didn’t want them to waken and worry you, but I’m so glad you’re here. Is there no other physician we can call upon? I know Dr. Broadbent is a very respected man, but his medicine does not seem to bring the fever down, and I’m at my wit’s end to know what else to do. I was always taught to keep the room very warm and the patient covered until the fever broke and sweated out, but Dr. Broadbent says we must lay no fire and that she needs no other blanket. He says the rash is caused by the heat and will go away if we follow his instructions, but it seems peculiarly like the measles the children suffered last spring in the village. No amount of unguent will make them go away until they’re ready to. What should we do?”

Her husband ran his hand through his hair, then gripped her shoulder as he gazed upon the vulnerable child in the bed. “There is Dr. Headly back in Surrey. He is the one who tended me after the accident. He saved my life, but he is very old and does not get out much anymore. Perhaps if I send a carriage. . .”

His fingers trembled, and Penelope covered them with her own. “Let us wait until tomorrow. I would not risk the doctor’s health because of my own uncertainties. The children I have nursed have never been my own. The responsibility frightens me. I’m sure she will be fine in a day or so.”

Graham wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her and be reassured in return, but she might find such an action more fearsome than comforting. That she thought of Alexandra as her own daughter provided all the comfort he was entitled to, and gratefully he squeezed her hand.

“I will trust your judgment, Penelope. Dr. Broadbent treats mostly the elderly. It may have been years since he’s seen a case of measles. Are measles serious?”

“They can be, but at least I know how to treat them. Do you really think he could be wrong?”

“I should think he is very likely wrong,” Graham announced, praying he was right in relying on Penelope’s judgment.

His response seemed to return his wife’s confidence, and when he left, she was ordering up a fire and calling for blankets.

Graham wandered helplessly in and out of the sickroom for the remainder of the day. At times Alexandra smiled at him and his heart did cartwheels. Other times she slept, and her ragged breathing tore at his insides. Penelope was always there, and her assurances relieved his mind more than anything.

Toward midnight he returned to find Penelope curled up and asleep in the chair beside Alexandra’s bed. The little girl’s hand was wrapped trustingly in his wife’s palm, and Graham gazed upon them with an inexplicable longing. This was the way he had imagined it when he had first married. Alexandra’s birth had rekindled his hopes. But the accident and the tragic events before and after had demolished any pretense that he could have a normal life. And now it was too late.

He touched Penelope’s shoulder, and she instantly awakened. She checked on Alexandra first, then smiled up at Graham.

Her smile nearly devastated his reserve, but he held out his hand. “Come, my sleeping beauty, you will do no one any good if you don’t get your own rest. I will sit with her awhile.”

“Oh, no, Graham, I could not keep you from your sleep. I am fine right here.”

Her eyelids sagged as she spoke, and her voice had an unconsciously provocative note to it. Graham smiled at the seductive picture she created. “If you do not remove yourself at once, I will carry you out. You don’t want that, do you?”

Penelope’s eyelids flew wide open. “You wouldn’t!”

If she had been quite awake, she would have realized it would be impossible with his limp and injured hand, but he liked that she thought him omnipotent.

“I would,” he replied sternly. “Now give me your hand and be off with you.”

Reluctantly she released Alexandra and wrapped her fingers around his healthy left hand. Her fingers were warm in his. “Do you wish me to escort you back to your room?” he inquired.

Penelope shook her head. “I can find my way. You will send for me if anything changes?”

“Be certain of it. I would panic without you to tell me what to do.”

He resisted the urge to hug her against his chest and seek the comfort of her loving arms. She offered friendship. He did not dare ask for more, no matter how close circumstances brought them.

Nodding, she took the candle and slipped away.

WITHIN A FEW DAYS the fever had broken and Alexandra was fretfully complaining of her confinement. But for Graham nothing was quite the same as before. Penelope had spent those days selflessly nursing his daughter from a possibly fatal illness, and now he felt the tables had turned on him.

He had brought the little baroness to his home to act as a kind of superior governess for Alexandra and a companion and buffer against the world for himself. He had showered her generously with his wealth, offered her carte blanche for all else, and assumed he had fulfilled his obligations. These last days proved he owed her much, much more.

He knew Penelope thought no such thing. Her relief at Alexandra’s convalescence was as great as his own, but in Graham’s eyes, that selflessness multiplied his obligation. He had offered her nothing but material things while she had given his daughter life and love. And not just Alexandra had benefited from her generous affection.

The viscount ruminated over these matters as he stared at the host of invitations that had accumulated over the last few days. The invitations were addressed primarily to both of them as a couple. That was what Penelope wanted and that was what she deserved, to be part of a loving couple. Graham wasn’t certain how to go about that. He had dug himself into a proper hole from which there seemed no way out, and he was quite likely to be buried there if he continued as he had been. Besides that, it had been years since he had courted anyone in any guise. How in blazes did one go about courting one’s own wife? Particularly if she was quite likely to be repulsed, if not out and out horrified by his attentions?

He could have the marriage annulled and let her go free to find her own partner in life, but he had no intention of doing so. She might be made a widow soon enough. Alexandra had grown much too attached to free Penelope. No, somehow he would have to supply her with the attentions she deserved.

With only these vague ideas in mind, Graham sought out his wife in her chamber the next morning.

Much rested now that Alexandra seemed to be recovering, Penelope smiled at her silent husband. “Have you some more wishes you would like to command of me my lord?” With a wave of her hand she dismissed her maid and rose from to greet Graham.

His countenance was so solemn as to be terrifying, but she was much less afraid of him now than she had been that first night. She had learned he was just as human as any man, more so, perhaps, because of his infirmity. She wished there were some way she could initiate the touching that was so much a part of her nature, but she had been schooled too well on the proprieties to break that taboo. She clasped her hands in front of her.

“It is your wishes I wish to consult, my lady. You have not spent a minute out of this house in days. Is there anywhere in particular you would like to go?”

Penelope widened her eyes. “If I tell you, would you take me?”

“That is a presumptuous question. I’m sure Aesop had a fable that had something to do with looking gift horses in the mouth.”

Penelope attempted a demure expression. “Of course, my lord. I shall never look my mare in the mouth again. May I go to Drury Lane? I am sure Guy is quite bored with the performance, but there is an actor there who is so magnificent I feel as if I’m living in Shakespeare’s time.”

Graham regarded her with a hint of amusement. “You have seen little or nothing of London since you came. Wouldn’t you prefer to shop in St. James or visit Westminster Abbey or attend the opera or Vauxhall? Kean is said to be good, but how many times can you watch Macbeth?”

“A dozen, at the very least. Please, I have never seen the plays acted before. They take on so much more consequence in the flesh.” She flushed as his eyebrow lifted. “You know what I mean, so do not pretend otherwise. Or have you grown so cynical that you no longer marvel at the transformation of words into action?”

“It has been a long time since I’ve been to the theater, and I am curious about this actor whose praises everyone sings. Drury Lane, it is. What night are you free, my lady?”

“Any night you choose,” she said.

“Then we will make it tonight. I see no reason for delaying. Will that suit?”

“Yes, of course.” Penelope continued to watch him with hope and disbelief. “Are you certain? I do not want to ask more than you meant to give.”

Graham caressed her cheek with his gloved hand. “That is a very small fraction of what I would like to give you, my pretty Penny.”

At her shocked look he drew back and laughed. “Be ready on time or I shall leave without you.”

He dragged himself out, leaving Penelope to stare at the closed door. Whatever had come over her charming ogre? To risk meeting the public eye to please her was a step she had not dared to pray for so soon, but to call her pet names and look at her as if she could possibly be. . . She almost thought “wife,” but that was coming on too strong. Good friend? That did not seem right, either, but “lover” or “mistress” were out of the question.

She was placing entirely too much consequence on the gesture. She would just have to be careful to please her husband so he wouldn’t regret his offer.

CHAPTER 8

DISDAINING LADYLIKE GRACE, his country wife raced down the stairway at the assigned time that evening. For this special occasion she actually wore the lilac silk, and Graham watched her with admiration. He had never thought about the transformation of the vicar’s prim daughter into a butterfly of fashion, but she had succeeded beyond the realms of his imagination. Perhaps her open, honest features did not have the frail delicacy of the acclaimed beauties of the day, and the nondescript coloring of her brownish gold curls would not give poets anything to write about, but she carried herself with a pride and grace that would do a duchess proud, and anything she wore would make men’s heads turn.

Graham grinned at this thought. If the vicar’s daughter had any notion of how very seductive she appeared in that clinging silk with only a bit of frippery to call a bodice, she would bury herself in shawls and cloaks. As it was, she seemed totally unconscious of her effect upon him, and violet eyes turned up to peruse him with merriment.

“Am I on time, my lord? You look very distinguished this evening.” For an evening at the theater he had not bothered to deck himself out in silk breeches and stockings, but he had donned a velvet coat of midnight blue over silver-gray pantaloons.

Penelope brushed away an imaginary speck on his white cravat. “How do I look? Do I pass inspection?” She gazed doubtfully at her attire, then held out one satin shoe to be certain the ribbons were tied.

“You will hear enough flattery before this evening is over without hearing it from me. If you are not ashamed to be seen with me, I am certainly not going to complain of you. You are positive this is what you want?”

“Of course.” Without a hint of doubt Penelope gestured for the butler to bring her pelisse. She snuggled into the fur-lined wrap he’d bought for her.

She sent him a mischievous look as he donned a hooded cloak that concealed him from head to toe. “You will look like a highwayman in that, you know. Have you sword and pistol?”

Graham gripped his walking stick with both hands and gazed grimly at his irreverent wife. “Highwaymen are much admired by the inhabitants of Drury Lane, cripples are not. I have no desire to start a riot this night. I will thank you for a little respect.”

She bowed her head in sober agreement. “I forget others do not know you as I do. I am sorry, Graham. Are you certain you are willing to endure this?”

“Don’t be a goose. If you do not mind, I can accept a few stares. Let us be off before we are caught in the crush of latecomers.”

They arrived at the theater and the safety of his box without incident shortly before the curtain went up. At the appearance of someone in his long empty seats, a murmur rippled through the crowd, but Graham sat in the shadows of the interior. No one could be certain of his identity before the lamps dimmed.

His wife lost herself in the spectacle of the play. Graham noted that she was oblivious to the opera glasses trained in their direction. She caught his hand as Kean made his entrance, and she failed to relinquish it through the scene that followed. Graham watched her with more amusement than the play.

As he’d known it would, their idyll ended as soon as the curtain went down at intermission. While Graham admitted to Penelope that Kean had a certain presence but lacked the experience of a performer such as Mrs. Siddons, the Earl of Larchmont intruded with his countess. That lady threw a good-humored wink in Penelope’s direction, and Graham dragged to his feet to greet them.

“It is an honor, sir.” He bowed as the older man studied his disfigurement.

“By gad, so you’re not a ghost, after all! Thought there might be some flummery going on what with you being at death’s door all these years and then suddenly up and marrying a young chit, but you’ve got some juice left in you yet. Welcome back, boy! I congratulate you on your wise choice of females.” The lanky earl turned to Penelope. “You look ravishing, my dear. I collect it is your doing to bring the rapscallion out of hiding.”

While Penelope responded to the earl’s bluntness, Dolly and the dowager Lady Reardon appeared on the arm of Henry, Lord Reardon, the eldest son. Graham raised his one visible eyebrow, but he bowed and greeted them with courtesy.

“Lord Trevelyan, I know Lady Trevelyan promised to make my apologies for me, but I did not feel that was sufficient. Can you ever forgive my unspeakable rudeness?” the impulsive young miss asked.

Graham flinched at Lady Reardon’s horrified gaze.

Penelope noticed and slipped her gloved hand through the circle of his arm. “Dolly, I told you that you needn’t worry. I only marry friendly gargoyles.”

Graham bent his wife a skeptical look but amusement laced his reply. “On the other hand, I tend to marry horribly insolent creatures. We are well met, it seems.”

Guy barged into the box to cast Graham a look of annoyance. “You could have found a less public place for your coming out. Half the ton are on their way up here. Did you have to introduce Penelope to all of society at once?”

This was all the warning they received before a stream of visitors inundated the box. After a bit, Penelope recognized that most of these aristocrats had come to see a show as if Graham were one of the caged lions in the Tower. They stared in horror at his mutilated face, then turned to her with a sympathy that made her think of a barn cat outside a mouse hole. She was grateful she wore gloves to keep the men from slobbering over her hand.

By the time the curtains rose, she was too exhausted from her performance to appreciate the professional one on the stage. She felt Graham’s rigid tension and knew his temper had kindled. “I know how it ends, Graham,” she whispered, touching his arm. “Let us go before the crush.”

“We will sit here until the last bloody line,” he retorted furiously.

Remembering the time he had torn into her home in a terrible rage, Penelope gulped and sat silently until the play ended, hoping his anger would recede before they left.

She should have known better. Her husband had a wicked temper and a cynical wit and a penchant for getting his own way, but Graham had seldom been any less than kind to her. The man who left Drury Lane that evening had no resemblance to the gentle man she knew.

He did not wear his cloak to disguise his deformity as he left the box. In fact, Penelope could swear he went out of his way to accentuate it with scowls, while pounding his walking stick obnoxiously. His leg dragged worse than usual, and his entire right side sagged in a ludicrous transformation from his arrogantly athletic physique. Penelope had the urge to jerk the cane from his hand and send him toppling to the floor in return for his childish tantrum.

The few people to whom she had been introduced wisely changed their course. Those she did not know but who apparently recognized Graham stopped in their tracks when he cut them without a word. In all fairness they probably would have stared without his deliberate cut, but Penelope was in no humor to appreciate fairness.

On the street, Graham turned his terrible visage on an urchin begging for a penny, scaring the child into fleeing across the street between the prancing legs of horses and massive wheels of carriages. Furiously Penelope jerked her arm from his.

“You did that on purpose! You’re enjoying the role of beast! There was no call whatsoever for behaving like that. People cannot help being startled at the change in your appearance. What is it you expect of them?”

Graham continued walking down the street at a pace that would have left a well man breathless. Their carriage driver broke from the ranks of waiting vehicles to follow.

“I expect nothing of them. They all performed just as I knew they would. Anything less than perfection shocks their feeble wits. Why is it that you do not turn from me in horror, I wonder? Were you so desperate to be rescued from your stifling village that you would have married any monster that came along?”

Penelope gasped at the cruelty of this retort, but her better sense overcame her anger. He was hurt and striking out at the only target available. That gave him no excuse for cruelty, but understanding made it easier to take.

“I expect an apology when you return to your senses. I was not brought up in the company of people who spend all their time and money on making themselves beautiful. The people I know are marred or made beautiful by their characters and actions. I am accustomed to seeing them as they are, not as they would like to be. It is not your scars I see, but your kindness. Until tonight, leastways.”

With a signal to his carriage driver to stop, Graham gave Penelope his hand to help her in. “You need not endure my evil temper, my dear. I will walk it off. Albert will take you home.”

Penelope balked at being sent away like an unwanted child. “I’ll not have you stalking the streets, scaring the populace while I ride home in comfort. Let us walk the streets together.”

Since she wore a skirt too small for the kind of country walking she had grown up with, and her satin slippers would be torn to shreds on the bricks and cobblestones, Graham surmised she would not last ten minutes. Instead of arguing, he shrugged, muttered, “Very well,” and strode off.

Ten minutes later she was still beside him, matching him stride for angry stride. Or two strides to his one. The limitations of her clothing hobbled her as much as his limp, and they made a rare sight pattering beneath the gas lamps in a breathless attempt to out-walk each other.

His temper could not withstand the humor, and Graham finally called a halt when his cane caught in a hole, and Penelope stubbed her toe on a raised brick. Forcing back a grin, he signaled for the patient coachman once again.

“There is no point in both of us being crippled. Let us call it a night, my lady.”

“You will not growl and take my head off before we reach home?” she asked warily, taking his hand and stepping into the carriage.

He swung up beside her, filling the remaining seat cushion and enforcing their proximity. “No, your head is exactly where it should be, my pretty one. Don’t ever lose it.”

Penelope smiled up at him in relief. “I shall take great care not to misplace it then.” Her expression turned serious. “I’ll not ask you to take me out again. I did not mean to cause you pain.”

“On the contrary, we will accept the Larchmont’s invitation to their ball next week. Your acquaintances are sadly lacking in manners and morals, and I mean to rectify the situation at once. Send for Madame and have the proper gown made up.”

He seemed so restored to humor she did not have the heart to argue. She had a wardrobe full of gowns she had yet to wear. She would hold her own on that point. This reckless extravagance on clothes had to end somewhere.

Penelope tried to concentrate on these thoughts instead of the awareness of her husband’s closeness in the dark carriage. She seldom had the occasion to be this near to a man, and the proximity shook her a little. Graham had been in all things proper, and as her husband, he had every right to occupy this seat with her. She should not reflect so on his almost frightening masculinity. Perhaps she was overtired and overwrought. Graham had held her hand many times before. She should place no significance in it.

But she could not help but feel the shiver when for the first time he kissed her palm before retiring. It did not signify. She had seen other men do it out of gallantry. But when the chamber door closed, she touched the place where his lips had rested with wistfulness, and she slept with that hand beneath her cheek.

CHAPTER 9

GRAHAM HAD BOWED out of attending Dolly’s ball, preferring to make his stand on the much larger Larchmont occasion later in the week. Without his accompaniment, Penelope relied on Guy’s escort.

But by the supper hour, Penelope waited in the draped entrance of the Reardon ballroom. She watched Guy skillfully lead Dolly through the music and regretted that she must draw him away, even as they danced over to her.

“Have you grown tired of dancing so soon? Shall I introduce you to the card players in the salon?” he asked.

Dolly appeared breathtakingly lovely this night, and Penelope smiled at the picture these two made, the petite strawberry blonde and the rakish, handsome soldier. They naturally gravitated toward each other in any room they entered.

“I am sorry, Guy, but I cannot help worrying about Alexandra. I know she in all probability is sound asleep, but I am so fearful she will wake and be fretful that I cannot enjoy myself. I have a driver and a footman to look after me. I simply wanted to let you know I am leaving.”

“Oh, Penelope, you cannot go alone!” Dolly protested. “Remember that poor girl last night after the theater! Let me call one of my brothers to go with you. I would be afraid to go out at night without an armed escort.”

Penelope laughed. “That poor girl, as you style her, was out wandering the street where she had no right to be. I cannot imagine why anyone would be so foolish as to be out in the street alone in jewels and silk. I have no intention of being bludgeoned to death. I will be quite safe with John and Albert and the carriage.”

“No matter. I will go with you,” Guy said. “Miss Reardon, if you will excuse me, I’ll send for this foolish lady’s carriage.” He bowed and walked off despite Penelope’s protests.

“He is quite right, so don’t argue.” Dolly caught her arm with a rush of excitement. “Did I tell you? We received a letter from my brother Arthur today. We have thought him dead all these months, but he writes he has been injured and in a hospital. His handwriting is still very poor and the letter, brief, but I am sure we will hear the whole story when he returns. Isn’t it the most wondrous thing?”

“Lady Reardon mentioned it when we arrived. I am so happy for you. Did the letter say when he would return?”

Dolly frowned. “No. I expect it depends on his injuries. But Henry is making inquiries now that we know where he is. It has been years since we’ve seen him. You must tell Lord Trevelyan. They were great friends once.”

“Then you should be the one to pass on the happy news. Come tomorrow for tea. He should be there then.”

“Not tomorrow. We will be shopping for the Larchmont ball. The next day?” Dolly inquired.

They set the date, and Penelope departed with her escort. Guy made an attentive companion, and she enjoyed his conversation as the carriage rolled through silent streets, but her mind was elsewhere. She had not seen Graham since the debacle at the theater the night before, and she was as worried about him as she was Alexandra.

Guy made a wry smile as she failed to answer a repeated question. “Penelope? If I am disturbing your thoughts, I will be quiet.”

Startled, she returned to the conversation. “I’m sorry, Guy, I’m just tired and not very good company. You should have stayed with Dolly.”

“Fustian. She has so many admirers she won’t miss an old man like me. What is it, Penelope? You are worrying about something.”

“No, nothing, really. It’s just. . .” She threw up her hands, unable to explain.

“It’s Trev, isn’t it? I could tell he was building up to a fury last night, but I didn’t know how to stop it. Why ever did he choose to make such a public debut? There should have been an easier way.”

“It’s my fault. I wanted to see Macbeth again, and he offered to take me. I really didn’t think about it causing such a spectacle. The theater is dark and crowded and why should anyone notice who was there? I never meant to cause him such pain.”

Guy patted her hand as the carriage pulled up in front of the house. “Trev knew what he was doing even if you didn’t. It’s rather like learning to swim. You have to dive in headfirst and then strike out. You can’t learn by dabbling your toes in the water.”

Penelope shook her head. “Perhaps, but then why would he not accompany me tonight? I wish I understood him better.”

“Trev has never been readily understandable. In his youth he had wealth and title, good looks, and more talents than any one man deserved. He could have had all the women swooning at his feet and the men emulating his every action. Instead, he would disappear for months at a time playacting or shipbuilding or the devil knows what. He spent more time at his country estate than he ever spent in London, yet he knew everybody and everything that went on. I don’t mind telling you he was as generous with his vices as he was with his time and money. Trev never half did anything. You can’t possibly expect to understand a man like that.”

Penelope desperately wanted to know more, but she had no right to pry, and Guy had given her enough to think on. As the butler let them in the front door, she pressed his hand with gratitude. “Thank you, Guy. I feel less of a goose now.”

Guy grinned. “Lady Trevelyan, there is nothing of the goose about you. It’s that dratted gander of yours that’s the problem. Threaten him with the sauce and see if he comes up to snuff.”

That mixture of metaphors made Penelope wince, and she sent him off with a laugh. Leaving the butler to lock up, she hurried up both flights of stairs to check on Alexandra. Finding all well in the nursery, she returned to the floor of the master suite. With a little leap of her heart she noted a light in the library. Perhaps Graham had waited up for her.

Gently opening the door, she gasped in surprise at the sight of thick dark curls bent over a book where she normally expected to see Graham’s silver hair. She had not meant to intrude upon a stranger, but as he looked up at her entrance, she had no choice but to greet him.

He was silhouetted against the firelight, and she could distinguish little of his features. His long dark hair fell upon a wide forehead, and the candlelight threw shadows over a fine line scarring his cheek. She could not quite see the scar’s beginning or end, but it added distinction to an otherwise smoothly handsome face.

As he stood, she noticed he wore his clothes as carelessly as Graham. Although he still had his coat on, his cravat hung loose, and he had apparently discarded his formal shirt collar. Penelope could tell by the flicker of the firelight that his waistcoat was unbuttoned, also.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I saw the light and thought my husband might be up. He did not warn me to expect a guest.”

The stranger closed his book and came around the table. “I hope I did not startle you. Lady Trevelyan, is it not? Trev retired for the evening, but he warned me to expect you. I am Clifton Chadwell, a cousin of Graham’s.”

The family resemblance was strong, although Mr. Chadwell’s mouth was full and mobile, and his jaw firm where Graham’s sagged beneath his scars.

“Very pleased to meet you, sir. Will you be staying with us for a while? I hope the maids have made up your room to your satisfaction.”

Chadwell bowed over her hand and did not relinquish it. He studied her with interest. “I have become accustomed to Graham’s bachelor existence and have made myself at home. He is generous enough to give me full run of his house when I am in the city. I hope my odd coming and goings will not disturb your routine?”

“No, of course not. You must behave as if nothing has changed. I have tried not to disrupt Graham’s habits too greatly. Are you comfortable, then?”

“I would be much more comfortable should you stay a while. Do you play chess, Lady Trevelyan? Trev’s early hours make him a most useless companion.”

A trick of the firelight caught the gleam of Chadwell’s golden eyes, and their piercing intensity mesmerized Penelope. Shaken by the impact, she backed away.

“I have not played in a while. Perhaps some other time. It is quite late. . .” She didn’t know how to make her escape. She felt as if some powerful magnet held her in place, and she could only stare helplessly and wait for release.

“Tomorrow, then,” his deep voice urged. “Trev says you have not yet seen the city. I have the use of his carriage. Why don’t we see the sights tomorrow after luncheon?”

“I could not. I mean, I visit with Alexandra in the afternoons, and Graham expects me at tea. I do not know if there is time. . .”

“We will start early and be back in plenty of time for Alexandra and tea. I am certain Graham will have no objection.” Chadwell continued holding her hand as he gazed down upon her.

“No, of course not,” she answered distractedly. How could Graham object? He had all but thrown her into the arms of society in hopes she would find a lover to keep her occupied. He certainly couldn’t object if she entertained his own cousin. She was the one petrified at the thought, and she didn’t know why.

Taking this for agreement, Chadwell brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Till tomorrow, then.”

Penelope curled her fingers into her palm and fled the room. She had never felt such an entire goose in her life. Trevelyan had not terrified her so much when he had emerged from the fog. In these last few days she had met lords and ladies and sophisticated gentlemen by the score, but other than nervousness, she had never felt like a schoolroom miss in their presence. Why, then, did this man shatter her composure so easily?

As she entered her chambers, she glanced at the closed door to Graham’s room. If only she could talk with him. . . but she did not dare encroach upon his privacy. Part of their agreement was that she not interfere with his habits. She was being foolish. There could be nothing wrong in entertaining his cousin.

If only Clifton Chadwell didn’t have eyes just like Graham’s, except they seemed to see right into her heart.

It wasn’t just his eyes, Penelope realized the next day. Clifton Chadwell’s touch turned her into jelly, his wit decimated her defenses, and his smile melted any protests she could raise.

Not that she didn’t try to keep him at a distance. She made him take the barouche and sit on the opposite seat while he pointed out White Hall and the Tower and the various offices of notables. When he insisted that they descend from the carriage to view the lions and to inspect Westminster, she very properly touched only a gloved hand to the arm of his coat.

But by the time they had indulged in lemon ices, decorated themselves in pinks from a flower girl, and ruined their gloves with the sticky juices of fresh strawberries in the fruit market, propriety had fled.

Penelope giggled as Chadwell mourned the demise of his stained glove and decorated it with flowers from his lapel in a funeral arrangement. She chanted a psalm over the glove’s grave—an overgrown jardinière on the steps of an imposing edifice—and added her own flowers to the corpse. Then, gloveless and laughing, they returned to the carriage where their myriad purchases of the day reposed on the far seat, necessitating that they sit together.

Not until he had dropped her off at home and drove off on business of his own did Penelope reflect on the scandalousness of her behavior. Had anyone seen them, they would have become subject of rumor for half the gossips in town. Graham would never forgive her.

Worrying at her stained gloves, she hurried upstairs to change before visiting Alexandra. She would simply have to avoid Clifton Chadwell from now on. He was not the kind of gentleman she should be seen with. In fact, she greatly suspected he was a rake.

Alexandra bounced in bed as Penelope hurried in to hug her. “I want to go riding. When can we go riding? I am all better now. Please, Penelope, please. “

“You must rest until the spots are all gone. Just think of this as a holiday from your lessons and a chance to lie about and have everyone play with you. You’ll be up and about in no time.”

Alexandra pouted at this news, but she delved eagerly into the games Penelope taught her and finally fell asleep while being read a fairy tale. Penelope kissed her forehead and slipped away, eager to see if Graham would come down for tea.

She smiled at finding Graham waiting for her in the small salon. His silvered hair flared in a mane about his forehead, and she had the urge to trim it properly. Otherwise he looked magnificent standing there in a frock coat cut away at the waist to reveal his trim figure, his shoulders straining at the tailored seams as he rose to greet her. Except for his injuries, he compared quite favorably with his rakehell cousin. In fact, she preferred Graham’s quiet kindness.

He seemed surprised at her welcome, but he took her hand to assist her to the chair beside the tea tray. “I take it you have left Alexandra in good health and spirits.”

“And sound asleep. I shall have to allow her out of bed for short periods soon. She is likely to drive Mrs. Haywood and the nursemaids into quitting if she is confined much longer.”

“That would make her happy. Then she would be with you all day long. Perhaps you had better let her out of bed. You are much too valuable to spend all of your time closeted in the nursery.”

“On the contrary,” Penelope objected, “that is my idea of heaven, surrounded by children. I should have taken up the profession of nursery maid.”

Graham regarded her with curiosity. “You would make a most extraordinary nursery maid. The children would love you, but I suspect you would terrify the parents. You exert a little too much authority for a maid.”

“Oh, dear, that does not sound very ladylike. Am I a terrible ogre?” Penelope handed him the delicate Stoke porcelain teacup and wondered at the direction of this conversation.

“Ogress, wouldn’t it be? I believe I am the ogre in this family. You are just as you should be. I don’t think I have told you how much I appreciate the way you have taken over the ordering of this household. I did not realize how out of hand things had become until you put it back in order again.”

Amazement crossed her face at this unexpected compliment. “I thank you for your kind words, but I have done little enough in exchange for all you have given me. Is this leading up to something?”

Graham settled into his chair and sipped from the small cup while eyeing his wife with pleasure. She behaved with regal composure in company, but he knew the playful humor lurking beneath that grace. He had never suspected such a rare combination when he had asked her to marry him. He had only known that children loved and respected her and that had been enough. Now he knew there were facets to her that he could spend a lifetime exploring, and he didn’t know where or how to begin. He feared that she would despise him should she learn all the truths about him, but he was willing to risk all for a chance at winning her favor. All he had to do was decide on how to go about it.

“Not a thing, my dear. I just didn’t want you to think you are unappreciated. I hear you’ve met Cliff. What do you think of him?” He maintained his appearance of disinterest as Penelope’s cup clattered, and she set it aside to pass the cakes.

“Your cousin rather startled me last night. Does he stay with us long?”

“What? Are you ready to be rid of him already? Has he behaved disagreeably?”

“No, or course not, but he is very. . . How should I say it? Sure of himself?”

Graham spluttered in his tea. “Arrogant? Quite possibly. But I thought the two of you might amuse yourselves for a while. He doesn’t visit often, and as an American, he hasn’t been introduced to society. As a matter of fact, he is better known in a society I would prefer you did not know.”

Penelope grimaced. “He is much in the petticoat line, I imagine. Well, it is not to be helped. I daresay you did not behave much better in your youth.”

Graham had to call upon all his talents to choke back a roar of laughter. He had set himself up for that one. In his youth! What a delightful innocent he had managed to shackle himself to. He must have had maggots in his head when he thought he could carry this off.

“Nor in my dotage, either,” he muttered through a mouthful of crumbs.

Penelope sent him a sharp look but did not expound upon this comment. “Do you wish me to provide some entertainment for him? I could put together a card party, perhaps. A small dinner or two. I don’t think I am adept enough to manage more than that yet.”

Controlling his laughter, Graham answered, “Cliff provides his own entertainment. Pray, do not try to introduce him to what few friends I have left. He is not about much, in any case. Have you ordered your gown for the Larchmont ball?”

“There is the gold sarcenet I have not yet worn. It should be suitable. Are you certain you still wish to go?”

“Of course. I would not miss terrorizing the entire haut ton all at once. The occasion is much too rare to miss, unless you object?” He raised a quizzical brow.

“Oh, no, I have ever wanted to terrorize all of London. By all means. Perhaps I should order a new gown,” she answered faintly, while Graham chuckled.

His sense of humor would almost certainly be the death of one of them.

CHAPTER 10

THE DARK CLOSED in thickly in the East End’s narrow streets of leaning buildings. Cloaked from head to toe in heavy black broadcloth that blended with the gloom but did not disguise his athletic build, Chadwell listened to Nellie, the informant he found so useful. When she finished her tale, he shook his head in sympathy.

“Still, I cannot see what I can do. Between looking for these scoundrels and rescuing your brats, I have my hands full. Bow Street is where you need to go with your tale. The lady who was murdered was not of my acquaintance. I cannot know who her gentlemen friends might be.”

Nellie gave him an exasperated look. Though she was in her mid-twenties and had been on the streets since childhood, she retained much of her plump, blond good looks. She had enough intelligence to avoid gin and brothels and men with fancy promises—and sufficient beauty to attract him, so she fared well. It was only when she opened her mouth that the gutter betrayed her.

She spoke in a harsh, nasal whine. “Ye’ve only to make en queeries, Cliff. No Bow Street pimp knows who’s to arsk oncet they get past St. James. She was a friend, Cliff, even iv she warn’t no better than she should be. There’s plenty of them what comes down to use them rooms. It ain’t right that murderin’ rogue walkin’ about wi’out nobody doin’ nothin’.”

Cliff winced but nodded his head. She didn’t understand he had little or no contact with the people she wanted interrogated, but he would keep his ears open. She had served him well enough these past years.

“I’ll see what I can do, Nell, but don’t expect too much. My time is not my own anymore.”

Nellie’s grin broadened to expose her missing back tooth, the one other flaw in her beauty. “Aye, and I’ve seen the miss. Yer won’t be comin’ to see me with the likes of that one around. Done yerself pretty, ain’t ye? And ’ow’s my Jack doin’? You seen ’im?”

This was a topic he could expound upon, and Chadwell nodded. “He’s flourishing, Nell, you needn’t worry. I was in Hampshire a month ago. The family he’s with is quite proud of him.”

Knowing Chadwell, Nellie frowned. “Which of the little buggers up and run away? There was no other way you’d a left the city.”

“It’s to be expected, Nell. Country life doesn’t suit everyone. I can only find them homes and hope for the best. It’s the younger ones that stand the best chance.”

“Pippin, I wager. ’E’s a right one, ’e is.” She shrugged off the subject. “Whatcher gonna do ’bout that letter from your fancy gennulman? Want I should carry a message back?”

Chadwell tapped the letter in his pocket and shook his head. “He’s playing with a marked deck, Nellie. We’ll let the gentleman wait awhile. Thanks for holding it. I’ll send word when I need you again.”

Nellie made a rude noise as Chadwell blended into the darkness.

WHEN PENELOPE RETURNED from the evening at Almacks, she checked on Alexandra, then glanced toward the library. The library lamp was off, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It would be much simpler dealing with the arrogant American in the daytime when she had all her wits about her.

She had told her maid not to wait up, so the lamp burning in her chamber was a pleasant surprise—until she pushed the door open to discover she was no longer alone.

“You! What are you doing here? This is infamous! Take your leave at once, sir.” Penelope stepped aside and pointed to the doorway she had just entered.

Chadwell rose from the chair he had appropriated but made no attempt to do as told. He bowed and gave her ivory cambric an appreciative look.

“I will have to admit, the simple style suits you as well as the extravagant. The ladies of Almacks should heartily approve.”

Penelope clenched her fan and tried not to succumb to his charm. Gritting her teeth, she demanded again, “What are you doing in here?”

He smiled. “If I had waited in the library, would you have come in there?” The question didn’t need an answer. They both knew she would avoid him. “This way, the presumption is all mine, and you can continue to believe you behaved properly. You said you play chess. Couldn’t you indulge me in one game?”

“In here?” Equal parts confused and horrified, Penelope sought some sensibility in the situation. She enjoyed Chadwell’s company too much. She would willingly play him chess or jackstraws without preference had they been in the parlor surrounded by people. In her bedchamber, alone, was beyond her capability.

“What could be more innocent?” was his astonishing reply. “Graham is not a jealous man, but even the most demanding of husbands would not imagine I could seduce you a few steps from where he sleeps. I will open the connecting door if you prefer. What better chaperone would you have? I thought you would be pleased with my circumspection.”

She had never heard anything more preposterous in all her life, but he said it with such a boyish charm she could not remain angry. He had discarded his coat and loosened his neck cloth and made himself comfortable just as Graham had done when he courted her. “You are not only arrogant, but incorrigible. Bring your chessboard to the parlor after brunch, and I will play with you. That is the best I can offer.”

“That will not do. Shall I wake Graham and insist that he sit up to chaperone us? I will, you know.” When she glared, Chadwell backed down a smidgen. “All right, chess in the parlor tomorrow, but surely a quick game of backgammon tonight would not be harmful? Just one game and I will go away peaceably.”

She knew better than to agree. No man had ever affected her in this way, and she did not like the curious loss of control she suffered in his presence. He came in and took over, and she willingly submitted to his every suggestion. No wonder she felt a perfect goose after he left. But while he was here, she felt admired and needed and the center of attention. Not even Graham had ever treated her like that, and she found it a hard combination to resist.

“One game? Promise?” She continued to cling to the wall.

“Promise.” Chadwell opened the drawer of the game table as if completely at home and began removing the pieces while Penelope ventured into her room.

When she had crossed just half the distance and seemed reluctant to continue, Chadwell took her elbow. The heat of his hand against her bare flesh startled her, but before she could pull away, he guided her toward the chair he had arranged on the other side of the table.

There seemed nothing to do but oblige. He leaned against the back of her chair as he arranged the pieces for her, and the intimacy of this gesture took her breath away. He seemed so sure of himself, so confident of his place that she could not seem to raise the voice to object. In fact, the sensation was so pleasant, she could almost wish it to continue.

Almost casually his hand brushed against the wisps of hair at her nape. Penelope did not dare look up as he settled into the chair across from her. Just the sight of his loosened neck cloth dangling between the edges of his opened waistcoat made her too aware of his masculinity. She could not bear to meet his eyes.

Of course, by the end of the game he had charmed her into laughing with him, and she felt no fear as he trounced her soundly then stood up to leave as promised. She took his hand to wish him good evening. It was only when she looked up into the molten gold of his eyes that she knew her mistake.

He did not give her time to think, no less to run. His hand circled her head to support her as he swooped down to take what she had not promised. He held her firmly, without pressure, and his mobile lips moved persuasively across hers.

The shock of his touch held Penelope paralyzed. Her hands came up to push him away, but the promise of his kiss put an end to that initiative. With wonder she felt his subtle assault, and her heart beat so hard she felt certain it would leap from her chest. Too terrified to return the kiss, she did not resist it, either.

Chadwell apparently took the latter as permission to continue, and his kiss deepened, teasing at her lips and drawing her into his need as a whirlpool drowns its victims. The hand at the back of her head tightened, and his other went to her waist, pulling her closer with a gentleness meant to reassure.

Penelope felt herself weakening, giving into the strange sensations inundating her as she rested in this man’s arms. She bent into his embrace and rested her hand against his solid chest while his lips plundered hers, and she began to respond. Only when he became too confident and tightened his grip did she panic and push away.

Too embarrassed even to face him, she turned away and hid her face in her hands. “Go away. Just go away. And don’t come back.”

Chadwell touched her bare shoulder and said sadly, “I won’t be able to keep away. Goodnight, my lady.”

Why did he have to make even the title sound like an intimate caress? Penelope swung around to give him a scold, but the door was already closing behind him. With a sob she threw herself face first across the bed.

BY THE NIGHT of the Larchmont ball Penelope’s normal composure had suffered a severe setback. She saw little of Graham, and by the time Dolly appeared for tea, she had forgotten to ask about the news of her brother. She forgot Dolly’s disappointment when Graham did not appear. Even Alexandra complained of her lack of concentration when she beat Penelope several games in a row at jackstraws. And it was all because of Clifton Chadwell.

He behaved with perfect propriety when he appeared in the parlor for their afternoon game of chess. The fact that maids scurried in and out would have dampened the attentions of the most amorous of men. But though Penelope could not complain of his behavior, she cursed his thoughts. Every time she looked up at him, she felt the warmth of his gaze, and it shattered her thought processes. Surely he could not believe she meant anything by a single kiss? But the possessiveness of his touch as he took her hand at game’s end spoke differently.

She ordered her maid to stay up for her that night, but Chadwell lay in wait in the front salon when Penelope let herself in. No footman lingered in the halls as he caught her hand and drew her into the shadowed darkness.

He offered no word of apology or explanation but wrapped her in his arms and continued where he had left off the prior night. The same magic touched them, dropping a velvet mantle over their shoulders to protect them from the prying eyes of the rest of the world. It was as if time and place disappeared and the only reality was this touch of lips and hands.

Shaken to the core by the intensity of her response, Penelope turned away first. There was no point in even arguing. Picking up her skirts, she fled before he could see the tears welling up in her eyes. She did not know what Chadwell was doing to her, but she knew enough to avoid it.

She did not see Chadwell the day of the ball, and it was with relief that she greeted her husband’s stolid appearance in her chamber that evening. Wickedly he wore an eye patch of the same dark blue of his swallow-tailed coat, and Penelope summoned a grin.

“The Beau approved your sartorial choice then?” she inquired, lightly brushing his drawn cheek just below the patch.

Graham averted her touch, and she removed her hand, cursing her foolishness. It was another man’s face she longed to caress. If Clifton hadn’t so thoroughly destroyed her wits, she would have kept the careful distance Graham had established between them.

“I decided my wife’s taste took precedence. Will all the ladies admire it?” he asked with a casualness that belied the tension between them.

“Not if you scowl at them. Your problem is that you look much too strong to be a helpless invalid they could pet and make over. Can’t you contrive to look pathetic?” she asked.

Graham roared his approval of this jibe and continued chuckling as he inspected the daring gold gossamer of Penelope’s gown. “I fear I shall look quite pathetic by evening’s end when I am left standing all alone in the corner while you are being whirled about the floor by eager young blades. That gown should distract every eye.”

“It ought, considering what you paid for it,” Penelope replied. “It was your eye I hoped to distract, however. I thought if I could hold your attention, you would not be so inclined to terrorize the guests. I do owe the countess the same consideration she has shown me.”

“Which is why I have agreed to attend her ball. Lady Larchmont will be delighted if I terrorize her guests. It will make her the talk of the town. She considers herself a lioness of society, and I must admit she is a good deal more dashing than those harpies Jersey and Lieven. Matilda will not serve us stale cake and watery lemonade.”

Penelope relaxed as she realized he viewed the evening’s chore with humor. She had feared he had agreed to go from a misguided sense of obligation, but he seemed eager to meet the public again. Perhaps he grew bored of his own company and was ready to shed his isolated state.

The sensation they caused as the butler announced their arrival to a room filled with pillars of society was enough to decimate what remained of Penelope’s composure. All eyes turned to watch their descent into the glittering ballroom. Penelope clung to Graham’s arm as they stepped into virtual silence.

The shocked stares were worse than the hush. Heads craned to see the twisted wreck of the once handsome viscount. Blessedly Guy Hamilton hurried up to distract them, and Dolly Reardon joined him.

The countess had remained behind to greet late arriving guests, but at the ominous lack of sound from her ballroom, she hurried into the company, accompanied by her bemused husband. “Graham, you and your lovely wife are sensational!”

The countess wrapped her fingers around Graham’s sleeve. “I never thought to see the day when all the flapping tongues in town would be stopped at once, but you have quite marvelously accomplished it just for me. Pity it couldn’t last.” This caustic comment came about with the growing roar of everyone speaking at once.

Graham lifted a wry eyebrow. “Pleasure to be of assistance. I see the years have not dulled your sharp tongue, Matilda.”

“Nor has it yours, Trevelyan.” Lady Larchmont turned to Penelope. “Gray and I go back a long way, so you will excuse us if we do not observe the courtesies, Lady Trevelyan. You have more gumption than I expected if you are responsible for dragging the lion from his lair. I thank you.”

Penelope returned the countess’s frank stare. Lady Larchmont appeared twenty years younger than her lanky earl, but she was still not a young woman. If her chestnut hair held hints of gray, she had succeeded in concealing them, but she could not hide the fine lines etched at the corners of her eyes and lips. Still, the countess was an attractive woman.

With her new-found awareness of sexual tension, Penelope understood some of the relation between Graham and her hostess. At one time or another they had shared a liaison. Whether of short or long duration, she was not prepared to speculate. Just the knowledge of it shook her secure world a little more. Graham had told her things were different in his world, but she had not felt the impact until now.

“Graham is not one to be led about by a woman, I fear,” Penelope managed to murmur in response. “My influence on the matter was slight.”

The countess spared them both a smile. “You don’t deserve her, Trev. You will favor us later this evening with all the sordid details of how she nursed you back to health, won’t you?”

“I’ll do no such thing, Matilda,” Graham answered. “We have provided enough entertainment for one evening.” He turned to the earl. “With your permission, sir, I will lead your lady on the floor. I know you are eager for your card game.”

“Quite right. Quite right. But I’ll help do the honor. Lady Trevelyan?” He tilted precariously in Penelope’s direction.

Penelope took his bony arm, and they followed Graham and Lady Larchmont onto the floor. She knew Guy and Dolly brought up the rear, but she felt strangely isolated as the musicians struck up a quadrille. The feeling didn’t last long, but she knew their foursome was the focus of attention for those remaining along the walls.

Graham’s lame leg made his dancing a good deal less than graceful, but in white gloves and formal frock coat he appeared more formidable than fearsome. He winked at her as they passed in the pattern of the dance, and her spirits lifted another notch. If he could find humor in the spectacle they were creating, she had no reason to complain.

The evening barreled along after that. Guy claimed her hand for the next dance and more acquaintances clamored for others. She had no fear of being a wallflower, but she almost thought she would prefer to be. She listened politely to her partners’ chatter, but seldom did they strike on subjects of interest to her. She scarcely knew half the names they mentioned and did not care much for the information imparted about those she knew. She had little knowledge of fashion and could not discourse for long on the advantages or disadvantages of Bath and Brighton. It was with great relief that she found Graham holding out a demanding hand to her when a waltz began.

“I am certainly entitled to one dance with my wife, am I not?” he growled in reply to protests from several gentlemen waiting for a chance at Penelope’s hand.

Beneath Graham’s fierce stare they melted into the crowd, and Penelope closed her fingers gratefully around his. “It is kind of you to come to my rescue, but you do not need to exert yourself upon my account.” She gazed up at him hopefully. “I would be quite content to sit somewhere and talk of something other than the weather or the Regent’s wardrobe.” She had noticed Graham had not danced since the first one.

One corner of his mouth turned up in a rueful smile. “I am quite out of practice, I’ll admit. The waltz was considered very daring when I last trod the dance floor. But I’m willing if you are.”

Penelope glanced toward the draperies she knew concealed French doors to the terrace, then back to Graham. “Could we. . . Do you think we would be noticed if we went outside? I have avoided the waltz because it is never danced at assemblies at home, and I’m not at all certain I can remember how to do it. I’ve practiced with some of the girls at home, but. . .” She let the sentence die away as Graham’s eye took on a gleam of approval.

“If anyone dares follow, I shall scowl at them and send them running.” He offered his arm and they threw back the draperies to step outside.

By leaving the doors open, they could hear the music. The warm May night smelled fresh after breathing heavy perfumes. Graham wrapped his arm around Penelope’s waist and caught her hand, and stiffly they moved to the music.

In no time at all they were dancing creditably, if not gracefully. Penelope followed Graham’s lead, and she relaxed into the joy of being held by her husband. Graham pulled her closer, and she was reluctant to part when the music ended.

“Now I remember why I used to attend these functions. The pleasure of holding a beautiful woman in my arms exceeds the boredom of chattering with empty-headed misses.” Graham continued to hold her hand as he led her toward the ballroom.

Penelope glanced wistfully up at the night sky. “I would be content to remain out here. I miss my garden. Do you think we might go to the country for just a little while when the Season ends? I’m certain Alexandra would enjoy it also.”

Graham bent her a quizzical look. “You have only just arrived in the city. Surely you are not ready to abandon it?”

“Oh, it is very amusing, and I have met fascinating people, but I suppose I’m just a wee bit homesick. I would like to see Augusta again, and the twins, and all of them. Have you never lived anywhere else but the city?”

His expression closed and he replied stiffly. “Perhaps when I have completed my business here, we will go to visit my sister for a while. Will that suit?”

His aloofness took some of the pleasure from his reply, but Penelope nodded. “Yes, that would be lovely. She seems to be a very pleasant person.”

Once inside the ballroom they were caught up in the crowd rushing for the opened doors to the buffet. Entering the supper room, Graham stayed at her side. His massive size made it easy to clear a path to the table. She had to laugh at the ease with which he appropriated whatever he wanted from the table.

As they sampled the fare, Graham introduced her to more of his acquaintance. Penelope felt as if he might really be enjoying himself, and she received his friends with warmth.

She knew few of the people Graham’s companions gossiped about. She was fascinated that someone named Deauville had been in the Caribbean. She knew of no one who had visited such an exotic place, and she hoped they might run into him sometime so she could hear firsthand about the fascinating islands. Graham’s lack of interest in the subject was a disappointment, but Graham seldom allowed conversation to be dull.

The musicians stuck up a contra-danse, and the crowd flowed back toward the dance floor. Penelope happily joined in.

When the music ended, she had lost sight of Graham. Assuming he had joined his companions in another room, she returned to dancing rather than chase after him. When Guy claimed her later, she turned to him for assistance.

“Have you seen Graham? He is so very difficult to misplace, but I have not seen him this age or more.”

Guy smiled reassuringly. “Do not worry, my lady. You are in capable hands. He wasn’t feeling quite the thing, and he left early, with many apologies to you. You are to enjoy yourself, and I am to escort you home when you are ready.”

Alarm replaced her earlier well-being. “He seemed fine earlier. I hope it is nothing he has eaten. I’m sorry, Guy, but I must leave. Perhaps he has caught Alexandra’s measles. Do you know if he has ever had measles?” She hurried toward the foyer, scarcely giving Guy time to answer.

“You are being overly concerned, Penelope,” Guy admonished, but he did not attempt to stop her.

When they reached the Trevelyan mansion, Guy insisted on coming in with her, but all seemed quiet. The footman sleepily guarding the door said the master had gone off to bed, and Guy had no other choice but to give his farewell.

Before the door had closed behind him, Penelope was running up the stairs. It was not like Graham to be ill, however much he played the invalid. True, he kept country hours more often than not, and it was past his usual time for retiring, but he would not have feigned illness to go home to sleep.

Bracing herself, she rapped on the door connecting their chambers. She had never entered Graham’s bedroom, but she knew his manservant often guarded the door. He would know how serious Graham’s illness might be.

When John opened the door, he appeared surprised to see her. “My lady?”

“I would like to see Graham, John. If he is ill, a physician must be sent for.”

She had donned the cloak of authority she wielded so well. John appeared nervous at refusing her orders, but he did not relent. “I’m sorry, my lady. His lordship’s gone to sleep and asked not to be disturbed. I can’t go against his orders, my lady. He’ll be right and fine in the morning, I’m certain.”

The door closed in her face and Penelope stared at it in confusion. It was as if a solid brick wall came between them whenever they entered this suite. Why had Graham married her when he so obviously did not want a wife?

CHADWELL SAT in the darkened corner of one of the more sordid gambling hells off Whitechapel. The few oil lamps emitted more smoke than light and guttered low as the hours ticked by. Only the cheap tallow candles on the tables offered illumination for the card players. Chadwell’s table sported no candle, and he sipped at his drink, unnoticed.

Newly returned from the Caribbean, Deauville hadn’t wasted time in returning to his old haunts. It had been a simple matter to track him down. A few inquiries of former club mates eager to disassociate themselves from the bounder had produced a wealth of information.

Deauville had been warned. He had been given the opportunity for a second chance, but there he was, swindling the young fool on his right while using his mother’s jewels as bait. The jewels would be lost by morning despite the winnings from the young fool. There were better cheats at that table than Deauville.

Chadwell eyed the rest of the scoundrel’s company. He had thought DeVere reformed, but he should have known the man’s perverted tastes would not be fed on a diplomat’s salary. His animosity toward the older man had developed over a lifetime, but DeVere had given him no direct cause to challenge him. The diplomat would have to hang himself; Chadwell was out for a different game tonight.

There went the jewels. That should end the game for Deauville. Chadwell did not feel any particular satisfaction at the rightness of his deduction as the dissipated rake pushed away from the table. The fool had brought about his own destruction. He needed only a devil’s advocate to make him see the way.

DeVere gestured to one of the doxies leaning against the wall and sent her after the departing card player. If Deauville weren’t diseased by now, he would be by night’s end. Chadwell slipped from his table to follow. He wondered if DeVere still held his investment in the bordello across the street. His new diplomatic post shouldn’t allow for that.

He followed Deauville into the gloomy upstairs hallway. It wasn’t difficult to part the drunken player from his companion. The woman took Chadwell’s coin and vanished without a word. Deauville blinked at him with bloodshot, uncomprehending eyes, until Chadwell produced his pistol.

“Let’s chat awhile, shall we?” He gestured toward an empty room.

The rail-thin man stared at Chadwell as if he were the devil himself. “You! You’re dead! Go away. Leave me alone.”

Chadwell smiled unpleasantly and gestured again with the weapon. “You have been sadly misinformed, my friend. Now let us go inside and speak privately or all the ears behind these doors will know your troubles.”

Having no other choice, Deauville did as told. Sobered by the sight of the pistol, he watched warily as Chadwell shut the door, ensuring their privacy.

“Now, let us speak of the paste necklace presently residing in your mother’s jewel case. How many others have gone the same way?” Chadwell leaned against the door, the weapon drooping from his finger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man—no longer as young or hotheaded as he’d been the last time he’d been in England—replied sullenly.

“You may deny it to me all you like, it’s no skin off my nose. Of course, in the morning, when your mother receives an anonymous note asking that she have her jewelry appraised. . . Your uncle has already mentioned Newgate, I believe?”

“My God, you wouldn’t! I’ll replace them, I swear it! It’s just the luck’s been bad these last few nights. . .”

“These last few years, I’d say. You’ve lost the plantation, haven’t you? And has your uncle heard of the murder warrant yet? That rather eliminates returning to France. I’d say you have quite neatly narrowed your choices to none. Was it worth it, Deauville? I let you go once. Do you think I ought to do it again? Instead of one woman dead, now there’s two. And half your family’s fortune gone, if not more. What do you think, Deauville? Do you think I ought to let you go again?”

The bloodshot eyes filled with fear at these ominous words. Deauville stammered for a reply. “I told you I’d replace the jewels. I can’t bring back the dead. They were accidents. You know they were. We were only out for a bit of fun. We didn’t know it was Marilee. You know that. Devil take it, man, let me go. I’ll go back to the islands. Anything you say.”

“Oh, no, it’s too late for that. It wasn’t an accident, Deauville. Don’t forget, I was there. You may have killed the wrong person, but you meant to kill. If it had been an accident, you would have gone for help. But you didn’t, did you? You ran like rabbits and left her there to die in agony. I hope your little bit of fun was worth it, Deauville. If you’d been a decent man, you would have seen the error of your ways then, but you didn’t. We’re all only given one second chance. You’ve had yours. The note will be in your mother’s hands by morning. A copy of the note and the warrant for your arrest will be in your uncle’s hands at the same time. There’s only one way you can retrieve any of your honor, save your family from shame.” Chadwell waited with disinterest as the other man’s gaze lit with hope.

“What? What is it? Name anything. Money? I’ll find it. I have friends. . .”

“Not anymore, you don’t.” Chadwell removed several silver objects from his breast pocket and dropped them in the empty washbasin beside the door. Then taking the barrel of the empty pistol, he handed the butt end to Deauville. “I think you know how to load it. It’s the one you used that night to scare the horses. Put it to a better purpose this time. Goodnight.”

As Deauville incredulously took the offered weapon, Chadwell tipped his elegant beaver hat and stepped out the door.

CHAPTER 11

THE NEXT MORNING, steeling herself for another confrontation, Penelope balanced a breakfast tray in one hand and rapped at Graham’s door. She would not be shut out of his life so easily, particularly if he needed her.

Again, John answered the rap. His coat was rumpled and his hair untidy as he greeted her.

“Is Graham any better this morning? I’ve brought up some tea and things so he need not rise immediately.” She waited for the servant to move out of the way.

John held out his hands for the tray. “He is still sleeping, my lady, but I will set this beside the bed in case he wakes.”

As he bent to heft the tray from her hands, Penelope caught a glimpse of the massive bed behind him. The curtains were pulled back to allow air from the open window to circulate, and she thought she caught a glimpse of Graham sprawled across the pillows. That relieved one nagging fear that she had not admitted even to herself.

“The hour is late, John. How can he sleep so long? That does not seem at all healthy. I still think a physician should be summoned.”

“It’s the laudanum, my lady. He sleeps off the pain, and then he’s right as a trivet again.”

Laudanum? Penelope allowed the door to be closed again and added one more piece to the puzzle that was her husband. Of course they would have given him laudanum after that terrible accident. And if he still suffered pain from those old injuries, it would be natural to turn to it for relief.

She frowned, remembering one of her father’s elderly parishioners who had been given laudanum at the onset of illness. Soon, she had required a drink every night just to sleep, and as the weeks went by, she grew increasingly feeble. Penelope had tried to persuade her from taking so much of the medicine, but the woman had cried and wept the whole night through when denied it. At the end, she had been barely lucid, and Penelope blamed it entirely on the medicine.

Perhaps there were better doses of the liquid than her patient had taken. Surely a doctor wise enough to cure wounds as serious as Graham’s would not prescribe something dangerous. Still, she worried.

To Penelope’s relief, Graham came downstairs in early afternoon to catch her teaching Alexandra backgammon in the parlor. He appeared hale and hearty, and she smiled in relief.

KNOWING from John that his wife had come home early on his account, Graham had thought to scold her for interfering where he had not asked, but her smile robbed his tongue of its sharp edge. She sat there with the glow of the afternoon sun turning the loose curls at her nape to spun gold, her violet eyes wide with love and laughter, and he could no more say a cross word to her than he could to his daughter, whose dark eyes watched him warily.

“You look like truants from the schoolroom. Where is Mrs. Haywood? Shouldn’t you be learning something a little more valuable than backgammon?” He affectionately tugged a strand of his daughter’s ebony hair.

Alexandra sent him a fierce look. “Penny said I could. And she said we might go out in the carriage tomorrow.” She did not add “So there!” but the words were in her inflection.

Startled by this boldness from his usually cautious daughter, Graham nodded solemnly. “Penny is quite right. A little fresh air should be good for you after so many days inside.”

The defiant expression disappeared and Alexandra beamed with mischievousness. “Penny told Mrs. Haywood I need not start on my books or my sewing all day yet. She said I am still re-coop. . .” She glanced to Penelope for aid. Supplied with the word, she finished in triumph. “I am re-coop-er-ating, and I should not do too much at once.”

“Very wise, I’m sure,” Graham answered gravely, exchanging a laughing glance with Penelope. “When you are quite done with entertaining our Penny, I would like to borrow her for a while, if you would not mind.”

“To discuss this evening’s invitations or the high cost of the candles I ordered?” she asked mockingly.

Sharp words in the foyer interrupted them, and a moment later Guy burst into the room, a tabloid clutched in his hand. The baronet waved the paper under Graham’s nose.

“Trevelyan, I will not have it! This cannot go on! Deauville’s only just got back, it cannot be coincidence!”

“Hamilton, you will take hold of yourself, or I shall have you carried out.” Graham did not touch the newspaper, but turned to the stunned occupants of the game table. ““You will excuse us, my lady?”

Guy turned desperately to Penelope. “Tell me he was here when you came home last night.”

Looking puzzled and frightened, she answered as truthfully as she was able. “Of course. He was sound asleep. Why?”

For a moment, Guy looked relieved, until another thought seemed to strike him. “All night? Was he with you all night?”

“Guy, that’s quite enough!” Graham grabbed Guy’s elbow and all but flung him through the doorway.

The paper fell from Guy’s hand as the parlor door slammed behind them.

Alexandra’s expression was once more fraught with anxiety. Penelope feared hers did not reflect great calm. She retrieved the tabloid from the floor and perused the narrow lines on the page Guy had left open.

It took a minute before she found the article, but she found the name “Deauville.” The article gave his birthplace as Hampstead, but called him a Caribbean planter recently returned to London. It then went on to describe his suicide by a “bullet through the brain” and ended with a list of his survivors, including a mother and two sisters.

Penelope curled the paper in her fingers. A black pinprick of fear took root. Why would Guy come here in a fury over the suicide of a man who had not lived in England in years?

Graham asked the same question when he slammed the door of the study and turned to face his irate friend.

“Don’t play the innocent with me, Trevelyan! I know what happened that night. You cannot tell me it is coincidence that the moment Deauville returns to London he blows his brains out. What can you get out of seeking revenge after all these years?”

Graham limped to his desk chair and with the aid of his walking stick, eased himself to a sitting position. “You have become quite single-minded in your beliefs. I cannot fathom how you imagine I raised myself from my sickbed to limp downtown and persuade a man I haven’t seen in years to put a pistol to his head. You give me too much credit.”

“Then you knew about it?” Guy demanded.

“Of course I knew about it. I know about many things. I know Deauville’s reputation on Martinique turned out as unsavory as it promised here. I know he was practically bankrupt when he returned, and his uncle threw him out when he went home looking for funds. I know he has been living in a brothel and working in a gambling hell since he returned to London. It sounds to me as if our friend had every reason in the world to blow his brains out.” Graham leaned back in his chair and crossed his walking stick over his legs.

“And I know damned well that the toplofty sapskull thought too well of himself to put his spoon in the wall on purpose! Devil take it, Trev, you can’t act as a one man tribunal of justice. They killed Marilee, I know, but you can’t say they meant it to happen. You cannot bring her back with revenge. You have Penelope now. Why risk what you have over the worthless lives of these vermin, particularly since it was my life they sought, and not yours? If there is revenge to be taken, it is my place to do.”

“Hamilton, you’re exercising your jaw for naught. As well you know, Marilee was lost to me before the accident. Your opinion of your old club mates has little to do with me. Those that caused the accident were a worthless lot then and remain a worthless lot now. I am ashamed that I was ever associated with them in any way. Now I suggest you go back and apologize to Penelope. You have no doubt frightened her into hysterics, and I must say your manner of questioning was quite insulting. I don’t think you’re likely to earn her forgiveness anytime soon.”

Penelope had apparently sent Alexandra back to the nursery by the time Graham and Guy returned to the parlor. The tabloid lay on the table where she sat mending a tear in one of Graham’s neck cloths. He gave the item of apparel a wary look.

The baronet bowed stiffly. “My apologies, Lady Trevelyan, for my untimely and rude intrusion.”

Penelope’s eyebrows lifted. “That is very pretty of you, Guy, but I’m not likely to accept apologies without explanations. Graham?”

She held herself as regally as any princess, more regally, Graham amended, remembering Princess Caroline’s particularly blowsy informality. He couldn’t help but admire his wife’s stiff-necked pride, even if it was a damned nuisance. Any other woman would have been dissolved in tears or hysterical ranting by now. One or two might have meekly accepted Guy’s pitiable apology. Penelope, however, had singled out the real cause of the earlier scene and nailed the culprit.

He returned the hot potato to Guy. “Well, Hamilton, what explanation would you like to give?”

Guy set his lips. “I am sorry, Penelope, but it is no concern of yours. If I have frightened you, I did not mean to do so, and I apologize. I beg you will consider me sincere and accept it without further explanation.”

Any trace of sympathy fled her face. She jabbed her needle into the soft cloth and replied coldly. “You are right. It is none of my concern. Apology accepted.”

It was as neat a dismissal as Graham had ever seen. Unable to catch his wife’s eye, he steered the stricken baronet from the room.

“She is angry.” Guy accepted his hat and gloves from the butler.

“It would seem so. She does not anger easily. I told you to keep her out of this.”

“I’ll not apologize to you. You’ve brought it on yourself, and nothing will convince me otherwise. I never took you for a fool, Trev, but I’m seriously considering revising my opinion.” He spun around and stalked out.

Graham pondered whether or not his friend was right, but it was too late to change course. He was not one for leaving things half done, but his increasing regard for Penelope caused him to question what he had once taken for granted.

Twitching his shoulders in unaccustomed confusion, Graham returned to the parlor. Penelope refused to look up from her mending. He contemplated her bent head in dismay. He had no knowledge at all of how to deal with Penelope’s anger since he had never seen it displayed before.

“I will not endure a fit of the sulks, Penelope. It does not become you.” That sounded sufficiently stern to be convincing. Graham rested on his cane and waited.

She sent him a scathing look. “Neither do my high-necked muslins, you tell me, but you married me anyway. Obviously becoming was not one of the attributes you require in a wife.”

That was a singularly odd tack to take, and Graham contemplated her line of reasoning. “You are well aware of why I married you. I have given you no reason to inquire into my affairs.”

“No, you are quite right in that.” Penelope stood, throwing down the mended neck cloth on the table. “So I will not ask how that was torn after you left me unattended at the ball last night.”

Graham caught her arm as she tried to pass by. “I do not remember how it was torn, Penelope. It is of no significance.”

“And neither am I. I tell you, I understand my position completely, my lord. You have made yourself clear from the first. May I go now?”

An unexpected tension forced Graham to ask, “Are you unhappy with our arrangement, Penelope? Would you have any part of our marriage changed?”

“You have given me more than I ever dared dream, my lord. I could never ask for more,” she replied politely.

Disappointment washed over him, and he cursed himself for a fool. What did he think she would answer? He released his grip on her arm. “I came down here earlier to apologize for deserting you last evening, and to ask if I might make it up to you by taking you for a ride this afternoon. I have just quarreled with my best friend. I do not wish to quarrel with you. Will you go with me?”

“Is that your wish, my lord?” she asked coolly, her anger unsoftened by his plea.

“My wish, yes, but not my command. Is there not somewhere you would particularly like to go, someplace you would like to see?”

With a slight nod, she agreed. “I promised Alexandra new ribbons for her bonnet tomorrow. And the hems have been let out of her smocks as far as they will go. I thought we might have a new muslin or two made up for her.”

Graham curled his lips wryly. “I had thought to let you indulge yourself in a bonnet or two. I should have known Alexandra would be the only reason you accompany me.”

“You can indulge me with a membership in the lending library, if you like. Your library is no doubt educational, but since I read neither Greek nor Latin and have little understanding of agriculture or philosophy, I am left with a few novelists from prior centuries. Admittedly, they should not be ignored, but they are rather heavy reading for a rainy day.”

“Penelope, you need not be so clutch-fisted with my money!” Graham glared at this prim vicar’s daughter he had somehow taken to wife. “You can go down to the bookseller’s and buy out the store and stop at the printer’s and have them send over every new volume off the press if that is what you like. Do you think me such an ogre that I would complain of a few books?”

Penelope’s lips finally turned up at this exaggeration. “I think you would believe I set myself up in a new profession as librarian should you see bills for all that. I am not clutch-fisted, but sensible. The books I would like to read are not necessarily ones I would ever look at but once. The lending library suffices. When should I be ready?”

Graham surrendered the argument. “Fetch your bonnet. I’ll have Harley call the carriage.”

Penelope hesitated. “The carriage? Are you certain? I do not want to cause you undue discomfort—”

“Hoi polloi may grow accustomed to my face in slow stages. I’ll order the hood put up,” he answered shortly.

He would simply have to hope his face did not cause riots in the street just so he might please his wife.

CHAPTER 12

THE SEAT beside the driver was piled high with packages. Ribbons had led to laces and then necessarily to a delightful little girl’s bonnet the milliner had just made up. One or two muslins meant new chemises and a pretty pair of ruffled pantalets to peek out from beneath the eyelet summer frock Graham had declared perfect for his daughter. Of course, that meant new stockings and shoes, and the pink ribbons exactly matched a miniature parasol in the bow window of one of the shops on St. James, and that, naturally, meant new lace mittens. Penelope declared he was spoiling his daughter, and Graham countered any daughter of his should be spoiled.

He held his peace as his wife pricked the balloon of inflated prices on the various wares on display and obtained Alexandra’s wardrobe at the more reasonable rates the shopkeepers would have paid themselves. To his surprise, he wasn’t bored by shopping with Penelope. He enjoyed watching her outwit the shopkeepers, enjoyed the admiration he saw in their eyes as they packaged her purchases, and even enjoyed choosing colors and styles for his daughter, since Penelope requested his opinion. The surreptitious stares of the clerks failed to annoy him, and since no one wished to offend a viscount with a large purse, he met with no screams of horror.

All in all, their first outing could be named a success, Graham decided as the driver turned the carriage toward home. Penelope had recovered from her anger, he had assuaged another restless afternoon, and though Guy’s accusations still rankled, he saw no point in changing his ways now. He had undoubtedly created a gallery of problems by marrying Penelope, but gazing down at her serene smile as she held his hand, he couldn’t repent a minute of it.

When Penelope’s face lit with a sudden joy, he followed her gaze. One of the more enterprising farmers from the outskirts of the city had interspersed the scanty produce of his vegetable cart with colorful bouquets of May flowers. Graham called for the driver to halt.

He caught her waist and swung her down from the carriage. She blushed and smiled uncertainly at his touch. Deliberately, he let his hand linger at her waist. The thin muslin of her gown did little to disguise the curve of her waist as she bent to admire a bouquet of tulips.

They argued laughingly over the merits of wild bluebells against cultured daffodils. By the time they were done, Penelope’s arms were filled to overflowing with an assortment of every flower in the vendor’s stock.

“These remind me of home,” she said with delight, sniffing her bouquet. She glanced up to old church nearby. “Such happiness deserves to be shared,” she declared. Instead of returning to the carriage with her prizes, she swerved and headed up the walkway to the church.

Swinging his walking stick, Graham followed. He couldn’t imagine how they looked to others—the ferocious beast in his eye patch limping beside the graceful lady carrying an arm load of spring flowers—but for once, appearance didn’t concern him.

Unfortunately appearances influenced the world of nature. Penelope’s flowers invited a busy worker bee. Penelope cried in alarm as it dived for one of her daffodils. She jerked the flowers away, and the misguided bee alighted on the neckline of her yellow muslin instead.

Graham tried to dislodge the bee with one hand and the flowers with the other. He succeeded only in sending the bee into the safety of Penelope’s bodice.

Penelope’s cry of pain as the irritated bee took its vengeance on a vulnerable spot severed Graham’s patience with nature. Flinging the flowers aside, he jerked the drawstring of her gown, tore at the frail lawn of her chemise, and lunged for the nuisance.

Figuring no one could observe them within the confines of the church’s high hedges, Graham left her with little modesty until he’d caught the marauder. The shock of brushing her breast as he removed the bee woke him to what he did. His wife merely looked dazed. She made no attempt to dodge his crude touch, but merely attempted to pull her bodice together.

Without a word Graham parted her lacy chemise and sought the damage to tender skin. He frowned at the angry red welt swelling on the inside of one fair breast and sought the poisonous stinger.

He had considerable difficulty removing his hand from temptation. Penelope blushed but met his gaze with the same heat that filled him.

They remained rooted there for what seemed like eternity, Graham’s bare hand resting on her breast, his gloved one holding her so close they breathed in tandem.

The look in Graham’s eye robbed Penelope of all thought. She held her breath as his cool fingers caressed the pain. She didn’t want him to stop, and he seemed strangely reluctant to do so.

“I don’t know the proper remedy for bee stings.” His voice, when it came, was gruff.

“A little flour paste, and I don’t carry such about.” Penelope wasn’t certain how she managed to speak, but the sensible words belied her state of near panic.

“Then we shall have to take you home and find you some.” His voice was low and deep and as caressing as his touch. Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and stalked toward the carriage, leaving the flower-strewn steps of the church behind.

“Graham, what are you doing? Put me down,” Penelope whispered as they emerged from the privacy of the hedgerow into the crowded street. He had not bothered to adjust her torn chemise or retie her bodice, and the sun fell warmly on her exposed flesh.

“I don’t think I will.” With some deliberation, Graham pulled himself up into the carriage without losing his grip on her.

When he continued to hold her in his lap as he ordered the driver home, Penelope turned to him in bewilderment while her heart pounded against her ribs. “Graham? I’m quite fine. We can’t ride about like this.”

With a satisfied upturn of his mouth, he adjusted her more comfortably against his thighs and settled her head on his shoulder. “Yes, we can. White knights and conquering heroes are allowed some privileges for their daring deeds.”

When she should have been horrified, Penelope giggled. She liked being held in his strong arms. Though she had a vague idea that her reaction was unspeakably wanton, she longed for Graham to return his fingers to where he’d touched earlier.

“Jousting with bees does not seem to rate the recompense of abducting the heroine, my lord.”

“Devil take the bee,” Graham warned her with a look that encompassed her breasts beneath the sheer muslin of her chemise. “I claim my reward for not carrying you off into the hedges and ravishing you right there.”

“Graham!” Feeling the first faint stirrings of alarm, Penelope attempted to pull together her chemise or at least retie her drawstrings.

“Oh, no, that’s part of my reward.” He caught her hands. “Cover yourself and I will be forced to take desperate measures we both may regret later. Like this.” He released her hands and slid his fingers along the neckline of the gown, releasing the muslin to slide downward until it threatened to fall off altogether.

His fingers scorched her skin, and Penelope understood then the import of his words. Let him look his fill, for touching led to desire, and even her limited knowledge could figure the result of that.

She glanced uncertainly at the set of his jaw. “I think the hero of this tale is behaving with ungentlemanly rashness.”

“Perhaps.” Graham quirked an eyebrow. “But the sting would feel much better this way than buried under all that cloth, wouldn’t it?”

She couldn’t help amusement at his behavior. “Perhaps. But would you have a heroine who behaves so shockingly?”

“Better a brazen hussy than one of these modern day hen-wits who faint at the sight of their shadow,” he decided with satisfaction.

When they came within sight of the house, he reluctantly returned her to the seat while Penelope hastily tied the drawstring to hide her torn chemise. As the carriage stopped, Graham ignored the footmen. He jumped down and lifted Penelope as if she were an extension of himself.

Half frightened by the intensity of her own emotions, Penelope allowed Graham to lift her to the ground. She stared wonderingly into his scarred face as he continued to hold his hands at her waist. As if satisfied with what he found in her eyes, Graham touched a finger to her nose and led her into the house.

The opportunity to find out what would happen next was lost when they met Lady Reardon and Dolly preparing to leave. Dolly’s cries of delight distracted from their electric tension.

Graham asked the women to join him for tea, and Penelope excused herself to change her clothing.

When she returned to the parlor, the Reardons were entertaining Graham with descriptions of the exciting events of these next few weeks of the Season. He did not seem intrigued, and remembering the news Dolly had imparted some nights ago, Penelope added it to the conversation.

“And your brother, Arthur, have you heard from him again?”

Both Reardons responded excitedly. Only Penelope noticed Graham’s silence. Obviously no one had repeated this particular piece of gossip to him.

With a smoothness that belied his interest, he inquired, “Arthur joined the army? I know I have been out of touch, but why didn’t I hear of this before?”

Forgetting Graham’s frightening appearance and apparently only remembering that he had been a good friend of her younger son, Lady Reardon said eagerly, “We none of us knew it! He ran off and left a letter to his father saying he wished to make his own way in the world, and other than an occasional note telling us he was alive and well, we knew nothing of him. And we hadn’t even had a note in the longest time!”

Dolly jumped in to explain. “It seems he joined as an enlisted man under an assumed name! Can you imagine that? And then when he was injured no one had a family name to send word to and the announcement in the paper meant nothing to us. Only when he was well enough to write did we hear from him. My brother is on his way over to find him now.”

Graham set his cup aside. “Henry will be bringing him home then? Do you know when?”

Penelope wanted to attribute his interest to concern for an injured friend, but she felt uneasy at the flatness of his voice. When Guy had returned from war, she had heard the delight in her husband’s greeting. Graham’s tone did not sound as if he were inquiring out of joy.

“It depends on the extent of his injuries,” Lady Reardon said worriedly. “We’ll be taking him to Surrey to recuperate as soon as he is able to be moved. I do hope you will come to visit. I am sure it will mean a lot to him.”

Graham held his cup out for Penelope to refill. “We were thinking of adjourning to the Hall for the summer ourselves. We will certainly avail ourselves of your kind invitation.”

Penelope’s hand jerked as she poured the tea. Graham had never said anything of going to Surrey. He had mentioned his sister’s place in Hampshire. What was the Hall? The Reardons apparently knew, for they launched into an excited commentary of the jaunts and picnics they had planned that would now include the Trevelyans.

Not wishing to reveal her ignorance, Penelope smiled in agreement with Dolly’s plans and let Graham control the conversation. Her mind whirled, and she wished that she were back home in the vicarage with only the humdrum happenings of the village to disturb her peace. Every time she felt as if she were coming to some understanding with Graham, something happened to throw her back into the dark again.

If she could only look at him as one thing or another—husband, employer, friend—it would make life easier. But he shifted rapidly from one role to the other. This morning he had told her she had no right to inquire into his affairs. This afternoon he had treated her as wife and mother of his daughter. And now he was revealing that she knew nothing at all of him. She might as well be a governess.

As the Reardons prepared to leave, Charles DeVere followed the footman into the parlor. He appeared agitated, but he made a smooth bow with the polish of a practiced politician. Pleasantries exchanged, the Reardons departed, and DeVere faced Trevelyan with ill-concealed disgust.

“It’s been awhile, Trevelyan. I’d heard you’d recovered.”

“So they say.” Graham remained standing, and Penelope hesitated, uncertain whether to call for more tea or excuse herself.

With a polite nod toward Penelope, DeVere inquired, “Is Chadwell about? I have some business with him.”

“You’ll more likely find him in some gambling hell on the East End than here,” Graham responded coolly. “He does not reside with us.”

Penelope bit her tongue. She did not understand what game Graham played by disclaiming his cousin, and it was not her business to interfere. She could only feel the tension between these two and wonder at the tension.

“It is imperative that I speak with him. You must know how to reach him. I know we have seldom seen alike on many things in our past, Trevelyan, but this is an issue exceedingly crucial to our nation. In a few short days the streets will be filled with immensely important dignitaries come to celebrate the peace treaty. Should anything happen to any one of those people, it will be an embarrassment to the Regent, to the government, to every one of us. That bloody American cousin of yours has no right to keep such secrets to himself.”

He spoke as if Graham ought to understand his concerns—as Graham seemed to do, Penelope noted. How could a man who seldom ventured beyond his own portals be aware of visiting dignitaries and state secrets? And what on earth did a rakehell like Clifton Chadwell have to do with anything?

Graham leaned on his cane and delivered a piercing look to his visitor. “It is of no matter to me whether you rise to the upper echelons of government or sink to a hell of your own making, DeVere. Cliff will do as he sees best. I’d suggest if your real concern is for the safety of the czar and his company, and the well-being of the Regency, that you warn the powers-that-be to listen should an American come to them with talk of treason.”

DeVere appeared to stifle his temper. Penelope rose from her chair and curtsied. “I do not think this discussion has aught to do with me, gentlemen. I bid you adieu.”

She closed the door with a calmness she did not feel. May the saints have mercy on her, but she did not have the strength or presence of mind to deal with treason after all that had happened this day.

What had possessed her to think that marriage to Graham would provide a lifetime of peace and security?

LATER THAT EVENING Graham found his wife staring at the shelves in his library. Guiltily he remembered they had not stopped for the one thing she had requested for herself— membership in the lending library.

Remembering the reason they had been distracted from this goal, his heart pounded as he advanced into the room. The flickering firelight illumined the shadows of long legs beneath the gauze of her gown, or so Graham imagined. His thoughts were ready for distraction, and Penelope provided the allure he needed. She was an innocent, he knew, and for that reason he had avoided confronting her with his desires.

But her responses this afternoon gave him reason to hope she would not completely scorn his advances. His greatest fear was that she would be horrified and repulsed by his physical appearance. Perhaps he had worried for naught.

Rather than debating the merits of Swift over Voltaire, Penelope was lost in contemplation of the day’s events and did not hear Graham enter. How could the gentle man she knew as husband and father to Alexandra inspire the fury and antagonism of men like Guy and DeVere? What did he hide from her that others saw?

The touch of a strong hand upon her shoulder shocked her back to the present, and she jumped. Glancing up at Graham’s ravaged visage illuminated by the red and gold firelight, she shuddered as if her thoughts had conjured up a ghost.

Graham saw only the terror in her eyes, read into them the disgust he felt for himself, and with a tearing pain at his insides, stepped away.

He deserved that look of wide-eyed horror. Stifling the tentative hopes of just a moment ago, Graham uttered polite phrases and retreated, hiding the unexpected anguish filling his soul.

CHAPTER 13

THE PROMISED DAY of celebration for the end of hostilities with France plus the arrival of the Czar of Russia and King of Prussia with their colorful retinues kept the Season in full swing despite the growing warmth of June.

On any given day the location of the exotic royalty could be discerned by the swarming masses. Parades of people eager to glimpse the foreigners in their splendid robes, furs, and jewels followed the royal carriages. Just the sight of the handsome czar sent many a maiden into a swoon.

Like everyone else, Penelope was eager for a glimpse of foreign dignitaries. Never having traveled any farther than London, she felt her education sadly lacking if she did not take advantage of this once in a lifetime opportunity. When Lord Higdon offered to conduct her to a soiree in honor of the celebrities, Penelope eagerly accepted.

Judging the callow young lord to be less of a danger than the sophisticated Guy Hamilton, Graham offered no objection. He had kept a careful distance since that day he had let his wishes overrule his senses. As always, Penelope accepted the role he assigned her, although he felt her puzzled glances. Comforting himself with the thought that she would despise him should she ever discover his secret, he managed to control his tongue and actions.

He could not control his thoughts, however. Watching his wife laughing and playing with Alexandra, flirting with the gentlemen who cast her interested glances, and garbed in the revealing silks and satins he bought for her, Graham cursed the cruelty of fate. Just as he had almost accomplished his goals, temptation danced in his way. It had never occurred to him that the quiet vicar’s daughter had the ability to dispel the ghosts of his past, but for the first time in years, he contemplated the future.

He had a choice, such as it was. He could give up his goals, the work of these past few years, the reason he had found for living, and reveal himself to Penelope in hopes that she might forgive his deceit and accept him as husband. He had never quit at anything in his life, but the temptation was great if he had a chance of winning happiness. But the possibility of his proud, inconceivably honest, and morally upright wife accepting his explanations and learning to love him threatened the bounds of logic.

So he watched Penelope smile at him as she spun around in the extravagantly pleated blue faille with the lace ruffles covering the bodice, and let the young lord proudly bear her off without a word to indicate the devastation she wreaked in his heart.

As he climbed the stairs to find the lonely company of his books, a racket in the kitchens caught his attention. He recognized the raised voices of the kitchen staff, the formidable curses of his French cook, and waited patiently for John to settle the matter. It was amazing how much of this discord had disappeared with the advent of Penelope.

When John finally stalked into the hallway, hauling a filthy, tattered street urchin by the collar, Graham was grateful Penelope was not here to witness this.

The boy cringed at Graham’s visage, but within minutes, he had pried the message from the terrified youth. Cursing, Graham strode up the stairs, flinging orders to his manservant.

CAUGHT in the crush of elegant gowns and tailored coats, Penelope grew bored with the evening’s entertainment. The Czar Alexander appeared to be every bit as handsome as promised, but equally arrogant and pretentious. The grand duchess looked positively ferocious. While many of their retinue seemed approachable, Penelope’s deplorable French prevented conversation. Left to her own devices by the easily distracted Lord Higdon, it became evident that there was no place more lonely than in the midst of a crowd.

Not accustomed to feeling so out of sorts, Penelope allowed the crush to push her to the edges of the room. Crystal-cut chandeliers illuminated the elegant array of silks and satins. Penelope studied the heavy velvet draperies, wondering if escape hid behind them.

Escape came in a surprising form. A tall footman in powdered wig and red livery bore down upon her with a silver platter in his upturned hand. “Lady Trevelyan?” The young man bowed stiffly.

“How did you know?” The question revealed her country curiosity. A London-bred viscountess would have expected the servants to know her identity.

“The gentleman described you.” The footman presented the folded note.

“That must have been a fascinating description. What words did he use?” she asked, more interested in the note than the reply. She glanced to the scrawled signature and bemused, listened more carefully.

“My lady, I could not. . .”At her haughty glare, the footman re-thought his protest. “He said I was to look for the goddess garbed in sky and clouds with eyes to match my lover’s violets and honeyed tresses that brushed alabaster shoulders dusted with gold.” The words emerged breathlessly and ended with an air of satisfaction. “I reckoned you had to be young, wearing blue, and probably had freckles. Not too many in here fit the description.”

Penelope choked back her laughter at the plunge Chadwell’s airy phrases took with this translation. This was a most unlikely place to discover Graham’s rakehell cousin, but she was eager for any friendly face.

Her laughter fled as she digested the contents of the note. She glanced up as if expecting to see Chadwell hiding behind the tall footman, but of course, he was not. “Can you lead me to him?”

“Of course, my lady.” He adroitly led her to a nearby drapery.

She hesitated, throwing a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Can you take a message to Lord Higdon? I cannot describe him so poetically. . .”

The footman nodded in understanding. “I will make inquiries, my lady.”

“Good. Then tell him I was called home and give him my apologies, if you please.” Relieved of that concern, she followed the footman down a passageway to an anteroom. The footman opened the door, bowed, and withdrew.

The small room was lit only by a brace of candles, but she recognized Chadwell’s tall, broad-shouldered figure easily. Wearing black frock coat and pantaloons, he paced the floor and swung around at the sound of the door. Instead of smiling, he frowned.

“I must be mad. I should never have come here.” He strode across the room and caught her hand, bringing it to his lips for a lingering tribute. “But you are the only one I know to come to.”

“The note said it is urgent. What is wrong? Is it Graham? Is he all right?” The heat of his palm burned against her skin. Those golden eyes so like Graham’s made her tremble.

“He is fine, but useless. I need someone familiar with the servants, someone who can recommend a good, stout-hearted girl to help someone in distress. The details are not for a lady’s ears, but I will admit there is an element of danger. Perhaps a maid with a questionable reputation?”

Penelope withdrew her hand from his. “I do not employ servants with questionable reputations, and even if I should, I would not lend them to your assignations. Really, Clifton, you are quite about in your head to consider it.”

Her cold tones increased his intensity. “Penelope, you have it wrong! You see before you a desperate man. Do not think I would have come to you elsewise. A friend of mine is in serious trouble. I need a decoy, one I can trust, but the task is of such a questionable nature that I dare not risk the reputation of an innocent. Please, Penny, give it some thought. Perhaps one of the maids has a friend. Let us go back to the house and ask. They will listen to you.”

She frowned as she realized Chadwell was serious. She shook her head. “No, Cliff, I really cannot send one of the maids with you. They would feel obligated to obey, and it would be on my hands should anything happen to them. The same with their friends. Put yourself in their position. How could they refuse? It will not do at all. If it is so very desperate, why can’t I help you? There is little that I have not seen. I’m really not so very innocent as you would think.”

Chadwell gave a start at that declaration, but seeing her seriousness, he managed a faint smile. “You would have me believe you are fast, Lady Trevelyan? If so, you have certainly concealed it from me until now. No, it would not do. London’s East End is not the place for a lady.”

“If you can go there, so can I,” she replied tartly. “You think I am not acquainted with poverty and all that entails? If you are serious about helping your friend, I am your only hope.”

“Penelope, we are not talking of hovels in the back alleys of Northampton. We are talking of brothels and bordellos and gambling hells! It will not suit.” Visibly agitated, Chadwell started to run his hand through his disheveled black hair, thought better of it, and looked about as if in hopes of discovering a decanter of something strong.

His unusual vehemence caused her to study Graham’s cousin. She knew very little of this man beyond his surface sophistication. His friend apparently meant a great deal to him.

“If that is the way you feel, I am sorry I can be of no further use to you. I will not send my servants where I dare not go.” She started for the door. Graham most certainly would not approve if she became involved in Cliff’s escapades. And the talk of those murdered women in the streets of the East End—the papers had been full of dreadful details.

Chadwell’s low cry halted her. “Penny, she is nearly the only friend I have. It is because of me that she is in danger. I could take pistols and sword and storm the place, but there is no promise I will come through alive, and I have discovered lately that I very much want to live. Could you not reconsider?”

His words struck a dart through her heart. He asked her to help rescue his mistress. A man like that always kept a mistress, maybe two. Another human being was in trouble. She could not let pride stand in the way.

“If you have pistol and sword, I should be safe enough. Let us go, Clifton. If the danger is great, we have no time to quarrel.”

Penelope thought he would refuse once more, but seeing her determination, he checked his opposition.

“I will hate myself for the rest of my life for this,” he muttered, sweeping up the cloak he had thrown over a chair back. “But mercifully, my life will most likely be a short one. Let us find your pelisse.”

Penelope did not tell him she had worn only a shawl. True, the cashmere probably had more yards of material in it than any cloak or pelisse, but she sensed it was not the ideal covering for a sojourn into the depths of iniquity. She hurried after his long strides.

Chadwell scowled as the shawl was produced, but it was already too late. Penelope hurried down the marble steps. A whistle produced a hired hack, and Chadwell lifted her into the dim interior.

Then he argued with the driver and succeeded in talking the coat off the driver’s back. He threw the rumpled redingote onto the seat and swung up to join her as the coach jolted to a start.

“You don’t mean me to wear that horrible thing?” she demanded. The poor springs gave way beneath the combination of Chadwell’s weight and the coach’s motion, and she ended up in his arms before the horses reached the street.

“You may have mine,” he offered. “It’s a trifle cleaner.” He swung off his cloak, and set it about Penelope’s shoulders. “I’ll not risk having to fight you out of the place, too.”

Penelope clutched the heavy material and tried to read his face in the darkness. The thin scar on his cheek seemed to stand out against the darkness. “Will you tell me what we are to do?”

Chadwell’s arm lingered about her shoulder. “I had not thought the risk so great until now. Penelope, this is foolish. Let me take you home. I will find some other means of helping Nell.”

The other woman’s name made her wince. “Let me hear what you mean to do, and I will decide if it is too risky.”

He hugged her hard, then removed his arm before she could reprimand him. “Even when I explain, you will not understand the danger. It is not just poverty that rules the place where we are going, but evil. How much do you know of evil, Penelope?”

She considered the question. She knew of men in the village who beat their wives, and worse. She knew of women who beat their children until they could not stand. She knew behind closed doors much worse might be done, but she could not honestly say she knew of evil. She knew only poverty and wretchedness and cruelty, and that not firsthand. She had led a protected and comfortable life in comparison.

“Very little, I’m afraid; only that it exists.” She pulled the cloak tighter and stared out at the empty streets. It was past midnight, and all sane people stayed behind locked doors. Only occasionally did another carriage clip-clop past, or a lone figure dart across the street and into the shadows again. They were passing the smaller shops on the outskirts of the business district. No theaters or brightly lighted mansions added gaiety to this night scene.

“Perhaps it is better if you remain innocent,” Chadwell replied. “I do not think I wish to be the one to enlighten you. I’ll simply explain what I mean to do, and if you agree, you must promise to do exactly as I say, without question. Agreed?”

Penelope nodded, afraid her tongue would reveal her nervousness.

Chadwell continued, “I have succeeded in making a very dangerous man furious with me. It’s my own fault for dealing with the b—, the wretch, but you don’t need to know the details. He thinks to get information from me by holding Nell in a place that caters to the needs of men. I wish you did not need to understand me in this, but you must understand Nell’s danger. She is not a lady, but she does not belong in a place like that, or deserve the treatment she will receive there.”

He hesitated, taking Penelope’s gloved hand and trying to read her expression in the dim light of the lamp. She averted her face but nodded in understanding.

“Fortunately for me, this place has also become—I hesitate to say fashionable, but people of society are known to come there for various,” he sought polite words, “assignations. When we enter, they will simply think us a clandestine couple seeking a room for a few hours’ privacy.”

Penelope shivered. “How will this help Nell?”

“Once inside, I can look for the room they keep her in. You should be safe enough behind barred doors while I look. We will have to disguise Nell and send her out first, then follow shortly after. It’s a ramshackle plan, I realize, but it is the best I can do in haste. I do not wish to imagine what would become of her if I left her in that man’s hands. If evil exists, he invented it.”

Clifton’s harsh tone jerked Penelope back to the real world. It was very well to set out on a romantic rescue mission, but he was talking of a man who would torture helpless women to get his way. What else would he be capable of?

“If he took Nell because of something you did, won’t he be waiting for you to show up to rescue her? Shouldn’t someone else go in your place?”

“My informants were blessedly swift to find me. He thinks to hold her ransom for the information he wants from me. He does not expect me to know where she is, not yet. That is another reason I have not a moment to lose.”

Chadwell had said she could refuse this role if she wished, but he spoke now as if it had been decided. Even as they talked, the carriage turned down unlit narrow streets. She was aware of furtive shadows darting from door to door, leaning from windows, weaving drunkenly near the carriage wheels.

Shuddering, she turned her attention back to Chadwell. “How will you find her? Surely you cannot go about knocking on doors?”

The carriage halted in a narrow lane lined by tall, blank-looking edifices that once might have housed clean, respectable shops. Candlelight flickered from the depths of the nearest building, but otherwise it appeared uninhabited.

Chadwell donned his beaver hat and picked up the driver’s redingote and threw it around his shoulders. “Let me tell the driver to take you home. I will find some other way of getting Nell out.”

Penelope yanked the hood of his cloak over her hair and took his arm. “It would be sinful to let another human being suffer for none of her own fault. Let us be quick about it.” She did not question again how he intended to make this work. She feared she did not want to know.

Chadwell glanced at her uncertainly, looked back to the dark house with its hidden evils, and throwing caution to the winds, climbed out and lifted Penelope to the ground. The hack rattled away as they turned toward the once brightly painted doors of the bordello.

CHAPTER 14

ONCE BEYOND THE peeling paint of the front door, they entered a narrow wooden lobby with rooms to either side. Penelope avoided looking at the smoky interiors of the salons but focused on the hard arm beneath her fingers and the splintered wood of the floor she must cross before reaching the darkened stairs in the rear. She did not look up even to observe the voluptuous figure leaning against the newel post. She just knew the woman was there.

Chadwell showed no such hesitation. He blatantly admired the dark-haired beauty’s full-blown charms while sliding his arm around Penelope’s waist and drawing her closer.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” the woman murmured huskily.

Penelope jumped at a manic cackle from one of the salons. Low moans emanated from above, and deep male voices resounded from upstairs and down. Pinpricks of fear rose along her arms.

“A room, madam, if you have one to spare. My lady and I have need of a few hours’ respite.” Chadwell winked knowingly at the blowsy creature and drew his “paramour” for the evening closer, until Penelope was practically wrapped in his arms.

The woman looked doubtfully at Penelope and back to the gentleman. “She don’t look too willing, if you ask me. The likes of you will crush her like a sparrow, no doubt. Why don’t you find a real woman?”

The whore thrust herself forward. Garbed in a tinselly red dress that wrinkled at the waist and sagged too low at the top, she was a spectacle of female pulchritude. Penelope could not help but stare. She had never seen another woman quite so naked before. She wanted to kick Cliff’s shins as he admired the majestic peaks on display.

With a wicked leer, he tipped Penelope’s chin up with his finger so he could look beneath her hood without the other woman seeing her face. “The lady has little choice in the matter, does she now? That’s what adds spice to life.”

Penelope read the devilment in his eyes and had the sense to keep her lips closed. She would hate to truly be forced into his service. His arm felt like an iron band wrapped around her middle. If he were anyone but Graham’s cousin, she’d run screaming into the streets.

The woman shrugged and held out her hand for the toll. “Just don’t leave her remains behind unless they’re in working condition. We can always use a new girl, particularly the quality kind.”

Chadwell handed over the required coins. Penelope felt the woman’s gaze follow them up the narrow back stairs.

She scarcely had time to recover from that encounter before an African in purple silk and billowing pantaloons loomed into view. Penelope gasped and tried not to stare. His silk shirt appeared to have no fastenings and lay open to his waist. She had never seen skin so black, and her fascination almost overcame her fear.

Sounding irked, Chadwell spoke sharply to the servant. “We’ve paid for a room. Show us a clean one.”

The man bowed and led them down a hall past doors once decorated in an array of colors. Several panels seemed to have exotic scenes painted upon them, but Chadwell jerked Penelope past these before she could interpret the peeling blur of fleshy pinks and browns.

She could not avoid the scene painted upon the door the servant led them to, however. Even though the colors had faded and cracked, she could discern the image of a woman in a full ball gown of the prior century, except the gown appeared to have no bodice. The topless gown did not cause her to blush so much as what the woman was doing and who she was doing it with. The paintings Penelope had seen in the museum had never shown completely naked males, and her eyes widened.

Chadwell bit back a curse, shoved the door open, and handed the servant a coin before pushing Penelope inside and closing the door behind them.

“I warned you,” he observed harshly. “It’s too late to cry off now.”

Penelope nodded her understanding, unable to move her thickened tongue. She could not see the contents of the room beyond the circle of candlelight in Clifton’s hand—except that circle illuminated her worst fears. The man standing there in elegant velvet and white linen did not look like the painting, yet she was aware of his overt masculinity.

Chadwell raised the candle to reveal the room’s contents: a sagging bed, a washstand with a chipped porcelain bowl and pot, and a threadbare armchair with straight wooden legs. He found another candlestick and lit the short stub.

Penelope rolled up her nose in disgust at the untidy covers and blackened pillow casing. “Surely people do not really sleep here. I have seen cleaner inns.”

Chadwell chuckled. “Few people come here to sleep, my darling. The air of sordidness adds a certain excitement, don’t you agree?”

She gave him an incredulous look that should have frozen the hair off his eyebrows. He visibly bit back a laugh.

“I’m sorry, Penny. I will try not to leave you here too long. Do you think you can manage until I return?”

She frowned. “I do not see what you can do with that. . . that creature sitting right down the hall. He won’t let you search the place. And if this Nell is being held prisoner, surely she will be locked in. It is impossible.”

“Only to the uninformed, my dear. The ‘creature’ at the end of the hall is paid to keep quiet. I can bribe him to hold you here while I go out and dally with the other ladies, and he will not find it at all shocking should I return with one or two more. I expect Nell is being offered for sale upstairs. Coins open every door in this place.”

That unexpected crudity shocked Penelope into silence. The hardness in his eyes frightened her. She had placed herself very much at his mercy if what he said was true. She could only rely on Chadwell’s inherent gentlemanliness to come out of this without harm, and she suspected he was a gentleman only when he felt like it.

Seeing her fear, Chadwell flattened his lips grimly. “Good. You are beginning to understand how dangerous your innocence is. If you are to live in this city, you had better learn to be a little more aware of what can happen to attractive women on their own. It was foolish of you to accompany me.”

“I cannot go about distrusting everyone,” she whispered hoarsely, praying her instincts were right.

“But you need not be quite so trusting, either.” Chadwell pulled his cloak from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor while he boldly admired the expanse of skin framed by the shawl and diaphanous gown.

He pulled her into his embrace and bent to mold her lips to his.

Penelope suffered a riot of emotions as she fought his grasp and succumbed to his heated kiss at the same time. Her body wanted what he was doing, longed to be held close against his long, powerful frame, needed the passion of his lips plying hers into surrender. She devoured the taste of wine on his tongue, drank in the musky scent of his skin, marveled at the rough scratch of his beard as he clung to her lips and sought succor there. Her fingers slid over the velvet of his coat, aware of the tension in the straining muscles beneath the material.

Yet she knew it was wrong, knew it with every fiber of her being, and her heart and soul clamored to be heard. She was a married woman, and a rake like this had no place in her life. It had been pure madness to allow him to bring her here. She had practically assisted in her own seduction. The thought repulsed her until she gained the strength to push away.

Breathless, she backed off, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as she stared at Chadwell. She had no escape, but she still could not believe he would force her.

As if reading her thoughts, Chadwell shrugged. “I would be inclined to try, my lady, had we been anywhere else or under any other circumstances. You are a beautiful temptation. As it is, your virtue is safe with me. I will make haste to find Nell, then we’ll depart promptly.”

He swung around and walked out the door.

Penelope stared at the closed wooden panel in terror, then rushed to throw the bar. She had no desire to discover what other perversions haunted the halls of this wicked house.

With Chadwell gone, her senses became attuned to the night around her. She jerked nervously at the scampering of mice between the walls. She touched her fingers to the chafed skin around her lips where Chadwell’s beard had scraped. She could still taste the sweet wine of his kiss, and her legs nearly crumpled in a flood of desire.

Lowering herself to the torn cushion of the chair, she strained to see in the light of the candle stub. On the other side of the wall a woman moaned and a man cursed. She heard the distinct sound of a slap, but could not quite imagine the source of the fierce thumping noises that followed.

Other cries penetrated the walls, weird wails, throaty masculine growls that coiled her insides. After a while, she felt as if she had entered one of the first circles of hell, and she clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

She desperately needed Graham’s strong arms around her, holding her, hiding her from these indecent noises, protecting her illusions.

Exclaiming over her foolishness, Penelope rose to pace the room. The room was warm and she did not need both cloak and shawl, but she wrapped them around her, anyway. Chadwell’s masculine scent drifted from the encompassing cloak. She clung to it, enjoying the spicy aroma of his shaving soap. The tight ball in her center opened, leaving a hunger she could not ignore.

She paced faster, starting at the sound of Chadwell’s voice overhead. He did not seem troubled, and she had to assume he was safe. She just wished he would hurry.

A man like that would probably think nothing of making love to his mistress and several of the prostitutes before deciding to call it a night, she thought bitterly. Those passionate moans overhead could be the lovely, misguided Nell. The man’s low murmurs could be Chadwell’s loving phrases. He was generous with his pretty compliments and sweet endearments. He had probably turned many a poor maid’s head. How many innocents had his charming good looks brought to ruin? The hapless Nell was no doubt one of many.

Penelope had worked herself into such a state by the time the knock rapped at the door that she almost refused to answer it. Recovering herself, she threw back the bolt before remembering to ask who was there. Luckily, she heard Chadwell’s murmured voice before the door swung open.

He caught her by the waist as soon as the door opened, and Penelope gave a startled cry. With a look of satisfaction, he stepped aside to allow another figure to slip through. He threw the bolt and bent a fierce kiss to Penelope’s lips before straightening and releasing her.

“Very good, my love. Now let us have a scream of outrage. You will have to take off that pretty gown and slippers, too.” Without waiting for Penelope’s protest, he gestured to the scantily garbed woman hiding in the shadows. “Off with yours, too, Nellie. We must make this convincing. You are much of a size, I think. The cloaks will keep anyone from noticing the differences.”

Penelope stared at him, wondering if he had gone mad. Impatiently he located the ties of her bodice. “Quickly, Penny. Scream. Give us an argument.”

“You are mad! You are quite insane! Let me go!” Penelope attempted to jerk from his hands, but his grasp was unbreakable. The folds of her bodice began to separate, and she squirmed helplessly to avoid his nimble fingers.

“Very good. A little louder, please,” he murmured irrepressibly. In a rough voice he yelled, “Stop it, you silly chit! What do you think we came here for?”

In her corner Nellie began to giggle and dispense with the tawdry satin that she had been wearing when she was abducted.

“You can’t do this! You have no right!” Penelope cried in dismay as her lovely gown fell to the floor, leaving her clad only in a thin chemise and stockings. She wrapped her shawl over her breasts, but then she couldn’t reach for her gown.

Chadwell turned to grab Nell’s gown. “I’ll damned well do what I want! You owe me this one. What do you think you are going to do about it?” he bellowed as he jerked the cheap full skirt over Penelope’s tresses.

With a grin he caught her scantily clad waist and lifted her from the floor, extracting an outraged scream. Nell bent and grabbed the fancy gown from beneath Penelope’s feet.

“Give me a loud slap, sir,” Nell whispered, presenting her well-rounded bottom for his target.

Understanding, Chadwell gave her a resounding wallop, though done with cupped hand and little pain.

Penelope screamed at this idiocy, although comprehension finally dawned. Setting the shawl aside, she struggled into the gown he’d flung over her head. With dismay she discovered the old-fashioned, low-cut bodice nearly fell off her, and she was scarcely better covered than in her chemise. Chadwell’s appraising glance took note of the situation, but he did nothing more than grin at the sight revealed.

Nell was having a little more trouble struggling into Penelope’s snug bodice, and he hastened to help. With a gesture he ordered more screaming to cover the delay.

With great pleasure Penelope reached for the wretched washbowl and heaved it at his head with a furious crash. “You lying oaf!” She flung the pot next, hearing it splinter against the wall with great effect. “You rutting bounder! I’ll have you give me Spanish coin! The devil take you, I’ll not be made a cake of!” Running out of ammunition and epithets, she turned the washstand over with a satisfactory slam.

Chadwell grinned his appreciation and swept his cloak from the floor. He flung it over Nell, hiding the fact that he could not quite tie the bodice. “Don’t cut up stiff with me, my little Cyprian. If the color of my coin isn’t good enough, you can take yourself out of here. I’ll be damned if I’ll escort you!”

He gave Nell a shove toward the door. She didn’t need to be told twice. With Penelope’s scream of outrage echoing down the hall, she slammed the door and ran, clattering down the stairs as fast as she could go.

Chadwell threw off his coat and cravat and raced after her in his shirtsleeves, shaking his fist and cursing until she was well down the stairs and out the door. Not until he knew Nell was safe and on the way to his well-paid hack driver did he turn around and produce a sheepish look for the audience peering from behind half a dozen doors. With a mild shrug of his broad shoulders, he explained, “Fellow’s got a right to get what he pays for, ain’t he?”

With a swagger that nearly sent Penelope into convulsions, he returned to the room.

“Now what?” she hissed as he slammed the door and reached for his discarded clothes.

“We get you the hell out of here before you start talking cant any more fluently.” He jerked his coat on again and flung his cravat loosely around his neck while regarding Penelope with a mixture of admiration and confusion.

Now that the worst was over, the rush of excitement left her drained and nervous. She wrapped her shawl over the gaping bodice and avoided his eyes. “How can I go out like this? They’ll think me a. . .”

“A whore? Very good. That’s what I want them to think.” He tugged a curl to fall over her bare shoulder, creating a disheveled look with the other strands flying loose from his rough handling. “I’m sorry, poppet, but this is the only way to get us out of here. It’s quite obvious you’re not Nell, or one of their own. They’ll have to let us pass.”

His hand lingered too long on her shoulder, and Penelope held her breath as she felt the heated path of his gaze. Her breasts burned beneath the intensity of his look, and a tingle of desire took root as her hunger reacted to his. Her nipples rose against the slippery satin, and she knew he could see their outline through the thin layers of material.

She literally ached when he moved away without touching her more.

“One more performance, my pretty Penny,” he whispered hoarsely, flinging the driver’s redingote over his arm. “One more performance and we’ll be home.”

He took her elbow and steered her toward the door. He pried her grip loose from the shawl and draped the loose material to show as little as possible, though the daring cleavage revealed her clearly as a woman of few morals.

“You must smile at me, Penelope. Cling to my arm and act as if I’ve just promised you all the queen’s jewels.”

She stared at him in disbelief, but the hard line of Chadwell’s mouth made it clear this was not over. Gulping, she offered a tremulous smile and leaned against him.

“Where’s the lion-hearted girl who dared call me a rutting bounder and flung a chamber pot at my head?” he whispered tauntingly in her ear, wrapping his arm about her waist.

“She is cursing the day she ever saw your face, sir.” Calling up a particularly vapid look she remembered from a loose-witted girl back home, she clung to his arm and beamed vacantly up at him.

He choked and spluttered, then grinned weakly. “Very good, my dear. Just hold that pose until we are outside.”

The hall was quiet again. Only the African remained at his post, and he showed no curiosity as the gentleman left with a common streetwalker instead of the elegant lady he had arrived with. Going down the stairs they could see several new arrivals in the lobby, but the bold beauty who had greeted them had apparently found a companion for the evening.

Penelope felt her smile freeze as Chadwell genially greeted the men openly ogling her nearly bare bosom. She longed to wrap the shawl on her arm over her shoulders, but that would be out of character. Only ladies wealthy enough to own such an expensive garment knew how to wield the yards of material well.

She clung to Chadwell’s arm and continued beaming witlessly at the dark shadow of his jaw as he exchanged words with a man who appeared to be the proprietor. The man scowled at her but said nothing as Cliff donned his hat, and they stepped into the night.

The hack had left with Nell, carrying her to safety, and abandoning them to this dark alley. Wordlessly they hurried toward a wider thoroughfare where transportation might be found. Penelope never felt more grateful for Chadwell’s frighteningly muscular size than she did now. The denizens of these streets backed away as he rushed her along. Their extreme wariness might have more to do with the rumors of the beast who stalked these streets murdering women. Chadwell looked fearsome enough to fit such a role.

Penelope’s teeth began to chatter by the time they reached a wider street without sign of a hack. Chadwell took the shawl from her and wrapped it around her bare arms, but the foggy night air had little to do with her chill.

As ease for her sorely frayed nerves, she began to talk. “How did you find her? Was it difficult?”

Keeping his arm around her waist, Chadwell hurried her down still another street. “Not at all. Nell comes from these streets and can take care of herself. She nearly decapitated the first man who tried to touch her. She hurt another so badly he won’t be able to touch another woman for a long time. When they thought to drug her into senselessness, she flung the plate in their faces. By the time I came along they had decided to starve her into submission. They thought it would be amusing to see what she would do to a gentleman, I suspect. When I went in and didn’t come out, they got bored and left only one guard to wait for me. He should get a good night’s sleep before they find him.”

Penelope shivered more at the way he said this. She glanced at the taut line of his jaw and chose to change the subject. “Where did you tell Nell to go? Surely she won’t be safe wherever you’ve been keeping her?”

Chadwell nearly came to a halt. “Keeping her? Keeping Nell? Do you mean to say you went in that place back there thinking you helped me to rescue my mistress? Penelope, you are the most caper-witted gudgeon I ever care to meet!”

Before she could offer an indignant reply, Chadwell emitted an ear-piercing whistle and flagged a weary hack heading home for the night. The driver glanced nervously at his size and lifted the whip to urge his horses faster, but Chadwell grabbed the door, jerked it open, and jumped on the step to take the reins from the man’s hands. Before the terrified driver could flee from his seat in terror, Chadwell threw him a bag of coins and gave him Graham’s address. Then he stepped down and lifted Penelope into the coach and clambered up after her before the man could have second thoughts.

As the coach jerked into motion, Chadwell exuberantly gathered Penelope into his arms and kissed her cheeks. “I think I could learn to love a gudgeon like you, pretty Penny. Tell me you love me, too.”

“I’ll do no such of a thing!” Indignantly Penelope attempted to extricate herself from his embrace, but he happily wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “What was I supposed to think? That Nell was your sister?”

“Two of a kind we might be, but she’s not my sister.” He grinned foolishly. “I have no mistress at the moment, my lady. Would you accept the position?”

His laughter boomed through the streets as Penelope wrenched an arm free and tried to slap him.

The next minute, quiet reigned as he wrapped her in his arms and drowned her protests with the fierceness of his kiss.

CHAPTER 15

ALL THE EVENING’S fears and excitements were released by just the touch of his lips on hers. Any thought fled as Penelope succumbed to the urgent hunger of Chadwell’s kiss and the thrill of his chiseled lips molding to hers. Her hands shifted instinctively to his chest as he pulled her closer.

With more tenderness than that first, fierce encounter, he plied her lips with butterfly touches that weakened her with tremors of desire. Penelope breathed deeply of the masculine scent of his skin. Her mouth feverishly sought to hold his, and when he obliged, her lips parted almost in relief.

The touch of his tongue was a warning she ignored, so absorbed had she become in the sensations sweeping through her. As his kiss deepened, she bent into his embrace until her breasts pressed against the coarse cloth of his cloak. Her hands rose to his shoulders, and Chadwell groaned against her mouth and pulled her across his knees.

It all happened much too fast after that, although at the time it seemed a long, sweet escape into heaven. The shawl fell away as Penelope leaned back against a brawny shoulder, and the overlarge bodice offered little protection against his caressing hands.

The heat of his kisses traveled to the sensitive skin behind her ear. From there, they led a burning trail down her throat. In her inexperience, she was helpless beneath the inexorable invasion of her senses.

The broad hand at her waist flattened to engulf her waist and belly, engendering wild fires. While she attempted to conquer these, his hand slipped higher, stroking the underside of her breasts. A strange lassitude replaced her fears, and Penelope’s head fell back against his shoulder as he slid the loose bodice from her breast and claimed the peak with his fingers. Shivers of excitement found a center low in her groin as her body responded to the pressure of his fingers.

His mouth returned to hers, invading and claiming her with all the triumph of a conquering hero. Penelope buried her fingers in his hair as she gave herself up to this intimacy. The cool night air blew across her uncovered bosom, but the sensation did nothing to cool her impassioned reaction.

Chadwell transferred his lips to the taut crest of her breast, and Penelope cried out her surprise and joy. Never had she known anything like this. As the heat of his mouth drew her in, she arched to meet his hungry tongue.

He was so much more experienced than she, so wise in the ways of love, that he took unfair advantage. As his hand slid from the relative safety of her stockinged calf to the bare skin above her garter, the carriage rolled to a halt.

The shocking touch of his heated palm upon her thigh at the same time as he raised his head to observe their location propelled Penelope from her lethargy. All the wonderful, exciting new sensations fled beneath a flood of shame, and she shoved from his lap.

Before he could even open the door for her, she grabbed her shawl and opened it herself, hopping down and flying up the walkway without looking back. Disheveled curls streamed down her back as she ran, and she had to lift her overlarge skirt above her ankles to negotiate the stairs.

Penelope fled past the sleepy footman, the guttering lamps on the stairs, and into the security of the small salon that joined her chamber with Graham’s. Frantically she glanced at his closed doors, and with swift decision she turned to her own. She could not go to him looking like this.

With the haste of madness Penelope stripped the cheap satin from her burning body, feverishly pulled the pins from her hair. She slipped into the lovely lace nightgown Augusta had sewn for her wedding night. Heart pounding, she advanced upon the door separating her from her husband.

As always, John answered her scratch, but this time, Penelope was prepared for him. Already disheveled and frantic, she had little performing to do as she pointed at the darkened far corner of her salon.

“A rat! A huge, hairy rat! John, get him please!” she cried with real anguish to the sleepy manservant.

John rubbed his eyes and stared at her with disbelief. His chivalry finally waking, he grabbed a poker from the fireplace and advanced into the room in the direction indicated.

Triumphantly Penelope sailed into Graham’s chambers and toward the safety of her slumbering husband’s arms. By morning, she would be wife in more than name, and Chadwell’s charms would no longer have an effect on her.

Not daring to hesitate lest her determination waver, Penelope approached the heavily draped, massive bed on flying feet. Throwing back one of the velvet drapes, she prepared to launch into rapid explanations.

The bed was empty. Untouched.

Penelope’s mouth dropped open at the sight of that bank of unblemished pillows. Before her mind could even fly to find reasons, John appeared in the doorway, and a light knock rapped at the far door of her chamber.

She wanted to run and hide and disappear into the wainscoting, never to be seen again, but she could not. She was the Viscountess Trevelyan, Baroness Wycliffe, and she had to hold her head up and keep on living, whatever happened to her heart and soul.

Feeling her insides shredding into little pieces, Penelope marched past John and flung open her chamber door.

Chadwell stood there, his forearm leaning against the door frame as his gaze took in her delicate nightdress, then swept to John clutching a poker. His face drained to a shade of gray. “Penelope, if you’ll just let me in, I’ll—”

She slammed the door in his face, hoping it hit his perfect, aristocratically long nose. With vengeance in her eyes she pointed at Graham’s open door. “Out, get out!”

John ran for cover. He darted into Graham’s chamber and very gently closed the door. A flying object flew against the wooden panel as it closed.

Emotions unexercised by this reprehensible fall from decorum, Penelope dropped against her silken sheets and wept as she had never wept before.

THE NEXT DAY dawned without any improvement in her humor. Eyes red and puffy, Penelope ordered her maid to go away before the poor creature could even enter with a tray of hot chocolate. Her body ached as if it had really been molested. She could feel the rawness of her skin in every place that Chadwell had touched with his lips, and shame flooded through her.

Burying her face in the pillow, she tried to shut out the memory of last night, but humiliation brought the images alive to play over and over again in her head. She kept seeing that obscene door with its portrayal of virile masculinity superimposed on the image of Chadwell standing before her in his velvet frock coat. Then she saw herself naked in his arms, his hands and lips touching her in unspeakable places, and she felt as if she would shrivel up and die of shame. She could never come out and face him again. Never.

Then her memory would fly back to Graham’s empty chamber and rage would replace humiliation. Where did he go at night when she thought him ill and resting under the effects of laudanum? For she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was not the first time Graham had left her alone.

He had told her to find lovers, not to interfere in his life, that this was a marriage of convenience. Why had she not believed him? In her pride and arrogance had she thought she would be the only woman he would set his eyes on? Had she thought no other woman would have him and that he was hers to do with as she wished? Fool, unadulterated fool!

This was London. This was society. She could have surrendered her virtue to Graham’s cousin last night and no one would have waggled an eyebrow. No one would praise her for her sheltered loyalty to her husband, or would they condemn her for her shameless surrender to Chadwell’s seduction. No one cared. No one gave a damn one way or another.

A combination of fury and humiliation and pride finally brought Penelope to her feet. She would not let this degrading world bring her to her knees. She would hold her head up and go about as usual and do what she should have done from the first… pretend Graham was a casual friend and his cousin a devil straight from hell.

Donning the brightest yellow gown she could find, tying the sash herself, Penelope swept down to brunch. Blessedly there was no one about but herself, and she sifted through the morning’s flood of invitations as she ate.

Deciding she was not prepared to confront either of the male occupants of the house, Penelope sent for her bonnet and gloves and set out to walk to Dolly Reardon’s. The fresh air would be healthy for her lungs if it could not heal her soul.

Fastening her gloves as she strode down the front stairs, Penelope noticed any fog left from the prior evening had burned off in the warm June sun. She made up her mind to stroll in the park before returning home. She missed her garden in the country.

Not planning on wandering out of the wealthy enclave of towering mansions and manicured lawns, she felt safe in not bringing her maid along. After last night, she felt more secure in the full eye of the public than behind any of these polished front doors. Perhaps that was a foolish reaction, but she could not help how she felt.

As she reached the high wrought-iron gate at the end of the drive, Penelope finished her glove and looked up. A shiny black phaeton rolled by under the guidance of a haughty driver in maroon livery. The high-stepping grays politely waited until they reached the corner before marring the cobblestones with their droppings. The rows of houses reflected quiet elegance and centuries of gently bred good taste.

So the heap of grimy rags cluttering the base of Graham’s gatepost, hidden from the footman’s watchful eye by an ornamental shrub, stood out like a screeching mynah in a cage of canaries. Even as Penelope spotted it, a watchman hurried to remove the offense from her gaze.

To her surprise the bundle of rags darted from the post and ran into the yard when she opened the gate. Beneath the grime Penelope detected a young boy, but his expression was more defiant than terrified when he saw her.

“Excuse me, milady. I’ll be disposing of the young ruffian for you.” The watchman strode through the gate in pursuit of the stray.

Desperate, the boy cried out. “Mr. Chad, miss! I gots to see Mr. Chad!”

Grimly recognizing the probability that this might be one of Chadwell’s valuable informants, perhaps with word of Nell, Penelope stepped in. “I’m sorry, officer. The boy is expected here. I’ll show him the way to the kitchen gate. Thank you so much for your quick assistance.”

The man already had the urchin by the scruff of the neck and was hesitant to release his quarry, but under Penelope’s glare, he shrugged and scraped a bow. The boy retaliated by spitting on his polished boot. A cuff to a filthy ear was prevented by the simple expedient of Penelope stepping between them.

“If you will step around to the kitchen, officer, tell the maids I said you were to have a cup of tea and a bite to eat.” Penelope restrained the hostile youngster by clinging to his collar until the guard was out of sight.

Then leaning over and glaring directly into narrowed brown eyes, she chastised the young offender. “The man was doing what he gets paid to do. If Mr. Chadwell intends you to visit with any frequency, you might inform him you will need a new suit of clothes and a bath.”

“Gor blimey!” As he realized he was neither to be beat nor struck, the boy relaxed into amazed adulation.

Penelope released his collar and straightened. “A simple ‘Yes, ma’am,’ will suffice.” She waited.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, waiting to see what that would bring him.

“Very good. Is Mr. Chadwell expecting you?”

Caution leapt to his eyes. “Not per’zactly, mum.” He tacked on the latter after a moment’s hesitation. “I ain’t made out for the country, mum. I can’t ’ardly breathe what wi’ all ’em flowers in the air and all. And I reckon I rightly rather take on old Boozer ’ere than one of ’em blitherin’ cows. So’s I come to arsk Mr. Chad for a position ’ere in the city, where me family is.”

Not quite understanding this garbled message, Penelope did grasp that the boy was covered with bruises and scratches as well as dirt and that he appeared more than half starved. Not wishing to send him in the same direction as the watchman and not knowing what else to do with him, she picked up her skirt and started toward the door.

“Come. We will see if Mr. Chadwell is at home.”

The boy gaped in astonishment as she marched up the spotless stairs. When she turned to lift an eyebrow at him, he responded with alacrity, leapt to the stair, and followed as obediently as a puppy at her heels.

Harley opened the door with an expression of horror. Penelope swept past him and signaled her follower to do the same, her flashing eyes daring the butler to utter a word of protest. No fool he, his mouth snapped shut as the urchin scampered across the threshold and scattered dust across the marble foyer.

“If Mr. Chadwell is at home, please inform him he has a caller. Meanwhile, show our guest to a bathtub and some food. In that order.”

A squeal almost of pain emitted from the small ruffian at the word “bath,” and he glanced frantically for escape. He made a dash for the glassy hallway.

Harley uttered a curse. A footman hovering in the background gave chase. Penelope shouted at the urchin to halt, to no effect. He slipped and slid across polished floors, scattered rugs, and almost gained the dining room before sprawling head forward, just missing the fragile legs of a Chippendale hall table adorned with a Chinese vase.

Penelope caught her breath as he raised his head, bumping the table underside, but her gaze also caught a motion under the stairs. “Alexandra, come out here at once!”

The little imp appeared at the same time as Graham’s study door opened and Chadwell staggered into the fray. At sight of Chadwell’s bleary, excessively rumpled state, the urchin sat up and made a sound like, “Coo, blimey!” The table promptly toppled.

With elfin swiftness Alexandra caught the vase before it hit the ground, but the resultant splash of water and blossoms drenched her new muslin gown. In disgust she dumped the remains over the youth at her feet.

“Nasty boy! Look what you made me do!” she cried indignantly, glancing down at her once beautiful new frock.

“You maggot-brained little. . .” The urchin launched into a tirade between hiccups of self-pity, but Chadwell interrupted.

“Pippin, shut up and go with Harley. I’ll deal with you shortly. Harley, get that ruffian to the kitchen. Jones, quit gawking and clean up that mess.” He turned a sardonic eye to Penelope in her bright bonnet and gown. “I believe the other urchin is your responsibility.”

Without raising her voice, Penelope directed Alexandra. “Thank you for saving the vase, Alex. Set it down and Jones will take care of it. Mrs. Haywood will find you a new frock, and the maids will clean that one. Why were you not in the nursery where you belong?”

“It’s too pretty out to sew silly stitches. I was looking for you. Is he going to stay here? And who’s that?” Alexandra peeped around the corner of the newel post at the decidedly disreputable gentleman in the study doorway.

“Your cousin. Now upstairs, Alexandra. We will go riding this afternoon and not sooner.”

“My cousin?” Alexandra gave Chadwell a look of doubt that encompassed his unshaven face, his untidy hair, and his lack of coat or cravat, and sniffed audibly. “That nasty boy’s father, I suppose.” Nose in the air, she swayed primly up the graceful staircase in her best Mrs. Haywood manner.

Penelope shot Chadwell a bleak look of surprise and chagrin as she realized the possibility that Alexandra could be right, then marched out the front door without looking back.

CHAPTER 16

PENELOPE’S HURT look practically accusing him of fathering that starveling child nearly crumpled what remained of Chadwell’s defenses. As the front door slammed behind her, he glanced to the nearly empty brandy decanter on the desk, wondering if he ought to take the rest of it up to bed with him.

He grimaced at the caterwauling from the kitchen and looked up in time to catch the accusing look in John’s eyes as the servant hurried down the stairs. One more black mark in his book, and that was before John discovered the state of the velvet frock coat on the study floor.

Remembering the orphan in the kitchen, Chadwell resolutely climbed the stairs to his chambers. Penelope’s accusing eyes followed him with every step. Woman molester. Child abuser. Drunkard. Scapegrace. Rake. Each step brought another fitting appellation. Liar. Deceiver. Abuser of trust.

He was all of these and more, although perhaps not in the way she imagined. It didn’t matter, though. Once she found out the truth, it was all over. He had thought it wouldn’t matter. He had thought if she ever discovered the truth, he could go on as before, but now he could see that was a fool’s dream.

He needed her beside him to drive away this veil of bitter loneliness, to brighten his days and nights with her smile, to soothe his fears and worries with her soft, eminently practical words. But to have her, he would have to tell her the truth, and the truth would destroy whatever hope he held of winning her trust. Either way, he lost.

Swearing to himself, he proceeded to his chambers and a much needed shave.

DOLLY RAN to Penelope as soon as she entered the salon where Lady Reardon entertained her morning callers. “Come, let us take a walk. The sun is too nice to stay inside.”

“Delphinia, what has come over you? Bring Lady Trevelyan in at once. Lady Northrup and Mrs. Simmons haven’t had a chance to say hello.” Lady Reardon reprimanded her youngest child before greeting Penelope. “Do come in, Penelope. Delphinia has been over-excited since learning of Arthur’s return.”

Removing her bonnet, Penelope nodded a greeting to the guests and returned the dowager’s smile of joy. “How very happy for you! Is he here now? How is he?”

“Henry has taken him to our home to Surrey. We will be leaving shortly to join him. He is seriously injured, but the physicians give him every chance of surviving.”

This good news did not seem to lighten Dolly’s eyes as it ought, but caught in the trap of etiquette, Penelope could not excuse herself to find out what troubled her friend. The other women carried her into the conversation, and as other callers arrived, it seemed impossible to extricate herself.

Her thoughts far away from the chitchat, she dismissed a few furtive glances and whispered asides, but Graham’s name mentioned in loathing and fear caught her attention.

Dolly intervened before Penelope could find the speaker. Sitting down beside her on the love seat, she began to chat animatedly about the pleasures of the Surrey countryside.

It was not a topic that required much concentration, and soon Penelope was rewarded with another scrap of conversation that Dolly’s chatter did not hide.

“The description is the same! The whole world knows it is. It is only because of his name and title that no one has stepped forward to accuse him.”

The angry voice was the same as the one who had mentioned Graham’s name, but Penelope could not see any connection. Perhaps their conversation had moved on to other subjects.

Desperately Dolly attempted diversion by handing Penelope a cup of chocolate. “This is the very best I have ever had. Mother found it in a little shop behind Bond Street. They have the most extraordinary bird in the window. . .”

Whatever else Dolly had to say was lost to Penelope as the angry voice interrupted another in a loud reprimand. “Who else do you know who wears eye patches and is large enough to halt a carriage and drag a female from inside?”

The words silenced the whole room. Paling, Penelope sought the speaker.

A tall, stout woman, Mrs. Simmons was of an age to affect a turban. She wore a voluminous flowered print that would have done credit to a chair, and held herself as erect as her old family name allowed. She met Penelope’s look defiantly.

“My husband wears eye patches, Mrs. Simmons,” Penelope said, sipping on her chocolate. “Do you speak of him?”

Lady Reardon rushed to avert this direct challenge. “That was the most dashing patch he wore the other night, cut to match his coat, if I’m not mistaken. All the ladies found the effect quite remarkable.”

“But Mrs. Simmons was saying?” Already in a rebellious mood, Penelope forced the gossip into the open.

The old lady responded to the challenge. “I was saying your husband exactly matches the description of the brute who dragged a woman from her carriage last night and bludgeoned her to death right there on the street.”

Steadfastly, Penelope met the other woman’s sharpness with cool aplomb. “How very interesting. I have never heard Graham described as a brute before. Crippled and maimed are the usual epithets he receives. I am certain he will be pleased to know he has been raised to the nobility of brute.”

Penelope set her cup upon the tray and ignoring the distress of her hostess, she rose. “I had not realized the time. If you will excuse me, I must return home before my husband discovers my absence. He will most likely beat me within an inch of my life for my neglect.”

Head held high, she stormed out of the room, her irony falling on deaf ears. The gossip was much too good to be erased by logic.

She met Guy about to enter the Reardons’, but he did a quick about face and fell into step beside her.

“Penelope, what’s wrong? You look as if you’ve just challenged someone to a duel.”

“I believe I have. I expect her seconds to arrive at any moment. People are so thoughtlessly cruel,” she added.

“It’s something to do with Trev, isn’t it? Not Dolly, surely. . .” He took her arm as they started across the street.

“No, of course not.” Suddenly weary of everything, Penelope allowed her shoulders to slump. Graham had indicated that Guy was a rake and not to be trusted, but she found his company comfortable. His extravagant handsomeness had no effect on her heart, but the warm pressure of his hand offered solace. That was not the effect of a rake.

Guy waited for her to continue, and when she did not, he tried to pry the pieces of the puzzle from her. “No, it was not Dolly, or not Trev?”

“Not either. It’s just gossip. You would think I’d have heard enough gossip to know better by now. But every time it cuts a little bit crueler.” Recovering from her momentary melancholy, Penelope squeezed his hand. “I am sorry to bore you with my dismals. Do not let me lead you astray. I am certain Dolly is waiting expectantly for you.”

“She is no such of a thing. I only meant to call to inquire after Arthur. What have the biddies been gossiping about now that has so overset you?”

“That would be spreading the gossip now, wouldn’t it? I’d suggest if you owe Graham any loyalty at all, you will stay away from your clubs for a while, though. He would not find it amusing to lose you to a duel in his name. Perhaps you can come in and persuade him it is time for all of us to retire to the country to lick our wounds and gather our strength?”

They lingered at the gates to the mansion. Guy held Penelope’s hand and studied her worriedly. “I do not normally make a cake of myself in front of others, my lady, but for you I will admit that I would give my life for Graham, if need be. Can you not tell me what is happening?”

As she had no explanation at all, Penelope smiled sadly and touched his lean cheek. “I am glad he has you. Don’t let him drive you away.”

From the windows above Graham watched this tender scene with a wrenching heart. Guy’s handsome visage had once more won the heart that Graham wanted for his own, and as usual, he had only himself to blame.

Holding back a cry of anguish, Graham turned away from the window. His hunched shoulders straightened to broad wings and his leonine head rose to a defiant angle. He had other purposes for living. God had given him this second life for some reason, and he intended to carry it out.

Later that evening, discovering Penelope neither ventured out nor ate with him, Graham returned to their suite. Confronted with her locked door, he blinked in disbelief. Never had she kept that door barred to him or denied him the right to come and go from her chambers. He had known he had hurt her, that he was in all probability losing her, but he had not come to terms with what that would mean in the strictest practical sense. To be relegated to some impersonal tool such as Jones, the footman, irked him to the very depths of his soul.

Yet he turned away without a word.

PENELOPE DESCENDED the stairs the next day in a better frame of mind. Graham had promised that they might go to Hampshire soon, and she would think pleasant thoughts instead of worrying over things she could not control. It was not as if she were penniless and searching for the means to pay the rent as she had so many times in the past. Gossip could not take the food from the table. She would learn to endure.

Instead of sending someone to fetch the carriage, Penelope wandered out to the carriage house on her own. The cherry tree blooming in the kitchen yard was particularly beautiful for this late in the season, and she had a mind to inquire about the waif she had brought into the house yesterday. She assumed Chadwell had known what to do with him.

She refused to believe that even a rakehell like Chadwell could treat his own child in such a manner. No, the urchin had something to do with his nefarious doings in the slums of London. Perhaps she could find out how Nell fared. The men in the stable were much less formal than the servants in the house she had discovered. They would tell her anything she asked.

She did not need to ask, in any case. As her slippers crunched the rough gravel of the drive, a skinny lad of ten or eleven popped out from the open stable door with buckets in hand. His dark forelock fell over a face pale from lack of sun, but also from lack of grime, she observed. He hurried to the pump, the buckets bumping against his too thin legs.

She watched as he pumped manfully at the recalcitrant handle until he produced a satisfactory stream of water. Not seeing Penelope, he grinned in triumph at his accomplishment. Filling the buckets, he strained to lift both before making a slow return to the stables, carefully avoiding sloshing too much water from the wooden rims.

He seemed eager to work, and Penelope’s heart went out to his brave struggle. Even had he food enough in his stomach to produce the muscle needed for such a task, he was not large enough to carry those great, heavy buckets. She hurried to take one from his hand.

“It has been a long time since I held one of these. Let me see if I can still do it.” Wearing a gown covered in lilac ribbons and bows, she hefted the heavy water bucket.

The boy stared in disbelief. “Gor blimey!”

Penelope shook her curls at him. “That is an ugly noise for such a beautiful morning. Try, ‘Thank you, my lady.’”

“’Ank ye, m’lady,” he responded. “But I’ll likely gets me ears boxed iffen ye go in ’ere like ’at.”

“We’ll see whose ears get boxed,” she answered, her eyes narrowing in warning as she stepped through the open doors.

The large men lounging on sacks of grain and bundles of straw leapt to their feet at her entrance.

“Is there some here too old or crippled to properly carry a water bucket? His lordship would not care to mistreat his help by making them perform tasks of which they are no longer capable.” Penelope asked ominously, sweeping her gaze from the lanky young groom to the burly stable lads to the more mature but still physically able driver.

They each wriggled nervously. “Well, m’lady, he ain’t much use for aught else,” the groom finally said.

“Nor will he be if his back is broken at an early age,” Penelope replied. “Do none of you remember what it is to be young and eager to learn? Can you not remember what lessons you were taught first? Or are you too much above yourselves to teach what you all must have humbly learned at some other man’s feet?”

The men dropped their heads, unable to meet her eyes. Whatever they remembered of their upbringing, the harsh words, the rod and strap, or the kindness of some understanding older man, they all must remember how it felt to be young and discouraged.

“I’ll show him where the grain is, milady,” one of the younger stable lads offered.

“Good.” Penelope looked down at the boy. “Pippin, is it not?” At his nod, she continued, “Have you eaten? Has Mr. Chadwell seen that you were given a bed?”

The child nodded eagerly. “I ates so much my belly blew up—blooey!” he spurted with pride and colorfulness that made his meaning entirely clear.

Penelope smiled. “I will tell Cook what foods will be good for you so that does not happen again. You must eat whatever he gives you so you will be strong enough to carry both buckets like the other men. Is this what you wanted when you came looking for Mr. Chadwell?”

“Yes, mum.” He nodded with great enthusiasm. “’Em horses are smack up to all the rigs, they is. Ain’t nuffink like ’em cows.”

“Very good. Then if you are certain you are happy here, we must let your family know you are safe. Is there some way I can get word to them?” The devil made her ask this. She was not such a great fool as to think a child whose family cared about him would let him go about as he had, but she wanted to know more of his connection with Chadwell.

The defiant expression of yesterday returned. “Don’t ’ave no family, mum. None ’cept my baby sister, and I reckon she’ll forget ’bout me soon enough.”

The way he said that warned he was on the brink of tears and fighting shame in front of these men. Penelope nodded understanding, turned to go, then glanced over her shoulder as if in afterthought. “You know, there are some old clothes up in the attic that just might fit you. You’d better come along for a minute and let the seamstress measure you.”

She glanced to the men who had listened to her every word while seemingly busying themselves with their morning chores. “I will send Pippin directly back to learn his place, but I think you can spare him for just this morning.”

The boy warily followed her out, perhaps afraid another bath was in the offing. Penelope reassured him by stepping out of the way of prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. “Where is your sister, Pippin?”

He looked away from her frank gaze, scuffed his toe in the gravel, and muttered, “Wi’ me da.”

“With your father?” She started to admonish him for lying about having no family, but she could see his defenses rising already. There were times when she had considered herself without family, too. “Then she is safe and you need not worry about her?” She made it a question, well aware his tears denied the words.

He squirmed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “’E’ll sell ’er, mum,” he muttered apologetically. “She’s ’is fav’rite now, but I seen ’im feedin’ ’er the gin. ’E’ll sell ’er, just like all the others. ’E needs the gin, ’e do, an’ so will she. She won’t cry for nuffink when the gin’s in ’er.’E ain’t got me to steal for ’im now, so ’e’s got to sell ’er.”

Appalled as much by what he did not say as what he did, Penelope froze. She had heard of people selling their babies. Desperate poverty made desperate people, and perhaps the children were better off with families who wanted them. That was what she had told herself until now. Pippin’s unspoken words and the tale of gin to render an infant unconscious spoke of unspeakable crimes. She shuddered.

Holding her hand out, she ordered, “Come with me, Pippin. We will find your father and I will buy your baby sister.”

CHAPTER 17

EVEN IN THE bright light of a marvelous June day the streets Penelope and Pippin traversed seemed gray. Judging by the filth running through the gutter and the precarious tilt of narrow buildings in even narrower lanes, this was much the same part of London that Chadwell had taken her to just two nights before. Penelope had hoped never to see such sin again, but her errand of mercy made her brave, or foolish.

She stared out the coach window at the dull, gray faces in the dull, gray streets. At least at night there had been an occasional flash of color, a light, a raucous laugh. By day, after they left the markets behind, there was nothing but the empty stares of people with nowhere to go and nothing to do when they got there.

They had to take a hack for this last leg of their journey. Trev’s driver had refused to take her any further into the warrens of the slum, and she had to make a hasty exit before he turned around and took her home. And now it appeared as if the hack had reached the end of its course. The muddy path that lay ahead would not allow the passing of a vehicle.

Even Pippin looked grave. He had perched on the opposite seat so he could watch his world go by through the cracked paper window. The opening door apparently brought him back to reality. “No, mum, you mustn’t. It ain’t safe. I’ll go find me da. You stay ’ere.”

Penelope was hesitant about sending the boy out where she could not find him again. She was equally hesitant of going where she feared she herself might disappear. It had been insane to think she could do this alone, but she had been too proud to ask help of Graham or Chadwell. Pride had ever been her downfall.

The boy answered her dilemma. Quicker than she could think, he leapt from the coach and disappeared down an alley she would have thought impossible to enter. The appearance of two sinister men in the doorway of another building kept her from following.

With a word to the driver she closed the coach door and waited. The driver had not been pleased with this route, and he was even less so at being forced to wait, but she had paid him for a week’s work.

The stink of the river merged with the gutter stench permeating the ramshackle carriage. Penelope held a perfumed handkerchief to her nose as she contrived to stay out of sight. The two men continued to stand on the crumbling stairs, studying the hack through narrowed eyes. Fear seeped in with the same pervasiveness as the smell.

She shouldn’t let her imagination play games with her. Just because one of the men had long, unwashed hair and his hand in his coat pocket did not mean he hid a pistol or knife there. And the gap-toothed grin of the sandy-haired fellow probably meant he was enjoying an idle jest and not contemplating mayhem. She should know better than to judge by appearances. Where would she be now if she had judged Graham by his terrifying appearance?

Gradually Penelope became aware of other faces craning to see inside the hack, of idle figures lounging against buildings and in doorways. Surely they must have more to do on a day like this than wonder at a hack stopped in a lane? But seemingly they didn’t, and her nervousness grew with the size of the crowd.

So did the driver’s. His argument grew vehement, and Penelope nearly surrendered before she spied the small figure of Pippin darting down the street. She breathed a sigh of relief and pointed him out to the driver who reluctantly agreed to wait.

The coach door flew open and wide, brown eyes stared up at her with a relief akin to her own. “’E’s comin’, mum, m’lady,” he amended. “’E’s bringin’ ’er.”

Penelope watched a short, rotund man waddling down the street carrying what appeared to be a bundle of rags, except that a mass of golden curls spilled out the top. The man’s heavy jowls did not disguise the meanness of his mouth, nor did his heavy lids hide the reddened debauchery of his eyes. She shuddered at the cruelty she saw in that face. How could a man like that breed innocents? It seemed they would have to inherit the evil.

Perhaps their mother or mothers had been decent women. Certainly she saw no sign of cruelty in Pippin’s worried eyes. When the man stopped outside the carriage, she could see no signs of anything in the blank blue eyes of the infant. No intelligence, no life, no heart or soul shone from those mirrored eyes. Penelope nearly wept at the lovely vacuous face, but when she looked up to the father, her eyes hardened.

She waited, not daring to speak first. By all rights she ought to rip the child from his hands and order the carriage to flee, but the man was the child’s father and the tired hack horses couldn’t outrun an angry man.

“The boy says ye ’ave an intr’st in me Goldie?” He spoke in a nasal whine, his gaze darting about as he took in Penelope’s fashionable gown and the golden ring on her finger. He seemed to grow more confident. “’Er mum’s dead, ye see, an’ I can’t rightly take care of the two of ’em. Pippin says ye’re mighty good to ’im. but ’e’s a big boy and looks arter ’imself, ye see. Goldie ’ere, she’s mighty special to me. Just like ’er mum, she is.”

“I haven’t time to dicker with you, sir. The child needs food and fresh air and a good home. I will provide her that. Will a sovereign be sufficient to convince you to give her up to better things?”

The man’s eyes gleamed as Penelope produced the shiny coin from a small purse in her reticule, but he continued to clutch his silent bundle. “I orter, I really orter, but she’s all I got now that my boy’s off on ’is own. I can’t bear to part wi’ ’er, and that’s a fact.”

Accustomed to bargaining to pinch every penny she could, Penelope knew this ploy, but it was difficult to argue over the cost of a child’s life. She tightened her lips and gestured for Pippin to climb in.

“It’s time we go, Pippin.” Producing a second coin, Penelope held it temptingly in her palm. “Two sovereigns or we’ll be gone. I wish to make Pippin happy, but there is a limit to my generosity.”

The man whined a protest, eyeing the purse still bulging with other coins. Terrified the lady meant what she said, Pippin acted with more haste than wisdom. Catching his father by surprise, he grabbed the bundle from his hands, then leapt into the carriage, slamming the door behind him.

“’Ere, mum, let’s get on wi’ it.” He shoved the child into Penelope’s arms and rapped hastily for the driver to leave.

Of course, there was no chance of such a scheme working. The hack could not jerk to a start fast enough to throw off the screaming, furious man clinging to the door, nor turn down the next lane quickly enough to escape. But it was enough to bring the gathering crowd streaming into the street.

Penelope screamed as the fat man jerked open the coach door and reached into the interior to retrieve the infant. Someone else climbed to the other side of the carriage and punched out the cracked and yellowing paper of the window to reach in and grab whatever was available. Others scrambled over the back of the coach as if it were a mountain to climb, while more surrounded the horses, screaming curses and preventing escape.

Pippin beat wildly with his fists at the man reaching through the windows for a fistful of Penelope’s hair. Penelope shrieked and clung to the infant, kicking with slippered feet at the child’s father blocking the doorway. The driver had no more protection than his whip, and he swung it wildly, missing his aim more often than not and succeeding only in infuriating his captors.

The coach began to rock in the tumult, and Penelope had visions of being cast out into the streets and stripped to the bones by the carrion closing in for the kill. Still, she could not surrender the child.

The clatter of a horse galloping down the muddy street raised a cry of warning, but before her assailants could flee, the rider was upon them, flailing whip to and fro with much greater accuracy than the driver. Cries of pain and curses rang out, and the coach stopped rocking as the men in back scampered.

With one last desperate lunge, the rotund man grabbed for his daughter, only to be struck down with a vicious blow across his shoulders from a walking stick. Penelope gasped in recognition of the weapon and glanced out to see the furious features of her husband striking out at the men hampering her escape. Cloak flung back to reveal the deadly strength of broad chest and bulging shoulders, Graham swung whip in one hand and stick with the other. To Penelope’s dismay, she caught the glimmer of silver at the cane’s end and realized it had become a deadly sword in Graham’s hands. More than one of her attackers discovered this too late and whirled away, blood flowing between their fingers as they grabbed at their wounds.

She had only time to glimpse the livid fury of that scarred face, the burning anger of one golden eye as he glanced inside to ascertain her safety, and then the carriage jerked forward, released from captivity by Graham’s violence. That one glance was sufficient to set her trembling with more fear than she had felt minutes earlier. Her husband in full rage was more terrifying than a ship full of pirates.

Pippin kneeled on the seat and watched out the window as long as he could. When the carriage rattled around the corner and out of sight, he gave a huge sigh and settled down to stare at Penelope with wide eyes, not daring to utter a word.

Too terrified to offer explanations, Penelope glanced down at the infant in her arms. In all that commotion, the child had fallen asleep.

It was almost too much for her shattered nerves. She wanted to laugh, but it would be the laugh of hysteria. Tears pricked behind her eyes, and she rocked back and forth in the seat, consoling herself if not the infant.

The horse galloped behind them. Penelope strained to see the rider, but he stayed behind the carriage all the way back to the manicured streets of the West End. She heard the hooves like the drums of doom and knew she had escaped one terrible fate to face another. There had been nothing gentle in Graham’s face.

Before footmen could rush out of the house to open the door and let her out, Graham’s roar echoed up and down the street. He cursed the coachman as he paid him for the damage to his coach, swearing he would cut his throat if he ever dared take another lady to those streets again. He cursed the footmen for their clumsiness in opening the door and retrieving Penelope.

He ignored Pippin, but he bellowed his rage at the butler who had allowed Penelope to leave without asking her destination. From his roars, it was evident that his coach driver’s warnings of Penelope’s destination prevented Graham from flattening the man and throwing him out on his ear. Instead, he merely thundered his fury with orders for the driver never to take her out again without his permission. He cursed the maids who peered around corners to see what the uproar was about, and then he sent all the servants flying from the hall with bellowed orders until he was left alone with Penelope and her bundle of rags.

Swinging open the study door, he pointed a command for her to enter, his anger still raging too strong to speak to her. Drawing on her reserve of calm, Penelope held her head high and did as directed, but her insides trembled. Graham was a massive man, and his anger would be terrifying in the best of worlds. In this one, where she had no idea where she stood, whether on quicksand or solid ground or air, his anger had the power to petrify her. She clung to the silent child.

The door slammed and she could feel his scathing gaze burning a hole through her back, but his words, when they came, were soft and full of anguish.

“Why, Penelope? Why did you feel you had to risk your life for this pestilent child? My God, she is probably ridden with lice, besotted with gin, and rotted by pox! What do you intend to do with her? Are you that desperate for a child of your own that you would steal one from the streets?”

The tears fell then, tears she had been too terrified to let fall earlier, tears she had been too proud to let anyone see. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, but still, she could not turn to face him. He would never understand, nay, could not, for he was a man and incapable of feeling the emotions of a woman for a child.

Graham watched helplessly as her sobs rendered speech impossible. He could not comfort her. He had denied himself that right. There was nothing he could say or do to give her back the comfortable life he had stolen from her. He had hoped his wealth could make her happy, but he could see now that Penelope had never craved wealth. What she wanted was someone’s love, and that he did not have it in him to give.

“It’s all right, Penelope.” He tried to soothe her with words. “I won’t take the child away from you. We will clean her up and call a physician to look at her, and if she is well enough, we will put her in the nursery with Alexandra.”

Penelope shook her head and gulped back sobs. “I didn’t mean her for myself. I didn’t mean for you to have to take her in. I just could not leave her there. Don’t you see?”

Anger tinged his voice again. “You mean to say you traveled those treacherous streets, risked your life or worse, for an infant you had never seen and do not want? Are you mad, Penelope? Do you have any idea what could have happened back there? Are you so innocent as not to understand what goes on in those places?”

She had done just what those other unlucky women had done, only she had gone in the broad light of day. The others had been murdered after dark by a man who resembled him.

“I am sorry I frightened you,” she said, nodding acknowledgment of his fear. “But I could have done nothing else. I know a childless couple in the village who will be happy to have her. You need not concern yourself any further.”

The proud defiance in her eyes caused as much pain as her earlier tears. Did she see him as some kind of monster who would throw the infant out on the streets and beat her for her waywardness? Perhaps it would be better if she thought of him that way. It would make things easier for her when she discovered the truth.

“I forbid you to go back to that end of town again. I will see to it that you don’t. My driver already has instructions not to take you out without my permission. Harley will report to me if you should try to go anywhere alone. You will arrange to close the house for the summer. I have given orders for the Hall to be opened for our arrival. That should curb your ability to try to save the entirety of the East End for the nonce.”

Ignoring the fury building in Penelope’s normally obedient demeanor, Graham continued, “I will make one concession. You may have an allowance for charitable works to spend as you choose. I will not make any inquiry into how it is spent. It may go on jewels and furs if you prefer, but I am happy to give you those should you ask. This will be cash in your hand, not credit, but there is one string attached. If I should ever find you have placed yourself in such a dangerous situation again, you will never have another penny from me for any cause but the clothes on your back. You will be able to save those souls that money can buy or none at all. Is that understood?”

The child began to squirm and whimper, finally showing some sign of life, and Penelope averted her attention to this more immediate need.

His expression softened as he watched her comfort the child. Tears still wet on her cheeks, she cradled the infant expertly as she cooed and caressed pale cheeks and calmed the infant’s cries. With her tousled hair falling in soft waves against her heated cheeks, his wife could have posed as a Madonna for any artist he knew. Graham would have given all his wealth for the opportunity to give her a child of her own to love and caress as she did this one.

She glared at Graham through tears. “I will bathe her in the kitchen and keep her from Alexandra until the physician says it is safe.” Without acknowledging any of his commands, she departed, turning her back on the man who needed her far more than he would ever admit.

CHAPTER 18

“I AM NOT!”

“You are so! Nasty, nasty little boy!” Alexandra chanted, hands on tiny hips as she glared at the taller youth in the stable doorway.

“Alexandra Melissa Trevelyan, what are you doing?” Penelope sailed down the drive, the bright blue ribbons of her bonnet flying in the breeze, her white sprigged muslin catching the first winds of the coming storm.

Alexandra’s defiance fled, but she set her jaw with a look of determination that seemed hauntingly familiar, and Penelope nearly gasped at her sudden resemblance to Chadwell. It was the black hair that did it, she decided, for Alexandra’s heart-shaped face could never resemble the hard square jaw of her cousin.

“Alexandra, your father is waiting for you. The carriages are leaving now. Whatever are you about?”

“Pippin says my daddy isn’t my daddy. He says ferocious beasts eat little girls and can’t be daddies. Tell him that nasty Mr. Chadwell is not my daddy!”

Penelope would gladly have knocked both their angelic little heads together for repeating what she had only just thought. Children had naught to do but observe their elders, though they understood little. They would never see Graham’s true visage beneath that scarred and patched surface, no more than they could see his resemblance to Chadwell. They only saw Graham’s fierceness and Chadwell’s dissolution and came up with their own interpretation.

“Pippin, you are to be ashamed of yourself! Mr. Chadwell may have found you this position, but it is Lord Trevelyan who pays your wages, and Lord Trevelyan who is helping me carry Goldie to her new home. Do you think I would leave your sister in the care of a beast who eats little girls?”

Pippin stuck his chin out. “She called me a nasty little boy. I ain’t little. I’m twicet as big as ’er!”

“Which is why you should be nice to her and not tell her scary stories. Big boys should protect those smaller than themselves. Now tell Alexandra you made it all up and both of you say good-bye politely. We won’t be seeing each other for some while.”

The boy looked suspiciously as if he would cry, but bravely, he held his grubby paw out. Alexandra stuck her tongue out in reply.

Penelope sighed in exasperation and caught her daughter by her tiny gloved hand. “You would do better to make friends than enemies, Alexandra Trevelyan. Now say good-bye. We must go.”

Happy at having achieved the last “word,” Alexandra waved and called a merry farewell and skipped along at Penelope’s side, leaving the bereft orphan behind without a qualm. Her nose had been seriously out of joint these last few days with the advent of the infant in the nursery, but the adventure of an excursion into the country had relegated her jealousy to the past.

Penelope wished she could be so serene. Graham had held himself aloof these past few days as she had ordered trunks packed and holland covers thrown over furniture while running up and down to calm the uproar in the nursery. Alexandra’s jealousy had been as nothing to the infant’s withdrawal from the diet of gin, and her screams had put the entire household on edge for days.

But things were settling down. She almost wished she could see Chadwell one more time before they left. The haunting look of hunger and need he had given her that last night coupled with his shocking state of the next morning left her feeling guilty. Perhaps even rakes had a conscience, and perhaps he was not quite so lost to sin that he could not be saved. Now she would not have the chance to know.

Graham waited impatiently near the elegant barouche with his coat of arms on the door. The matched thoroughbreds pranced and snorted in the traces, much as she felt her husband was doing as he threw open the door before the footmen could do so. Whatever else he might be, Graham Trevelyan was the epitome of a well-bred nobleman. His tailored, earth-colored riding coat sat perfectly across the broad expanse of his shoulders. His starched white linen lay smoothly against his wide chest. His immaculate cravat stood stark against the swarthier coloring of his skin. The only problem with the image was that his ferocious attitude, large size, and leonine gray hair did not match the pale, bored elegance of the modern noble, but more aptly belonged to the days of Sir Francis Drake or Walter Raleigh. Penelope did not wait for him to spread his cloak beneath her feet.

The storm broke before they were scarcely out of the limits of the city. Alexandra squealed in fear at being in open country with lightning zigzagging overhead. With a signal, Graham sent the carriage into the relative protection of a nearby barn. Once the horses were situated, he shook off his cloak and left it outside to climb into the seat across from Penelope.

Alexandra scrambled into the security of her father’s embrace, burying her head against his coat while Penelope rocked the wide-eyed infant. Across the gulf between the seats their gazes met. Once again, Penelope realized why she had married this man. The love and gratitude in that one fierce eye melted all her reserve all over again, and she offered a smile in return.

That she could give him Alexandra repaid a small part of the debt she owed him. But the look in his eyes spoke of more than that, and she had to turn her head away to prevent the excited churning of her insides. She must be a wanton to think of those things Chadwell had done to her while looking in her husband’s face.

Graham watched sadly as she turned away. He kept deluding himself into thinking that something magical would happen to dissolve the beast in him and make the maiden love him as he was. He wanted it so much that he saw it in her every gesture, every look. They sat together peacefully like this, like the family he desired, but it was all a fraud, an illusion. What did he have to do to chase away the witch’s spell?

Remembering his purpose in making this journey, Graham took a deep breath and drove away such thoughts. She would hate him soon enough. The witch’s spell did not hide true beauty but ugliness so raw and deep that Penelope would never forgive him. He clung to Alexandra and leaned his head against the seat while the thunder rolled in the skies, proving the god’s anger.

The summer storm passed as quickly as it had arrived, and the carriages were soon rumbling down the roads of Surrey. The inhabitants of the village closest to Trevelyan Hall came out to stare at the carriage with the noble crest they had not seen in years, and Penelope gazed back at them with a mixture of hope and despair. She had lived in a cottage much like that charming one over there. Would Graham permit her to know the inhabitants?

Such thought disappeared with the confusion of their arrival at the Hall. Alexandra had fallen asleep in her father’s arms, and Graham stepped out of the carriage first bearing his precious burden. Footmen ran to lower the steps for Penelope, to fling open the door for his lordship, to unload the boxes and trunks and servants they had brought with them from London.

An elderly butler and housekeeper controlled the staff. They greeted Graham and his daughter with tears in their eyes, exclaiming over Alexandra’s beauty and avoiding the scarred visage that had replaced their master’s handsome face. Graham introduced them to Penelope, and because they assumed she was the reason Graham had finally returned to his home, they beamed at her with gratitude and welcome.

By the time everyone and everything was restored to some facsimile of their proper place, Penelope was weary unto tears. The last days had been hectic and full of confusion. She had scarcely had a chance to make her farewells to the few people she had come to know in London, and now she had a whole new set of faces to learn. She simply didn’t have the strength to cope with it the first evening. She asked that her supper be sent to her chambers.

The Hall obtained its name from the great hall of the old keep. From there, the house had been added on to, higgledy-piggledy, for generations until there was no rhyme or reason to the pattern of its rooms and hallways. The servants installed them in the modern, comfortable chambers Graham had chosen with his first marriage.

Their suite had no parlor and no bath chamber, only small alcoves on opposite ends for their personal servants and a small room at the rear for their wardrobes. A connecting door led from the master chamber to Penelope’s smaller room, and for some reason, the arrangement seemed much more intimate than the chambers with their connecting parlor in London.

Penelope could tell her room had been recently aired but little used. The bed in the room’s center boasted no draperies, only a carved tester. The silver counterpane still had wrinkles from where it had been folded away in a drawer, and it did not quite seem to match the ancient midnight blue velvet of the window hangings. But she realized Graham had not lived here since the accident. She certainly didn’t mind what was luxury compared to the house she had grown up in.

The knock on the hall door startled her. She had sent her maid away and was rather enjoying the solitude. She turned from her unpacking to stare in amazement as her husband entered.

From their first night together, Graham had come and gone from her chambers as if they were his own. He seldom knocked, and if he did, he entered without waiting. That he not only knocked but used the public door instead of their private one seemed ominous, and she watched him anxiously.

“The housekeeper said you had ordered dinner in your room. Are you not feeling well?” Graham’s gruff voice expressed his concern.

“I thought you would retire early, my lord, and I did not want to weary myself or the staff by insisting on formality. It has been a long day.”

“So it has.” Graham made no pretense of leaning on his walking stick but held it in one hand as he examined the room with his one good eye. “Not a very hospitable homecoming with a chamber like this. You will have to order it decorated to suit your taste.” He eyed the narrow bed with misgiving. “That should be replaced. There are larger ones to be had in half the rooms of the house.”

Penelope touched the smooth wood of one fragile poster. “It is old, but lovely. If we are to stay here only in the summer months, it should not need draperies. I am certain there are more important things that need your attention after all these years.”

Graham gave an involuntary jerk of surprise as he realized how far his thoughts had diverted from his wife’s. Marilee had seldom slept in that bed except when indisposed, until those last unhappy weeks. That was why she had never bothered to adorn this room properly. He had kept her warm through the winter months in the big bed on the other side of that wall. This bed was too small to comfortably hold him, and he had always hated it when Marilee had escaped in here. But for Penelope, it wasn’t an escape. It was what she expected. It had never crossed her mind that he could not join her there.

“Perhaps you are right,” he sighed, returning to the present. This whole house had too much of the past in it to be comfortable. That was why he had avoided it for so long, one of the reasons, anyway. The servants who knew him too well were another part of the reason, but that part was almost over. In a little while, it would not matter what they saw or did not see.

“Perhaps there are other chambers you would prefer. Explore the house as you will. I have no preference one way or the other where we sleep.” The Hall held no hidden passages, no secrets. It was as honest and unpretentious as Penelope herself. His only objection would be if she situated herself on the opposite end of the house from himself. He was not ready to give up all hope.

The oddity of Graham’s behavior struck Penelope more than his words. He seemed nervous and ill at ease with his own home. Or was it with her? The words “where we sleep” had not escaped her, and the sudden realization that he must have left his mistress in London made her swallow any reply.

Deciding he was only bored and out of sorts after her escapade into the slums, Penelope sought some manner of healing the breach. “Perhaps sometime we could go over the house together and decide what would be best. Will you have time?”

As best as she could tell behind the immobile mask of his face, he seemed pleased with this suggestion. He nodded a curt agreement and turned to go.

“My lord?” When Graham turned to regard her quizzically, Penelope took a deep breath and plunged in. “Would you care to share your dinner with me in here? It seems foolish to each dine alone on other sides of the wall.”

The taut muscles of his face seemed to relax. “Quite right.” He glanced around at the nearly barren room. “But I think we had best use my room. At least there is a table in there.”

When their dinner arrived, Graham greeted her wearing only a loose satin lounging jacket over his buckskin breeches and open-necked shirt. She could not help but notice the enticing manly hair curling above the V of his shirt, and she cast her eyes downward. This had not been a good idea at all.

As Graham seated her at the small fireside table, Penelope studied his room. It was smaller than the London chamber, which was odd considering the comparative size of the two houses, but this one seemed homier. The bed did not sit isolated on a dais in the center of the chamber but nestled next to a bow window overlooking the gardens. Perhaps in winter, draperies engulfed both bed and window, but for now, only a forest green counterpane draped the bed, and shutters partially closed out the night. He had arranged the chairs near the hearth, leaving only a Queen Anne dresser against the far wall. A Brussels carpet in various shades of green and ivory and brown completed the decor.

“Do you approve?” Graham asked.

Startled into looking up, Penelope regretted it instantly. They had really not sat so close except in the carriage. The candlelight threw the scarred side of his face into shadow, but she could read the warmth in his eye well enough.

“It suits you,” she said.

Graham dismissed the servant, and they were left alone with the crystal and the china and the tantalizing scents of warm bread and poached fish. Penelope discovered she was starved.

Graham at his best could have enchanted a princess, and he was on his best behavior this night. He skirted the issue of Goldie and the other abused children of London’s back streets, encouraged Penelope’s tentative plans for using her allowance on a suitable foundling home, and listened to her opinions on Alexandra’s care and upbringing. He offered little of himself, but answered questions concerning the Hall and its tenants. As the meal ended, he had her laughing at carefully selected anecdotes of his childhood.

In this setting, without the strain of being in the public eye, and without the interminable household interruptions, they could just be themselves, as they had those first few weeks before they married. Penelope forgot she was his wife, forgot Chadwell, forgot Graham’s mistress and all the mysteries that separated them, and fell under the spell of her husband’s wit and wisdom. They could talk companionably on many topics that she could not with the fops of London or the village folk at home. It was as if they truly were equals, and his interest flattered her more than all of Chadwell’s physical attentions.

By evening’s end, however, physical awareness became as much a part of the enchantment as the laughter and the conversation. Despite the premature silver of his hair and the wrinkled scar of his face, Graham was a superbly built man in the prime of life, and Penelope was too much a woman not to notice. His low, deep voice had the power to raise the hair at the nape of her neck. A light flush rose between her breasts when she sensed that was the direction his gaze took. He didn’t even need to touch her to make her feel as if he had just kissed her thoroughly.

When it came time to say goodnight, Graham took her hand to help her rise and continued to hold it as he walked her to the door. The heat of his fingers entwined with hers sent warmth through Penelope.

“I know you are tired, my love. Do you wish to postpone our journey into Hampshire a while longer? I can send a message to my sister. . .”

Penelope shook her head. “I will be fine in the morning.” She hesitated, not certain whether to blurt out her feelings, but the intimacy of these last few hours gave her confidence to reveal this one small thing. “I fear if I keep Goldie too long, I will become too attached to her. It is better that I take her to her new parents right away. They are waiting eagerly for her.”

A thoughtful frown formed over Graham’s nose. With his gloved hand he touched her face. “Sleep late, then. The journey is not a long one, and since we will be taking the roads instead of cutting across other people’s orchards, we should not get lost.”

A wry smile at his own expense bent one corner of his mouth, and Penelope’s stomach did a funny flip- flop. “I can find my way from the orchard,” she reminded him.

“So you can. But would I ever pry you away from the vicarage and all your admirers?” he taunted. Then shocking her, he lifted the palm of her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to it before letting her go. “Goodnight, my pretty Penny.”

The kiss seemed to burn a path straight to her heart, defying all anatomical routes. Penelope curled her fingers around the burning brand and stared, lost, into the depths of that one gold, almost amber eye. Without a word, unable to pry one from her tongue, she nodded and slipped through the door to safety.

CHAPTER 19

IT RAINED ALL the way to Hampshire. Rather than face the elements alone, Graham joined Penelope and the children in the carriage. He had offered to take two carriages so the governess and a nursemaid could handle the demands of an infant and a bored, lively, six- year-old, but Penelope preferred the company of the children to riding in silence. With Graham filling much of the interior, the limited space became even closer and more lively.

By the time they reached Penelope’s home village, near his brother-in-law’s estate of Stanhope Manor, Graham had succeeded in teaching Alexandra how to make a cat’s cradle out of Penelope’s hair ribbon. He also taught her the slightly edited lyrics of a rowdy song whose chorus was repeated at longer and louder lengths with each rendition and kept them laughing with jests that sprang from an unlimited receptacle behind his mighty brow. There was no time for boredom.

The noisy trio and their fretful bundle arrived after the manor’s country dinner hour. Lady Adelaide and her husband, Sir Brian, greeted them in the salon. Graham’s sister lit up at the sight of the infant in Penelope’s arms. Apparently several months along in pregnancy, she gazed worshipfully at the blond infant. In her adoration, she nearly neglected greetings to her amused brother and Penelope.

Not neglecting Alexandra, Adelaide knelt and swept the little girl into her arms with genuine affection. When Penelope suggested she take the children to their beds, Adelaide insisted on doing the honors. She appropriated Goldie, took Alexandra by the hand, and left Penelope to trail behind.

Relegating the maids to warming sheets and unpacking child-sized dresses, Adelaide indulged in the delights of undressing and bathing the little girls, with Penelope’s help. It took only a few soapy suds in the eyes and squeals of childish delight to bond the women in friendship.

By the time Graham and Sir Brian climbed the stairs to see what took so long, Penelope and Adelaide were chattering away as if they had known each other all their lives. With the children tucked in their beds, the two women had drifted to Penelope’s chamber. Both were gasping with laughter at Adelaide’s description of her big brother’s first encounter with a surfeit of fermented grapes.

Graham bent a quizzical eyebrow as they erupted into renewed giggles at his appearance, but he suffered their mirth while admiring the flush in Penelope’s cheeks. Steamed by the children’s bath, tendrils of hair curled about her forehead, and her eyes seemed to shine with a liveliness he had not seen in weeks. His gaze seldom strayed from Penelope as the talk flowed.

Finally taking notice of her brother’s silence, Adelaide nudged her unobservant husband and inquired, “Have you eaten? I am certain we can summon up a cold collation if you care. . .”

Graham cut her off with a gesture. “We stopped at the Golden Goose. Do not let us keep you from your country hours any longer. The journey has been a long one, and I fear Penelope may be overtired.”

Adelaide hastened the good-nights and ushered her husband out the door leaving Graham and Penelope alone in the chamber she meant for them to share.

Graham watched as the color fled Penelope’s cheeks. Not looking at him, she hurried to her trunks. The thought that his sister would chamber him with his bride had not occurred to Graham—rather a telling lack of foresight, he decided.

“Penelope.” He spoke without knowing what to say.

She turned in inquiry from her aimless search of the wardrobe.

“I will tell Adelaide my snoring disturbs you and ask for a separate chamber. There are rooms aplenty in this place.” He had not known he meant to say it until the words were out of his mouth. He cursed to himself as Penelope’s eyes lit with relief. Then they glazed over thoughtfully, and she shook her head.

“No, I suspect your sister would take exception to that. Unless my presence will disturb you, we had best learn to deal with each other as husband and wife. We cannot always ask for separate chambers wherever we go.”

Graham almost grinned as joy soared through him, but remembering himself in time, he merely nodded. Her presence would annoy the very devil out of him since he knew she meant this sharing of a bed to be a chaste one, but it was one step closer than he had been. While there was yet life in him, there was hope.

Penelope gathered up her night rail and disappeared behind the dressing screen. Apparently Adelaide did not think a personal maid called for on this occasion. She would have to unbutton her own bodice.

She could hear Graham moving about the room, and she blushed at the thought of him undressing. She had fully meant her vows when she had taken them in church, but Graham had made it so convenient to forget them. He had every right to do as he wished with her; she just could not know what he wished. He had ignored her for so long that she could not feel he had any husbandly desire for her. Yet there were times when he made her feel as if his thoughts might follow her own. She had no notion of which Graham she would meet outside this screen.

She had no notion which Graham she wanted to meet, she realized as she tied the sash to her robe. She had not brought the nightgown Augusta had made for her, but sensible linen ones that covered her as the thin muslin did not. Penelope took a deep breath and stepped from behind the screen. She might look the part of spinster, but her heart was beating faster than any maiden’s.

Graham had divested himself of all but his trousers, but he had donned his robe. He turned as Penelope stepped from hiding. “We should do this more often,” he offered in jest. “You first. I’ll douse the lamps.”

Gratefully Penelope slid beneath the bed covers and slipped her wrapper off as Graham strode about, returning the chamber to darkness. She could not help but admire his panther-like grace. Behind closed doors he lost all need for limp and walking stick, or did he suffer the pain rather than lower himself in her eyes? It did not matter. She felt a rush of warmth and did not dare meet his eyes as he put out the lamp beside the bed.

The darkness wrapped around them like a shroud, and Penelope’s other senses sharpened in consequence. She could feel the heat emanating from Graham’s muscular chest. A cool draft crossed her skin as he discarded his robe. Before she had time to panic, he was beside her, his heavy weight drawing the feather mattress downward.

She buried deeper in her own side, drawing the covers up to her chin so she could not feel any part of him against her. She did not want to know if he had discarded more than his robe.

Not unobservant, Graham noted his wife’s frozen stance and made no move in her direction. Hands beneath his head, he ruefully considered his choices. He had no idea what her reaction would be should he pull her toward him, although every fiber in his body longed to do just that. Rubbing an exploratory hand over the immobile, scarred portion of his cheek and mouth, he could only imagine her reaction to a kiss by such as that. He had not thought this through at all.

The vicar’s daughter would not deny her husband his rights, however much it disgusted her. But that was not what he wanted. He wanted her warm and willing and eager, as she had been that night when she came to his room—and he had not been there.

Cursing himself for the impossible situation he had created, Graham remained motionless on the lonely island that was his side of the bed. “Penelope, you need never fear me. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I cannot imagine what it must be like to be such a saint as to know no fear,” he murmured, rolling his eyes heavenward.

Penelope giggled. “Angels will watch over your sleep, my lord.”

“They’re likely to be exceedingly shocked, if so,” he grumbled, and without further explanation, he turned his back toward her.

THE NEXT DAY, they delivered Goldie to her adoptive parents. Penelope turned away from the awed delight of the couple with tears in her eyes. As she and Graham departed in the midst of much gratitude and well-wishing, Graham handed her his large handkerchief and let her cry.

“Are you sorry to give her up?”

Penelope wiped away tears, and summoned a watery smile. “Yes, I am sorry to give her up, for all that I know she will be in good hands. But I cry because they are so happy. They are good people, and they have waited so long to have a child. I’m afraid such power to change lives will make me quite giddy.”

Graham grumped a noncommittal reply. The power to change lives made a person more than giddy, it changed their own lives, but he would not reveal that just yet. He would have a hard time explaining.

Their visit to Penelope’s old home brought more tears, these of welcome from her old friend Augusta. When it came time for refreshments, Graham sat by the kitchen fire, resting his stiff leg and sipping at his tea. Penelope seemed as much at home here, over the ancient and battered kitchen table, as in his brother-in-law’s grandiose dining hall.

He enjoyed watching her fingers flying as she talked. Wisps of hair continually escaped whatever coiffure she attempted, and her long, graceful fingers were always brushing them back from her eyes, or twisting them at her nape. He wanted the right to capture and hold that flying hand in proud possession. He wanted the right to nuzzle the curls at her nape and kiss the ones on her forehead. He wanted much more than he deserved or she expected. In this constant proximity it would soon become an obsession.

He was new to obsessions. Normally, he had a logical outlook on life. He knew Penelope wasn’t beautiful in the conventional sense, for instance. Her features were pleasant, her figure moderately good. But he had seen those unremarkable eyes widen into rain-drenched pools and startling storms and sunlit summer days. He had seen her tender lips tremble with fear and passion, turn up in joy and laughter, and he knew them to be the most beautiful lips he would ever see. He wanted just to touch them, to feel their life and love, and this was obsession, for he knew he could not, and still, he watched and waited.

Back at the manor he watched as she slipped easily into the elegant, indolent life of his sister and her husband. She did not set out to charm or impress. Not his Penelope. She scolded Brian for not insisting that his pregnant wife get her exercise by walking about the gardens every day. She chased Alexandra through the house in rousing games of hide-and-seek and blithely treated the starchy servants as if they were all Augusta. She did absolutely everything wrong and made everything enchantingly right.

Graham clenched the wide doorjamb to restrain himself one morning upon entering their shared chamber where Penelope bent over the grate, stirring the embers. She had not yet donned her wrapper, and the fire outlined every curve of her body through the loose linen of her gown. That was the hardest part of this enforced proximity.

As much as he admired her character, enjoyed her spirit, thrived on her wit, he still wanted her body. Even knowing he could destroy everything he admired about her, he could not help imagining what it would be like to bury himself in her softness until she cried out with pleasure. For he knew the passionate nature Penelope concealed beneath that welcoming smile and wide-eyed innocence. He wanted to be the one to wake those passions, to arouse her into the awareness of the way his body was meant for hers, and to see her wonder as she succumbed to delight.

Cursing, Graham released the doorjamb and strode into the room with a purposeful tread that made Penelope jump. She retreated before his glare.

“Is there something wrong, my lord?” She grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her. She watched warily as the mobile side of his face tautened.

Doffing his frock coat and tearing at his confining cravat, he knew he exhibited little sign of lameness or ill health. He no longer cared for the deception. “I am impatient to be off. There is much I have to do. Will you be ready to leave on the morrow?”

“I can be ready anytime you are.” She pushed away his fingers from his cravat and with casual competence, unknotted the starched linen for him.

He nearly expired from her proximity. “Good. We’ll break the news to Adelaide in the morning.” Graham turned his back to finish his undressing and heard Penelope steal into their mutual bed. He could control his lust one more night, but not much longer. It was time to get back to the final task he had set himself.

MORE TEARS WERE EXPENDED at parting, leaving Graham to ruefully decide that things would be much more cheerful if the women didn’t enjoy themselves so much. When Adelaide pulled him aside for a private farewell, he went reluctantly.

Taller than Penelope, his sister could meet his gaze on a more equal basis. She didn’t flinch at his scowl or his scarred forehead, but brushed aside a straying hair. “The little baroness has been good for you, big brother. You look handsome and healthy again, and I’ve even seen you laugh a time or two. I had thought you decided on a marriage of convenience, but I can see it has turned out elsewise.”

“Do not be playing Cupid with my wife, Laidie,” he said irascibly. “Penelope is a good, sensible girl and an ideal mother for Alexandra. She is content with that. Do not be expecting more.”

Adelaide made a rude face at him. “Next you will be telling me you encourage her admirers so you need not be burdened with the responsibilities of a husband. Fie on you, Trev. She is more beautiful inside and out than Marilee ever was, and you were so jealous of her you wouldn’t let her out of your sight. I know you well. I don’t know what game this is you are playing, but Penelope is too good to be hurt by it. Keep her safe, Trev. Her life has been hard in the past.”

That much was only too true, and as Graham kissed his sister farewell, he resolved to listen to that much of her advice. Whatever choices he had to make from here on, he would have to take Penelope into consideration first. She deserved that much.

CHAPTER 20

THE HALL that had Graham had once inhabited with his lovely first wife was in a state of sad neglect when they arrived.

Her husband dived into the needed work, leaving Penelope to wonder if it were herself or old ghosts that he sought to drive away. Without consulting her, Graham ordered old draperies and tapestries removed and cleaned and only the best returned to their proper place. Moldering furniture was thrown out without thought to its value or restorable potential, unless Penelope salvaged it from the rubbish heap. Carpets were taken up and beaten and floors scrubbed and polished. Carpenters and painters and artists were called in to repair leaking, drafty windows, crumbling plaster, damaged wainscoting, and to paint the walls with bright new colors and murals.

Once the house exploded with workmen, Graham turned his attentions to the park and fields. Penelope breathed a sigh of relief and immediately set about restoring the house to serenity. Whatever he hoped to accomplish by turning his home upside down, she would complete by making it into a welcome haven. Whatever ghosts lingered would have to take up residence elsewhere, preferably with the workmen. By vetoing preposterous murals of Egyptian sphinxes, walls of Oriental red, and any suggestion of rearranging the current structure, she succeeded in sending most of the workmen home within a week.

With satisfaction Penelope saw the last of the gold-and-white brocade draperies installed in the main salon. With the floors polished to a brilliant gleam and decorated with a scattering of new Aubusson carpets, and the lovely old Queen Anne pieces polished and arranged to invite conversation, the salon was ready to accept visitors. Penelope could almost hear herself think again.

As if knowing she was ready for guests, Guy appeared the afternoon after the departure of the last workman. Instead of sitting sedately in her new salon, however, Penelope was out on the front lawn chasing Alexandra through the shrubbery in a game of tag. They both spied their visitor at the same time and ran toward the drive, Penelope shoving straying hair into pins and Alexandra yelling excitedly.

Grinning at this reception, Guy swung down and caught Alexandra up in his arms. His lean, dark face lit with pleasure as the little girl kissed his cheek, and he glanced over her head. “Don’t I get a kiss for the other cheek?” He raised a mocking eyebrow.

“I don’t need to resort to bribery when I want to go riding.” Penelope tried not to place much consequence on the admiration in his eyes. Guy was born to flatter women.

Guy laughed and tugged Alexandra’s curls. “You scamp. Is that all you want of me? Hasn’t Penny taught you it’s naughty to trade kisses for favors?”

Alexandra ignored this admonition. “Penny said we might go riding before tea if Papa comes home, but you can take us, can’t you?”

Guy glanced over her head to Penelope. “Graham’s not at home?”

“He’s out seeing to some neglected field or other. Apparently the manager he left in charge did not do his duties to Graham’s satisfaction. Did you need to see him? Surely you have not come all the way from London in hopes of catching him?”

Guy set Alexandra down. Golden hair fell over his bronzed forehead, and laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes as he held Alexandra’s hand and smiled at Penelope.

“I wouldn’t give the old curmudgeon the satisfaction. Did he not tell you my home is just a few miles from here? Or that the Reardons live just beyond my place? Did he think he could keep you all to himself all summer?”

“I believe Dolly mentioned it, but we have been so caught up in work that it completely escaped my mind. Won’t you come in? Graham will probably not be back for some hours, but I would be glad to have you for tea.”

“Then the least I can do is take you ladies riding. Shall we?” Guy grinned as Alexandra sent a pleading look to Penelope. He had given her little choice in the matter.

Seeing no harm in a short jaunt with Alexandra in accompaniment, Penelope agreed. Not bothering to change into her fashionable riding habit, she allowed Guy to seat her as she was. The rumpled day dress could not be any more soiled than it already was after chasing Alexandra through the park, and she had no need to impress Guy with her elegance.

The little jaunt turned into a much longer one than anticipated. Guy’s lively tales of how he and Graham had spent their summers swimming and fishing in the stream, stealing apples from the orchard, and terrorizing the neighboring gentry necessitated a tour of all the scenes of crime, and laughter prevented a close watch on time.

The furious gallop of a horse on the path jarred Penelope into realizing how far the sun had sank in the sky. Her gaze jerked up to meet Guy’s with the same thought. They slowed their horses to a halt.

Graham and his massive stallion flew into view. From this distance his expression could not be seen, but as he caught sight of them, the set of his shoulders seemed to relax, and he approached with the grace of an experienced rider.

Alexandra cried a greeting and set her pony to its paces, showing off her prowess. Graham’s mouth tilted appreciatively before his gaze traveled on to Guy.

Guy’s grin did not quite reach his eyes as he took in his friend’s impassive expression. “The ladies grow bored if left alone too long, old sport. You’d best beware lest some charming leprechaun spirit them away one day.”

Alexandra giggled at this nonsense, but sensing an undercurrent, Penelope remained silent.

“I certainly hope my ladies have more sense than to be charmed by a leprechaun, or any other rogue.” Graham turned a reflective eye to his wife. “Do you suffer from neglect, my dear?”

“I never suffer from neglect,” Penelope replied in her primmest manner. “Sometimes, I even welcome it.” With an arched eyebrow directed toward both men, she spurred her mount toward home.

As Alexandra hurried to follow, the two men exchanged glances, each waiting for the other to respond to this enigmatic remark. A quirk appeared at the corner of Guy’s lips. Graham controlled a grin, and they both broke out laughing at the same time.

“You are lucky to find a Penny like that one, sapskull.” Guy urged his horse into a canter beside Graham’s as they trailed the two females. “She has a mind of her own.”

“Rather eccentric of her, really,” Graham agreed with characteristic understatement.

Guy sent his friend a sidelong look. In the saddle Graham appeared the perfect specimen of rude health. He controlled his spirited stallion with nonchalant ease, using only one hand. His broad shoulders and thick chest strained at his old riding coat, and there seemed nothing wasted about the powerful thighs clamping the stallion’s side. In fact, he looked healthier than he remembered from before the accident, with the exception of the disfiguring scar and eye patch. Guy frowned.

“Leg not bothering you when you ride like that?” He feigned concern.

“Don’t make an old man of me yet. I’ve a young wife, if you’ll remember.” Graham deftly avoided the topic. His gaze followed the sway of Penelope’s slim waist. The flimsy piece of scarf she had tucked in her bodice for modesty had come loose. Both men eased their mounts to a faster trot.

“I’d be happier if you remembered that fact more frequently” Guy retorted. “When are you taking her to visit the Reardons?”

Graham scowled. “Who sent you to ask that?”

“Not Arthur. He’s about as communicative as you these days. He nearly stuck his spoon in the wall, Trev, and he’s younger than both of us. Don’t you think you ought to hear his case?”

“Explanations don’t bring back the dead. Stay out of it, Hamilton. I’ll take Penelope to visit if she likes. Do not ask more of me.”

Relieved at receiving a rational reply, Guy pressed his luck a little further. “He’s already said he had no part in what happened to me, and I believe him. He was just a young pup, and DeVere used him for an errand boy. The guilt lies with the eldest of us who allowed the bastards to go too far.”

“Speak for yourself.” Curtly Graham sent his horse ahead, leaving Guy behind in a curtain of dust.

Penelope looked up as Graham reined in beside her, and she flushed as she noted the path of his gaze. Her equestrian talents did not lead to riding without hands while she secured her tucker, but she pushed a straying edge into her bodice.

“I like a woman who is not afraid to show she is a woman.” Graham curbed his impatient stallion to turn his attention upon her.

Penelope had no practice at flirtation or flattery. Only the fact that the gentleman at her side was her husband kept her from flying into the boughs altogether. She expected such talk from Chadwell, not Graham.

“Show is one thing, flaunt is quite another.” Flustered, she replied more curtly than necessary.

To her surprise he answered with a hint of admiration. “You may be right at that. I would feel much better about your riding out with Hamilton were you wrapped in velvet and linen up to your neck.”

That statement nearly left her speechless, and Penelope gaped. This from a man who had told her she might take a lover as she chose!

Restored from shock by her sense of humor, Penelope answered, “Then I should have to forego his company all summer or suffer from heat rash. Which is your wish, master?”

Graham caught the straying scarf, tucking it in more firmly. “I like your freckles just as they are. Heat rash would not become you. And since it is futile to forbid a rogue like Guy the door, I will leave the matter to your own good taste.”

“My lord is most kind,” she said wryly.

True to his promise, Graham took Penelope to visit the Reardons the next day. Dolly gave an ecstatic cry and only by an admonition from her mother refrained from dragging her friend to another chamber for a private coze. Instead they joined the other guests in the gardens.

Graham fell into discussion with Henry, Lord Reardon, Dolly’s eldest brother, over the condition of the bridge adjoining their properties. Also in attendance, Charles DeVere wandered over to join the ladies.

Penelope had never had opportunity to study the Honorable Charles DeVere at any length. He was not so fashionably handsome as Guy, but had a sharp, striking face marred most often by the mockery in his smile. From his remarks she gathered he had intelligence and practiced charm, but little true sensitivity of nature. He drew Dolly out, enchanted her by speaking to her as if her opinion mattered, then completely forgot she existed when another target for his wit appeared.

Penelope resisted his efforts to inquire upon the subject of Graham’s injuries or Chadwell’s business in England. She didn’t wish to appear unfriendly, but neither did she have Dolly’s need to impress, and the subjects were personal ones better directed to Graham. Finding her monosyllabic replies unedifying, DeVere turned his attention to Lady Reardon, and the conversation drifted to the convalescent.

Graham returned just as this topic was introduced. At the same time, the butler led Guy onto the terrace to join them. After the first greetings Guy asked after Arthur’s health, and Graham grew quiet.

Penelope noted his withdrawal and wondered if his leg pained him. She entwined her fingers with his and sent him a questioning look. Graham squeezed her hand, but he did not meet her gaze.

As the tales of Arthur’s foolish bravery in running away to join the army and live the life of an unheralded soldier unfolded, Penelope watched the other participants in this conversation. The Reardons told the tales in rounds, each adding his own bit to the story. Guy prodded them with questions he obviously already knew the answer to while avoiding Graham’s eye. DeVere, on the other hand, seemed intent on watching Graham’s reaction to the point of ignoring all else.

It was becoming obvious to Penelope that something existed between these three men that only they knew about and perhaps, the missing Arthur. The mysteries haunting her husband left her with the feeling of living on the edge of a precipice. Why would he tell her nothing of himself?

Inevitably the Reardons suggested that Graham go up to visit, since Guy and DeVere had already been and the patient could deal with only one visitor at a time. Graham’s hand tightened on Penelope’s until she feared he would crack her bones, but nothing of his tension appeared on his face as he bowed to Lady Reardon’s request.

“I would not be an encouraging visage for an invalid to look upon. Perhaps, when he is stronger. . .”

“Don’t be such a nodcock, Trevelyan. You might offer something of a shock to strangers, but to those of us who know you well, the difference disappears. Arthur has seen worse, I wager,” Arthur’s brother’s said.

The muscle over Graham’s jaw tightened, but he bowed to the task. Excusing himself, he followed Henry into the house.

“Arthur used to think Graham some kind of a god,” Dolly whispered to Penelope. “Henry is ten years older than Arthur, and he was already married when Guy and Graham were still young men about town, and Arthur first came down from school. I can remember watching them from the upstairs hallway when they attended the Christmas Ball. You never saw such handsome men in your life! They were all the girls talked about.”

“Guy is still available,” Penelope teased. It did not pay to worry about Graham. She kept forgetting he was a grown man who could take care of himself better in this world than she could. He certainly didn’t need her to mother him as she did Alexandra.

“Oh, but Guy thinks I’m a silly goose, and he disapproves of me, rightly so.” Dolly’s eyes widened in surprise that Penelope had not noticed. “He is all the time scolding me as if he were one of my brothers.”

Penelope smiled at this blindness. “You treat him as one of your brothers. I suspect that is one of the reasons you have so many admirers. It makes you very accessible, but a man like Guy isn’t quite used to that kind of treatment. He thinks he’s too old for you.”

“Too old!” The words popped out of Dolly’s mouth with such an exclamation that the others turned to stare. She reddened at the lift of Guy’s mocking eyebrow and hurriedly explained, “The wine. Penelope thinks Graham’s wine cellar is too old.”

Guy turned a laughing gaze to Penelope. “When you are ready to throw it out, throw it my way, Penny. I’ll be happy to dispose of it for you.”

“Dolly has just been explaining to me that wine improves with age. As I understand it, you and Graham are the equivalent of a good Madeira.”

Guy’s whoops brought any further attempt at private conversation to an end. The chatter became general, leaving Penelope to return to worrying over Graham.

She had good cause to worry. Left alone with the patient in the upstairs chamber, Graham glared with fierce contempt at the man in the bed. The years had added harshness to Arthur’s once youthful visage, and judging by the patient’s expression, little compassion or wisdom. The darkened features of a man who had spent many months under a Spanish sun tightened beneath Graham’s gaze.

“All these years, I’d thought you dead,” Arthur muttered. “I should have known you were too damned proud to die. I kept waiting for your ghost to haunt me, but I can see you’d rather do it in person.” Arthur coughed as if the task of speaking had depleted his breath. The white bandage around his dark crop of hair provided sharp contrast to the unhealthy coloring of his skin. He had been lying atop the bed covers, reading, when Graham entered. His book lay cast aside beside the stiff leg wrapped in heavy bandages.

“If Marilee’s ghost doesn’t haunt you, none will. I prefer more physical vengeance, myself.” Graham leaned on his walking stick and glared at the enemy who had once been his youngest friend.

“Fine. You with one eye and me with one leg. A fair fight by any standards. Will you send your seconds?”

“If that’s the way you want it, but I’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer. I’ve had five years to recuperate. You’ll not need that long. Just don’t think you can escape me.”

Arthur’s fists clenched against the counterpane, and for a brief moment, sorrow flashed across his dark eyes. “You will accept no explanations, will you?”

“Save them for Marilee when you meet her. All I hear are her screams of pain when I look at you.”

With a sigh Arthur lifted his hand and let it fall again in agreement. “You are right. No explanation will right that night. Send your seconds whenever you are ready.”

“I’m glad to see the charioteer still has some honor in him.” With that parting remark Graham strode out.

CHAPTER 21

GRAHAM WATCHED as Penelope shed her prim façade and seemed to thrive in her new home. She happily puttered in the gardens, socialized with people who were much like her former neighbors, and had the freedom to roam as she desired without carriage and a battery of London footmen.

He would have rejoiced at her happiness had he not also noticed the increasing frequency with which Hamilton and DeVere appeared at their doorstep. To add insult to injury, she had taken to visiting Arthur Reardon. Admittedly she was always in the company of Dolly, but the wound still festered. Every man in the neighborhood had the right to pursue her except himself. That thought gnawed at his soul more than any other. Since Penelope thought these were his friends, he could not forbid her to see them. And to warn the others to stay away from her would reveal the state of his mind. He was trapped in a torment of his own making.

Pride prevented him from discovering if she had a distaste for him; honor prevented him from stealing her innocence under false pretenses. If she found other lovers, it would be easy enough to see her as any other woman, he decided. It was her honesty and total guilelessness demanding the same in return that kept him away.

ONCE MORE PENELOPE found the door between them closed. She mourned the lack of closeness that she had thought they were developing, but she could do nothing to breach the barriers. Graham had not married her for companionship. Apparently, he had no need of company. He even ignored his friends when they called, leaving them to her care while he set the estate in good order.

Pensively Penelope watched Graham’s wide shoulders as he strode away from her, knowing Guy Hamilton waited in the front room. What had happened to the man who had all but admitted jealousy of Guy’s attentions? The man who had slept in the bed beside her and looked at her as if she were a woman he could admire? Where did that man go when this gruff stranger entered?

And why did it matter? She had never needed a man’s flattery or admiring gazes. Deciding she must be growing unacceptably vain, she hurried to greet Guy and tell him that once more Graham had escaped.

“Why do we not ride over and find Dolly? She enjoys an outing more than anyone, and she spends so much time cooped up inside entertaining Arthur.”

Guy bowed acceptance of this decision. “She has shown a remarkable degree of sensibility in caring for her brother that I had not expected of her. If you do not mind adding a third party, I am willing.”

“Three is a crowd? Shame on you, Guy. And what makes you think Dolly is not sensible? She is young and she has been much spoiled, but she is not lacking for sense or affection.” Penelope tied the ribbons of her hat and pulled on her riding gloves as they stepped out into the sunshine.

“And you are so very old that you can call a chit like Dolly young? You have some very strange notions, my dear Penelope. It is not the difference in your ages that make you a model of all that a man admires. I hope Trev knows how very lucky he is.” Guy held her horse as she mounted.

Penelope sent him a mocking look. “Sir Percival, if you do not show more sense than that, I shall abandon you entirely and retreat to the nursery for intelligent conversation. Graham tolerates me because we are much of a kind, both practical, logical-minded individuals unswayed by strong emotions. You and Dolly, however, are impulsive, laughing, loving creatures who light up the lives of others. Why do you ridicule what is good in you and admire what is dull in me?”

“Because I need a good, sensible partner who will keep me on the right path and make my house a welcome place as you have done the Hall. I am tired of the bachelor life. It is time I settled down.”

“Would you not enjoy settling down more with someone you love? It is all very well to decide on a sensible wife who will put pretty flowers in your vases, but what if she whines when she talks? Or sneezes without using a handkerchief? Or nags? Love might be blind to such faults, but without love, they would make every day an irritation. Do you think you can find a woman without faults?”

“Are you saying you and Graham married for love—or are perfect?” Guy asked sardonically.

“You do not think we love each other?” Penelope returned the question, wondering what had made him ask.

“I have known Graham all my life. He is my best friend, but I am not blind to his faults. Since the accident, I cannot know him at all. He does not comport himself in a manner to invite love. No, I think he has taken advantage of you and for whatever reasons, you have allowed it.”

“Perhaps so, but as I said, we are very much alike. We do not have the need for strong passion, so we swim along quite nicely. I do not think you can say the same for yourself. You would not be content to let me go my own way as Graham does.”

“No, by Jupiter, I would not!” Guy responded vehemently. “And neither should Graham! One does not throw a rare gem down on a common table and leave it there for all to pick up and admire as they will. The man has taken leave of what few senses he has remaining. When I see DeVere and his ilk hovering over you like vultures, I think I do not know the man at all. I’d as lief think him to be the crazed madman loose in London as to think he would allow you to fall in the hands of the likes of DeVere.”

Penelope listened with amazement, but in all fairness, she had to defend Graham. “You must have an exceptional picture of me. I am no rare jewel, but as common as any other female and quite capable of looking after myself, thank you. I do not know what you hold against Mr. DeVere, but I’m not likely to fall into his hands or anyone else’s. Graham knows that. I think you are developing an imagination as overactive as Dolly’s. And what is this of a madman in London? Have there been more murders?”

Guy ran his hand distractedly through his hair. “What? No. Not lately. It’s just the description sounded so much like Graham that people are talking, but nobody really believes it’s him. That’s not the point.”

But Penelope was tired of this talk of herself and more interested in the talk of Graham. “What description do they give?”

Exasperated with himself for mentioning the subject, Guy answered curtly. “Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wears a cloak. Carries a cane. Some have mentioned an eye patch. The only difference is the hair color. None see it as gray.”

Penelope made a dismissive gesture. “That could as easily be Chadwell or any number of other men in London. And anyone can feign an eye patch.”

“Scar on the cheek, too. Who’s Chadwell?” Guy’s glance was decidedly suspicious.

“Graham’s cousin. Have you not met him? He is something of the family black sheep, I gather. He has a scar on his cheek, too. Not like Graham’s, of course. But after such a war, can you imagine the number of men with scars?”

Guy’s attention fastened on this mention of a cousin. “I didn’t know Graham had a cousin. Chadwell? Is that his surname?”

“Clifton Chadwell, from America. I have not traced the family tree, but the resemblance is there. But if there have been no murders, someone must have caught the man, or scared him off. Thank goodness. Graham does not need people staring at him as if he were a fiend of some sort. Can you not see how that would change a person?”

Guy wasn’t satisfied, but they had arrived at the Reardons’ and the subject dropped. Later, he heard DeVere inquire of Penelope about Chadwell’s whereabouts, and Guy remembered the conversation. Penelope’s disinterested shrug indicated ignorance. If Graham had an American cousin, he must be so many times removed as to be a total stranger. Guy vowed to question his friend at the first opportunity.

When talk turned to the upcoming church festival, Guy lost any further chance to enlarge his knowledge of this elusive cousin. Both Penelope and Dolly had agreed to help in the festivities, and before the day was out, they had recruited most of their male acquaintances. Even Arthur, who was now able to hobble his way downstairs, was given the assignment of compiling lists of events and judges.

When Penelope told Graham later that evening that he had been volunteered to judge several of the events, he bent a severe look in her direction. “You expect me to do what?”

The candle in his study had nearly burned to the stick, but there was sufficient light to judge his surprise.

Penelope knitted her fingers together and confronted him with false bravado. “Judge the horses. Guy said you are a very good judge of horses. And then of course there are the ceremonials where you will have to present the prize, but that is not so very difficult. The vicar is thrilled to death that you will be able to attend. It means so much to the villagers, and it won’t hurt you to give a little of your time.”

“My money is not enough?” he inquired dryly, moving away from his desk to find another candle or lamp. Discovering what he wanted, he lit it at the fire in the grate. “Unless they are offering a horror show, I cannot believe they need me there to scare the children and frighten the hens from laying.”

Penelope placed her hands on her hips and frowned at this great, hulking bear of a man who feared to face the people who knew him better than any. He had grown up here, and she already knew the people remembered him with fondness. She had spent these last days fielding eager and curious questions. It was time he answered them on his own.

“Do you intend to spend the rest of your life hiding from those who know you? If you can endure the stares of strangers, why not those with whom you must live? And the stares will go away once they grow accustomed to the change. It is only a scar, after all. There are others who must suffer much worse.”

“We’ll talk about suffering later, after this thing is done,” he growled. “Then I’ll exact the price from your pretty hide.”

“Yes, master,” Penelope replied meekly, but the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth said she was not fooled by his irascible reply. “I shall go tell the Cook to fix your favorite strawberry tart, and then I shall sit in the coal dust and eat my swill until you call for me.”

She bounced a pretty curtsy and swept out, leaving Graham to struggle to control his laughter.

THE DAY of the festival dawned clear. Alexandra was up at dawn, rushing to the windows to see if the promised jugglers were coming down the road. Then she escaped to the kitchens to lick the icing bowls for the cakes the Hall would donate for the bake sale. Penelope captured her with promises of new flowers for her bonnet, and by the time the carriage was ready, Alexandra was gowned in white dimity and lace with an enormous pink sash and a rose bedecked bonnet to match.

Penelope chose a pale spring green organdy with puff sleeves and yellow ribbons entwined through the gathered bodice. With no other ornament but the matching ribbons in her honey brown hair, the attire had a country simplicity striking to the eye, but even more so when she moved, for the gauzy material clung and fluttered and made every step a graceful art.

Blessed with this sight the moment he crossed the threshold, Graham nearly called a halt to the whole proceedings. With the wind plastering the frail gown to every curve, Penelope appeared more nymph than angel, and Graham regarded the sight jealously. The urge to catch her and feel her body mold to his nearly crippled him. He could only stand and watch helplessly from the steps until they discovered his presence.

Penelope saw him first. Allowing Alexandra to escape their game, she stopped her chase to brush the folds of her gown back into place. Graham stood so tall and straight and forbidding, very much the lord of the manor, and here she played the part of hoyden. He had decked himself out in glowing white linen shirt, a gold brocade waistcoat that rivaled the sun’s shine, fawn doeskin breeches, and a dark green frock coat cut short across the waist to reveal the muscular planes of his flat abdomen. A gold watch fob glittered beneath the coat’s button, and even his mahogany walking stick appeared polished to a high shine.

Remembering the deadly sword concealed inside that deceptive stick, Penelope hid a shudder. All that glitters is not gold, and she did not fool herself into thinking her husband the genial country squire he chose to portray this day. Whatever he was, she admired him for it, however, and she approached him with a lighthearted step.

“You will have to hide in the horse ring with the men, my lord, or you will not be able to move for the ladies clinging to your coattails.”

Graham caught her gloved hand and lifted her to the step beneath him. “I think I am big enough to deal with the ladies. How do you intend to fend off the gentlemen?”

At the warm look in his eye, Penelope blushed. “I suppose I must choose a protector. Would you do me that honor?”

Graham grinned. “If you knew the recompense a protector asks, you would not think it an honor. But if you must insist on parading about as a forest sprite, I will assign myself the duty of looking after you, providing I do not need to flit about as you do with yon heathen.” He nodded to where Alexandra stood beneath the noses of the carriage horses, alternately crooning a little song to them and patting their dark manes.

Penelope rolled up her eyes at the danger the little scamp put herself in, but the horses were growing accustomed to it. She was her father’s daughter in this; no amount of scolding would keep her from the animals.

“Mrs. Haywood will be here shortly. I am not at all certain that is any guarantee Alexandra will arrive home in the same state that she left, but the festival comes but once a year. She can come to small harm among friends and neighbors.”

He caressed her cheek. “Then let us mingle with the populace, my dear. I am eager to begin slaying dragons.”

CHAPTER 22

PENELOPE SAMPLED the last of the strawberry jams and consulted with the vicar’s wife while a dozen eager jam-makers watched and rolled their hands in their aprons—all except the one Penelope finally pinned the blue ribbon on, that is. A spry, elderly lady with a serene smile and a halo of silver hair, she had beamed confidently throughout the judging.

“That’s very unfair of you,” Penelope murmured close to the woman’s ear as she fastened the gaudy bow to the winner’s collar. “The others will never guess your secret.”

The woman looked startled and studied Penelope with nearsighted gaze. Regaining her confidence, she inquired innocently, “What secret? It’s good strawberries that make the jam.”

“And a currant or two for tartness.” Penelope grinned as the old lady looked taken aback at her knowledge. “I’ll enter my own jam next year and we’ll see who comes out ahead.”

The woman broke out in a broad, beaming smile, took Penelope’s hand and patted it approvingly. “Lord love you, honey, then I’ll just have to enter the baking competition. You won’t know the secret of my plum cake.”

They laughed and the other disappointed losers joined in, hearing enough of this last to hope they had a chance in the following year. Guy had difficulty extricating her from the conversation.

“The horse judging contest is next. Graham sent me to find you. Said he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself unless you’re by his side.” Appropriating Penelope’s gloved hand, he tucked it in the crook of his arm and steered her out of the jam booth.

Children whooped and hollered and dashed in and out among the legs of their elders, and Penelope cast a prayer to heaven that one of them was not Alexandra. The aroma of meat pies sizzling in their earthen oven competed with the sugary scents of the confectionery table until they passed the booth selling fried pies. Penelope held a hand to her stomach and stared wistfully at the treats as Guy hurried her along.

“How can you make me smell horses when there is all this to sample out here?” she complained as Guy rudely informed her food would have to wait.

“Because I have my nag in one division, and Graham will give the prize to O’Donalson if I don’t bring you as ordered. You’ve done your job over-well, my sweet. He will be the most officious judge in all the kingdom. Plead my case, Penny. I’ve got a few pounds riding on the outcome.”

This was said as Guy led her up to the judge’s stand at the ring. Dolly ran up to join them, her chiffon scarf blowing in the breeze as she clamped her overlarge hat to her head. DeVere straggled along behind, his impassive gaze appraising everything.

Graham stepped out of the stand to claim Penelope, clasping her hand as he greeted his friends and neighbors. His stiff stance and formidable features made him difficult to approach, but his manner with Penelope softened his gruffness. The other judges and observers lingered to hear the viscount’s opinions.

Before the end of the competition, the men were arguing as vociferously with Graham as they did among themselves. The furious glare of one golden eye did not quell the men who had known him since he was a lad. The taut drawn muscle of his scarred face might momentarily terrify, but who could fear a man whose wife dared stick her tongue out at him? Or a man who lost his own tongue when trying to explain to her why the gelding was better suited to the wagon pull than the stallion?

The teasing Penelope received after that made it obvious her ignorance was not needed in the horse booth. Leaving Graham to debate the merits of Guy’s roan over O’Donalson’s gray, she excused herself to join the judging of the baby contest.

Bored with the horses, Dolly joined her. They indulged themselves in sticky taffy from the confectioner’s booth, found Alexandra scaling a tree on a dare from a group of young ruffians no older than herself, rescued her, and fed her candy while locating the terrified Mrs. Haywood, then wandered on to the booth where the mothers gathered to show off their youngest.

Graham found her there later, a baby in each arm, a child clinging to her skirt, and a wide smile on her face. The broad smiles of the young women around her indicated their enchantment with the new viscountess, and Graham feared a general squall would ensue should he invade this feminine territory.

At his side Guy groaned, for Dolly had entangled herself in a group of urchins who seemed to be as fascinated with her glorious hair as the tales she told.

“Look at them! What is it about women surrounded with children that makes a man think of bankruptcy?” Guy shoved his hands in his pockets.

Graham couldn’t tear his gaze from the scene. “Is that what you think of? Strange, that’s not what comes to my mind.”

Guy hooted with laughter and regarded his friend’s impassive expression. “Then you’re not dead yet, old fellow. I was beginning to wonder.” As Graham continued to stand beneath the tree instead of claiming his prize, Guy asked, “What are you waiting for? She’s ready and you’re willing. Has some law been passed that you can no longer enjoy yourself?”

At that moment Penelope glanced up. Her gaze locked with Graham’s, and a slow blush suffused her cheeks under the intensity of his stare. If she were as imaginative as Dolly, she would see longing in that look, but that could not be. Whatever it was, she could feel it warm her blood all the way to her bones.

Surrendering the babes, she extricated herself from the final contest. Nervously tucking strands of hair back into their pins, she approached the men beneath the tree. Graham stepped out to claim her, and she completely forgot that Dolly and Guy were about.

“My turn now, is it not?” Graham demanded, catching her hand and holding it captive.

She did not need to inquire into his meaning. With an uncertain nod she agreed and caught her breath at the blaze lighting her husband’s eye. That blaze did not signify anger, she knew, because it was accompanied by his half smile.

The afternoon sped by on wings of sunshine and laughter. They sampled the wares of all the food booths, dripping hot gravy down their fingers and ringing their mouths with sugar. Despite the disadvantage of one eye, Graham won the archery contest but gallantly forfeited the prize to his runner-up. Guy gambled on the pea beneath the shells and to everyone’s surprise, won the pot. Graham pointed out that the next wagers tripled as everyone pressed around to try their luck after seeing someone win, but that didn’t dampen his friend’s delight. Guy insisted on spending his winnings on an outrageously gaudy brooch to hold Dolly’s scarf in place.

They saw a sleepy Alexandra carried off by a bedraggled and exhausted Mrs. Haywood. They laughed as the polished DeVere fell victim to a mud-ball fight. The day was wearing to an end, but no one was eager to acknowledge it. Graham scarcely heeded his need for a walking stick but swung it jauntily, using it to ward off running little boys and to nudge away Penelope’s fingers whenever she reached for another excruciatingly ugly object created by some eager if not talented hand.

Finally in a rare moment of self-defense, Penelope caught the stick and tugged it away from him. The surprise on Graham’s face brought laughter all around, but the gleam leaping to his eye warned of the punishment to come. Penelope whirled around and fled, stick in hand.

In the growing dusk she caused little stir among the weary holiday crowd. Laughing as she heard Graham’s heavy footsteps thundering after her, she dodged between the booths and headed for the church. She had no illusion of outrunning him, but planned on claiming sanctuary once within the hallowed interior.

Graham caught up with her just as she slipped through the side doors into the unlit gloom of the first pews. His powerful arm wrapped around her waist and literally lifted her from the floor, pulling her back against his strong frame. Penelope gasped and giggled as she held the stick out in front of her and Graham reached around her to grab it. In one last frantic struggle he twisted it from her hand.

The second the stick left her hand, all interest in it died. Penelope felt her heart thudding against Graham’s hard arm and squirmed to break his grasp. At the same time Graham lowered her to her feet and turned her around. She remained within the circle of his arms, staring up into his face as he drew her closer.

Without warning, Graham bent his leonine head and touched his lips to hers. A tingle of mixed alarm and joy flooded through her, but Penelope did not resist. Instead she bent closer to the warmth of his broad chest, resting her hands there as she turned her mouth up to sample more of this pleasure he offered.

And pleasure it undoubtedly was. It took root in her toes and spread upward. Her fingers twisted in his waistcoat as his kiss grew warmer. His lips moved across hers, finding the corners and tasting them before returning to cling fiercely and with an ardor that stole Penelope’s breath.

Incredibly she found herself responding, pressing for more, standing on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck in ardent invitation. With a groan Graham slid his hands up and down her back. His mouth closed possessively over hers, drinking deeply.

Only when she felt his tongue trace between her lips did Penelope realize where this led. Her experience with Chadwell had taught her much, and terrified of making such a cake of herself again, she tore away. This was a church, after all. What they did here had no place in a house of worship, although her body ached for more.

Before Graham could recover, she was off again, not out the door they had entered, but through another. He heard her breathless laughter and relieved that he had not scared her, he gave chase.

The door led to a winding staircase and Graham took the stairs as agilely as a mountain goat. The glow of the setting sun lit the interior of the bell tower as he climbed through the hatch. He halted in the opening to admire the scenery.

Penelope stood outlined against the last rays of the sunset. Her hair was illuminated in a coronet of gold that trailed down her slender throat. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly as she gasped for air after her flight, and the clinging cloth of her gown outlined full curves and slender waist. As she leaned back against the wall, the gown clung to rounded thighs, and the blood thundered in Graham’s brain.

Raising himself into the belfry, he reached for the nearest bell rope. Before Penelope could react, the bell began to peal in long, sonorous notes. Quite methodically Graham reached for the second rope, and a matching accompaniment rang out over the darkening grounds.

Laughing, Penelope grasped the third rope. Her tug did not have quite the success of Graham’s, but he generously reached over her head and pulled that one, too.

With all three bells pealing madly, the crowd on the commons began to run for the church. Penelope glanced down at the antlike brown figures scurrying across the lawns and back to Graham’s shadowed face. Without a word he grabbed her hand and led her back down the stairs.

They could hear the questioning cries of the crowd approaching as they ran through the nave, and as one, they dropped into the nearest pew. When the first torches burst into the church, they lit only the lord and his lady kneeling piously with looks of devout wonder on their faces as they faced the altar.

The vicar pushed his way through the crowd and glanced suspiciously up the stairway, then back to Lord and Lady Trevelyan rising from their prayers. Graham’s massive figure lifted his lovely wife to her feet, and in the hearing of those closest, he murmured, “Our prayers have been answered, my dear, you will see.”

Penelope choked back a laugh as the vicar’s mouth shut with a snap. Tears formed as she tried to smother her mirth. No one dared come out and speculate that the lord and his lady might have set the bells to ringing themselves. Even those who knew Graham in his younger days were hesitant at casting his new wife in the same mold. What purpose would there be in Lady Trevelyan soiling her dainty slippers in the filthy bell tower?

Penelope pondered that point not much later as she soaked in a tub of hot, bubbly water and contemplated her ruined shoes. Her maid had nearly cried in distress at their state, but Penelope could not bring herself to throw them out. She could not bear to part with a single memory of this day, so she had sent the maid away and lay cozily in the warm bath, reliving each and every scene all over again.

The part where Graham kissed her came in for more replay than any other. He had caught her completely by surprise. Never had he done more than hold her hand. She had assumed him entirely indifferent to her. But this day he had kissed her as Chadwell had, held her as if he did not mean to let go. Her heart beat faster as she considered the consequences of this new development.

Graham had not been in London for some weeks. Perhaps without his mistress he grew hungry for a woman, any woman. She did not have enough knowledge of men to know whether this was possible. Surely he must kiss his mistress in the same manner. It did not mean anything, not really. It was exciting to know he might consider her desirable but was that all she wanted from him?

It was certainly better than nothing. Remembering the way he had held her, the way his mouth had felt against hers, Penelope reached abruptly for the soap. It would not do to build up hopes.

Just as her fingers touched the soap, the door from Graham’s room swung open. The shock of her husband’s entrance caused temporary paralysis, but recovering quickly, she struggled to reach for her towel. Graham bent to retrieve it from the floor and hand it to her.

He wore only a long dressing robe that did nothing to conceal the broad expanse of his chest. He wore his hair brushed back from his forehead with only a few strands gleaming silver against his darker skin. The black patch had a sinister effect, perhaps because she read the gleam in his visible eye too easily. His scar tautened over his cheek at her silence, but he made no effort to leave.

“I apologize for intruding. I had thought you done by now. Do you need some assistance?”

Her blush deepened as Penelope tried to slide farther into the water and cover herself with the towel at the same time. “If you would not mind, my lord, you could be of most assistance if you would turn your back.”

Graham studied the tangles of hair dangling against her cheek and throat, then allowed his gaze to rove. The color rose from the valley between her breasts to spread upward. He had the urge to plunge his hands in the water and lift her out to see if she colored all over. Gallantly resisting this urge, he turned his back on her.

“I thought it time we had a little talk, Penelope.” He listened to the sound of water splashing and imagined her slim, straight-backed form emerging from the water. She would have her back toward him, of course, and he tried to picture the exact curve of the derriere she would not think tempting enough to cover.

“You are displeased? I thought you enjoyed today. I know I do not play the part of noble lady well, but you must admit that you behaved less than nobly at the last.”

He heard her stepping from the bath and guessing that she had donned her robe and now dried her feet, he swung around. The sight of a shapely calf propped on the tub’s edge while she toweled it dry held his admiration, until Penelope looked up to see why he did not answer. She straightened and nervously adjusted the sash of her robe.

“As I am behaving less than lordly now. You need not be so blunt with my faults, Penelope. I know them all. And no, I am not displeased with you. I cannot remember a day I have enjoyed more.”

Shooting him a relieved smile, Penelope wandered to the dressing table to remove the pins from her hair. “I am glad,” she said. “You need to laugh more. I like to hear you laugh.”

Graham smiled at the guilelessness of her reply. He knew she simply spoke her thoughts without attempt to flatter or charm. “I shall remember to laugh more often.”

Swallowing his fear, he opened his heart. “Penelope, answer me truly in this. Have you found anyone who catches your fancy? Has anyone yet claimed your heart? Do not be shy about answering. I know you and Guy have been much together. . .”

Penelope swung around to stare at him with a perplexed expression. “Guy is a good friend, nothing more. I have told you I am not of a romantical turn of mind. I enjoy being with people. I like some better than others, but I cannot say one has captured my heart.”

Graham studied her. “Not even Chadwell? Out of sight, out of mind?”

She had the grace to blush. “What he wants has little to do with the state of my heart. You do me no favors by leaving me in his company.”

Graham drew a rueful face. “You know you are under no obligation to be faithful to me. Under the circumstances I could not blame you for seeking a man like Chadwell.”

Penelope glared at him with a mixture of wistfulness and indignation. “I am sorry, Graham. When you first told me that, I did not understand, and I was too frightened to question. Now I must tell you that I can never be that kind of wife. I do not mean to disappoint you, but I grew up with provincial ways and cannot change now. When we said those vows before the altar, I meant them. I am willing to obey you in all else, but I cannot set aside those vows.”

The candlelight shadowed his harsh lineaments. For once, his expression was neither deliberately impassive nor openly mocking. She could only wait helplessly for his reaction. Had she been bold, she would have lifted her hand to stroke his face, but he had rejected that gesture once, and she had not the temerity to try it again.

“You may regret those words,” he warned. “You were made to have children. Even if your heart remains free, you will feel the longing for what you have missed.”

In these last few months she had learned enough of herself to suspect the truth of this, but she also knew the strength of her convictions. She shook her head. “I have Alexandra. She has the spirit of half a dozen children. That is more than I ever imagined happening to me.”

“Penelope. . .” The name escaped Graham’s lips almost as a groan as he stroked her hair. Then he dropped his hand and returned to the hearth. Bracing one hand against the mantel, he tried again. “I have not dared approach you for fear you would be frightened of a visage like mine. I cannot believe my good fortune in winning you, and I have no wish to push my luck too far and so risk what we have now.”

Bewildered, but acting on instinct, Penelope touched his arm, making him raise his head to look at her. “I would not have married a man I feared, Graham. Why do you hurt yourself so by painting us both as we are not?”

Because he knew more than she, knew better than anyone that he did not deserve his great good fortune, but he could not explain that to those trusting violet eyes. He only dared to speak as he did now because he could see that she would be unhappy in the future, and more than anything else he wanted to bring her happiness. If it also came mixed with disappointment and disillusion, he could not spare her that. He could only hope the one outweighed the other.

He rubbed a gentle finger along her soft cheek and wrapped it in a strand of silken hair. “It is human nature to believe the worst, Penelope. So I believe you are not quite human, since you see only the best in everyone. Tell me, my precocious angel, what would you say if I asked you to be my wife in truth?”

She held his gaze and replied, “I would say yes.”

CHAPTER 23

GRAHAM HAD BEEN TAUGHT to be a gentleman, although these last few years belied the fact. Even now, in withholding the truth, he was being less than gentlemanly, but he had to consider his wife’s happiness. Sometimes the truth could only hurt.

“I would give you time to consider your answer, Penelope. You need not reply immediately for my sake. Sometimes a generous heart is not the kindest or the wisest.” Graham held himself aloof, the shadows of the fire widening the distance between them.

“Graham, you mistake me if you think me an angel,” she said in frustration. “I am a woman just as any other. I told you on our wedding night before I even knew aught of you that I expected to honor our vows. Now that you have given me this time to come to know and respect you, I can say it with even more confidence. You have given me months to consider, Graham. My answer will not change.”

He could read the truth in her eyes, and his heart gave an unexpected lurch. He wanted her in the way a man wants a woman, and he wanted her for the solace he knew she offered to his self-esteem. He had not expected more than that, but he feared he was about to lose as much as he gained. He did not hesitate to make the exchange.

Raising his hand to the back of her head, he bent to capture her lips with his.

Her hands slid to his shoulders and her lips trembled beneath his kiss.

“Ah, Penelope, there should be champagne to ease you past your wedding night.” Graham wrapped her closer into his embrace, spreading his kisses across her jaw to the vulnerable hollow beneath her ear.

Before she could reply, he lifted her from the floor and caught her by the knees. She cried out in surprise, but her husband’s grin as he observed the way her robe gaped took away any protest. Clinging with one hand to his shoulder, Penelope tried to cover herself with the other as he effortlessly carried her across the room to his own.

Only a brace of candles lit this dark chamber, and Penelope sighed with relief. She had expected to come to her husband respectably garbed from head to foot. The scandalous looseness of just a sash to conceal her nakedness made her vulnerable. She could not look Graham in the eye as she stood sandwiched between the bed and him.

Graham tipped her chin up, and bent to ply her lips into surrender.

This time, when his tongue flicked along her mouth, she parted her lips willingly. It did not matter that this was not the handsome Chadwell seducing her. The sensation was the same, magnificently terrifying and alarmingly exciting as Graham’s kiss deepened to take possession with an expertise that gave her no hope of resisting.

Bent in his embrace, she could do naught but rest her hands against his broad chest and give into the rush of sensation. When he brushed aside the opening of her robe to caress her nipple, she melted against him as if she had no strength of her own. His large hand cupped the fullness of her breast and played tantalizing games with the rising crest until she did not know if it was his moan or her own when he raised his head to look upon her.

Before she knew what he did, Graham untied her sash and parted her robe. Gasping, Penelope reached to pull the robe around her again.

Graham stayed her hand. “No. Before I extinguish the candles, let me see what my rashness has won.”

His gaze devoured her. But when he touched her breast with gentle reverence, she experienced a fiery joy. Graham lifted her to the bed, allowing her the security of her robe for a while longer. He caressed her breast again before he began pinching out the candles.

Clinging to her robe, Penelope crept between the turned down covers and listened to the sound of Graham undressing in the dark. She did not think it took this long to remove his robe and what little he wore beneath it. Perhaps he gave her time to grow used to the fact that she would soon learn the mysteries of married life. If so, he did her no good because she grew more nervous with each passing moment. The satin fabric rubbing across her nakedness served as an ever present reminder of the sensuality he had aroused in her, a sensuality she had never experienced and that she feared as one does the unknown.

She was not unfamiliar with the way the bed sagged when Graham climbed upon it, but she knew this time he would not stay to his own side. Confirming her fears, he raised up on one elbow and leaned over her. She could feel the heat of his flesh through her flimsy covering.

“I will try to treat you gently, Penelope. Forget whatever you have heard of wedding nights and let me touch you as I have just done.”

His voice sounded different, closer and more tender than the throaty, gruff remarks to which she had grown accustomed. She reached to touch his face, but he caught her hand. Kissing it, he returned it to the pillow where he held it captive.

“Lie still and let me teach you, my lovely Penny.” The caress in his voice was unmistakable, and the smooth touch of his mouth across hers silenced any protest.

Too frightened to relax, she could only allow him his way. His kisses plied at her mouth until she burned for more and parted her lips to give him entrance. The touch of his tongue caused her to arch, and his hand was there to catch her movement, sliding beneath her to hold her captive. This move brought her startlingly close to his male nakedness, and Penelope tried to cringe away, but Graham had her surrounded.

A moan died in her throat as he drank thirstily of her kisses. His palm forced her closer, sliding down her back until it cupped her buttocks. Through the satin of her robe she could feel the heat of his hand, and she blessed the way the fabric slid between them to protect her from the man holding her so intimately.

Within minutes she was no longer capable of such conscious thought. Graham’s hand slid beneath the satin to wreak havoc with the sensitive peak of her breast. Her breathing grew ragged as he explored her nakedness. When he lingered at the curve of her hip, she drew a deep breath, only to discover her mistake when Graham bent his head to suckle the peak he had so thoroughly aroused with his caresses. Lost, Penelope cried her surrender and arched against the heat of his mouth. That movement brought her more of the ecstasy his tongue had to offer, but it also dislodged her robe. She felt the hard thrust of his maleness between her thighs as he brought her into the curve of his body.

Satiated with one breast, Graham lay her back against her open robe to sample the other while his hand roamed. When he tried to touch her most intimate place, Penelope whimpered in protest, but his hand overrode her objection.

He did things to her that made her blush to admit even as he did them, but his kiss kept coming back to smother all protest, and her traitorous body reveled in the pleasure. When he finally parted her thighs and lifted his heavy weight over her, she was too lost to the drug of his kisses to understand the import. Not until the piercing pain filled her to the very quick did Penelope know what she had done.

True to his word Graham was both quick and gentle, but the shock of invasion as his body entered hers drained away the pleasure. Graham pinned her shoulders with his hands and held her hips captive with his maleness.

Not until she felt his loss of control, heard his groan, did Penelope begin to feel the power of this joining. Too late, it was over, and her body ached even as Graham withdrew.

Graham brushed the robe from her shoulders, throwing it aside. He fell onto the mattress and pulled her on top. He caressed the swell of her breasts and down to the deep valley of her waist, reminding her of his intimate claim.

The hollow pit within her belly grew tighter as Penelope realized her life would no longer be her own. Only the knowledge that his seed lay planted deep within her kept her from pulling from his embrace.

“The next time will be better for you, my Penny,” Graham murmured. “I think I shall enjoy teaching you what you have been missing.”

“The next time?” She had just been contemplating with satisfaction the fact that he had done his duty as husband and would probably not need to do so again unless his seed did not bear fruit.

Graham chuckled and ran his hand into her hair, pulling her down against his shoulder again. “You would not plant only one seed in a hill of corn, would you? If it is children you want to grow, you must tend the ground carefully and plant at the right times. To put it crudely, my love, we have just broken the earth.”

Penelope buried her face against his shoulder and conquered an urge to sink her teeth into his flesh. Broken the earth, indeed! She had married a monster of decadence.

CHAPTER 24

PENELOPE WOKE to the light of day and the familiarity of her own room. In sleepy surprise she turned over to make sure she did not mistake, but there was no sign that Graham had even been there.

None, that is, but the fact that she was completely naked and that the soreness between her thighs remained. Remembering what Graham had done, she buried her face against the pillow. The pictures in Chadwell’s house of ill repute had not lied, then. That was what happened between men and women that no one ever talked about. No wonder. No sane woman would ever marry did she know what the future held.

Although she did not think she could bear to face him again, Penelope could not completely blame Graham. He sought his own pleasure since his mistress was not available, that she understood. But he also sought to give her what she wanted most— a child. Perhaps he also had some latent urge to produce a son, but he would have denied himself had she not encouraged him. It was her own fault.

Covering her abdomen with her hand, Penelope wondered how long it would take to know if their efforts had been successful. Remembering Graham’s insinuation that it would take more than one time, she wondered if she really wanted a child that much. Imagining herself with rounding belly and all the world knowing what he had done to her, her courage failed. Was it too late to change her mind?

Practicality reared its ugly head, and she knew she could not hide forever. Afraid of this new body he had given her, Penelope stepped gingerly from the bed. Just the process of using the chamber pot made her blush, and afterward she scrubbed vigorously at her private parts. The scent of Graham clung to her, and she wished for another bath, fearful someone would notice.

Finally electing a liberal splash of toilet water to disguise any lingering scents, imaginary or otherwise, Penelope dressed in a high-necked gown of lavender muslin. Remembering how her body responded to just a touch of her breast, she understood why Graham preferred the low-cut bodices, and she could not bear to show herself so shamelessly again.

It was late and she did not bother to call her maid to dress her hair. Graham would no doubt be on his way, and she would not entertain any callers today. Pinning the long lengths in a simple chignon, Penelope took a deep breath and prepared to reenter the world.

She nearly fled to the safety of her private chamber upon discovering Graham lingered over his breakfast. He looked up at her entrance, and she could not flee. Avoiding his eye, she picked up a plate from the sideboard and selected a small piece of bacon and an egg.

Graham rose from his chair, and before she could slide into the distant seat that was properly hers, he touched her cheek, forcing her to face him.

“You look beautiful this morning, Lady Trevelyan, even if you do choose to hide behind your high-necked muslins.” He bent a lingering kiss to her lips, ensuring her response before releasing her and pulling out the chair beside his. “Sit with me. I am almost done, and I want to memorize the way you look to keep me company until I return.”

“Such flattery will get you nowhere,” Penelope protested as she accepted the seat offered. His kiss had made more than her lips tingle, and she wasn’t at all certain how to act beneath his warm perusal. It was as if he had the ability to see her without her clothes, and she felt as if she sat eating naked before him.

“It’s not flattery but truth. I can see I have my job cut out to teach you not to be so prudish. Your days as an untouched spinster are over, my lady. Look me in the eye and tell me you did not enjoy any part of it.”

Now was her chance. She had only to look up and tell him to his face that she had changed her mind, that he would have to save his embraces for the kind of woman who enjoyed that kind of thing, or pretended to. Surely he would not force himself upon her when he understood her feelings.

But when she looked up to find Graham’s familiar face frowning down on her, she could not do it. He had seemed so happy at her acquiescence, and the memory of his kiss was so strong that she could not deny him. Perhaps another time, but not now. Cursing her blush, she answered, “I do not make much of a liar, my lord.”

“No, you don’t, and for that I am grateful.” Graham leaned over and brushed her cheek with his ungloved hand. “Be patient, Penelope. I am asking much of you, but not more than you can give. By the time the corn is ripe, you will be looking forward to the planting as much as the harvesting.”

He laughed at her outraged expression, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and departed on his daily tasks. Not until he was gone did she wonder why she had not noticed his glove last night, or why his scarred and partially immobile mouth seemed to melt so effortlessly against hers when they kissed under the cover of darkness.

As was not unusual, Graham did not return in time for dinner that night, and Penelope retired gratefully to the privacy of her own chambers. Perhaps if given enough time, she would learn to accept her husband’s marital demands. But tonight it was pleasant to return to the comfort of her empty bed.

She had no sooner fallen asleep than a familiar step crossed her floor. Penelope tried to waken, but he lifted her in strong arms and carried across the room. She snuggled against his large chest. In the darkness she could see nothing of his features, but she knew the feel and smell of him. She murmured a soft, protesting “Graham” as he laid her across his bed.

Ignoring this slight objection, Graham removed his robe and leaned over his sleepy wife to waken her with a kiss. As intended, his demands wakened her from more than sleep. Her lips parted beneath his insistence, and he groaned his pleasure. His hand sought the soft purchase of her breast while his tongue plundered the sweet recesses laid open to him.

The soft linen of her night shift hampered his caress. He joined Penelope on the bed, catching the hem and pulling it to her waist. She gasped, but he had denied himself too long and his need was urgent. Graham buried his hand in her hair and kissed her until they were both dizzy with desire. He stroked and played at the tight juncture he would win from her.

Penelope twisted and writhed to avoid what he did to her, but he merely claimed her deeper. She opened to his whispered, “Now, Penny,” and moaned when he filled her to the hilt.

Graham continued to murmur soothing words as he repeated the movement he had taught her earlier. Without need of any other caress, her body responded. This time, there was no pain, and if there was shame, it was lost in the pleasure swelling inside her. When she felt that she could stand no more, that surely she would burst from the intensity of these desires, Graham gave an anguished cry and shuddered above her.

It was then that she knew the true meaning of what they did, for her body shuddered and accepted him until there was no separating one from the other. Liquid warmth wrapped around them, engulfing and overflowing like fields after a summer rain.

Graham lay momentarily atop her, pressing her into the mattress, branding her forever with the heat of his flesh. Penelope slid her hands around his back and pressed small kisses into his shoulders, allowing the aftermath of loving to blind her to thought. A sensuous languor stole over her, disturbed only when Graham roused and rolled over, carrying her with him.

Graham caressed her breast while Penelope curled against his side, content to accept his strength as her pillow. The time for thought would be at the break of day. The time for adjusting to this miracle of becoming one whole was now, while no word or act separated them.

PENELOPE once again woke to her empty bed. This time, she did not feel the same rush of relief. She remembered all Graham had done to her, and while a blush stole across her cheeks, a new sensation crept through that place where they had been joined, and it was not at all unpleasant.

Graham entered as soon as she began moving about. Already fully dressed and ready for the day’s activities, he appeared all the more impressive to Penelope’s newly opened eyes. She felt naked and disheveled in the chemise she had drawn on before he entered, but the look in his eye indicated his impression was not the same.

“I trust you are feeling no ill effects after last night? I fear I may have been a little too rough with you.”

He seemed sincerely penitent and worried, and because she had suffered only pleasure at his hands, Penelope had to forgive him. She pulled on a robe the maid had laid out the night before and touched his cravat since he allowed no caress of his face.

“You frightened me, but I am learning not to be afraid.” Shyly she studied his expression, trying to find what she craved in the half smile on his lips and the unreadable light of his eye.

Graham brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, then stroked her throat, down the neckline of her robe, to the knot of her sash. His hand hesitated there, then slid beneath the robe to seek the taut peak of her breast. She continued to watch his face, although her body was already responding to his touch.

“You learn quickly, my pretty Penny. I hope you do not learn so fast that you go seeking others for these pleasures. I find I am rather jealous of my right to teach you physical love.”

“Good, then you will not go seeking your mistress any time soon. I do not know enough yet to enjoy sharing you with others.”

“My mistress?” Startled, Graham frowned.

“I am not ignorant, my lord. I know what a man does when he does not sleep in his chamber,” she said with tartness.

He raised his eyebrows but did not argue. “That’s fair. As long as I have you, I need no other. Now kiss me and I will leave you alone until tonight.”

Her cheeks colored at his tone, but obligingly, she stood on her toes to reach his lips. Graham caught her against him and took more than a simple kiss before he set her down.

Leaving her flushed and confused, he departed.

HE CAME to her again in darkness that night and all the others of that fortnight. When Graham worked in the study, Penelope tried to wait up for him, but he never came until her eyes closed and the candle guttered out. Then he would lift her into his arms and carry her to his bed and teach her all those things her body longed to know, although sometimes against her will. He won all these battles and more, until just a touch of his hand or his movement told her what he wanted, and she gave willingly. Once certain that he had tended his field thoroughly, he carried her back to her own bed and parted with a kiss.

To Penelope’s surprise and relief, no one noticed the difference in her. She helped Dolly address invitations to a rout Lady Reardon decided to give. She walked around the Reardon garden as Arthur tested his mending leg. She rode out with Dolly and Guy to visit neighboring homes. And no one remarked on her new worldliness. It seemed odd that such a major change in her life could not be seen by others, but it made it easier to face the light of day.

Graham had not forgotten the charitable allowance he had promised her. Penelope had an enormous sum locked away in her writing desk, awaiting her decision on dispersal. Such wealth had the power to change more lives than Goldie’s or young Pippin’s. She had to plan carefully to prevent doing more harm than good. With Graham gone much of the day and with the slower pace of country society, she had time to ponder its uses.

She had meant to consult Graham with her plans as soon as he had a spare minute, but that opportunity did not arrive. DeVere had shown up several times at the Hall looking for Graham, but Graham showed no interest in meeting with him.

Penelope returned home from the Reardons one day to be met by Alexandra running up with Pippin following, both yelling incomprehensible phrases. She climbed out of the carriage and waited for them to quiet. Curiosity over Pippin’s presence nearly had her shouting a command for silence.

Once they realized there would be no response until they spoke one at a time, they bit their tongues and glanced at each other before making small bobs of greeting to Penelope.

“Very good. Now what is this of ponies?” She held up a hand as both tried to speak again. “Ladies before gentlemen. Alexandra, what has happened to cause you to behave in such an unruly manner?”

Alexandra stuck her chin out defiantly. “He rode my pony. I didn’t say he could ride my pony. He could have hurt him.”

Penelope tried to disguise her surprise at the city-bred orphan riding all the way out here. It did not seem likely. She turned to Pippin and offered him a turn. “Did you ride the pony here, Pippin?”

“Yes, mum.” He stuck his lower lip out and threw Alexandra a malevolent look. “I daren’t take one of ’em great critters, but Nell said ’twas important and I ’ad to get word to the master someways.”

Nell! That did not bode well at all. Perhaps something had happened to Chadwell. They had left only a skeleton staff in London, and none would know much of Chadwell or Nell. The boy shouldn’t have come alone, but he was impetuous. She took both children by the hand and started up the steps.

“Have you seen Lord Trevelyan yet? Does he know you’re here?” Penelope ignored Alexandra’s angry tug.

“’E done up and gone. Took ’at great black beast of ’is and left soon’s I gave ’im the letter.”

Penelope didn’t like the sound of that, but she couldn’t let the children see her fear. Entering the house, she led them down the hall toward the kitchen. “Then we must find some other way of returning you to London. That’s too long a ride to make alone.”

She gave Alexandra a severe look. “Now I want you to thank Pippin for bringing your pony out for you to ride. He must have been terribly afraid to ride all that way by himself. Remember how scared you were when the lightning flashed? And you had your papa with you.”

She squeezed Pippin’s hand when he seemed about to protest, and he kept silent while Alexandra peeped around Penelope’s skirts with awe. “Did lightning hit you?”

Pippin shrugged nonchalantly. “Oncet or twicet. Not so much’s to notice.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, but this boldfaced lie seemed to appease Alexandra. She began to chatter excitedly about the other parts of the journey while Pippin invented one tale after another to feed her curiosity. Seeing Harley waiting for her attention, Penelope sent the youngsters off to the kitchen for biscuits and milk and turned an inquiring look to the butler.

“There’s a gentleman in the first salon, my lady, a Mr. DeVere to see Lord Trevelyan. What shall I tell him?”

“That his lordship has left for London?” At the butler’s stiff nod, Penelope pursed her lips. “Did Graham leave any message for me?”

“He was in a great hurry, my lady. John had to fetch him from the fields, and he rode off without his baggage.”

That told her nothing. He had clothes and toiletries in London, but she hoped his lack of luggage meant the stay would be brief. “I will see to Mr. DeVere, then, Harley. Thank you.”

When she entered the first salon, however, there was no one there. Puzzled, she glanced around, but he did not stand at the pianoforte or behind the column with a bust of Diana. She checked the window nooks and found several of the sashes open to let in fresh air, but DeVere did not hide here. Shrugging, she turned and left the room.

CHAPTER 25

LINGERING in the long shadows of the houses across from the Trevelyan London town house, DeVere patted his pockets in pantomime of a man searching for a lost or misplaced object. While he searched, he noted the drive gates were open. The recent calling card of a horse still lay steaming upon the road. He was certain Graham had arrived, but he could not know if he was still there.

Deciding to wait a little longer, he was rewarded with the sight of the man he had really come to see—Chadwell. DeVere watched as the dark-haired American climbed into a carriage. With satisfaction, he mounted his horse and followed.

Not long after, Chadwell entered the private doors of a mansion only slightly less opulent than Carlton House.

DeVere dismounted, dusted himself off, and with a word and a coin to a liveried servant, entered the mansion at a different entrance. Once inside, he hesitated. He was not attired for a formal court function. Now that he knew the destination, he realized Chadwell had been wearing stockings and a dress sword beneath his cloak—court attire.

Thinking quickly, DeVere mentioned a well-known name to another liveried servant and was whisked upstairs. There, he waited in a private parlor until the servant left, then stole out again to a third floor and the quarters of a startled maid. Nervously she nodded at his commands and ran to do his bidding. The American was not the only one who had eyes and ears in numerous places.

CHADWELL SLID QUIETLY into a grand ballroom, joining a press of people milling and surging about tables lined with sumptuous foods. Occasionally he caught a glimpse of a swan carved from ice, a golden fountain pouring what appeared to be champagne, and platters stacked high with grapes and other imported fruits from someone’s orangery. But though his stomach grumbled in protest, he was not here to indulge in the buffet.

Nell’s message had warned of assassination.

At the far end of the room on a raised dais mingled an assortment of royalty and their dignitaries gartered in the regalia of their various countries. Gold braid, sashes, and medals abounded, a veritable battery of foreign princes who had been touring London celebrating peace. Whispering to the gentleman at his side, Chadwell gestured toward the window nooks and private alcoves along the walls. His companion nodded, said a few words to a third man behind them, then steered Chadwell toward the dais.

Chadwell kept his eye on the entrance as he spoke to the Foreign Secretary. He frowned as DeVere entered the ballroom wearing ill-fitting black satin knee breeches, frock coat, and a jeweled sword, but Castlereagh’s protest distracted him.

“The assassin is here, I tell you,” Chadwell insisted. “My sources wouldn’t lie. There may be more than one of them, and they have pistols. If I knew who their target was, we could set a trap, but I couldn’t get a name. Unless you want to search every person in the room, you will have to take his royal highness and his guests out of here or cordon off the dais. I might recognize one or two of the villains, but in this crush, I’m not likely to see them in time.”

“The Regent won’t hear of it,” the Secretary of Foreign Affairs argued. “This will be the last public occasion for his guests to talk together, and there are important topics being discussed. Rumors of assassins will only make him laugh. This affair is by invitation only. The type you are speaking of could not possibly have entered.”

“I did,” Chadwell reminded him.

The Secretary frowned. “And the person responsible will be severely reprimanded, I assure you.”

“Damn you, man! Can you not see. . .” He broke off abruptly and shoved Castlereagh behind him. “Gun!”

He drew his rapier and jumped into the crowd. Onlookers screamed. Castlereagh shouted furiously and signaled his men.

Chadwell focused on a man taking aim at the dais with a long-barreled pistol. Those around the shooter pushed and shoved to avoid the weapon.

A few braver gentlemen, assuming Chadwell to be the danger, threw themselves in his path. He cursed as another of the assassins pulled a second pistol and took aim at him.

At the same time, he saw DeVere tugging out a weapon.

He didn’t have time for caution. He swung his rapier in a bright arc, connecting with the first assassin’s wrist. The gun exploded in a stink of sulfur, disarming the villain.

DeVere lunged at the disarmed assassin as Chadwell swung to confront the second pistol. DeVere’s unanticipated attack caused him to lose his footing. The rapier blow meant to neutralize the second assassin went wild at the same time as the second pistol fired. Burning pain pierced Chadwell’s thigh. He fell forward but still buried his rapier in his attacker.

Instead of being merely wounded by Chadwell’s swipe, the first assassin now lay sprawled across the ballroom floor, his life’s blood pouring from a wound in his back from DeVere’s blow. Castlereagh gave DeVere a look of disgust and shouted orders for the dead to be hauled away. It was obvious that whatever they might have told of their plans would be buried with them. DeVere’s ill-fated lunge had seen to that.

Chadwell, on the other hand, did more than give DeVere a look of disgust. Pure loathing crossed his face as he clutched his thigh and shook off offers of assistance. Jerking his rapier from the still body on the floor, he pointed it at DeVere.

“The minute I find evidence that you planned this, you bastard, I’ll see you drawn and quartered. I had not thought even you could go this far.” His fury so violent he feared he would not control it, Chadwell swung around and limped after the men carrying out the bodies.

In the confusion behind him he escaped without being showered in royal gratitude. Considering his other activities, he would have been a hypocrite to accept it. Dragging himself into the carriage, Chadwell collapsed against the seat and ordered the driver to set the horses to speed.

PENELOPE FROWNED at the closed door between her bedroom and Graham’s. It had been nearly a week since he had left, and she had no other word from him than the message the carriage driver carried after returning Pippin to the city. It was good to know her husband was well and conducting business, but she felt as if they were back where they had started, with the door closed between them.

She had made few improvements to the small chamber that was hers. Perhaps it was time to stop fooling herself and set about making herself comfortable here. Even in that blissful time when Graham had taken her to his bed, he had always returned her here. He meant to keep the distance between them. She had no right to imagine that they would ever be closer. Love might exist in the minds of poets, but it seldom occurred in the real world that she knew. She should be satisfied that she gave her husband a measure of happiness.

She didn’t feel particularly satisfied, however. She had a lovely home and comfort and security, and Alexandra was a joy and a blessing. She ought to be on her knees in thanksgiving. Instead she felt as if she had traded one set of responsibilities for another, with no improvement in the loneliness that filled her nights. She was only human, and she craved love, the love that her mother’s death and her father’s absence had denied her, the love that a husband should have offered.

Chastising herself for such selfishness, Penelope set about finding a worthwhile project. She had already worked out ideas for the charity money. If Graham didn’t have time to help her, Guy had plenty to spare. Not being accustomed to wealth, she wasn’t certain of her judgment. She wanted a second opinion.

Guy found the enterprise she had in mind amusing, but he agreed to keep silent. They rode out one morning to inspect the property she was considering and to talk terms with the owners. By the time they rode back that evening, Penelope was all but bouncing in her saddle as she talked of all the plans the visit had inspired.

As they came around the bend to the Hall, Penelope spotted a carriage in the drive, and her thoughts instantly swung to Graham. Perhaps he had rode home with a friend, or perhaps the driver carried a message. She hastened the pace of her mount.

By the time they came abreast of the gleaming equipage, Penelope had recognized it. Adelaide! She and Brian had said they might venture out for a visit once she and Graham had time to settle in. Penelope hoped one of the guest bedrooms had been set to order.

Alexandra was already dragging her laughing aunt down the outside stairs when Guy and Penelope rode up. Alexandra grabbed Penelope’s hand and tried to pull her toward the stables. “Come see what Aunt Adelaide brought for me! I put him with my pony so they could keep each other company. She said I mustn’t let him in the house, but he’s so little, Mama, couldn’t we please? Just until he gets bigger?”

Bewildered but overwhelmed that Alexandra had called her “mama” for the first time, Penelope glanced up to Adelaide for explanation. Graham’s sister smiled and hugged Penelope in greeting.

“I have missed you already. The kitten was a good excuse to come before you could possibly be ready for us. I hope you do not mind. We will sleep anywhere. It does not matter. I was growing restless and needed the company.”

Penelope returned her sister-in-law’s hug. “I told you that you are welcome anytime. We might even find beds for you. Is Brian here?” At Adelaide’s nod, she continued, “Of course, he would not let you out of his sight now, would he?” She glanced laughingly at Adelaide’s rounding figure.

Then stooping to hug Alexandra, Penelope brushed the little girl’s wild mane of black hair from her forehead. “I’d love to see the kitten, love, but I must take Sir Percival in for some tea and see that your aunt has a room. Would you help me? Then we can go see about your pet.”

After settling everyone, admiring the kitten, and admitting that perhaps he might be happier in the kitchen for a while, Penelope sat down to tea with her favorite people.

“Isn’t Graham coming home to tea?” Adelaide demanded at once.

“He was called to London on some pressing business. I expect him any day now.” Penelope sipped from her cup and tried not to show her fears.

“Business!” Adelaide turned up her nose. “He’s up to some mischief, no doubt. I never saw one for gallivanting about the countryside as much as Graham. I hoped he had finally taken a notion to settle down. This is the first time that I know of that he’s set foot in this place since the accident. I thought it a good sign.”

“I thought the physician who tended him came from around here? Surely Graham stayed in his own home while he was recuperating?”

Adelaide shook her head vigorously. “The accident happened on the other side of the county, and he was taken to a friend’s home there. When he was well enough to be moved, he insisted on opening up that museum piece in London and moving there. I could not object, for it was the Season and the time for my come out, but I have always loved the Hall. It seemed strange not to come here in the summers.”

“I had hoped to drive the ghosts away. He did seem to enjoy being back. I am certain it is just some unfinished business that keeps him in London.” Penelope spoke with more assurance than she felt.

“I’m just glad you didn’t go with him. The things I hear of those murders make my hair stand on end.” Adelaide shook her head cheerfully as if her hair standing on end gave her great pleasure.

“I thought they stopped some time ago?” A chill ran down Penelope’s spine. Since she had seen how the people lived in the East End, she could imagine the horror of being trapped in such a place with a madman on the prowl.

“They did, but I just received a letter in the post from a friend of mine. There’s been no end of scandals with assassins running rampant through the halls of parliament. Some even say the madman was in the prince’s ballroom, and now he roams the streets at all hours. It is horrible. I vow, I’ll not feel safe to return until he is caught.”

Adelaide’s manner of rattling on past the facts to her opinions left the subject scantily addressed, but it was sufficient to make Penelope nervous for Graham’s safety. “Surely it is just conjecture? You know how rumors start. A lady faints, a bystander screams, and the whole town panics.”

Guy appeared amused at Penelope’s description of mob hysteria, but Brian shook his head in disagreement. “I only wish it were that, my lady, but I have had it from very reliable sources that two women have been killed this week alone. Graham is right to leave you here. I’ll not allow Adelaide back to town until the monster is caught.”

Guy brushed back a lock of hair and frowned. “They think it is the same man? How can they know?”

Brian shook his head. “It’s best not spoken of in front of the ladies. But witnesses have given a remarkably similar description. They have all seen a cloaked man. He is said to be well above average height and quite strong-looking. They all agree his hair is dark, and he sports a scar on one cheek.” For Penelope’s benefit, he added, “There has been no talk of the eye patch this time as there was this spring. It cannot be proved that such a man is the killer, I suppose, but it does seem remarkable coincidence that he is always in the area where one of these murders occurs.”

Looking at Penelope, who seemed to grow pale before his eyes, Guy answered lightly. “Well, then, we can excuse Graham. He doesn’t fit the description any longer.”

Brian and Adelaide laughed, but Penelope kept silent. She was relieved that no one would accuse Graham of such horrendous crimes, but she knew of one other person who accurately fit that description. She lived in terror that Graham had gone to town on some mission concerning his cousin Chadwell.

CHAPTER 26

WITH GUESTS TO ENTERTAIN, Penelope feared she would have to set aside her plans for the foundling home she meant to establish, but Guy solved that problem. By mentioning the charity to Adelaide and taking Sir Brian under his wing, he brought both of them into her mission. Adelaide threw herself into the work with wholehearted enthusiasm, and Sir Brian agreed that he and Guy should circulate among the neighbors to raise funds.

Penelope made them promise her name would not be mentioned except as a sponsor along with everyone else. Since she had not yet had time to discuss this charity with Graham, she did not wish to offend him with her forwardness. Nor did she wish the extent of her charity to be known.

Plans to transform the old farmhouse into sleeping and teaching quarters for a dozen little girls necessitated the services of numerous workmen. Adelaide knew the neighborhood and knew the people to be hired. Between them, they went over the house from top to bottom and planned what needed to be done with the new foreman.

Although her days were full, she could not help worrying about Graham when she was left alone. She felt foolish fretting over a grown man capable of fending for himself. That did not stop her remembering the horrors of London and fearing Graham might somehow be caught in his cousin’s sordid world.

Graham’s return home came as something of an anticlimax. Dolly and Guy were visiting to discuss the rout Lady Reardon planned. Involved in the discussion of themes and colors, Penelope thought little of the arrival of a carriage until Sir Brian peered out the window to mention Graham had finally put in an appearance.

Penelope glanced eagerly toward the drawing room doors. The meal had already been cleared from the table, but she sent a footman back to the kitchen to warm something for his lordship.

When Graham did not come to the drawing room, Penelope excused herself and slipped into the hall. She caught him as he was about to start up the stairs. At the sound of her footsteps, he swung around. The movement made him wince, but he bowed as she hurried toward him.

He appeared worn and weary, and Penelope ached to caress the tired lines around his eyes. Instead, she studied him worriedly. “You seem quite done in, my lord. I will not keep you. Shall you have a warm bath before Cook sends up your supper?”

Graham looked relieved as he touched her chin. “That will be fine. Do we have guests?” He nodded toward the lighted drawing room.

“Your sister and Sir Brian have come to visit, and I asked Dolly Reardon and Guy for dinner. I will give them your excuses. They will understand.”

He nodded, seemed on the point of saying something, then with a shrug of his large shoulders, he turned to make his way up the long staircase. Penelope watched in consternation as he leaned more heavily than ever on his walking stick. The fact that he had not kissed her or offered words of happiness at being home had not escaped her, but her concern for his health took precedence. What had he been doing to return home in such a state?

She sent servants for water and towels and ordered that the meal should be kept warm, then returned to her guests. They appeared curious that Graham would not greet them with news of London, but no one demanded explanations. Instead, Guy escorted Dolly home a short time later, and Adelaide declared herself quite weary and demanded Sir Brian take her up to bed.

Within the hour Penelope was able to see how Graham fared. The door between their rooms was closed as usual, but boldly, she rapped upon it. He had taken her as wife. Surely that entitled her to some rights.

Graham, himself, answered. That seemed to bode well. Garbed in a maroon velvet dressing robe, his chest still damp, he looked much more the man who had left here a few weeks before. Penelope kept her relief in check as he showed no inclination to invite her in.

Puzzled by this return to coldness, she spoke with more formality than she would have done otherwise. “Is there aught I can do for you, Graham? If your leg is giving you much pain, perhaps I could wrap it in warm linen. . .”

Graham gripped the door frame and stared into Penelope’s innocent face. She had dressed her hair in fashionable swoops and curls, and several dangled about her cheeks and throat. The urge to touch flooded through him, but he knew where that would lead, and he could not allow it without revealing his injuries. He should not have come home so soon, but he had not been able to stay away.

Somehow, he had hoped he could smooth this over without telling her any of it. Wearily he could see now that he asked the impossible.

“I am fine, Penelope, mother Alexandra, not me. It’s been a long day. If you do not need me for anything, will you excuse me? I’d like to rest.”

For the first time since he’d known her, anger flashed in her fine eyes, and she stood up to him. “I have worried myself frantic for weeks, and now you treat me as if we are strangers again. I will not tolerate being shoved back into the role of non-wife. I need to talk with you. Have you seen your cousin Chadwell? Is he still in London?”

She caught him by surprise, and Graham frowned. “Yes, he is still there. What makes you ask?”

Penelope stood her ground. “I know he is your cousin and that your sense of duty protects him, but I fear he will cause you great harm by staying. You must tell him to return to his own home. That would be best for everyone.”

“What mad bee do you have in your bonnet now?” Nothing short of astounded at this declaration, Graham could only stare at her with incomprehension.

“You have as much as said that he has not a good reputation, and I know he frequents low places and has a loose way with women. Now these rumors of a madman stalking the streets of London describe him exactly, and I cannot tolerate thinking he has access to Alexandra and the maids. It will not do. Even if the rumors are false, you must see how it looks. Send him away, Graham.”

For a moment he thought he had gone mad. The whole world turned upside down, and he was looking at it from behind the mask that he had worn so long it came second nature to him. He almost laughed at the thought of being trapped behind it forever. Just desserts, that would be called, and he deserved it. To keep her, she would condemn him to a life of falsehoods.

Catching himself before he succumbed to exhausted hysteria, Graham replied curtly, “You know nothing of which you speak, my lady. I bid you good night.”

He closed the door, gently perhaps, but closed nonetheless. Penelope stared at the thick oak panel with disbelief and growing anger. He could not do this! He could not simply pretend she had no self or opinion of her own!

The anger was better than the pain at his harsh rejection. She had dared to offer him a part of herself, and he had thrown her trust back in her face. She could not quite believe it hurt so much, so she let the anger replace clear thought.

She slammed the bolt home on their connecting doors and turned the key in the hall door. Not tonight would he sneak into her room like some petty thief and carry her off. Not tonight or any other night. She would give him what he bargained for in the first place— a marriage of convenience only. She would do her duty by Alexandra, use his extravagant wealth for the charity she could never afford on her own, and leave him to rot in whatever hell he was bent on creating for himself.

Going to bed knowing Graham was just on the other side of that wall drove all hope of sleep from her mind. She had not realized how much she had longed for his return so she could again enjoy the excitement of sharing his bed. She had secretly hoped that this absence would renew his ardor to such a degree that he would allow her to stay all night. What a hen-wit she must be! To think they had a marriage just because his lust had overcome his self-absorption for a few brief days!

AFTER A RESTLESS NIGHT battling his conscience, Graham’s humor had not improved. When he came down to find his wife missing and his guests looking expectantly to him for news and entertainment, he descended into irascibility.

Accustomed to his moods, Adelaide removed herself and her husband from his vicinity, leaving Graham in the grandeur of his loneliness. Even Alexandra failed to amuse him when she escaped down the back stairs from the nursery and demanded to be placed on his lap and fed a sweet roll. His injured leg would not allow the additional weight, and he was forced to command her to sit on a chair like a proper lady. She pouted and regarded him sulkily until Mrs. Haywood came to recover her.

Graham learned how empty the rambling Hall could be without the expectation of finding Penelope smiling at him. He stayed in his study, catching up on neglected work, but he never heard his wife’s voice floating through the halls, or the patter of her feet on the parquet. He was to be punished for his transgressions by silence.

By day’s end Graham was prepared to promise almost anything in return for Penelope’s forgiveness. He had missed her savagely for weeks, longed to return to her arms, and knew it was time to make things right. Now that he was here, he should not have to go on suffering.

When Graham came down to dinner, however, he found himself dining alone. Harley informed him that Lady Trevelyan had sent word she would be dining with the Reardons this evening, and that the Stanhopes had been promised for another engagement elsewhere. Graham cursed the splendor of his long, candlelit table and failed to taste a bite of the dishes the cook sent up for his delectation.

He looked in on Alexandra before she retired for the night, and she rewarded him with a kiss. The memory of Penelope’s passionate kisses returned some of Graham’s humor. He could not offer her lovemaking just yet, not until this tangle was straightened out and he could explain, but he could indulge himself in a few stolen kisses.

He wandered into the library and selected a dusty tome for perusing while he waited, but he could not concentrate. By the devil he did not know how he had come to this state, but it was a mixed blessing at best. Not since his youth had he been so beset with such fears and worries. How could one small female succeed in turning his life inside out? He had not anticipated this at all when he had first sought out the vicar’s daughter.

He had to admit that despite everything, it had all turned out much better than he had expected. He could no longer imagine the cold, empty marriage he had planned last spring. True, last spring he had expected his own demise at any moment and meant only to plan for Alexandra’s future, but living had become increasingly pleasant to contemplate. He had only one more distasteful chore ahead of him, and he hoped that could be resolved in some other manner than originally intended. He did not want to risk Penelope’s displeasure any more than he had. The past was too full of mistakes he didn’t wish to repeat, and the future held too many pleasant possibilities to jeopardize what they were just beginning to build together.

He heard Adelaide and Brian return and sauntered out to greet them. They seemed surprised that Penelope was not with him but did not linger to keep him company. The hour was late and Adelaide’s pregnancy was beginning to slow her down. Graham wished them a good night and returned to his study to wait some more.

A carriage pulled up the drive not much after that, and Graham listened with relief as he heard Penelope’s voice greeting the footman at the door. He frowned as he recognized Guy’s low voice making his farewells, but he told himself that it was sensible for Penelope to have an escort on these country lanes at night. Not willing to greet his old friend at this hour, Graham waited until he heard him depart before stepping out into the corridor.

He had hoped she would see the study light and come to him, but he supposed that was too much to ask after last night. He did not know how he would explain that away. For the moment he had desperate need of a simple, loving kiss and the approval of violet eyes. He entered the foyer only to find Penelope disappearing at the top of the stairs.

Cursing his lameness, Graham hobbled after her as fast as he could, his great frame lurching up the elongated stairway, probably providing much amusement for the footman below. Not caring about the spectacle he created, he hurried after his wife.

She had already entered the bedroom by the time he reached their wing of the house. Deciding that was probably best after all, Graham entered his own chambers and threw aside his encumbering frock coat and cravat. Feeling like a new bridegroom all over again, he inspected his face to make certain another shave wouldn’t be required. Grimacing at his scarred, one-eyed reflection in the mirror, Graham felt his hopes gutter a little, but he crossed to their connecting door with confidence. A good-night kiss was all he asked. He could persuade her to that no matter how angry she might be.

When he encountered the bolted door, Graham could not believe it. Penelope had shut him out only that once. Even when she had her maidenly modesty to protect, she had given him full freedom of her chambers. Her generosity in this as much as any other factor had convinced him she would not object to him as husband in truth. To find the door bolted now, after all that had passed between them, was too painful to accept.

Admitting that he may have hurt her more than he knew, Graham took his punishment like a man. He endured the humiliation of knocking for admission at the door of his wife’s chambers. He waited. No response. Thinking she had already retired, he knocked louder. And waited.

It was only when he noticed the light beneath the door flicker and go out that Graham realized Penelope had no intention of answering. He wanted to roar his anguish, but he did not. He had spent too many nights hiding his pain to lapse from the habit now. If she could not tolerate his company any longer, he would not force her.

With shoulders slumped, Graham blew out the candle and retired to his massive bed, alone.

CHAPTER 27

PENELOPE DISAPPEARED AGAIN the next day without a word to Graham, but this time he did not linger about in hopes of seeing her. He greeted his guests, assured himself that they would be entertained for the day, and rode out on his own business. The pain in his leg after a day on horseback disguised the greater pain in his heart quite effectively.

By evening, Graham was too stiff to do more than retire early. Since that had been his habit for years, Adelaide and Brian took little notice of it. Penelope returned to make the evening interesting, and none was the wiser of their new estrangement.

When they finally met over dinner the next day, they both played the practiced parts of host and hostess without making it obvious that they were not exchanging two words with each other. Penelope could not even look toward the other end of the table without rendering her heart in two. Graham sat there so cool and imperturbable, it was as if she did not even exist.

If she tried not to think of him and kept busy, her feelings would eventually go away, she knew. The hurt her father had caused by riding off to London without looking back had eventually faded to a sore place in her memory. Surely her feelings for Graham could not have developed to such a strength that they would take years to eradicate.

If she could just stay away long enough that she did not have the urge to touch his hand. . . Or if she could quit hoping that he would look up at her with love as if nothing had ever happened—then she might be safe enough to act natural in his company.

Graham made it easy for her by avoiding her. Without a single harsh word, they managed to quite civilly estrange themselves from each other. It was painful, but not so painful as admitting feelings that could only bring further rejection.

The invitations to the Reardon rout arrived, but Penelope did not mention it to Graham. She had promised to come but could not bear to do so in his company. They had managed a dinner or two together where they would not be seated in proximity, but the rout would call for Graham to attend to his lady. This was not London. A husband did not desert his wife on these occasions. So it would be better if he did not go. She would excuse him for health reasons, and Guy would have to suffer as her escort. Or perhaps Arthur. His leg was improving slowly; he might do the honors. That would be perfectly respectable under the circumstances.

When Penelope wanted an opinion on the orphanage, she asked Guy instead of Graham. When someone suggested that she and Graham come to dinner or for cards or for a picnic, Penelope begged off for one or the other of them. She fell in the habit of letting Guy escort her on her charitable rounds.

Wrapped up in his own affairs, understanding that Penelope needed help with her project, and assuming Graham did not care to help, Guy accompanied her without question.

ON A PARTICULARLY FINE DAY, Adelaide decided they needed to take tea on the terrace. The walled, stone structure overlooked the vast expanse of the park at the side of the yard and conveniently gave a glimpse of the carriage road to the house. Resting her maternal plumpness in the glory of the summer sun, Adelaide smiled beatifically while she and Penelope engaged in a discussion of boys’ names. Today she had decided the child was definitely a boy.

Brian watched his wife with such love and amusement that Penelope felt a stab of longing so severe she could almost label it jealousy. She had dismissed the word love as an affectation of adolescents and poets, but she could think of no other word that described the look exchanged between her guests. When Adelaide touched a hand to her swollen stomach and glanced toward her husband, a fire leapt to his eyes and he bent from his seat to take her hand. The silent communication was so obvious, it was almost as if they had spoken aloud.

Penelope felt excluded from a world she could never attain, as she had been excluded from so many other pleasures. Tears crept to her eyes and she glanced away to observe a cloud of dust rising from the road.

Guy had joined them on the terrace, and he followed Penelope’s gaze. “Were you expecting Lady Reardon today? Or do you suppose Dolly has ventured out on her own?”

The affection growing between the creative young redhead and her more mature suitor had its amusing moments, also, but they only added to Penelope’s current misery. She refused to think that everyone around her had found love but herself. That was the worst kind of self-pity and she refused to succumb to it.

So Penelope smiled and stepped down to the yard to meet the newcomers. Having already noticed that the Hall’s inhabitants were sunning themselves on the terrace, the carriage driver pulled around so his passengers need not traipse through the front portals and the entire west wing to reach them.

The reason for this informality became clear when a footman threw open the carriage door and Arthur stepped out. Penelope halted her progress in amazement as the invalid offered a helping hand to his sister. He then limped determinedly toward the tea party with Dolly clinging to his arm in support.

At the sight of the young man’s brave effort to maneuver the uneven surface of the lawn without crutch or stick, Penelope ran to greet them. Several years younger than Guy or Graham, Arthur still wore the mark of harsh experience in his weather-beaten face. Perhaps once his gray eyes had laughed like Dolly’s and his tawny hair had fallen over even features laced with boredom or humor, but no longer. A shadow hid behind a face worn lean from hard living, and a strong character had eroded the softness of youth.

He took Penelope’s hand and bowed over it, but he refused her aid in crossing the yard. Guy and Brian rose to greet the newcomers. Arthur made a small fuss over Adelaide propped in her chair, while to Penelope’s amusement, Guy appropriated the task of welcoming Dolly.

Arthur had not yet taken a chair to relieve his uncertain leg when Penelope looked up and caught sight of a rider galloping headlong around the bend. That proudly erect form racing at a mad pace on a black animal large enough to come straight from hell could only be one person. Graham.

Remembering the antipathy her husband had shown for his young neighbor, Penelope suffered a qualm of worry, but surely even Graham would not be rude to a guest in his own house. She hoped he would just ignore the party entirely. That would be more like him.

But of course, he did not. Flinging his reins to a footman, Graham swung his stiff leg over the stallion’s back and strode with great halting lengths across the lawn. The difference between Arthur’s fragile, uncertain gait and Graham’s strong, jerking strides was apparent to everyone.

There was no mistaking the malice glittering in his uncovered eye, either, as he surveyed the small party on his terrace. The men remained standing, but Penelope laid a restraining hand on Guy’s arm.

Graham noted that proprietary gesture with as much venom as he noted Arthur’s presence. These last years of isolation had put him out of practice in managing false politeness, and his wrath had a source too great to allow pretense. Ignoring the others, he turned his glare on Arthur.

“I did not think you would be so brazen as to set foot on my property, Reardon.” Graham hitched his game leg up the stair until he towered over the defiant youth. With ease, he settled on the garden wall. Ignoring the gasps of horror at his rudeness, he removed his felt hat, brushed it off, and lifted his formidable one-eyed glare in anticipation of Arthur’s reaction.

“I had come to show you I am quite well and ready whenever you are,” Arthur replied coldly.

“Oh?” Graham raised a mocking eyebrow. “It appears to me as if you could not stand in a strong wind. I would recommend a long, healing journey in a distant climate as beneficial to your health.” With deliberate abruptness, he stood just as Arthur clenched his fists and stepped forward.

The effect of Graham’s abrupt motion on Arthur’s uncertain leg was immediate. He tried to halt, staggered, came down hard on the bad leg at an awkward angle, and fell.

The women screamed. Guy, being closest, leapt to break the fall. Graham simply crossed his powerful arms across his chest and waited.

Penelope could not believe she had witnessed this scene. In all her anger at his selfish, single-minded behavior, she had never believed Graham to be the beast others claimed him to be. With his silver hair standing out about his head and his one unpatched eye gleaming golden in wrath, he appeared fierce and invincible. But she had seen him melt at one of Alexandra’s smiles, had been the victim of his tenderness, and knew he had always meant well even when he roared the loudest. For him to deliberately insult and harm a neighbor and guest was beyond her comprehension.

“That was uncalled for, Trev,” Guy muttered as he helped Arthur regain his feet.

Irate, Dolly tried to throw herself between the men, but Guy caught her by the waist and shoved her toward Penelope. Knowing enough not to interfere with that which she did not understand, Penelope held onto Dolly while the men continued to glower at each other, although Graham seemed to be waiting with tired impatience.

“I’m not running again, Graham. I repeat, I am ready any time you are.” Pale-faced but stoic, Arthur shook off Guy’s steadying hand.

“You are a fool, then.” With a cold look to Guy, Graham indicated the waiting carriage. “Send the young whelp home. For his own sake, persuade him of the benefits of a lengthy journey.”

Graham stalked into the house, leaving fury, revulsion, and bewilderment behind.

In all her wide experience of dealing with people and uncomfortable, emotional situations, Penelope had never encountered one like this. Had it not been for Adelaide, she would have been tempted to flee the scene herself. Instead, she and Grahams’ sister attempted to convey their sympathy and bewilderment to the young Reardons. While not quite pacifying the irate Guy, they did see them all off without further harsh words. Dolly was too shaken to do more than cling to Guy’s hand, but Arthur made polite bows.

“I apologize that my appearance has ruined your lovely day. I will not let it happen again.”

There was something so brave and lonely in the way he pulled himself into the carriage that Penelope found a tear creeping down her cheek. How could Graham judge this poor boy so harshly? It did not seem credible.

Penelope took the coward’s way out and retired to her chambers with a headache. If only there were some way she could sit in the silence of her room and think through the jumble of her thoughts and emotions to come to some understanding of Graham’s behavior, but she could not. Even those who loved him and had known him all their lives seemed bewildered by his irrational behavior. How could she hope to understand what they did not?

To make matters worse, Alexandra slipped from the nursery to perch like an elf upon Penelope’s bed and regard her with solemn eyes. Uncannily aware of the adult tension in the house, she offered her own solution.

“Take me riding, Penny. Riding always makes me feel better. And Papa will come, too, if I ask him. We can go to the pond and watch the ducks. I like watching the ducks, don’t you?”

Penelope gathered the little girl in her arms and held her head against her shoulder. “I like riding and ducks, too. And I love little girls with pretty black hair that gets in their eyes.” She lifted an offending strand and tickled Alexandra’s nose with it. “But sometimes I just need to be by myself, don’t you?”

Dark, soulful eyes stared up at her sadly. “Don’t you love my papa anymore? You won’t go away, will you? Papa isn’t happy unless you are around.”

Penelope sighed and cuddled the child on her lap. “I don’t want to go away, Alexandra. I love you, and people don’t like to go away and leave the ones they love. I think your papa would be happy if you were with him, though.”

“Does that mean you don’t love my papa?” Alexandra persisted.

Penelope sought for words to explain to a little girl what she could not explain to herself. Why was it Graham she thought of night and day and not the amorous Chadwell or the amusing Guy or any of the other men she had met these past months? Why was it she continued to defend Graham even when he behaved as reprehensibly as he had today? And was it not her desire to defend him now that tore her apart, because she could not find the reason or excuse to give herself? How could she explain those feelings to a child?

In only one way. Hugging Alexandra as her father would not allow her to do to him, Penelope replied, “Of course I love your papa, Alex. It’s just sometimes hard to show it.”

The child nodded wisely. “I know. I try to hug my kitten Aunt Adelaide gave me, but it wriggles loose and runs away. But I love him anyway. I’m glad Papa brought you home, Penelope. I can love you even when I’m bad.”

Penelope laughed, and reassured that her world would not tilt anytime soon, Alexandra departed for other adventures. Sometime later, Penelope looked out the window to see Graham tying ropes to a low tree limb and fitting a seat to them under Alexandra’s direction. With a painful tug at her heartstrings she watched as Graham set his daughter in the swing and pushed her carefully so she would not fall, not an easy task for one of his strength. How could she ever have doubted that she loved him?

But women had loved unwisely throughout history. It did not change the situation, only made it more dangerous to her emotional well-being. Obviously Graham neither craved nor needed her affections. In fact, she thought he would be dismayed should he discover them. So she would continue to enforce this distance until it became habit, and she could breathe again when he entered a room.

CHAPTER 28

HEAD POUNDING after a lonely and foolish bout with the brandy decanter the night before, Graham limped down the stairs to the dining room. He found his sister contemplating the morning’s post, but the look she gave him when he entered made him wince and think twice about breaking his fast. It might be easier to grab a hunk of bread and cheese from the kitchen and keep on going.

Wearily deciding he had no desire to be driven from his own table by a female half his size, Graham filled his plate and sat down. Adelaide sipped her hot chocolate and regarded him with the same indifference as she had the mail earlier.

“It is customary to say ‘good morning’ when one enters the room,” she remarked.

“I’ll try to remember that.” Defiantly he bit into his toast and picked up his own stack of letters.

“Why does Penelope not join us for breakfast any longer? She always seemed to enjoy it when she was with us.”

“Maybe she tires of the company,” Graham responded rudely, casting aside one letter and opening the next.

“I certainly would if I had to look at that scowl every morning,” Adelaide said. “But then, the little baroness shows astonishingly odd taste in marrying you. I hope the price of saving her home was not greater than she expected.”

Graham threw down the letter and glared at his sister. “And just exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

Adelaide studied her older brother over her cup. “Why, nothing, I am sure. Penelope is a perfect widgeon for helping others. I am certain she thought she could offer you as much as you gave her when you married. She was quite right, too. She turned a surly, crotchety old invalid into a human being again. For a while, anyway. The task of perpetually redoing her efforts must become a trifle tedious, though. I suppose you offer adequate recompense?”

“Addled, you are. Our parents named you wisely. If you have a thought you would like to share with me, by all means, please do. Otherwise, let me return to my reading.” Graham glared at his sister.

“I only wondered if you thought paying handsomely for her house in Hampshire, buying her those lovely clothes, and bestowing a ridiculous amount of spending money on her would be sufficient to make Penelope happy? Do you think your wealth sufficient payment for her love?” She added this last impatiently at Graham’s blank stare.

Finally comprehending, Graham gave his sister a look of disgust. “You are all about in your tiny little belfry, ’Laidie. Now be a good little girl and go run and play. I have work to do.”

Adelaide snatched the letter from his hand, tore it in two, and flung it beneath the table. “That is why Guy Hamilton escorts her out every morning or brings her home every evening. And that is why Guy Hamilton will be escorting her to the biggest social event of the summer, I suppose? Don’t you ever learn, Graham? Isn’t that the reason poor Marilee sought comfort in his arms? Or do you think both your wives so greedy they needed two men to keep them happy?”

Adelaide struggled her unwieldy belly from the chair and turned to walk out. Graham caught her wrist.

“Are you trying to tell me Penelope has taken a lover? Because I won’t believe it, you know,” he said through clenched teeth, wanting to believe this, but doubting his own judgment.

Adelaide glared. “Upon my word, Graham, you put me completely out of charity with you. Do you think you fool anyone with that pretense of nonchalance? I saw you yesterday. It was Guy you wanted to come to cuffs with, not poor Arthur. You didn’t know Arthur was there until you rode that poor beast of yours into a lather and tore up half the lawn. I wouldn’t give you credit for the wit of a goose, big brother. I know you too well, no matter how you choose to paint your face.”

With that startling remark Adelaide jerked her arm free and stalked out, her beribboned curls held high. Graham stared after her in confusion and decided his head hurt more than he knew. Adelaide occasionally had that effect on people.

But her arguments stayed with him. Adelaide had not told him anything he didn’t know, except for her mention of the social event of the summer. He would have to track down that reference, but it didn’t signify as the others did. He knew Penelope craved a family and love. He had taken advantage of that knowledge when he had made his outrageous proposal to her. He didn’t think she was as young and impressionable as Marilee had been when she fell for Guy, nor were the circumstances the same. And in any case, Guy was older and more mature and knew to beware of these things—unless he was as smitten as she.

Cursing himself for allowing these doubts, Graham gave up his effort to read the post. He knew Penelope wasn’t in her chambers. The only time her doors would open to him were when she wasn’t there. If she were in the house, he would have sensed it. He knew the sound of her footsteps, her laugh, even the echo of her whisper in the drafty halls. He would go out and check the stable.

To Graham’s relief, the stable boys told him that Penelope had ridden off this morning with one of the grooms. Adelaide’s suggestion that she was out with Guy had been pure conjecture. Telling himself that Penelope had too much good sense and too many morals to dally with the likes of Guy, he mounted his own horse and started down the lane. Perhaps it was time to find some way of putting an end to this estrangement, although after his performance yesterday, it would be no easy task. Penelope had been as horrified as everyone else by his rudeness, and more curious.

With a grunt Graham noted Guy riding toward him. They met in the center of tree-lined lane leading to the Hall. Graham kept a close hold on his stallion’s reins as it pranced nervously. He waited for Guy to speak.

“I want to talk with you.” Guy said coldly.

“I’m not stopping you.” Graham remained noncommittal.

“Arthur won’t tell me what that scene was about yesterday, but I can guess. You don’t really intend to challenge him, do you?”

“What difference is it to you if I do?”

“He’s a bloody cripple, Trevelyan! It would be insane.”

“One cripple against another seems fair to me.” Graham shrugged and let the stallion move ahead a few steps. “He’s been given fair warning. I cannot do better than that.”

“Graham, you have taken leave of your senses! It’s been five years. Everything has changed. You can’t blame the man now for the boy of five years ago. Haven’t you ever heard of forgive and forget?”

“I’ve told you before, Guy. You don’t ever forget the sounds of your wife screaming in agony and dying in your arms. You live with the horror for the rest of your life. How can I forgive? All I can do to avenge her pain is extract the same from those who caused it.”

With that, Graham gave his horse his head.

PENELOPE LOOKED up in astonishment at the rider racing across the field. It certainly could not be Graham. He did not know the orphanage existed nor that he would find her here. Besides, the horse was a roan and the rider too lean.

She wiped the beads of perspiration from her face with her apron and gazed proudly at the gray trim she had just completed painting on the farmhouse porch. The pale gray seemed to blend with the weathered old bricks and timber of the house. It needed only a few baskets of ferns and maybe a pot or two of geraniums to offer warmth and welcome. That was what she wanted to accomplish—a place of light and open air instead of the cold, dismal, narrow lanes of London. Children could thrive in these surroundings.

Wiping her hands on a rag, she approached Guy as he threw himself off of his horse. “Surely you are not in such a hurry to see how my color scheme has worked?” she asked mockingly.

Guy cast the newly repainted porch a look and nodded approval. “You were right. It does work. It seems to be coming along swimmingly, but you are right again. That is not why I am here. Do you have time to talk?”

Penelope widened her eyes, but obligingly, she pulled off her apron and lay it across one of the workmen’s benches. Shaking wood shavings from her old cotton gown, she took Guy’s arm.

“Let us find somewhere out of the hustle and bustle, and then you may talk as you wish.”

Guy found a cool nook beneath the shade of an apple tree next to the well house. Throwing his handkerchief down on the rickety wood bench, he seated Penelope, but he continued to pace up and down in the dust.

“I cannot know where to begin,” he complained. “I do not know what Graham has told you, nor do I wish to say more than I should. I just know something has to be done, and he will not listen to me. I pray that you have some influence with him.”

Penelope twisted her fingers together and watched Guy’s handsome face pull taut with worry. He so seldom showed the world aught but good humor, she knew he must be extremely vexed. “If you speak of Graham, then you, and possibly his cousin, are the only ones to whom he listens. I am the very last person whose advice he will take unless the matter concerns Alexandra.”

Guy jammed his hands into his pockets. “He does not listen to me, by Jupiter. That much I do know. I do not know what has come between you two lately, but I know Graham will not refuse your request. You are everything good for him, and he knows it.”

“I could wish that were so, Guy, but it is not. He has rejected me more than once for reasons I do not understand. I cannot help.”

Her sadness jarred Guy from his pacing. He dropped to the bench beside her and took her hand, forcing her to look up at him. He groaned aloud. “Don’t tell me that, Penny. I thought you had tamed the beast, that you, of all people, had learned to stand up to him. Don’t tell me he has scared you away, too?”

Penelope studied Guy’s lean, dark face. “I do not fear Graham, no. I just don’t understand him. I thought, at first, it was the scars that made him turn his back on people, that he feared ridicule, but it is not that, is it? When we first met, he did not want to frighten me, and I think that is all that kept him from appearing in public. But then, sometimes, he grows so angry he seems to enjoy frightening people. That is when I don’t understand him. How can he be so gentle and thoughtful sometimes, and so abominable at others?”

“I cannot give you answers, Penny, but perhaps you would understand his anger better if you knew more about him. He has told you a little of the accident, hasn’t he?”

“He has told me nothing. What I know I have learned from others.”

“That is typical. Graham never talks of himself. Did you know he spent a summer learning to sail with Nelson?” At Penelope’s incredulous shake of her head, he continued, “Neither did anyone else at the time. It was Nelson himself who mentioned it, claimed it was a damned shame the navy lost a sailor like Graham because he was an only son and tied to the land. And Graham was just a boy at the time. Graham has a penchant for conquering mountains and never telling anyone. He just does it for his own enlightenment.”

“I can understand that, but why do you tell me this? Does he regret the loss of his ability to do whatever he wishes? For I do not think there is much Graham cannot do if he puts his mind to it. I have never seen a one-eyed man win a target shoot before, nor a lame man walk faster than the healthy, but Graham can.”

“That is something else that bothers me, but let us take one thing at a time. I was talking of the carriage accident. Anyone else would have described every last bloody detail to any who would listen. They would have sent out militia to track down the ruffians who caused it. They might eventually grow tired of the subject, but they would certainly have mentioned it to a new wife who must look at the results. But not Graham.”

Penelope bent him a puzzled look. “Someone caused the accident? How?”

Guy stood up and began to pace again. “I am not the one to be telling you this. Perhaps you should talk to Arthur, or heaven forbid, DeVere. I owe Graham my life, and in return, I cost him his wife. I was the one she was riding to that night.”

At Penelope’s distressed look, Guy sighed. “It’s a long story, Penny. My father had just died and I had come into a large inheritance I did not know how to manage. I fell in with a fast crowd. I make no excuses for myself. I hope you’ll never know of the kind of places I frequented.”

Penelope looked down at her hands. She could very well imagine what kind of places he spoke of, and she had difficulty fighting a blush.

“I belonged to a club that started out as a fast set of whips. We caroused together as young bachelors will. Graham grew bored and left. The rest of us were equally bored but sought wilder pleasures. Some new men joined who weren’t adverse to disregarding the law. One thing led to another, until finally when my acquaintances took up what amounted to thievery and violence, I regained my senses and reported them to the authorities. Those who had enough influence to escape the law were quick to exact their revenge. Graham was the one who came to my rescue.”

Guy took a deep breath before continuing. “Graham carried me to his home. He and his wife tended my wounds with their own hands and managed to make me feel a hero instead of a fool. In return I fell madly in love with Marilee. In time I learned she returned my affections.”

Penelope held her opinion to herself but tried to puzzle out how this affected her. “So you asked her to elope with you?”

Guy shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “No. Never. When I realized what was happening, I left Graham and Marilee at the Hall and fled to London. Unfortunately my enemies were not aware of this. I had information that could have caused them damage, and they were determined to prevent me from revealing more. I wouldn’t have because it involved close friends I’d hoped to protect, but they didn’t know that. What happened later I could only learn from the servants at the Hall.

“Graham was out when a message arrived for me. It was unsealed and Marilee was uncertain whether it should be forwarded immediately, so she read it. The note warned that my life was in danger if I did not flee the country immediately. She could not know it was meant to draw me from the safety of Graham’s protection. According to the servants, she panicked, threw down the note, and ordered the phaeton.”

Guy lifted his head to meet Penelope’s gaze. “While the carriage was being readied, she packed a bag, apparently meaning to flee the country with me. She was very young and foolish. But that is neither here nor there.” He looked away from Penelope’s shocked expression.

“She drove the phaeton herself, at a reckless pace for a rainy night by all accounts. The rest I cannot know for certain, only these parts I learned from a few involved. Graham must have come home or seen the phaeton and followed. Somewhere he caught up with her and she let him in. There wasn’t time for him to turn it around, and I daresay he was too furious to think of it, probably imagining to fly to London to confront me with my betrayal of his friendship.”

He paced nervously. “Graham and I had similar phaetons. In the driving rain that would be all that was recognizable, the size and build of the carriage. My would-be murderers probably couldn’t see who was at the reins; they just expected me to be the one responding to that letter. I doubt that it would have mattered in any event. They were drunk and ready for murder and had reason to hate and fear Graham as much as myself. Their attack had to be deliberately planned for that particular spot. It was the most dangerous point along the road, and the easiest place to make it look like an accident. Only Graham knows for certain what actually happened that night—Graham and whatever few of my club mates are still alive. Somehow, they must have panicked the horses so that even Graham couldn’t control them. The phaeton overturned just where they planned it, at the bridge over a ravine. Both Marilee and Graham were thrown out onto the rocks below. Graham has never told me all that happened that night, but you can imagine it for yourself. It should have been me in that carriage, but instead, it was Marilee who died for my sins.”

The words tumbled from Guy’s lips with a revulsion not only directed at the offenders, but himself. The pacing wasn’t sufficient, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I cannot begin to tell you of the horror that spread over the countryside. No one could speak of that accident for too many were involved, and the circumstances were horrifying. The perpetrators disappeared, all of them thinking Graham as dead as his wife. Knowing my guilt, I left, too. Graham was left alone with no one but his sister and his father, and his father died not long after.”

Guy came to a halt in front of Penelope and stared at her in anguish. “Can you not see what I am saying? Graham has a right to be angry, to scorn us all. It was not fear of frightening people that has kept him from facing society, but hatred for that society. Whatever happened that night has scarred more than his face, Penelope, and I’m afraid it will come to harm you and others if he cannot be persuaded to reason.”

Penelope shook her head, not believing Guy’s reasoning. Graham had friends. He had forgiven Guy. That did not sound like a man angry at the world. It did not explain his coldness to her. It told her little other than that the pain Graham carried with him must run deep, much deeper than she’d known.

“I do not see what I can do, Guy. He would listen to me if I told him Alexandra needed a new dress or a chair needed recovering, but he will not sit still while I preach a sermon about the golden rule. Give me a magic wand and I would wave it, but I know of no other way of taking away his anger.”

Penelope could not help studying Guy’s tortured face with curiosity. How much had he loved Graham’s first wife? Had they been lovers? And how could they still be friends if what Guy said was true?

She knew that people sometimes went outside their wedding vows, but she had never heard anyone actually admit to being a party to it until now. Wickedly she tried to imagine herself in Guy’s arms, but she could not. How could Marilee have done it? Graham without the scars would have been an excruciatingly handsome young man, the kind she could never have dared admit aloud to admiring without people looking at her plainness and laughing in scorn. Marilee must have been beautiful and wealthy and of noble family. They would have been a perfect couple, with a lovely child. How could anyone throw all that away?

Guy sat beside her and took her hand. “Don’t let him challenge Arthur. Tell him you are ill and have him take you to Bath. Tell him someone in your family is ill. Tell him anything, but get him away from here until I can persuade Arthur to go away. If you have any love for him at all, make him see reason or get him away.”

Shocked, Penelope jerked her hand away and stared at him as if he had lost his wits. Challenge Arthur? Why would Graham do such a thing? Guy shouldn’t be saying these things to her, wouldn’t be, she felt certain, if his love and concern for Dolly had not exceeded his reason. Love was a wretched business.

“Guy, you are all about in your head. Why would Graham challenge Arthur? He likes the Reardons, and Arthur is much too weak to provide any kind of challenge. It is a good thing, for I could not lie to Graham. You are very wicked to make me worry like this. I have better things to do.” Briskly, Penelope stood up.

Guy caught her by the shoulder and spun her to face him. “Arthur was there, Penelope. Can’t you see that? Arthur was one of the men who rode out to stop the carriage that night.”

Penelope stared at him in horror and disbelief. “He’s just a boy!” Then, breaking away from his grip, she ran back toward the farmhouse, not wanting to hear any more, not wanting to believe. Not Graham. Not Arthur. Not any of it.

CHAPTER 29

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for word of Guy’s tete-a-tete with Penelope to get back to Graham. All the world might love a lover, but they seemed to take sadistic pleasure in seeing one with horns on his head. Graham flung the book he was reading across the room after hearing one more tittering laugh in the hall. Penelope was out late again.

That Guy had been seen holding Penelope’s hand, arguing with her, touching her shoulder, should mean nothing at all to him. There was no law written against holding hands or arguing. Jealousy was an absurd emotion, particularly for one who had clearly told his wife she was free to do as she wished. Before. Before he had taken her to his bed. Before he had made her his wife in more than name. Before he had learned to trust her beyond all else.

What in hell was she doing meeting Guy in that out of the way place? Where did she go each day that caused her to neglect her guests, her home, her family? Had he been so sadly mistaken in her character?

Or had he done this to her? Graham threw himself back into the chair before the fire and stared morosely at the flames. He had taught her passion. She had known nothing of it until he came along. That much was his doing. But he had denied her love. How could anyone love a visage such as he presented to the world? That was his own fault, too. How could he have expected Penelope to look forward to an evening in the arms of a man who would terrify the staunchest of soldiers? He’d been a fool from first to last. When was he start doing something about it?

Not tonight. Tonight he would probably kill her. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would present his whole case and make her understand. Perhaps not his whole case. There were still things that went undone. But he would tell her enough to be honest with her, to plead his cause and win her back.

When Penelope came home to find the light still on in the library, she contemplated it broodingly. Nothing Guy had said made it any easier to understand Graham’s behavior. If she went in there now, she would be asking for further rejection. But just the fact that he had waited up when he usually had to rise early to see his estates spoke of her husband’s concern. It would be easier to turn her back on the light than to face her racing heartbeat and go to him, but one did not get through life by taking the easy route. She would stop and wish him a good night.

Heart pounding at this daring, she tiptoed to the heavy paneled door, pushing gently against the wood carving. Perhaps if he were busy she would go away without disturbing him. She really had no right to interfere in his private life. But she could not keep away. The door slid open silently.

Graham’s great frame lay sprawled across the long sofa, his gloved hand behind his head. She thought him deliberately ignoring her, but then she saw his good eye was shut and his chest moved evenly. He slept. Smiling, she slid into the room. She had never caught Graham asleep before.

His face looked much more relaxed and younger in sleep. With his head turned against the pillow of his arm, she saw only his good side, and the resemblance to his cousin was striking. The lashes against his cheek were dark, as was the beard shadowing his chin. Alexandra must have inherited her coloring from him. She longed to stroke the hard, angular line of his jaw, but she feared it would wake him.

How pleasant it would be if she could kneel beside him now and kiss his cheek and have him wake and take her in his arms! That’s what she longed with all her heart to do. She would like him to make love to her here by the firelight where she could see his face and know his desire. But perhaps it had not been desire that brought him to her but a sense of duty, a need for a son?

Sadly she picked up his coat from where he had flung it across the arm of a chair. The fire would be out soon, and he would be chilly in his shirt sleeves. Odd, how he looked just like other men as he lay there, the white cloth fluttering at his throat, his silver hair almost curling where he had let it grow. No one would be frightened of him now, except herself. He looked too much like his cousin, and her feelings frightened her. Hastily she arranged the coat over his chest to keep him warm.

As silently as she had come, she slipped away.

PENELOPE REDOUBLED her efforts at the orphanage the next day. Her dreams of the night before had been restless ones, and the tension they had created had not dissipated with the morning sun. Her thoughts turned too often to Graham’s masculine length sprawled across the sofa, to memories of nights he had held her in those powerful arms, and she had felt him naked and warm against her. She buried desire in hard work.

Chadwell found her at the orphanage at mid-morning. While carpenters hammered away in the interior of the old house, Penelope balanced on a ladder outside, tugging at the ivy vines creeping between the crumbling bricks walls and window frames. She wore a much-faded gown of inexpensive brown weave, let down at the hem so she looked the part of washerwoman.

But Chadwell noticed that she had discarded the tucker that should have covered the swell of her breasts, and no washerwoman ever appeared so nymph-like. With the morning sun threading her hair with golden highlights and her cheeks rosy with the heat of her efforts, she presented a portrait of a disheveled goddess perched between heaven and earth.

Cursing under his breath, he crossed the lumber-strewn lawn. Before Penelope had noted his arrival, he wrapped his arm about her waist and lifted her from the ladder. Penelope shrieked as her fingers parted from the ladder rungs, but Chadwell’s hold was firm. He let her slide down his chest until her feet touched the ground.

Stunned, she stared up into his handsome face, the golden eyes devouring her with a hunger so clear that she swallowed hard. He continued to hold her improperly—and she continued to lean against him, her hands resting against his kerseymere waistcoat.

“If you did not break it first, I think I should wring your pretty little neck for climbing up there like that. What on earth possesses you to do these things, my maggot-brained Penelope?”

His words held more astonishment than anger. She felt his breath like a caress against her cheek. His mouth softened to tell her he meant to kiss her, but wantonly, she did not back away. She gave a satisfied sigh as his long fingers tightened at the small of her back, and he drew her into the curve of his body.

His kiss was warm and inviting and washed through Penelope’s veins like strong drink, warming her blood and rendering her senseless. Her head spun as her lips parted, their breaths intermingled, and she tasted the masculine flavors of his mouth. It needed only this kiss, this one caress to expose her folly and weakness, to reduce her to a trembling wanton. Her whole body ached for his touch, and she did not mistake the urgency of his hold.

This was impossible, in full daylight in front of a house full of workmen who would be delighted to spread the gossip far and wide. No matter how much she hungered for this touch, needed his desire, she could not do this to Graham. Horror at what he would feel welled up in her, and she broke away, turning her face and pushing at Clifton’s chest.

“Let go! Let me go, Cliff! I cannot. . .” Somehow she found the strength to elude his arms and tear free, but he was not so easily put aside.

Catching Penelope by the waist, Chadwell fought her resistance. “Don’t, Penelope! Give me a chance to explain!”

She struggled more against herself than him. She wanted to listen, wanted explanations, wanted to watch the color of his eyes and the way his lips curved up in a mocking smile, wanted her own destruction. She could not believe she had come to this, that she could betray Graham in such a vile manner. There must be something gravely wrong with her to love one man and desire another.

“No, Cliff! Go away!” she cried, but his hold was relentless, terrifying her. Where before his arms had been gentle and caressing, now they were like twin bands of steel crushing her chest. In horror, she remembered the rumors from London, the descriptions that could well be Chadwell haunting the wretched streets of the slums for victims, and panic followed quickly on the footsteps of fear. “I’ll scream! I’ll scream if you don’t let me go!”

Chadwell reluctantly did as told. “Penelope, please, I only want to talk to you,” he pleaded as she slid from his hands.

“We have nothing to talk about! Graham should have sent you away long ago, but I am warning you now, if you do not leave London—leave England!—I will tell him what you have done.” She threw this at him defiantly, not knowing if there were a word of truth in it. Graham might not care if she fell into his cousin’s arms. Graham might despise his cousin. She just knew she had to remove him for her own safety. “I will tell him and you will lose the best friend you have ever had!”

“It seems I’m about to do that in any case,” Chadwell replied sadly, reaching for her arm.

The touch of his fingers on her wrist sent shock waves through Penelope. The look in his eyes nearly tore her heart in two, but she could not let his looks influence her. He could be a madman, but he most certainly was a devil. In self-protection, she swung her free hand with all the strength she possessed.

Her palm connected squarely with his jaw. Penelope winced more than Chadwell, but she had caught him by surprise and his grip loosened. Before he could catch her, she flew into the house and the safety of the company of workmen with hammers and saws. A few minutes later she was at the upstairs window. Chadwell stayed where he was, refusing to leave.

Penelope threw open the sash. “Go! I never want to see your face again! Leave before I send the men out after you!”

Penelope dug her fingers into the sill and watched Chadwell turn to mount his horse. She felt her heart being drawn from her as he rode away. He sat the big stallion well, his broad shoulders proud and straight in the short- waisted frock coat, his fashionable beaver hat covering his dark curls at a rakish angle, his powerful thighs in their tight breeches guiding the horse with ease, but he did not move with the same casual grace as usual.

She didn’t leave the house again until Guy arrived to escort her home. She could not take a chance that Chadwell lingered, waiting for the workmen to leave, waiting until she had only a groom to protect her. How fortunate that Guy had promised to stop by this afternoon to see how the work progressed!

He greeted Penelope with surprise at her eager welcome as she ran down the porch stairs to meet him. She scarcely gave him a chance to inspect the work in the back stairwell but clung nervously to his arm and agreed that they might meet Dolly for tea.

They said little as they rode toward the Hall. Lengthening shadows told of the lateness of the hour, when Penelope mentioned a headache and begged off from visiting the Reardons.

With concern Guy caught her hand. “Is all well, Penelope? Did I speak out of turn yesterday? If so, please forgive me. I would gladly take back one wrong word.”

Penelope shook her head letting her shoulders slump in misery. “No, you only told me what I needed to know. You are wrong about Graham. He does not hate, and I cannot believe he would challenge Arthur, but then, I have not been right about very many things lately. Good night, Guy.”

She rode off without looking back.

THAT NIGHT GRAHAM listened at the door as Penelope wept into the pillow. The choking sobs ripped at his heart, and he rested his gloved hand on the door latch. He wished desperately to go to her, but did not know what he could say even if the latch should open.

Remembering the coat spread over him when he woke in the early hours, Graham prayed she had not shut him out entirely. If only a door would remain open between them, perhaps some solution could be found.

The latch gave way without a hitch, and Graham breathed a sigh of relief. Pushing the door aside, he could see a single candle gleaming beside the bed, throwing its shadows across her sobbing figure.

Graham stood uncertainly at the foot of the bed, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss the tears away but suspecting he was the cause of them. Deciding Penelope in her thin night rail and hair streaming down her back was more temptation than he could bear, he settled at the far end of the mattress. Here, he could only be tempted to touch the small bare toe peeping from beneath the hem of her gown. Gazing at that toe, Graham found it more enticing than any woman in dishabille he had ever seen, and he doubted his wisdom in this choice of seats.

“Penelope, please, stop crying and tell me what is wrong.” That was not very helpful, but he could think of nowhere else to start.

Penelope shook her head, refusing to raise her face from the pillow. Her words were muffled and faint. “Go away. Just go away and leave me be.”

That sounded familiar, and Graham sighed with exasperation, crossing his arms to keep his hands from straying. From this angle he had a clear view of the round curve of her posterior, and the ache in his loins reminded him of how long it had been since they had shared a bed. Shutting out such thoughts, Graham tried to find a reasonable reply.

“I cannot leave you crying like this. If it is something I have done, I would know of it, Penny. I don’t mean to hurt you.” Her sobs scarcely lessened. In fact, they seemed to grow worse, and he tried another tack. “Penelope, you know I would give anything to make you happy. Except my right hand, perhaps. But then, I could not afford to lose the left, either. Or any other of my appendages, come to think of it. I have grown rather attached to all of them over the years.”

His efforts were rewarded with a watery giggle, but Penelope still refused to look up. Graham finally gave in and wrapped his hand around her foot. “Come around here and tell me what is wrong or I shall tickle you until you do.”

Penelope gasped and tried to retrieve her foot, but Graham held her firmly.

“Don’t, Graham! I’ll stop. Really, I will! But my eyes are all red and ugly. Go away, do. Just for now.”

That was better. Graham relaxed and began to stroke her ankle. “Shall I fetch one of my eye patches? You would make an enticing piratess. But if you can look at this fearsome visage of mine, I should manage a few tears and a runny nose. Sit up now and tell me what is wrong.”

He made her feel foolish, and the heat of his hand against her foot stirred sensations better left buried. Wiping her eyes, Penelope turned over, pulling her knees up to her chest and covering her feet when he released her.

Graham handed her his handkerchief. Wearing only an open-necked shirt and tailored buff trousers as if he had been preparing for bed, he dwarfed the end of her narrow mattress. She took the cloth and wiped at her eyes, watching him warily. He had not shown her this much concern since he had returned from London over a week ago.

“That is better.” He eyed her critically as she pushed strands of hair from her face. “Actually it would be a shame to cover those lovely eyes with patches. They sparkle like the dew right now. Adelaide’s get all puffy and her face turns blotchy and she looks a proper harridan when she cries.”

Penelope smiled wanly. “Adelaide is beautiful enough not to care what she looks like. It is only us plain people who must fret over our looks.”

“You’re angling for that one,” he admonished. “I should not spoil you. You would grow more vain than Alexandra. So I’ll not tell you how beautiful you are. And I won’t mention that if all the world were as plain as you, the sun would no longer need to shine because it would be as bright as day already. I’ll let you keep thinking you are plain so you will not be tempted to try your beauty on others.”

“That’s doing it a shade too brown, my lord. Someone has been giving you lessons in nonsense. It really is not necessary to practice on me. I am quite content being plain if you do not mind it too much.” Penelope wiped at her eyes and hid a weak smile.

Graham grabbed her ankle and pulled it toward him, holding it tightly despite her squirming protest. “Let us begin again. Why is my beautiful wife crying her eyes out alone in her bed when she could come to me? Speak, Penelope, or I shall torture it out of you.” His thumb ran warningly down the sole of her foot, sending shivers up and down her leg.

“I tried to go to you,” Penelope replied indignantly, fighting his sympathy with anger. “You made it quite clear that I am too foolish to understand anything, and you shut me out. Why should I tell you anything now?”

Graham’s lips bent in a half smile. “This must be progress. I seldom make you angry. Understand that I cannot mend my ways until I know what I have done wrong. You have punished me severely this past week, but I do not know what I must do to earn your good graces again.”

“Do you say you do not even know what you have done wrong?” she asked, incredulous. The hand on her ankle was easing upward.

“I have been curt and rude, for which I apologize. There are occasionally other things on my mind, and I am out of practice in being polite. It does not come so naturally as it once did.”

“Curt and rude, I understand, even if others do not. But you told me I did not know what I was talking about and refused to discuss something I felt very strongly about!” Penelope did not mention he had also shut his door in her face when she very much wanted to hold him after worrying herself ill for weeks over his absence. That would give him more than he deserved. “You must decide whether you want me as wife and equal or as a paid servant who should keep her thoughts to herself!”

“The governess seduced by her evil employer and terrified of being thrown out without references?” Graham murmured wickedly, his hand exploring further, testing the curve of her ankle. “Is that how you see us? Then I have been cruel, and you are right to punish me, but can we not find a better way of fighting? I do not like being locked from your room.”

Penelope blushed, as much at the look in his eye as the tone of his words, but she held her ground. “It is all right for you to shut me out, but I cannot do the same? How do I fight that? Shall I take an ax to your door? Or your head?”

Graham chuckled appreciatively. “That would catch my attention assuredly. But perhaps we could find a better solution. Why don’t we remove the lock so neither of us can shut the other out? I know there may be times when you would prefer to be left alone, and you must understand there are times when I would do the same, but surely we are adult enough to say these things without hurting each other?”

He made everything sound so reasonable, she was ashamed of her behavior, but he had explained nothing, and he had not said he would send Chadwell away. He seduced her in the same way his cousin did, without offering any of himself. Was that how it was meant to be between man and wife? Each going his own way except in bed? She did not think so if she could judge by Adelaide and Brian, but perhaps they were the exception to the rule.

“Removing a lock from a door will not remove the barriers between us, Graham. There are things you do not tell me, and times you will not listen. I try not to bother you with trifles, and I have no right to ask the secrets of your heart, but you cannot behave as you did with Arthur the other day without offering an explanation. Such behavior affects me as well as you, and I think I have a right to know.”

Graham defended himself in time-honored fashion by turning to the offensive. “I do not think I am the only one with secrets, Penelope. Would you care to tell me how you have spent the days since my return? What is so important to you that you neglect your guests and your duties? And then tell me why Guy is the one who shares these times with you?”

Penelope stared with incredulity at the tight lines of his face and the whitening scar. “You could think that of me?” she asked in disbelief. “How could you? What have I ever done to give you such an opinion of me? Perhaps we are very wrong for each other. I thought we might suit, that we might bump along together once we worked things out, but I have been so very wrong about other things, perhaps I was wrong in this, too. Let go of me, Graham.”

She tried to shake her leg free, but far from releasing her, Graham gave a tug that pulled her from her high perch on the pillows and slid her night rail to embarrassing heights. Penelope scrambled to pull the cloth back, but Graham grinned triumphantly and rode his hand over her bottom. Penelope shrieked and threw herself at him to push his hand away, but that was the wrong tactic. One steel-like arm wrapped about her waist and dragged her across his lap while his free hand continued its ardent explorations.

“Oh, we shall suit very well, my prim Penny, and shortly I will ask you again what you have been doing with your days. But not right now, I think.”

With great satisfaction he bent to drown her protestations.

CHAPTER 30

PENELOPE WOKE to a bed not her own but with no one beside her. Cautiously she glanced across the semi-darkened room, remembering the placement of tables and chairs and the dresser and washstand against the wall. Her night rail and Graham’s shirt and trousers lay in puddles of cloth upon the floor, and she buried her face in the pillow again.

How could she have let him seduce her like that? She had every right to be angry with him, to demand explanations, but she had let him sweet-talk her into his bed without a word of apology. And now he had escaped for the day and she was no further along than before, just well and truly tumbled as if she were a mistress he could discard at will.

Strangely she felt no anger, but only a languid contentment as she stretched and burrowed herself into the comfort of Graham’s massive bed. At least he had not returned her to her own room as he was wont to do. She liked it here where she could still see the imprint of his head upon the pillow and smell the masculine scents that lingered on the sheets. She turned on her side and touched the indentation in the pillow, wishing the shutters on the window were open so she could see out.

A noise in the entrance to the dressing room made her glance up, and her heart did an odd tattoo against her ribs as she discovered Graham watching her. With light only from the top of the windows, he stood in shadow, but she could tell he was still only half dressed. He wore a robe wrapped around his flat middle, concealing the fresh trousers he had donned but leaving much of his chest exposed. She knew he bore scars just below the collarbone, but she could not see them from here. She had never really seen them, only felt them in the darkness when he made love to her.

Penelope blushed at the way he was looking at her now. Acutely aware that she wore nothing at all, she couldn’t meet his gaze. She had never known what it was to wake after a night of love and find her husband still beside her. She plunged like a turtle beneath the covers, hiding her embarrassment. That brought a crooked smile to his lips.

Penelope gulped as he sat down upon the bed. A fresh scent similar to pine clung to him, and she realized she would recognize that scent anywhere. Daringly she peeped from beneath the blanket and felt her heart nearly stop at the look in his eye. She would never get any sense out of him at all when he looked at her that way.

“No more tears?” he asked gruffly.

“Not now.” Penelope kept her pillow near at hand but dared to look up at him. She could not honestly say that her husband was handsome, and perhaps he was not a true gentleman, but she loved him with every ounce of her foolish heart and soul.

“You are not afraid of me?” he asked with curiosity when she did not come out of hiding with more than one eye.

That brought the other eye into view. “Afraid of you? Should I be?”

Graham chuckled and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling her up from her cocoon of covers. “You amaze me, Lady Trevelyan. You are as timid as a wild rabbit when I but wish to look upon you, yet you have no fear of my touch. Why is that?”

Penelope gave that some thought as she snuggled her shoulders into the pillows piled next to his thigh. Primly she hugged the covers over her breasts. “That could be because I am accustomed to your touch, but it is always dark when you look at me. I’m not afraid,” she offered honestly, “but I’m not accustomed to being seen without clothes. It cannot be very proper.”

Graham caught her chin and turned her gaze up to him. “Propriety is for the public, not the privacy of our chambers. In here we can be ourselves, say what we think, do what we like. Don’t you think that’s the way it ought to be?”

He said that with such intensity that she knew he had a reason for it, but she very much wanted it to be like that for them. “Say what we think? If I ask why you do things that hurt me and others, you will not tell me I don’t understand and it’s none of my business?”

“Am I allowed to ease into this with simple things first?” he asked, mocking her words of months ago.

Penelope pulled the covers back up to her nose and glared at him. “Of course, if that is your wish, but it works both ways.”

With a pained half smile, he agreed. “Very well, we will do this slowly. I will take your word for it that you are not swayed by Guy’s winning ways, if you will believe me when I say I have never meant to hurt you or any of the innocents who stumble unwittingly against my anger. I had never thought to mend my ways when we married, but I can see now that your opinion of me is more important than anything else, and that I will be happier when I have won your approval.”

She lowered the sheet to her shoulders again and stared at him in disbelief. “I will try very hard to believe that, my lord, but you must know you don’t make it easy.”

“I know,” he said gruffly, rising to his feet. “But I have faith in your wisdom and forgiveness. Come, let us greet the day together.” He held out his hand to help her up.

Penelope’s gaze flew from where he stood to where her night rail lay, and her cheeks heated. She wanted to please him, but perhaps he forgot she wore nothing beneath these sheets. His chuckle put an end to that thought, but reluctantly, Graham reached for her wrapper and held it out—one step from her reach.

Sighing with exasperation at this childish ploy, Penelope flung back the covers and rose from the bed, snatching the night rail from his hands. Jerking it on, she stuck her tongue out at him and proceeded grandly toward her own chambers, head held high and chin up.

His roar of laughter filled the room and brought a smile to start the day.

BY EVENING, her smile had disappeared. Penelope threw herself into the work at the orphanage as usual, singing and quite happy with the way things were progressing, but entirely forgetting the Reardons’ rout that evening. When she returned home to find Adelaide dressed in all her finery and pacing the floor, her hand flew to her mouth in horror.

“I forgot! Oh, no, Graham will never forgive me. What am I to do? Guy will be here any minute.”

Adelaide’s brow wrinkled with perplexity. “And Graham makes fun of the way I speak. Whatever are you about, Penny? I’m sure Graham will forgive you for forgetting, he does it often enough himself, but Guy is the one who is escorting you, is he not?”

Penelope flushed and looking longingly toward the stairs and escape. “Yes, but I forgot to tell Graham we were going,” she whispered. “Is he here?”

“I heard him roaring not long ago. If he’s not to go, why should it matter? Let him sulk in his own mean little world.”

Penelope cast her a helpless look and hurried toward the stairs. She had to explain to him, make him understand why she had not mentioned the rout, and why Guy would be downstairs shortly to take her away when she knew very well what Graham planned for this evening.

He was not in his chamber when she reached it, and she uttered a very improper oath under her breath. He was probably in the kitchen rattling the staff for some minor misdemeanor. She would have to dress and wait for him.

Her maid had a bath waiting and a gown laid out. Penelope did not linger over her ablutions but raced through the motions, all the time listening for the sound of Guy’s arrival downstairs or Graham in the room next door. Guy was as late as she, thank heavens.

She donned the gold silk and waited impatiently for the maid to finish fussing with the matching ribbons twining through the elaborate loops and curls. Scarcely taking time to admire the effect, Penelope caught up her gloves and fan and flew down the hall toward the stairs.

To her dismay, she could hear Graham’s laughing voice carrying up from the salon. She would have to face him in front of everyone else and admit her deception. Why ever had she tried to do it? She knew better than to commit even the smallest of crimes. She always got caught.

Slowly she descended the stairs, until she could see into the front hall and knew they were all standing there, waiting. Her gaze searched the shadows until she found him, and her eyes widened in astonishment. Graham had dressed in his formal frock coat as if he meant to attend, also!

His appreciative gaze followed her down the last few steps, leaving Penelope even more flustered. She glanced to Adelaide and Brian, but they saw nothing wrong in this charade. Gulping back her fear, she looked inquiringly to Graham. He smiled and held out his arm.

“Shall we go, my dear?”

He knew. Somehow he knew about the rout and Guy. Guy wasn’t late. He wasn’t coming. Not knowing whether to be terrified or happy, Penelope peeped timidly up to Graham’s square-cut jaw as she took his arm.

“You are not angry?”

“Angry? No, why should I be when I know you will explain all, tonight,” he leaned over to whisper wickedly in her ear, “When we are snug and warm in our bed.”

Penelope cursed the heat rising in her cheeks, but she clung to his strong arm as they went out the door.

The rout was an unequivocal success. When the guests insisted on an impromptu dance, Graham stayed close to Penelope’s side, grudgingly allowing her to dance with others only when etiquette required that he escort his hostess and other guests onto the floor. Penelope observed that Dolly’s color rose to a most flattering shade of pink after Guy defied all rules by leading her out on the floor for a third and fourth dance. Lady Reardon appeared to remain calm over this breach of good manners. Either her guests kept her too busy to notice or Guy had charmed her as thoroughly as her daughter.

Only one incident marred the evening. Arthur had joined his family in the receiving line, but for the sake of appearances, he and Graham had coldly ignored each other. When Charles DeVere arrived, however, Arthur went white with rage and left his place to catch the newcomer by the elbow before he could start down the line.

“What in hell are you doing here?” Arthur pushed the older man back in the direction of the door, keeping his voice down.

“I received an invitation,” DeVere returned icily. “Your family has not found me offensive in the past.”

“That is because I did not see fit to give them the sordid details. A man of character would not have dared return here under any circumstances. I should have known you would act without honor. If that is the game you choose to play, I will feel free to act the same and reveal you to all and sundry.”

By this time, Arthur had forcibly steered his guest back outside, and they stood concealed by shrubbery, their voices scarcely rising above the clatter of arriving carriages.

DeVere shook off Arthur’s restraining hand. “You cursed young pup! How do you think to expose me without getting yourself turned out of the house? Let the past die.”

“I care not what happens to me, but I will protect the innocent with the last breath in me, as I shall soon enough, I know. Trevelyan is only biding his time before calling me out. I will go to my grave without fear, but I will leave a letter behind to my brother. While I live, your secret is safe. When I die, that letter will keep you barred from every decent door in town. I’d suggest you find another place of abode, DeVere.”

DeVere spoke with barely controlled rage. “How can Trevelyan know anything? You are imagining things. He was near to death that night. You are playing at heroes and villains, Reardon. Wake up to the real world.”

“I have. That is why I forbid you in this house,” Arthur insisted. “I don’t know how Gray learned of my involvement, but he knows, and he means to kill me for it. I don’t believe your life will be a long one once he learns your involvement. I cannot give you a better warning.”

“Chadwell!” DeVere hissed in realization. “I thought it was just you he was after, but it’s all of us. I will go, but if you intend to outlive that rotting hulk of a neighbor of yours, you had better keep your lips sealed. He’ll not challenge you or any other after I’m through with him.” DeVere spun on his heel and stalked off.

Only his mother noticed his return to the house. Arthur brushed off her attempts to send him back to his sickbed, and stared over the crowd to where Graham stood head and shoulders above everyone else. He couldn’t right the wrong that had been done, but he could do everything in his power to keep it from happening again.

PENELOPE RELAXED in the circle of Graham’s arm as the carriage rattled toward home. Adelaide and Brian had left earlier, so they had the carriage to themselves, a fact Graham took full advantage of. His kisses set her skin ablaze, and the path of his hand left her eager for more. She wished the fabric of her gown would disappear so she could feel his strong fingers against her bare flesh. His kiss deepened as the carriage rolled to a halt.

The footman assigned to open the door for them stared wide-eyed and hastily stepped back, allowing the door to close again. Graham chuckled against Penelope’s mouth and reluctantly released her. “A few more minutes, darling, and I will have you all to myself. Are you ready?”

“I don’t think I am. I don’t think I will ever be. You cannot turn the little cinder girl into a princess overnight,” Penelope answered, clinging to his hand.

Graham laughed and jumped to the ground, holding his hands out to pull her from the carriage. “You don’t know your own powers, princess. We shall see who changes into what before the night is over.”

With that utterly nonsensical remark, he led her into the house where servants waited with lamps and warm water and all the comforts one could ask for. Penelope could still scarcely believe all this was true. Surely she would wake up one morning and find it all a dream.

When Harley rushed up bearing a message on a silver platter, Penelope felt her heart plummet, and the feeling of well-being dissipated. No message at this time of night could be a good one. Here was the part where she would wake and find the dream was just a nightmare.

The note was addressed to her, and Graham passed it to her with a worried frown. Penelope’s hands shook as she unfolded the rough, cheap stationery. She didn’t recognize the jerky scrawl, but she knew the name at the bottom and her cheeks went white as she scanned the contents.

“Penelope, what is it?” Anxiously Graham watched her face.

“Augusta. It’s Augusta. Bess tells me she is ill and is asking for me.” Penelope handed the paper to her husband.

Graham scanned the note and a lump of lead formed in his chest. He lifted his gaze to Penelope’s. He had hoped to finally reveal his secrets tonight, but life seldom worked out neatly. “You will want to go, of course. Can you not wait and rest and go in the morning?”

He could tell by the look in her eyes that he asked the impossible.

Brian sauntered out of the study before she could answer. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Graham shoved the crinkled note at him but did not take his eyes from Penelope’s. He didn’t want to let her go. Selfishly he wanted to keep her with him, but he knew her too well. Softly he said, “I will go with you. Go pack a few things and I will call the carriage back.”

Penelope shook her head. “I cannot ask you to leave your work and Alexandra to sit by the bedside of an old lady you scarcely know. It would not suit, Graham. I will let you know when I arrive if there is anything you can do.”

“Penelope, I cannot send you out into the night—” His words were cut off by a gesture of Brian’s and the appearance of Adelaide upon the stairs.

“What is happening?”

Brian passed the note to her and answered with a question. “Would you care to return home a little sooner than expected? You know we have talked of it. I agree with Graham, though. It would be better left for morning.”

Adelaide read the message, then glanced to Penelope’s tearful expression and shook her head. “No, we had better leave at once. The moon is bright enough, and we can hang the lanterns. The maids can pack our things and send them on later. Come, Penelope, let us change and then we will be off.”

Within the hour the matter was settled. The Stanhopes’ carriage and fresh horses were brought around and the travelers snugly tucked in with pillows and blankets to get what rest they might while they journeyed.

Graham stood on the steps and watched them go with the feeling they were taking his heart with them.

CHAPTER 31

GRAHAM SMOOTHED the vellum of Penelope’s note and read it again, hearing her voice speak the words. The faint scent of lavender rose from the paper, and he ached to be near her, to hold her and comfort her, but she did not seem to want him there. He knew she would be staying at the cottage and that her days and nights would be occupied with her patient, but even this knowledge didn’t daunt his desire to be close to her.

Penelope’s lack of invitation and the other letter lying on his desk kept him from packing his bags and joining her.

Graham grimaced at this more official correspondence. That one was more command than invitation. They wanted a part of him that was over and done with, or would have been had Penelope not been called away. He had made his decision and intended to keep it, but this summons made it clear that his choice wouldn’t be so simple as he had hoped.

Sighing, he folded both letters and slid them into his coat pocket. One more time he would play the clown, and that would be the end of it.

CASTLEREAGH PACED up and down the elegant Aubusson carpet, ignoring the magnificent Turner and Gainsborough oils in their gilded frames, and avoiding the delicate Sheraton love seats as if they were naught but obstacles in his path. He turned to Graham and scowled.

“You do not understand the seriousness of the situation, Trevelyan! One of my own men can be a blackguard of the worst sort, or your cousin can be a murderous traitor for those bloody Americans! Damn it, man, we still have a war on our hands. You know what they do to traitors during times of war?”

“I can’t imagine.” Graham leaned back in his chair and gave a prodigious yawn. “But I’ll vouch for my cousin. That leaves you with the blackguard. Hang him and see if that doesn’t put an end to the murders.”

The diplomat seemed to swell to twice his size in rage, and his face turned a mottled purple. “Damn it to bloody hell! Don’t give me that idle fop pose. You have your finger in every sticky pie in this town and well I know it. I don’t know how you do it, but it’s your frank that got Chadwell into the Regent’s ball, your signature on the deeds of those houses Chadwell operates from, your name on the notes of every one of those men in that infernal club. Don’t think I don’t do my work, Trevelyan. I’m just as thorough as you, and I think we’re after the same man. Now do I have your cooperation or will I have to climb over your back?”

Graham lifted his one uncovered eyebrow with a look approaching respect. “You do have a point there, sir. Why don’t I send Cliff over to have a chat with you? I’d like to see an end to these depredations, myself. The streets of London are no longer safe with these villains about. Will that suit?”

The Foreign Secretary grimaced. “I need to see him now. I need to see both of you. Can’t you summon him here?”

Graham smiled wanly and leaned forward on his walking stick. “Don’t ask the impossible, sir. My cousin and I cannot be seen together. You, of all people, should appreciate that. I will send him to you this evening.”

Accepting the crumbs offered, the other man made a bow and stalked out.

“I WILL TELL you one more time that I know nothing of these murders other than that someone obviously wished to implicate myself or my cousin in them. How else would you explain the mysterious stranger having an eye patch one time and none the other?” Chadwell quit stalking up and down before the cluttered desk and threw himself down into a nearby chair. “I have been working these streets for years. It’s odd that the murders and the rumors started shortly after Gray first appeared in public. For what it’s worth, my opinion is that his savage countenance stuck in the minds of the populace and made them talk of ghastly scars and patches, since that’s what a murderer ought to look like. The stories changed after he left town. Unless you want to lock us both up, I’d suggest you start looking for a common background in the victims’ lives.”

Castlereagh scowled as he chewed on the nib of his pen. The blot of ink on his lip revealed he had been giving much thought to the subject.

“Women like those aren’t easy to trace. Two were from the theater. Another had once been mistress to an earl. Another frequented a particular gambling hell I have an interest in because our friend seems to have an interest in it. The women have all been seen on that end of town at one time or another. You are the only connecting link. That assassination attempt was planned by someone inside my office. How you came to know of it is of great interest to me. The fact that you are now implicated in these murders makes this even more fascinating. And what your part is in that infernal club complicates matters even further. I think you owe me a little more explanation than you have given.”

With a mocking smile, Chadwell leaned back in the leather upholstered chair and threw one leg over the arm. “You needn’t worry about the club. It’s been permanently disbanded. There are only two known members remaining in the area, and one of them will be leaving shortly. The other claims to have resigned his membership long ago, but DeVere is the one who concerns us, isn’t he?”

The Secretary’s face flushed with fury. “In what way? Would you care to enlighten me?”

Chadwell narrowed his eyes and contemplated the molded carving on the ceiling. The office reeked of officialdom from the solid mahogany desk and oak chair rails to the framed documents on the walls. He hadn’t meant to get in this deep, but if there was any chance that a relationship existed between the assassination attempt, the East End murders, and his own vendetta, then he had little choice in the matter. But he sure as hell wouldn’t let this gentleman have the satisfaction of knowing it.

He enumerated his reasoning. “DeVere has access to your office. He was in the room when the assassination attempt was made. He once belonged to that club of miscreants who terrified the countryside a few years back and is the only still in London. As far as I am aware, DeVere dropped out of the club at the same time a number of others came to their senses and cut their ties with it. The remainder went on to rape and larceny and murder. Charming lot, wouldn’t you say?”

Chadwell contemplated the tip of the cigar he had appropriated from the humidor on the desk. He didn’t smoke the filthy things, but they did make an excellent prop.

“As far as you are aware? I’d rather thought you had become an authority on the subject. Or is it Trevelyan’s knowledge you rely on? Why did so many club members owe money to your cousin?”

Chadwell swung the cigar airily. “Let’s say I gamble a wee bit. My signature isn’t worth a tinker’s damn, but Gray’s gleams like gold to the scum. So I wager with his markers, and I win rather frequently. I make them write their vows to Graham to cover the notes he writes for me. Paper for paper, like having my own bank. Grand scheme, ain’t it?”

The fox-faced secretary grimaced in disgust. “Except your victims tend to die or disappear before they ever repay him. That leaves you a small fortune ahead, doesn’t it?”

Chadwell shrugged. “A man needs to live, and Gray don’t begrudge the expense. You’ll understand that if you’re as smart as you think you are. Let us get back to the subject in question. Since Gray and I most assuredly did not have motive or opportunity to murder your soiled doves, and since I am the one who stopped your bloody assassination, you will have to write us off your suspect list on both counts.”

The other man grunted his disapproval of this flummery.

Chadwell took his silence as consent to continue. “Since we have no other immediate suspects besides DeVere, it would behoove us to look a little further into his activities. I will admit, until now, I have given him little consideration. I dislike the man. I know he is capable of great treachery. I have surmised he is the owner of at least one brothel off Whitechapel, but without evidence, I have had no reason to go after him. I cannot see his profit in murdering the petticoats nor in implicating me, but if you think I am the connection, then by all means, let us go after him.”

The Secretary leaned forward and placed his hands against the desk. “How?”

A TEAR SPLATTED against the still wet ink, smearing it across the vellum, giving rise to more tears as Penelope wadded up this disaster and threw it to join the others. Sinful waste, it was, but what did waste matter when she had lost the one person in the world who had ever truly loved her?

That thought brought renewed weeping, and she gave up on the letter to lay her head on her arms and shed all the tears she had been holding back all day. She wept that she hadn’t been with Augusta in these last few brief months of her life. She wept for the past that was lost with her. She wept for the loss of Augusta’s cheery smile and the warm kitchen of delightful smells and the homely advice. She wept for the gnarled fingers that had meticulously stitched her lovely bridal nightgown. And she wept for herself.

She should have asked Graham to come. He would have taken care of all the practical details of funerals and coffins, and she could have stayed with Augusta instead of leaving her alone and cold this whole day. He would have held her now and made her feel warm again. He would have reminded her that she could have others to love, perhaps not the same as Augusta, but not the emptiness there might have been.

She owed him so much, she hated to impose on him anymore, but she needed him now, needed him here. Gulping back a sob and crudely wiping at her eyes with her sleeve since her handkerchief was already saturated, Penelope sat up and picked up the pen once more. She would write and he would come. She couldn’t go through the funeral without him.

As it was, she had to, even after the letter was sent. No reply came before the day of the funeral. Penelope ran to the window at every sound of a horse or carriage, but none was Graham. With despair, Penelope turned to Adelaide.

Adelaide hurried to take her arm. “Come, you will ride with us. Then you will come back to the manor. There will be no more of this sleeping alone in this empty cottage when we have that great monstrous house to keep you in. You know Graham will cut up stiff if he finds we allowed you to stay here alone.”

Talking nonstop, Adelaide steered Penelope toward the door. Brian acted as footman, holding it open. Together, they got Penelope into the carriage and held her hands throughout the journey. But no amount of sympathy and consolation could replace her need for Graham at her side.

When she returned to the manor that night, she couldn’t sleep in the overlarge bed she had once shared with Graham. Finally giving up on it, she slipped into her wrapper, and carrying blanket and pillow, curled up on the couch beneath the window. It made little logical sense, but it felt more like her bed at the Hall, and she could dream Graham would come for her during the night.

He didn’t, of course, and the next day Penelope stared bleakly over the trees in the park to the road beyond. From her bedroom window she could see only a few patches of the graveled path, but she knew Graham’s carriage wasn’t hidden behind the trees. He wasn’t coming.

It was nearly September already. Soon, the trees would turn color and coat the ground in rustling drifts. The manor had a lovely forested park. It would be nice to have a similar one at the Hall.

Sighing, Penelope turned away from the window. Staring at the tree would not salve the pain in her heart. She felt deserted by everyone she had loved. Why hadn’t Graham come? Had her letter been mislaid? Then why hadn’t he come in a raging fury to find out why she tarried so long without writing? Silence did not reflect the man she knew, but how well did she really know him?

Not very well, at all, she surmised gloomily. He had a life he hid from her, a life that sometimes made him surly and impossible to get close to. She should not complain. When he did have the time to pay heed to her, he did it with such charm and devotion that she could almost believe he held an affection for her. She should remember the good times, the times they laughed and loved and shared together, and not complain of the bad.

When she had puttered around the cottage, giving away what would no longer be needed, tidying up, covering the few pieces of good furniture, closing the shutters and other tasks she created until it became obvious that Graham did not mean to come, Penelope finally announced she would return on her own.

Adelaide attempted to dissuade her, but reminding her of Alexandra, Penelope managed to break away. The Stanhopes insisted she travel in style, though, and they returned her in their carriage with gifts for Alex and letters to Graham.

It was twilight before she arrived at the Hall. The setting sun sent a rosy glow over the weathered brick wings of the rambling mansion. The windows sparkled and winked, almost seeming to welcome her home. Penelope had to smile at her fancy.

As soon as the carriage door opened, she lifted her skirts and alighted, nearly running up the steps to greet Harley and look for Graham and Alexandra. Alex came bounding down the stairs with cries of delight as expected, and Penelope scooped her up in her arms and showered her with kisses. Graham did not appear.

Harley assured her his lordship hadn’t been feeling quite well and was simply resting, but he seemed relieved at Penelope’s appearance. She played with Alexandra awhile, hoping Graham would wake and come down, but there was no sign of him by the time Alexandra was sent off to bed.

Worried, Penelope ordered a light dinner served in her room. It had been weeks since Graham had taken to his bed like this, not since London if memory served her. What had he been doing to return the pain so severely he had to resort to laudanum again?

When dinner was served, she knocked on the connecting door, hoping she would find him awake. When John answered, she gaped in dismay.

“How is he, John? What has he done to put him back in bed again?”

John’s weathered face looked more lined and weary than usual, but he offered a small smile and shook his head. “He’ll be fine, milady, just tried to do too much at once. Just let him sleep it off.”

“Let me see him, John. He’s not taking as much laudanum as before?” Anxiously she tried to peer over John’s shoulder, but the bed wasn’t in view of the door.

“He don’t like nobody to see him when he’s taken like this, milady. I got my orders. Just give him time, you’ll see, he’ll be right as a trivet again.”

Somehow he lacked his usual easy confidence, but Penelope had too much pride to go where she was not wanted. Head held stiffly, she nodded and closed the door, and felt the tears welling up all over again.

Her food went back to the kitchen, untouched. Like a ghost, she drifted through the halls, checking to be certain Alexandra slept, wandering into the library to look for a book, staring out the windows into the empty blackness. Without Graham, the Hall had no soul; it was just a big, empty house.

Taking her book and returning to her chamber, she made herself comfortable in the brocade chair and waited. He was just sleeping and when he woke, John would tell him she was home. Then he would come to her, and she would be waiting. Graham would like that.

That thought lasted until the early hours of the morning when her eyes refused to stay open and her head began to nod. The candle had almost guttered out, and with a sigh Penelope blew it out. She would tell Graham in the morning that she wanted all the rights of a wife, not just the ones he wished to bestow upon her. She could endure the knowledge that he did not love her if she at least knew he was faithful to her.

If he laughed at her, she would leave him. Her heart could not carry the burden of still another break.

CHAPTER 32

GRAHAM DID NOT COME to her the next morning. Frightened by the possibility that he might truly be ill, and furious that he would not trust her to help him, Penelope overcame her pride and pounded on his chamber door.

John appeared more haggard than the night before, but he was still large enough and strong enough to prevent her pushing past him. Penelope crossed her arms and looked him in the eye.

“Will you let me in there or do I have to call on Sir Percival and Lord Reardon to forcibly remove you?”

John wavered. She had always tried to be quiet and polite and not raise her voice in anger but this time was different, and she would not take no for an answer.

Apparently understanding, John surrendered. “He isn’t here, milady.” He stood aside to let her see for herself.

The bed lay untouched, as it had that last time. Penelope felt her heart ripping into little pieces, but she refused to fall apart in front of the servants.

Coldly she inquired, “How long has he been gone?”

“Soon after you left, milady.” John did not even try to hide the worry in his voice.

Penelope turned suspicious eyes to him at the tone of his voice. “Do you know where he went?”

“No, milady, that I don’t,” he answered, anxious to prove himself innocent.

Penelope didn’t know how to react to that. Should she assume Graham had simply gone off to his mistress and didn’t inform his servant? Perhaps he had received another message from London, but surely he would have said something to John? John could be lying, or Graham could be in a ditch somewhere hurt and unable to call for help. She tried not to panic.

“Did he not say anything when he left? When he would we back? Anything?”

“He just said he had some business to take care of and he’d not be long, that if you tried to reach him, to send word to London. I did that, so I been thinking he was with you.”

Penelope absorbed this information, squelching her fears by applying logic. Graham could take care of himself. He was much too big to disappear. If anything had happened to him, someone would have let her know. First, she would make a few discreet inquiries.

Trying to behave as if everything were normal, she sent word to Guy to meet her at the orphanage. She rode out after breakfast to inspect the building. Work seemed to be progressing smoothly. She would have to start giving thought to finding someone to take over operations.

She was inspecting the cots when Guy arrived. The pallets seemed thin, and she dragged one mattress from its frame and flung it over a second. As she struggled to make the unwieldy pallet lie straight, Guy stepped forward to help.

“Don’t you have a footman to help you with these whims, my lady?” Guy shifted the mattress so it lay directly on top of the other, then threw his long frame across the cot to test it for himself. He looked up at her impudently. “Care to join me?”

“Oh, Guy, won’t you ever grow up?” Penelope asked crossly, walking away from his carefree exuberance. She didn’t have the heart for laughter right now.

Guy leapt to his feet and ran after her, catching her by the waist and swinging her around. “What is it, Penny? What has Gray done this time?”

She could feel his comforting warmth. The sympathetic look in his eyes encouraged her to seek solace in his arms. Guy would never leave her wondering and hurt like Graham. Why couldn’t she have had the good sense to fall in love with Guy?

Penelope shook her head and pushed away from his hold. “Don’t, Guy. Have you seen him since I left?”

He frowned. “Graham? No, I thought he’d gone with you.”

“No, he had to go to London on some business. I just thought maybe you’d know when he would be back.” Penelope took a deep breath and tried to silence her fears. “How are you and Dolly faring these days? Since you’re still alive, I can see her brothers didn’t call you out for your outrageous behavior at the rout.”

Guy grinned and caught her up in the posture of a waltz, swinging her around in the space between the cots. “I told you Dolly is a senseless little chit, she does not complain of my brash behavior and has convinced her suspicious brothers that my intentions are honorable.”

“And are they?” Penelope lifted a quizzical eyebrow and put a stop to the impromptu dance.

Guy looked sheepish as he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “If she’d have me.”

Penelope laughed at his transparent eagerness. “You haven’t asked her yet? Coward. Do you intend to just dally at her heels until she grows bored waiting and looks elsewhere?”

“I would make an excellent cicisbeo, wouldn’t I? Probably better than a husband. I’m a dozen years older, Penny. I’d be doddering around like Larchmont with my wife leading me about by the nose.” He slumped down on the cot nearest the window and cast her a look of despair.

Penelope stuck to her guns. “Craven. As Alexandra so aptly puts it, coward, coward, coward. If you love her and haven’t got the gumption to ask for her, you deserve whatever happens. Don’t come to me for pity.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Guy stood up and began to pace before the window. “All a woman has to say is no. What will I do if she says no? At least this way I can go on seeing her. If she tells me no, I couldn’t bear to be near her again. I would lose my mind; I know I would. You and Graham were quite right to decide on a marriage of convenience. If you’d told him no, you could have both gone on just the same as before. It’s only when these cursed emotions get in the way that things become complicated.”

“Yes, rather.” Without another word Penelope stalked out of the room.

Startled from his self-absorbed dilemma, Guy dashed after her. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, Penny. Forgive me. I know you love him, although the sapskull doesn’t deserve it. And beneath that rough exterior, I know he loves you, too. Just give him a chance. He’ll come around.”

Stiffly Penelope continued down the stairs, Guy clattering along beside her. He grabbed her hand and dragged her out to the porch, out of the hearing of the workmen in the back of the house.

“The last time I saw Gray before I went away to war, he was on his deathbed. His head and chest were completely wrapped in bandages. One leg was plastered from ankle to thigh, and his hand was bandaged so thickly it looked like a pillow. He was unconscious and hadn’t moved in days. Everyone was just waiting for him to die. His father even had solicitors frantically trying to determine the succession. When I came back five years later and learned he still lived, I couldn’t believe it. I expected to find some ghastly emaciated skeleton clinging to life from sheer meanness. Instead, you know how I found him. Despite his pretensions to the contrary, and do not mistake me—Gray is a skilled actor, a very talented one—he showed every sign of being a man in the best of health. A man like Graham does not choose a mousy schoolteacher for wife, no matter what story he has told you. He told you what you wanted to hear to win you because he wanted you. He would never have taken ‘no’ for an answer. Do you understand me, Penelope?”

The intensity of his gaze darkened his eyes to almost a blue-black against the tanned shadows of his face. Penelope studied him as if to verify the truth of his words by the symmetry of his features.

“What makes you call him an actor, Guy? I have never found him to be less than honest with me, when he chooses to say anything.”

Guy relaxed and leaned against the porch post. “In his younger years Trev walked the boards of many stages. Even Mrs. Siddons admitted he had talent. Many’s the play we have staged at the Hall when we ran out of other entertainments. Graham played most of the parts. I’ll not say that he’s been less than honest with you, Penny, but I’ll wager he’s not offered all the truth, either. He’s wooed you and won you with some flummery, and now he’s scared as I am of losing his lady when he declares himself. I wish I had half his skill in knowing what a woman wants. But even if I should, I would not be able to act the part as well as he. I can’t hide my love, and I couldn’t hide my hurt if she tells me nay. Gray can.”

Penelope smiled faintly. “I think you credit the females of the race with more hard-heartedness than they possess. I cannot imagine any woman alive rejecting either of you. Or is it stupidity you accuse us of?”

Guy grinned, and his eyes brightened to blue again. “Not either, rather more the opposite. Women have such an understanding of what a man wants that they can wrap us around their little fingers. I have yet to meet the man who admits to any understanding of women. We are at your gentle mercies.”

“Fie on you for a fool, then.” Penelope dismissed this platitude. “We are left to watch and wait and hope. All we see is a man who has but to act to get what he wants. If Dolly says you nay, then it is because she is a senseless chit or you have behaved abominably. And I cannot feature you behaving in such a manner to a lady.”

Guy lifted his eyes with renewed hope. “If a villain like Graham can win a paragon such as yourself, my lady, then surely this poor fool can persuade a certain feckless lady to the same. Wish me luck, Penelope.”

“You don’t need it,” she scoffed, and minutes later she watched him ride away. She had no clearer notion as to where her husband might be than before, but a very odd emotion began to grow as she replayed Guy’s words. Could Graham truly feel more than he showed?

After ascertaining Graham still had not returned to the Hall, Penelope visited the Reardons next. Dolly gave no sign that Guy had approached her with his question, but she was so bubbling over with excitement at seeing Penelope that Penelope found it difficult to find a moment alone with Arthur or Henry to make her inquiries.

Arthur finally sent his sister to find his walking stick. When they were left alone, he nervously twisted his teacup in his hands. “I do not mean to be rude, Lady Trevelyan, but when even Dolly’s foolish stories can’t bring a smile to your lips, I fear some weighty matter preys upon your thoughts. Is there aught that I can do to relieve the burden? Sometimes it simply helps to talk about it.”

Penelope smiled at this ponderous speech. Arthur was only a few years older than herself, but these last years of living a life of danger had given him a more cautious approach than most young gentlemen. She liked him for his openness, however.

“I am simply wondering why I have not heard from Graham. I know it is foolish of me, and I know that he does not confide in you, but I sense there is something the two of you share. I thought, somehow, you or your brother might know what he is about.”

Arthur’s gray eyes looked troubled. “You are perceptive, my lady, but in this I will disappoint you. Graham hasn’t been here since the rout, and I have no notion where he could have got to. I wish I could help. Where has he gone? Did he say?”

“Do not worry yourself. He has just gone up to London on business. It’s a woman’s prerogative to worry when she receives no love notes while her husband is away. He will be angry with me for mentioning it, so please say nothing. He has done this before and returned safely. There is no reason for concern now.”

“But you are concerned, and you do not strike me as flighty as my sister. You would not go up into the boughs over nothing. Have you spoke with Hamilton?”

That provided a good opening for a change of subject, and Penelope leapt at it eagerly. “Yes, of course, but I think Guy’s state of mind is no better than Dolly’s.” She laughed and refilled his cup. Before long, she would be as good at acting as Graham. “I should think a man of his experience would be able to deal with infatuation a little more maturely, but I must admit to enjoying watching his arrogance knocked cock-a-hoop by someone with no experience at all.”

Arthur darted his sister a laughing look as she dashed back into the room, empty-handed. To Penelope he confided, “I see no hope for either of them. We will need to construct a circus tent when it comes time for the ceremonials.”

Dolly threw back her red-blond curls and glared at her brother. “I don’t know what you have done with your walking stick. I have searched everywhere you said and it is nowhere to be found. I cannot imagine how you could have lost it. And what ceremonials are you chuckling about?”

Arthur continued chewing on the sandwich he had just popped into his mouth and looked at his sister with a helpless shrug. Penelope smiled at this ploy and to appease Dolly, gestured toward the fireplace implements near Arthur’s chair.

“If I am not greatly mistaken, you will find his stick in there. That is one of Graham’s favorite habits. And we were speaking of Graham’s birthday. I thought it would be great fun to make a proper ceremony of it, but Arthur has rather rudely suggested it ought to be a circus. If you would oblige me, let me have his cane and I will beat it about his head a few times.”

Arthur continued chuckling as Dolly leapt for the weapon and mockingly set about applying it to his ears. Penelope departed soon after.

Riding home, she tried to convince herself this time it was no different than the last when Graham had disappeared for weeks. He had come home grouchy and irritable and limping worse than ever, but he had apparently been in no danger. She really should not worry about his abrupt departures, but her argument rang hollow even to herself.

This time it was different, she sensed it in every part of her being. Graham simply would not have disappeared without a word knowing how ill Augusta was and how she would worry, especially not after he had behaved so solicitously at the rout. They had almost reached an understanding that night. He would not risk it intentionally. Not answering her letter was the final straw. Graham would never have ignored her urgent plea. Never. Something was wrong. She just didn’t know how to go about finding what it was.

When she returned to the Hall, she sent her maid to find her trunk and pounded on the door of Graham’s chamber. When John appeared, she informed him boldly, “If Graham does not come home tonight, we are going to London on the morrow.”

CHAPTER 33

CHADWELL RACED the black stallion across the lengthening shadows of the hedgerow. Garbed in dark-tailed frock coat and pantaloons with only an occasional glimpse of white cravat, he blended in with the shadowy green of the overgrown briars and privet. His costume was not that of a country gentleman out for a leisurely ride, however, and if the sweat beading on his brow could be seen, even a casual observer would remark upon his exertion. He raced as if the devil were on his heels, or worse yet, ahead of him.

In Chadwell’s mind the latter was the case. He had cursed himself for three times a fool when he first left London. By now, he had exhausted curses as well as himself and his mount. It could not be much farther. He would have to arrive in time.

Why would he think Arthur had changed when none of the others had? Yet still he wanted to disbelieve the note he had intercepted. Arthur had nothing to gain by hiring cutthroats for murder. Where was the motive?

Chadwell’s weary brain could find none, but the writing had been Arthur’s. There was no mistaking it. The man must be mad. Somewhere over the years his mind must have snapped. Damn, but why hadn’t he finished for him when he had the chance? And now Penelope would pay for his failure.

He couldn’t let it happen. Arthur had to be stopped.

It was a trap. He sensed it, but he had no time to figure it out. Arthur couldn’t have planned on his intercepting the note; he knew nothing of Chadwell. He must be planning to lure Graham out by using Penelope as bait. That was the only logic he could follow.

His mind cried out in anguish at the urgent plea of Penelope’s letter. Arthur was the man who had stood over the twisted wreck of the phaeton knowing full well one of his friends lay among the remains, injured and probably dying, and had walked away. Walked away and ordered the others to do the same.

Chadwell could not believe even the perverted DeVere could be so evil. What would have happened had they known Graham lay among those ruins instead of Guy? Would it have been different if Graham had made himself known? Could all of this have been prevented if Graham could have just summoned a loud moan from among the rocks where he had been thrown?

That agonizing question had worn itself thin long ago, but it beat a violent refrain as he neared his destination. Penelope’s life was more important than the dead and gone, but it still hinged on an action that had happened years ago. God, this was not fair. Don’t let Penelope pay for the sins of others.

Just let Penelope live. He would not ask for more. Her letter had mentioned nothing of where she was or how she was being treated, but the frantic tone of her words rang in his head just as if Penelope had spoken them. Her perfect, ladylike writing could have been written by any female, but not those words. Those were Penelope’s cries of fear and loneliness, he would recognize them anywhere. Only Penelope could manage to say so much in so little, write gentle, restrained language that pierced the heart without sentimentality. She should have taken up writing books. He would tell her that when he saw her again.

Because he would see her. He would find her. Arthur’s note had made it evident where they had taken her. He knew these fields and valleys like a second hand. He knew where Arthur would hide her. He just had to get there before any harm was done.

In the darkness he did not see the thin wire stretched between the two trees marking the beginning of the lane. He knew only that the path to Penelope lay ahead of him, and he increased his pace. Had he been a shorter man, the wire would have cut across his throat. As it was, it caught him across the chest and he flew backward over the stallion’s rump, his head hitting the rocky field with a resounding crash.

The man in the shadows smiled to himself at the sound. The smile faded when he stepped from the bushes to examine his victim’s prone figure. He had not expected Chadwell to answer Penelope’s plea.

Kicking at the sprawled body, he was forced to reconsider his plan. Revenge on Chadwell was very well and good, but now he knew it was actually Graham who was his enemy. And as if knowing his role had been discovered, Graham had taken to hiding in the protection of that Gothic town house of his. The note was supposed to lure him out.

Chadwell moaned and his assailant scowled. He had managed to intercept that one letter from Penelope with the help of one of Graham’s kitchen maids, but that trick wouldn’t work again. The maid had been fired, and he couldn’t rely on the lady staying in the country forever. With Chadwell out of the way Graham would have to come forward, but only if his lady were abducted in truth this time. A second forgery wouldn’t succeed.

Anticipation flowed in his veins. These last years of avoiding trouble had been dull, even with the war to add excitement. He enjoyed a challenge, and this one stood to gain him freedom. No one but Graham would suspect him. With Graham out of the way he could do anything he pleased.

With a sardonic smile he recovered his horse. Lifting Chadwell onto the beast would be a chore, but it should be amusing to imagine the American’s reaction when he woke to his new surroundings. He would wish he had stayed in his own country to face the entire British army.

THE WIDE STREET with its elegant mansions was relatively empty as the carriage pulled through the gates to the Trevelyan town house. Most of the occupants of these houses had retired to their country estates for the summer, but they would soon return for the fall sessions. Penelope paid little heed to the chimney sweep on the neighboring roof or the window washer rubbing panes across the way. Her thoughts were on the reaction of Graham when she appeared on his doorstep.

Would he be angry? She was interfering, and he had made it plain that he did not want her involved. Of course he would be angry, but she could not tolerate the silence and suspicion any longer. She had to know where she stood.

Guy’s words of the day before had haunted her all night. What had he meant when he had said Graham would never have married a mousy schoolteacher? Graham had married her because of her love for children, and she certainly wasn’t one of the world’s greatest beauties. That made her close enough to a mousy schoolteacher in her own eyes. Was Guy telling her that Graham saw her in a different light? As far as she was aware, he had married her for Alexandra’s sake and because she was not afraid of him.

What pretense could Graham be hiding behind? She suspected he was involved in something here in London to do with Chadwell and his activities. There could be some pretense involved in that, but it should have naught to do with her. Guy was becoming as fanciful as Dolly. Next, he would be patting the gargoyles on the head and calling them by name.

Penelope smiled up at the ugly stone creatures guarding the doors. They would prevent evil from entering the house, no doubt. It was a wonder the carvings did not keep everyone from entering the house.

A servant dashed to open the door for her. She knew immediately that Graham was not here. Despite John at her side, the driver with her bags, and the footman who had scurried from the back, she knew the house was empty. It echoed hollow as the foyer filled with footsteps. Shadows flickered on the ceilings from the lamps hastily lit in the sconces on the wall. Heavy draperies hid the windows, and the covered furniture remained untouched from when they had left last June. She turned toward the stairs, but she knew Graham would not be there.

Minutes later as her maid laid out clean clothes and poured warm water in the basin, John knocked at her door to tell Penelope what she already sensed. Graham had come and gone.

“And Mr. Chadwell? Has he been here?”

Knowledge flickered behind the man’s eyes, but he apparently decided against revealing it. “He’s gone, too, milady. They ain’t been seen since your letter arrived the maid says.”

Penelope studied the servant. “Then he received it. Could something have happened on the road between here and Hampshire?”

John shrugged his narrow shoulders. “There could have been an accident, milady. They say as he took that big stallion of his and left in a tearing hurry, but he’s always got his cards about him. Looks to me like someone would have let us know if they found him.”

“Thieves could have picked his pockets. Or he could have taken one of his shortcuts across the fields and no one’s found him yet. We’ll have to hunt everywhere.”

“Yes, milady.”

Politely, he didn’t mention the possibility racing through Penelope’s head: that this was the season for men to be out in their fields and that hiding a man the size of Graham would be no easy task.

A light repast was prepared for her supper, but Penelope had no stomach for it. She left it on the table and carried a candle to Graham’s chamber. Perhaps he had left some evidence of where he had gone.

Finding nothing but the massive bed they had never shared, Penelope hurried on to the library, avoiding the memories. Memories made her eyes sting and brought a rush of fear. Nothing could have happened to Graham. Not Graham. He had survived that terrible accident. He could not be brought down by some petty thief. She would not believe it. They would find him, and shortly she would be in his arms again. They had a whole life ahead of them. There would be more children. The nursery would be full of laughter, and Graham would laugh with them. She refused to believe anything else.

The library had its own set of painful memories, but they all fled the instant Penelope laid eyes upon the letter lying open on the table. The paper was much the same as she had used to write to Graham. She had not used the Stanhope stationery but the few precious pieces of blank vellum she had hoarded in her desk at the cottage. Even the writing looked like hers, although a little heavier. She had never learned to press firmly on the nib. Some of the words were even the same—whole sentences, in fact. She stared at the letter in disbelief. It was hers, but not hers. How could that be?

Her plea for Graham’s presence stood out loud and clear, but what was this of being held against her will? Hands shaking, Penelope read the letter again, slowly scanning the words and feeling the impact Graham must have suffered as he read them. How could someone be so cruel, and why? Why would anyone want to make Graham think she had been abducted?

Chadwell would know. She had helped him when he needed it. He would help her. Nell would know where to find him. He might even be with her. All she had to do was find Nell. For that, she would need someone familiar with the East End.

Pippin. Pippin knew Chadwell. Pippin had carried his messages before.

Penelope refolded the letter and swept out in the direction of the stables.

Pippin watched her approach, but he did not move from the side of the large yellow mongrel to which he clung. Penelope observed the ugly beast with amusement and stopped to scratch behind its ears.

“Where did you find him?”

“’E followed me ’ere, ’e did,” Pippin answered warily.

“What do you feed him?” The dog’s limpid eyes watched Penelope with such gratitude that she had to smile.

“There’s a bloke in the kitchen what ’elps me find scraps. ’E don’t eat much, and ’e’s a good dog. ’E guards the ’ouse, ’e does. Ain’t no bloomin’ thief goin’ to get in ’ere.”

“Well then, he certainly deserves his dinner, doesn’t he? But dogs take a lot of care. You will have to bathe him and brush him to keep away the fleas and dirt. Will you do that?”

Pippin nodded eagerly. “Yes, mum. I been doin’ that. One of ’em grooms, ’e been teachin’ me. I do the same for Mate ’ere as ’e does for ’em ’orses.”

“Mate?”

“That’s what ’is lordship calls me,” Pippin answered proudly. “And ’at’s what me Mate is. So’s I thought if it’s good ’nough for me, it’s good ’nough for ’im.”

Penelope would have laughed but for this mention of Graham. Anxiously, she inquired, “When did you see his lordship, Pippin?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’ know. ’E comes and goes. Few days back, I reckon.”

“And Mr. Chadwell? Have you seen him?”

The boy looked at her suspiciously. “’Course. Ain’t I supposed to?”

That was a curious question, but Penelope didn’t linger long over it. “I need to find Mr. Chadwell. It’s very important, Pippin. Do you think you could help me find him?”

He brightened momentarily, then frowned. “I can go arsk Nell, but ’is lordship said you ain’t ever to go back there again. Me and Mate will go. ’E’s got a good sniffer. ’E’ll sniff ’im out in no time.”

Penelope dug her fingers into the dog’s thick skin. “I need to talk to Nell if you can’t find him. Can you bring her back here?”

The wariness returned to the boy’s eyes. “She won’t like it, but I’ll bring ’er, if you ask. ’Ow’s Goldie? ’Ave you seen ’er?”

Penelope forced herself to relax. “Just a few days ago. She’s doing beautifully. She had on the prettiest pink dress, and she’s laughing and making noises that sound just like she’s talking. We’ll go to see her sometime, if you like.”

“Yes, mum, milady. I’d like that. Me and Mate better gets goin’. It gets dark early now.”

“You’ll take the carriage. I’ll not have you walking those streets alone. Let me call John.”

John appeared ready to protest when commanded to seek out Chadwell’s mistress with Pippin’s help, but he apparently thought better of it. Graham’s servant would have no familiarity with the East End.

Penelope watched them go with trepidation. She feared to send them where she could not go herself, but she had little choice. She wished she had brought an army of footmen with her.

She walked back toward the house.

THE LONE FIGURE standing in the shadows inside the gate watched her depart through narrowed eyes. If Graham were in there, he would never capture her quietly.

But the snatches of conversation he had caught caused him to suspect she was alone. If Graham had already escaped his lair, it was all the more important to act fast.

He watched a light appear in an upstairs window, then traced the path of the roofline near the window. Every house in London had a means of reaching the roof so a man might climb up to clean the innumerable chimneys. This one was no exception. Smiling to himself, he located the ledge that would give him access to that room.

Lady Trevelyan was in for a bit of a surprise.

Not longer after, the lady gasped as he applied the cloth soaked in sweet smelling fumes over her mouth and nostrils. She struggled to rouse herself from sleep, but the gagging, noxious fumes sent her back into a sea of darkness.

He hovered above her until she lay still, then released the rag. The substance was dangerous, not to mention volatile, but he had used it before. Sometimes it was convenient to render a victim senseless, and it was easy to do after the mark had a tumble in bed with one of his girls. Out like a light they would be, for as long as he needed it to empty their pockets or their houses or rifle their offices. Then they would wake and blame it on a surfeit of wine and women.

He looked down on Penelope with contempt. She had not changed out of her dark poplin traveling gown. Obviously she expected the others back soon and intended to wait up for them. He had brought girls to the house like this, and by the time they woke, they were fully ruined, but this one would be more trouble than she was worth. He had other plans for her.

Getting her out of here would be easy. The houses’ secret passages and hiding places had been sources of great amusement since they were boys. The one to the street was always kept locked from the outside, but from in here it would provide no difficulty. Graham really should have blocked all those old tunnels long ago. It made things much too easy.

Swinging Penelope into his arms, he headed for Graham’s chambers.

CHAPTER 34

THE COLD PENETRATED Penelope’s senses first. She shivered, then reflexively gasped for air. It came damp and moldy but clean of noxious fumes. A warm, anxious voice whispered in her ear.

“Penny! Thank God, Penny. Wake up.”

Strong arms lifted her, shaking her slightly, and her eyes fluttered. The masculine voice was so familiar, so anxious and tinged with fear, that she wanted to reassure its owner, but her arms wouldn’t quite function. She felt funny all over, and her stomach was queasy. She shivered again, and he drew her into his lap. Her head rested on a broad shoulder, and she felt the coat wrapped around her, trapping her against the heat of his chest. It felt good, and she snuggled closer, her hand instinctively curling into the brocade of his waistcoat. Hard, masculine thighs warmed her bottom, and she squirmed, seeking a more comfortable position.

This time, a hint of laughter laced his voice. “Penny, my dear, sweet Penny, I love you dearly, I do, but if you do not soon wake I will be forced to take advantage of your helplessness. I am a starving man and you are a wickedly attractive woman and even these unfortunate circumstances cannot dampen my ardor.”

His words caused sufficient alarm to wake her. Through his tight trousers and her thin gown she could feel the full length of his maleness pressing into her. The sensation was not unpleasant, but with wakefulness came awareness, and her eyes flew open.

The dim light of this damp chamber was sufficient to note disheveled dark curls and laughing eyes. “Clifton!”

Something besides laughter lurked in those golden depths. She could not quit staring into them. Touching the narrow scar stopping dangerously near his eye, she had to escape by sliding from his lap.

Her feet a the damp floor, and her glance wavered to take in her surroundings. Chadwell rose from the narrow bench, supporting her with his arm as she absorbed their plight.

“Where are we?” she whispered, not backing away from his closeness as she studied the rough rock walls. The cubicle could be no bigger than a tall man in either length or width, and she turned her head toward the source of light. An iron grate exposed them to the elements, and the morning sun sent shadows down the towering walls.

He answered her questioning gaze. “He’s rigged some type of winch outside and lowered you in a basket. From the feel of my head, I think he just dropped me down.”

“Who?” Growing alarm erased the last vestige of ether.

“You did not see him, either?” he asked.

“I. . .I must have fallen asleep.” She searched her memory, and the pain of Graham’s disappearance returned. “I was in bed, asleep. I woke when they covered my face with a rag. I don’t remember anything else.”

Chadwell cursed and stared up at the square of light, his jaw tensing. “They seem to have got things a bit backward. I came out here expecting to find you, but ended up in this hole by myself. You were a little tardy in arriving.”

Penelope faced him with puzzlement. “I thought Graham went looking for me after receiving that horrible letter. I found it in his town library. It was a forgery. They must have taken the letter I mailed from Hampshire and copied parts of it. But Graham has disappeared, too. Did he send you after me?”

Chadwell shook his head in denial, and Penelope brightened in excitement. She caught his hand with renewed hope.

“You read the letter first? Then that means Graham has escaped! Don’t you see? That letter was meant to bring Graham out from hiding, but if it never reached him, then he is still safe. John and Pippin will discover I am gone, and they will send everyone looking for us. Graham will know what to do. Do you know where he is?”

Chadwell opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head mutely. “I know nothing other than that letter. I should not have acted so hastily, but your words were very effective.” He shrugged apologetically.

Remembering how he’d run to rescue Nell, Penelope flushed a little. “Is it the same man, do you think? The one that abducted Nell?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a hand in it. I had just found out some very ugly things about him when your letter arrived. I’d thought he meant to hold you until he left the country, but I’m afraid there may be a little more to it than that.”

“But Graham knows about it, doesn’t he? He can go to the authorities when he discovers us missing.”

Tiredly Chadwell ran his hand through his hair. “It will do no good to worry, Penelope. There is some bread and cheese in that basket under the bench. It seems we were not meant to starve, in any case. Why don’t we have a bite to eat instead of trying to puzzle this out on empty stomachs?”

Brought back to the realization of their situation, Penelope looked around with growing dismay. They had only the narrow bench to sit or lie upon. A tin pitcher and cup hung on a piece of wood jammed between the rocks, presumably holding their supply of water, but there was no basin for washing. Worst of all, there seemed nothing suitable for a chamber pot, and naturally, she discovered this to be her most pressing need.

“Is there no way out of here?” she whispered, her gaze tracing the cold stone walls for any sign of a door.

Chadwell reached out to a jagged rock protuberance and tried to shake it. “Solid, Penny. I have gone over them all. There used to be an old keep here. This would have been part of the dungeon. From what I understand of the times, we are fortunate not to find a skeleton. Our ancestors tended to be a murderous lot.”

“Man has not changed so very much then, has he?” She shivered and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, clutching at her elbows. “I am glad they did not put us in separate chambers, but it will be a trifle inconvenient. How long have you been down here?”

He leaned against the wall farthest from her. “Not long enough to be so desperate as to take a lady against her will, Penelope. I was only jesting earlier, surely you know that.”

She regarded him with wry humor. He really did have a devastatingly handsome countenance, but rape or seduction had not been on her mind. Perhaps it should have been, but she could not believe this charming man guilty of such crimes.

“I should hope you were jesting, for I fear I would find any attempt at lovemaking a most uncomfortable experience despite your best efforts. If you don’t mind my foolishness, have you been here long enough to discover where they hide the water closet?”

Chadwell erupted with laughter. She bore it with good humor. She feared any laughter might have a trace of hysteria in it.

Recovering, Chadwell retrieved the basket under the bench. “I fear I have not been very polite to our hosts. I have been making profane use of their dinnerware in return for their hospitality. Perhaps now that a lady resides here, they will be a little more considerate in their facilities.”

The basket contained a long loaf of bread and a large bowl of cheese. “These came down with you last night. They haven’t varied the fare, but they have increased it.” He dumped the cheese into the basket and offered her the porcelain bowl. “Shall I turn my back and sing loudly?”

Penelope stared at the bowl in dismay as she realized how he meant her to use it. Never had she been reduced to such circumstances. “Very loudly, please,” she replied meekly. “I am most uncomfortable.”

Chadwell gave her a sympathetic grin and turned his back. Gallantly he launched into a booming rendition of “Ach, Johnny, I hardly knew ye,” complete with all the melodramatics of voice and expression. Penelope’s shoulders were shaking with laughter by the time she finished, and tears ran down her cheeks.

She joined the final refrain with such pathos that Chadwell’s voice cracked with laughter. When she touched his arm, he turned and grabbed her waist.

“One good Gaelic ballad deserves another. How are you at ‘Lord Kildare, My Love’?”

Understanding his need, Penelope lifted her voice as loudly as she could in the first lines of the stanza, while keeping her back to the impromptu chamber pot. Her voice was not so loud as his, and her cheeks remained flushed when Chadwell returned to her side to join the refrain with his smooth baritone.

Her giggles brought the serenade to an end, and Chadwell sent their skylight a hopeful look. “Don’t you think when all the dogs in the neighborhood begin howling that someone might come investigate?”

“Either that, or fear the dead are walking and stay away.” Penelope lifted the pitcher from the wall and examined its contents. “Is there any chance that someone might hear us if we keep up a continual cacophony?”

“Very little, I fear, unless they are looking for us. In which case we would hear them first. I know this place well. It is unfit for anything but rock collectors.” Chadwell held out the tin cup so Penelope could pour a little water in it. He then produced a flask from his coat pocket and poured a generous dollop into the water. “That should warm you up a tad.” He handed her the concoction.

Penelope discovered she was not only starving, but dying of thirst. It was amazing how being deprived of something made it suddenly more desirable. She settled on the narrow bench and sipped the brandied water before handing it back to Graham’s cousin. She broke off a portion of bread and puzzled over the cheese until Chadwell produced a pocketknife and neatly sliced her a slab.

“I regret the meagerness of the refreshments, my lady. Had you warned me of your impending visit, I would certainly have ordered something more suitable.” Chadwell pushed the basket between them and settled on the other end of the bench.

“If you have drunk very much of this stuff, I can understand how you manage to be so abominably cheerful. Will it hold out until they come for us?”

Chadwell peered solemnly into the nearly empty cup. “Not at this rate. We will have to send the butler into the wine cellar. Where has that fellow got to, anyway?”

Penelope laughed at his nonsense and leaned back against the hard wall, staring up to the distant blue of the sky. Now that the day was beginning to warm, it did not feel so bad in here. She refused to think about the night. The man beside her strived hard to remain a gentleman, but the circumstances made everything difficult. She kept remembering the reassuring strength of his embrace, and she had difficulty keeping her gaze from straying to the dark fur of his chest just visible where his shirt fell open at the throat. She still wore his coat around her shoulders, and his cravat lay loose and untied against his waistcoat. Never one for formality, Chadwell had abandoned any pretense of it here.

At her silence, Clifton lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Your thoughts?”

Penelope studied the dark stubble on his chin and the line of his mouth. His upper lip had a firm, chiseled look to it, but there was an appealing sensuousness to the rounding of the lower. She got only as far as the dent in his square jaw and sighed. “Do you really think we will escape?”

Chadwell touched a finger to her chin. “If I did not, I would not be spending my last hours chivalrously resisting your charms, my lady.”

In this light his eyes were a gleaming amber. She felt his desire in the way his fingers molded to her jaw, saw it in the smoldering depths of his eyes, and knew it met his match in her own.

“Don’t, Cliff. You are too much like Graham,” she whispered.

“Am I?” He did not seem surprised, and he did not release her. His fingers smoothed her cheek and drifted down the line of her jaw to her throat. “In what way?”

Penelope jerked her head away and gulped her doctored water. “In every way, except that you are an incurable rake, and I must believe Graham is a faithful husband.”

“Must believe? Does that mean there are some doubts?” Chadwell returned to the task of dismantling his crust of bread.

“I don’t know. He is so. . . enigmatic, sometimes. I had hoped we were coming closer to an understanding, but then he hied himself off to London as soon as I turned my back. I could understand if he had left a message, some word when he knew how worried I was about Augusta, but he was so eager to depart that even his servant didn’t know where he was.”

“How is Augusta? I am sorry I did not ask earlier. Other thoughts took precedence, I’m afraid.”

Penelope could not put her tongue around the words. Any attempt to do so would reduce her to tears. She posed the answer lightly. “If only the good die young, she has gone to join all the other sinners.”

“To hell with good intentions,” Chadwell muttered as he gathered her into his arms. When he held her securely against his shoulder, he murmured, “You know better than that. They didn’t come any younger than Augusta. I’m sorry, Penny. Someone should have been with you.”

He offered her all the comfort she had longed for, the gentle, understanding words, the security of his embrace, the knowledge that someone cared, that she wasn’t alone. It would be so easy to take what Cliff offered, but she knew the difference between right and wrong, and this was wrong. Graham might never offer her the love she needed, but he was her husband, and she owed him her loyalty. Reluctantly she disentangled herself.

“It’s all right. Adelaide and Brian were there. I just wish I knew what happened to Graham. Let us talk of something else. I have always wondered what America would be like. Educate me. Are the towns very much like ours?” Clutching her arms to keep from shivering with her need for comfort, Penelope stared at the far wall rather than her companion.

Chadwell made a sound of angry irritation. Standing up, he paced the few steps from wall to wall. He pounded a fist into his palm and seemed to choke on his words. Penelope stared up at him wide-eyed, wondering what it was she had said.

He finally turned, and leaning over her, placed his hands on either side of her head, trapping her against the wall. The muscle in his jaw worked furiously.

“Penny, I have so greatly wronged you already, don’t ask me to lie to you anymore. I want to make things right, but I don’t know how any longer. Everything I can do will only make things worse. This must be God’s revenge, trapping me in a room with no escape with the woman I want more than life itself and no means of persuading her into my arms without making her hate me. What am I to do, Penelope?”

His desperation frightened her. She stared up at him without understanding, knowing only the strength of the arms pinning her in place. She felt only the urge to comfort, to touch his square jaw until he smiled again, to return things to normal. His intensity was beyond her comprehension.

“I am married to your cousin, Cliff. You ought not to be saying these things to me,” she whispered. Chadwell’s magnetism had ever been her downfall, but she had to resist. A man like Chadwell would scarcely look twice at her had they been on a dance floor with crowds of elegant people. He spoke only out of loneliness and a desperation she did not understand.

Her sensible words deflected his anger, and Chadwell collapsed beside her on the bench. Her constant proximity would drive him to madness if he did not find a solution. They could die this day, and it would be with all these lies on his head. Worse, he could die alone, and she would be left to sort out his various treacheries after he was gone. What in hell was he going to do to make her understand?

Resting his shoulders against the wall, he closed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Then I won’t say these things to you. Let me tell you a storybook tale instead.”

“Not a bedtime story, I trust,” Penelope replied with mockery.

He peered at her skeptically through one barely opened eye. “Don’t laugh. By the time the sun sets you will be glad enough for my services to keep you warm. Now be a good girl and listen for a change. I promise not to put you to sleep.”

When she made no answer, he nodded and closed his eye again. “Very good. Now, once upon a time there was a foolish young prince who thought he owned the world. Because he was so arrogant and full of himself, other foolish young men thought he must be important, and thus they did their best to emulate him. The young prince was too arrogant to even notice; he simply accepted that if he raced phaetons, or gambled on horses, or joined a particular club, his subjects would, too. When he decided to move on to other pursuits, he assumed his subjects would do the same. He never noticed nor cared if they did not.”

Chadwell opened his eyes and glared at the far wall. “When the princeling eventually grew bored with his idle pursuits, he decided it was time to wed, and he chose a young princess whose beauty and charms momentarily pleased him. While he was occupied playing house with his new wife, his subjects continued to carouse and become more unruly. One in particular whom he knew to be a troublemaker grew rather demanding upon the kingdom’s coffers until the prince cut him off without a farthing.”

When Penelope made no comment, Chadwell rose restlessly and tested the rocky walls for foot or finger holds. He had already spent hours searching fruitlessly for escape, but Penelope’s presence made it imperative. If their captor was the one he thought, he could not believe he would harm Penelope, but he had no desire to find out. He continued to speak as he methodically tested every crack and crevice.

“By this time the prince had grown bored with escorting his young princess from ball to ball, and he began looking for other challenges. His old friends were still involved with what he considered childish activities, so he continued to ignore them. He knew the troublemaker had fallen in with a dangerous lot, but he had been destined for such a fate from birth. His old comrade was old enough to take care of himself, and the prince felt no responsibility for putting an end to his troublesome career. He warned his old friend of the dangers ahead and went about his own business.

“By now, the young couple knew they were to be blessed with a child, and the prince determined he would settle down and learn to be a proper husband and father and take up the responsibility of commanding his kingdom, a pastime he had hitherto neglected. The princess, being very young, resented this change from their social whirl, but with the child coming, she had little choice in the matter.”

Penelope realized he had to be talking of Graham and his wife. It was not the story she had heard from society, but then, what would society know of private grievances between the young couple? It saddened Penelope to think people blessed with so much could be so selfish as to spoil it all, but they might have learned better had Marilee lived. Surely Alexandra would have taught them the delights of parenthood. But if the prince of this tale was Graham, where did Chadwell fit in? As the troublemaker? That seemed very likely, and she stared at his broad back with growing dismay.

“The prince threw himself into his latest challenge, finding it very much to his liking. He spent his days learning the management of his modest kingdom and his nights discussing plans and changes with his father, who was too ill to continue an active interest. The princess must have felt very left out, but the prince, in his self-importance, was too busy to notice.”

Penelope frowned. Chadwell was being terribly harsh on Graham. Marilee could have shown an interest in the estate, and Graham would more than likely have been delighted to teach her. She wondered how much more of this tale was slanted, and she started to object, but the movement of Chadwell’s hands distracted her.

She watched his right hand as he gripped a rock. The smallest finger stood out at an odd angle. It did not seem to function in coordination with the others. Why had she never noticed that before?

Perhaps because he made her uneasy, and instead of confronting her fears, she always looked away when he turned in her direction. As he continued to speak with his back turned toward her, she felt safe in observing him. She was a coward, no doubt, but she could not tear her gaze away.

“The child was born with much pomp and ceremony, and for a while, everything seemed to be merry again. But then, one day, the prince received word that one of his closest friends was in dire trouble. Heedless of the harm he could bring on his small family, the prince galloped off to the rescue, proving to himself, if no one else, that he had not grown old and stale. With much flourish and triumph, he saved his friend from the troublemaker’s followers and carried him back to the kingdom to be nursed back to health, although both he and his friend made more enemies with this act.”

Penelope knew this part of the story, although Chadwell evidently wasn’t aware of the fact. Instead of concentrating on his mocking words, she watched him with growing fascination. He had succeeded in finding a toehold and now groped higher up the wall, where the sunlight reached. She could see now that he had some difficulty gripping with the right fingers, but he did not let the defect deter him. The sunlight revealed a thin white scar across the back of his hand, and unconsciously, she began to knead at her own hand while she sought an elusive memory.

“The arrogant prince thought he had restored his kingdom to peace until the night he came home to find his wife weeping her heart out and his dear friend, flown.

“Even then, the shallow cad thought things would return to normal if he pretended nothing was wrong. That was his undoing. The next night, when he returned home, it was to find the princess flown after his friend.”

Chadwell gave up the futile search and dropped to the ground. Taking the bench beside her, he caught her hand and began to play with her wedding band.

“That was when the prince learned a kingdom could be lost or stolen as easily as it can be gained. He ran after her, hoping to find the glass slipper, I suppose. He caught up with her pumpkin, but the princess refused his offers. In his fury the prince continued driving the pumpkin instead of forcing the horses to go back to his castle. His mind was on the betrayal in his own home and not the anarchy that reined in his kingdom. It was raining. The night was black. He had no inkling of the ambush planned until the troublemaker and his horde rode out of the bushes with murderous intent.”

Chadwell’s right hand closed over Penelope’s, squeezing tightly. Penny rubbed at the jagged scar marring the brown skin of his hand.

“The villains had planned this meeting well, timing it just as the carriage rode over a narrow bridge. They deliberately fired a gun in the air, panicking the racing horses. The prince might have handled them under better circumstances, but it was pouring rain, the bridge was narrow and slippery, and a light phaeton was the worst possible vehicle for such a night. He tried to keep the terrified beasts on the road while riding straight at the villains blocking the bridge, but even as he brought the horses under control, a wheel hit a loose plank and all was lost.

“At that speed the phaeton flew into the air and down the steep embankment to the rocks below, just as the troublemakers had planned, although they had thought it was the prince’s friend running away with the princess. It seems his friend had given evidence to the authorities of their villainy, and they were exacting retribution. They did not realize it was the prince that they destroyed.”

The strangled tone of Chadwell’s voice told Penelope more than she wanted to know. She stared up at the white line marring his beard-stubble, her eyes growing round as a painful ache twisted her stomach. Unconsciously she clutched his linen-covered arm, as if to prevent him from saying what would follow next.

Chadwell doggedly continued his tale. “The prince must have been knocked unconscious at first, but the rain woke him. He recognized the voices of the villains who had sent him over the bridge, but he could not hear his wife. He tried to call out but could not. He felt as if he were merely a ghost hovering over the scene, watching the mortals sliding down the embankment or standing on the edge, calling to each other as they examined the wreckage, searching to be certain their victim would never speak out again. In the dark and the rain and the mud, they did not search very hard, and they did not see the prince hidden beneath the carriage, but he could hear them, and he knew them. The troublemaker was not among them as he had surmised, but a man he had thought a friend and neighbor rode up in a carriage directly afterward and ordered them all to leave. Instead of coming down to help, to look for the injured, or sending for help, he told them to forget it and get out before anyone saw them.”

The pain was still there. After all these years, the pain of that betrayal rang loud and clear, and Penelope nearly wept. She didn’t understand how or why. She couldn’t put her knowledge into logic or reason, but she knew it as surely as she knew the color of his eyes. The prince and the man beside her were one and the same—and they both were Graham.

CHAPTER 35

“DON’T,” Penelope whispered. “Don’t tell me anymore. I know what happens. Remembering will not change it. Grief will not bring her back. Pray she is happy now, love her daughter, and know that she would want you to go on with your life.”

Golden eyes met hers for the first time since the story began. He smoothed her cheek, brushed a tendril from her face. Penelope stared back, fear clawing at her insides. She did not know how he had accomplished it. She did not understand why he had done it, but now that her eyes were open, she knew she had discovered the truth.

The thin scar along Chadwell’s cheek skirted the eye that Graham had kept patched, but the mark was in the same place. It stopped short of his lips, and she remembered the nights when she had wondered how he had kissed her so fully in the darkness when he could not during the day. Explanations for many little things flooded her mind, but she shoved them aside to answer the hurt in his eyes.

She traced the scar along his cheek. “I know it is presumptuous of me, but I love you. Could you not give my love a chance to ease the pain, if only just a little?”

The sun had reached its zenith and poured down on them as Penelope looked and touched as she had never been allowed before.

“You do not know what you say, my love.” Wonderingly, he caressed the line of her cheek. “You have the power to ease my pain, to lighten my days and nights, to make me whole again, but I have only treachery and deceit to offer you in return.” He brushed his lips along her brow.

“No more deceit. If we ever escape, we will start anew. Can’t we?” Penelope pleaded with him as his kisses worked their magic. She could no longer think but only respond to the need swelling between them.

He had taken away her hopes of rescue. There was naught else they could do but wait for their captor to return. What difference did it make now if they should spend their last hours in each other’s arms?

Penelope clung to the strength of Graham’s shoulders as his tongue plundered her mouth and aroused her to an aching desire. He eased her into his lap so his hand could roam freely, cupping her breast while his kiss deepened. That wasn’t enough, and wantonly, she teased his tongue with hers, and her hand strayed to find the fastenings of his shirt.

She lovingly traced the scars below his collarbone, and when he loosened the drawstring of her bodice, she felt no fear. However it came to be, this handsome man she knew as Chadwell was her husband, and she loved him.

Graham lowered her bodice and chemise and splayed his bare hand along the side of her breast while his thumb played with the rising peak. He had no need of the glove any longer, and she reveled in the sensation of his skin against hers.

Penelope caught her breath as Graham’s mouth transferred from her lips to her breast, but the pleasure released all inhibition. She arched into his embrace, ran her fingers along the strong column of his throat to the hard muscled planes of his chest, and deliriously felt the rigid line of his arousal beneath her. She knew where this led, and she wanted it as much as he. More, because now she could look up into his handsome face and run her fingers through his hair and know he would not reject her caress.

As if sensing her need to look and touch, Graham returned her to the bench and helped her to pull off his shirt. Her hand was dwarfed by the broad expanse revealed, but he gave her little time to explore. He released the ribbons of her chemise and pushed it downward with her gown. with the simple expedient of lifting her with one arm about her waist, he removed gown and chemise in one swoop until she was naked against him.

Spreading his coat across the rough bench, Graham lay her upon it, then stood to complete his own undressing. Able to see him clearly for the first time, Penelope watched unabashedly. She lifted her arms to welcome him.

She shivered in ecstasy at the first touch of his heated flesh against hers. She opened to him without hesitation. Graham lingered, seeking the pulse at her throat with his kiss, stroking her curves with his broad hands as he learned the secrets of her body in the filtered light of the sun.

Penelope read his pleasure in the way he lifted his head to look at her, in the sensual line of his mouth as he bent to kiss her again, and in the golden gleam of his eyes as he discovered her joy. She had not thought such happiness possible from simply knowing she was the one he wanted. He chased away any remaining doubts that he cared.

They came together then, blending with a grace born of desire and a powerful hunger. Graham’s body moved within hers, wakening her fully to the purpose it was designed for. Swelling with the need to welcome him, Penelope moaned his name in pleasure and rocked with him. Needing no further encouragement, Graham thrust deeply into the cradle of her body, bringing them to the precipice and over.

Afterward, Graham lifted his heavy weight, but Penelope could not bear to let him go, and she dragged him back. His hips pressed against hers, flattening her spine to the hard board they lay on, but she held him while she could. She felt him raise up on his hands to look at her, and she smiled and looked up to him with satisfaction.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“There are times when I almost believe you,” he muttered in wonder, caressing a long tendril of hair from her cheek. “Whatever happened to my unromantic Penelope?”

The gaze of just one of Graham’s golden eyes had been difficult enough to deal with. It would take some time to accept the effect of two.

“A wicked prince disguised as a beast stole her heart and taught it to love. I don’t think she’ll ever be the same again.”

“He’s still a beast,” he warned. “All the fairy tales in the world won’t change him.”

“Oh, he’s a beast, no doubt.” Penelope closed her eyes and shivered with pleasure as his hand claimed her breast, and she felt the tightening in his groin. “And it’s quite possible I shall live to regret becoming his victim, but let us pretend just a little while longer.”

“This part is not the pretense, Penelope,” Graham whispered against her ear as he moved inside her again. “This is the part that is real.”

And so it was. His beard scraped against her skin wherever he kissed her. Her posterior could already feel the bruises of their cruel bed. Graham’s masculine scent had a strong flavor of brandy, but Penelope would not give up one particle of the reality of their love-making. She knew she was not dreaming when her body arched and met the driving demand of his. She could taste the perspiration rolling down his chest, see the strain of his jaw muscles as he sought his release with her own, and knew his pleasure was as real as the one exploding inside her. Whatever the outside world held, this was real.

They slept wrapped in each other’s arms until the sun lowered, turning the twilight to damp. When he could no longer warm her with his heat, Graham swung his foolish wife into his lap and reached for her clothes.

Sleepily she wriggled into chemise and gown but resisted standing up so he could pull them over her hips. She curled against his chest, not wanting to be disturbed.

Graham chuckled. “I do believe this is where we began this morning, my lady, although admittedly, I am enjoying it much more without my clothes.”

She finally opened her eyes to glance at the grate above their heads. “Will they come soon?” Obediently she stood when Graham lifted her to the floor.

“Unless they mean to starve us to death,” he replied grimly, reaching for his trousers.

A faint howling in the distance added eerie emphasis to his words. There was light yet above, but in this deep shaft, all was shadow. If someone came, they couldn’t lift them out without their cooperation. That was small consolation. Their enemies could simply leave them to starve.

“What will they do?” Penelope asked. “If we are being held for ransom, who is left to pay it?”

Graham didn’t know what would happen if their captors thought he was still above and they just held his cousin. Who would they go to if they couldn’t find him?

The howling came closer. Penelope cast the grate another nervous glance while Graham shrugged into his shirt. “Surely there are no wolves in this place?”

He stopped fastening his cuff to listen. “No wolves, but it’s rather an odd time for a fox hunt, too. I wonder if the creature is in pain?”

The staccato barks following the howl put an end to that theory. Graham hastily shoved his shirt into his trousers and fastened them. “Give me some of that cheese.”

Penelope broke off a hunk and held it while Graham sought for the toe and hand holds he had found earlier. Part way up the wall, he held out his hand for the cheese. It was an awkward position to throw from, but he heaved the hunk upward. It reached the top but toppled straight back down. Graham cursed while Penelope searched the floor for the crumb. This was their supper he was playing with.

His second try was more successful, and he grunted of satisfaction when the cheese did not fall back. He dropped to the floor. The dog’s yelps were louder, followed by a distant mumble of voices.

“Do dogs like cheese?” Penelope asked.

“We will hope this one does. Prepare to yell with all your might. This place is not easily seen even when you’re on top of it.”

“Do you really think they are looking for us?” Penelope clutched Graham’s arm for support.

He circled her waist and continued staring upward. “The man or men who put us here did so in the dark of night and without the infernal commotion of a dog. I can think of no other reason why someone would be out there. Yell, Penelope, they are closer.”

They yelled. They screamed. They laughed at the echoing sounds they produced. Graham’s roar bounced off the walls like thunder. Penelope pitched her soprano higher. In minutes, the cries of other voices came closer.

“They’re coming! Oh, Graham, they’re coming!” Penelope hugged him, burying her face against his shoulder. “Will they be able to get us out?”

“If they have a rope and a place to tie it, I’ll get us out. It will be all right.” His words were meant to reassure, but he remained tense.

A childish voice screamed in excitement, and the dog’s howls and yips echoed down the shaft. A dirty, tear-begrimed face appeared at the grate, and garbled cries of delight obliterated any coherent speech.

“Pippin!” Penelope gazed up at the boy in astonishment. She recognized the ugly hound sniffing the grate for more cheese. The hungry stray had some use, after all.

Adult voices followed, and soon Pippin was replaced by Guy. “Are you all right?”

“We’ll be better when you get a confounded rope down to us. Look around up there. He’s been using some kind of winch to lower us,” Graham called.

Guy moved away. Penelope recognized John’s voice. From a distance, the sound of horses and carriage echoed.

“I don’t know how in hell your orphan brat found us, but I think I will send him to Oxford one day,” Graham muttered in Penelope’s ear.

“I sent Pippin and John to find Nell,” she told him. “They must have been together when they found me missing. And he’s not my orphan. You found him first.”

“I suppose I did. He never was one to stay put. He’d run away that time I met you. Where did he find the dog?”

“That’s Mate.” Penelope would have gone into further nervous explanation, but an eruption of excitement above distracted her.

“Here it is! Get that damned grate off. Pippin, get the blamed dog out of here before he falls down the hole!”

Guy’s exasperation was apparent, and Penelope giggled. How had he ever led a company of soldiers when he could not deal with a small boy and a dog? Graham gave her a telling look, but made no comment on her giggles. Keeping her in his embrace as if fearful she would escape, he patiently watched the rescue process.

At last, the grate was removed and a thick rope slithered down the wall. When it nearly reached shoulder level, Graham kissed Penelope and tilted her chin to look up at him. “Be strong, Penelope. Don’t let me hurt you. I’m not worth it.”

His words terrified her, as they were meant to do. She had not thought beyond escaping, but obviously he had. She didn’t know what he meant to do, but she recognized the hardness of his expression. If she needed any further proof that Chadwell was the man she had married, she could read it in the terrible scowl that she knew as Graham’s.

Before she could respond, Graham had released her to tug on the rope. He tested it with his full weight, then satisfied, gestured for Penelope to join him. Anxious faces peered down from above.

“I’ll need both hands to climb this. I want you to hang on to my neck. I’ll wrap the extra length around us for protection, but don’t let go, Penelope. It’s much too dangerous. Just hang onto me and we will be out of here in a few seconds.”

It was a most unladylike position he asked of her, but Penelope nodded. Gazing upward, she could not imagine how he would haul both of them out of here, but she would not doubt his word. She allowed him to tie the rope around them, binding them together so he sheltered her with his body.

She could not watch. She heard the quiet encouragement of those above as Graham pulled them up the rope, hand over hand, using his feet to half walk them up the rocks and to keep from bumping against the jagged edges. But she could not look down to their prison below.

Hands caught and pulled her to safety along with Graham. He crawled out of the hole, his fingers working the knot between them. The sun still lingered up here, and Penelope opened her eyes to gaze up into his worried face. The knot slipped free, and Graham bent over to soothe her lips with a long, searing kiss.

“What the devil?” Guy’s furious cry intruded as he grabbed the back of Graham’s shirt and jerked him upward.

Graham leapt to his feet and raised his fists, prepared to defend himself. Guy backed away, bewilderment creasing his brow as he gazed from the handsome rake confronting him to Penelope, who was righting her gown. She flushed with the difficulty of explaining that the man with dark curly hair and nearly perfect features was Graham. Or should she explain?

Seeing that she did not express outrage at this assault, Guy turned his speculative gaze back to the man she had been trapped with. “Graham?” Incredulity laced his voice.

While Penelope hugged Pippin and fought off the excited licks of his huge hound, Graham watched someone stepping from the carriage that had stopped below the ruins. Scarred features tightened into harsh lines, and he raised his fists in balls of fury.

Terrified, Penelope turned, expecting to find the evil villain who had imprisoned them. She saw only Arthur limping across the rocks. Behind him and obviously disobeying orders, Dolly leapt from the carriage to run after him.

“By the devil, I cannot believe you’d be so dashed bottle-brained as to ever step in my presence again, but if you think that your infamy has gone unnoticed, you will pay for your conceit now.” Graham strode down the hill.

Penelope’s screams joined Dolly’s and were accompanied by Guy’s shouts, but neither man halted. Graham swung first and Arthur dodged the blow, but the second powerful blow caught his mid-section. The younger man crumpled to the ground, but gamely, he tried to scramble back up.

Running down the hill, Guy grabbed Graham’s shirt-sleeved arm, holding him back with difficulty while Dolly covered her fallen brother with her own body. Her tearful cries made no impression on Graham. His rigid jaw indicated he waited only for the opportunity to strike again.

“By gad, you cannot strike a lame man! Have you taken leave of your senses?” Guy positioned himself between Dolly’s brother and what he must perceive as a strange Graham.

Penelope stepped hesitantly toward her husband, but he seemed neither to see nor care for her presence. Rage and hatred had drawn him into a rigid statue.

Was Arthur the man Graham had labeled the “troublemaker”? Surely he could not be the one who had betrayed him and left him to die? Five years ago Arthur would have been no more than a boy of twenty.

Arthur regained his feet. Leaning on Dolly, he searched Graham’s face without understanding. “How? How have you hidden yourself all these years? At least let us have some explanations before I call my seconds.”

Graham glared, but scornfully, he moistened his finger and wiped at one corner of his dark eyebrow. The paint smeared, leaving a glimmer of gray in the thick hairs above his scarred eye. “Call your seconds, Reardon. I’m no invalid. The choice of weapons is yours, but with that leg, I’d recommend pistols. I think we can both see well enough to make it a fair fight.”

“No!” Dolly screamed hysterically, clinging to her brother’s coat. “Arthur, tell him! Tell him you have done nothing wrong!”

Guy continued standing between his two friends, eyeing Graham critically. “How did you do the hair? It’s been gray since we were boys.”

Penelope saw Graham’s jaw twitch with fury, but John touched her arm, deferentially shaking his head as if to ward her away. Sick at her stomach, she didn’t know which way to turn. These people were her friends. She had thought them Graham’s friends. Why had he turned on them?

Silently Graham pried at the tight covering upon his forehead. He peeled off the dark wig and flung it to the ground. The familiar wild mane of rough-cropped silver hair stood out against the darkness. To forestall further questions, he added, “And the scar was sticking plaster. Now out of my way, Hamilton. That man is as responsible for Marilee’s death as all the others, and this time, he’s gone too far. Penelope could have died from that drug he gave her, or from a fall down that shaft. I’ll not settle for his just leaving the country this time. I’m going to kill him.”

Arthur blanched, but Dolly’s shrieks drowned anything he had to say. Guy looked shocked and turned to Penelope for confirmation of this new accusation.

She shook off John’s restraining hand and walked down to join them. “Graham, I cannot say that it was Arthur who kidnapped me. I cannot remember anything. How would he carry me out of the house? He can barely stand alone.”

Her voice of reason made no more difference than Dolly’s hysteria. Graham glared at the offender. “Ask Arthur how he did it. I daresay his good friend DeVere was helpful, but the troublemaker really should have burned that note you wrote him, Reardon. He’s grown too over confident, our friend has. He thinks I don’t know of his involvement, that I won’t come after him like all the others, but he’s wrong. I’m saving him for last. You don’t know much about the bastard you befriended, do you, Reardon? Well, the government intends to help me make his death one to remember. I understand they have rather unpleasant means of disposing of traitors.”

The gasps this pronouncement produced brought no satisfaction to Graham’s demeanor. Penelope paled as much as Arthur. She dropped her hand from his arm.

When he glanced down at her, she stared at him in horror. “You pretended to be an invalid so you could spy on your friends? You deceived me so you could have your revenge for something that happened long ago? And now you would destroy the Reardons, your friends, me, and Alexandra by dueling over something that can be neither proven nor disproved? Unless you have evidence to incriminate Arthur of my kidnapping, I cannot condone this. I do not think I know you at all, Graham. I can forgive you much, but I cannot forgive you if you do this thing.”

For a brief moment, pain flickered in Graham’s eyes. He raised his hand to her, and then the moment was gone, his expression closed into that implacable mask she knew so well, and his hand dropped.

“Arthur drove the carriage that night. He was the one who ordered the others to leave Marilee there, dying, with the rain pouring in her wounds. Would you have me forgive that?”

Dolly’s shrieks had died to choking sobs. Guy turned questioningly to his young friend. Arthur offered no denial.

Still, Penelope searched her husband’s face. “If you kill him, you will have to leave the country. Is it worth it for something that happened a long time ago, when he was no more than a boy?”

Graham’s grim visage did not change. “I vowed to avenge Marilee’s death. That vow is the only reason I kept on living. I will not break that vow even for you, Penelope.”

“I am sorry, Graham, I believe God would forgive you if you broke that vow, just as I believe He will forgive me if I break mine now. If you must do this, I will consider you not to be the man I married. The vows we said in the church would be meaningless.”

The meadow and the fallen ruin they stood upon darkened with the shadows of twilight as. No sound other than Dolly’s sobs could be heard. Even as Penelope boldly stood up to her husband for the first time, he regarded her expressionlessly, before turning to the man waiting for the verdict.

“I will be expecting your seconds before sunrise, Reardon.”

Broken-hearted, Penelope lifted her skirt without another word and started down the hill toward the carriage.

CHAPTER 36

PENELOPE WAS BARELY aware of how she arrived at the Hall and had even less notion of who accompanied her. She only knew that her bedchamber was dark and empty as she began deliberately choosing those few frocks she wished to take with her.

She felt totally alone although the house was teeming with servants. Alexandra slept in the chamber above but she could not, would not think of her. She could not steal Graham’s child away, no matter how great a beast he had become.

Her choices of clothing scarcely filled a small trunk. She left behind the jewels, the delicate slippers, the elegant gowns, and gossamer night wear. She would not need them in the village.

With equal deliberation she took the full sum of the last charitable allowance Graham had left for her the week before. Some good would come of this fiasco, whether he liked it or not.

Soul and heart aching with a pain she could barely endure, Penelope ordered the carriage brought around. She had only one place to go, and Graham knew it. There would be no point in hiding her destination. She gave the orders to be taken to Hampshire.

She could not bear to hear the outcome of the dawn meeting. It would rend her heart in two, no matter what the outcome.

The carriage rattled through the night on familiar roads. Penelope’s head ached with weariness, but she could not sleep. There was so much left unexplained, so much she did not understand, but she was not capable of logical thought. She only knew she had to get away.

The dark cottage was not as welcoming as she had expected. Without Augusta, it became just another house, as the Hall was nothing without Graham. The loneliness brought tears to her eyes, but she would not give in to them. She had survived as much before. She would do so again. It would just take time to learn to do it on her own, without Augusta’s sage advice or Graham’s false security.

She let the footman light a fire for her, then sent him and the coach on to Stanhope Manor to rest. Adelaide and Brian would be over by day’s end, but by then perhaps she would have perfected a reasonable story.

All she really wanted was to be left alone until she could reassemble the pieces of her broken life and patch them into some usable purpose again.

GRAHAM KNEW Penelope was gone by the time he returned to the Hall. He had known she would be, and he had given her time to do it. His only worry was Alexandra, and he hastened up the steps to the nursery.

He breathed a sigh of relief and frowned at the same time as he gazed down upon the innocent sleep of his daughter. Whatever became of him, he knew Penelope would always watch over Alexandra. Although it would have broken his heart, it would have been better if she had taken the child with her. They would both be safer away from here, and they could have comforted each other. He certainly didn’t deserve the gift Penelope had given him of Alexandra’s love.

With that thought Graham closed the door and returned downstairs where the others awaited him.

Arthur sat wearily slumped in a tapestried wing chair of some antiquity that Penelope had rescued from the rubbish pile and ordered restored. Guy had sprawled across a sturdy leather sofa, his head bent over the arm and his boots crossed over the seat. Penelope had ordered that chair there for the use of his “uncivilized” friends who would have damaged a more delicate piece of furniture. Graham wrapped his fingers around the corner of a heavy library table as these memories of his wife washed over him. His wife. She had been more wife and helpmeet than the woman who had driven him to this moment.

Guy didn’t even glance up as he growled, “You never deserved her, anyway. I hope she took Alexandra.”

“She didn’t. Penelope wouldn’t.” Graham lowered himself to his desk chair as if he were the cripple he had pretended to be all these years. The crippling was on the inside now, but the effect was the same. He would never be whole again.

“Go after her, Graham. Leave this to Guy and myself. It’s not your fight. It has never been your fight,” Arthur whispered in hoarse anguish.

All these years Graham had thought Arthur a traitor, no better than the murderers who had sent Marilee’s carriage over the bridge. How wrong had he been about the others he had hounded to death? Penelope had been right. Only God had the right to play God.

Graham’s scorn was all for himself. “I’ll not have Penelope touched by any of this. She is innocent and will remain so. I started this long before you were of an age to understand, Arthur, and I will finish it. The worst has already befallen me. You two still have your lives ahead of you. Go on back to them and let me deal with the bastard. The wretch has cost me everyone I have ever loved, and I intend to make him pay.”

“Oh, very well said, Othello,” Guy mocked. “Or are we Hamlet tonight? I’m not much up on your heroes, but I’ll wager there’s some good swashbuckling to follow. I’ll be deviled if I let you take the lead again, Trevelyan. Set one foot out of this house without me and I’ll come after you first and DeVere later.” These brave words were spoken tonelessly, without Guy moving a single muscle of his elegantly draped frame.

“Same here, Gray.” Arthur twisted his cane between his hands. “I cannot forgive myself for trusting the scoundrel. All these years of fighting and I still cannot prove to myself that it wasn’t cowardice that sent me running to DeVere for help that night. I have to prove that I can stand up to him. You’ve already suffered enough for my blindness, Gray. Go after Penelope.”

“The bloodthirsty louts would probably have put a bullet through my head as well as the horse’s that night if you hadn’t sent them away. You did what you could. Let’s not go over it again.” Wearily Graham stared at the brandy decanter on the corner of his desk. That bottle had been his only solace for too long. He didn’t lift a hand to reach it now.

Arthur had tried to go for help that night. He had tried to prevent the ambush but arrived too late. Thinking Guy to be the victim, he had sent the villains away and rushed to DeVere—-Graham and Guy’s old friend, DeVere—for help. To go to the authorities would have meant implicating his fellow club members. He had counted on DeVere to come to the rescue.

Foolish youth. Graham ground his teeth and switched his gaze to the fire in the grate. He had known since they were boys that DeVere had some willful, sick streak in his character that enjoyed the pain of others, but he had thought it a boy’s viciousness and had not considered the effect when matured to adulthood. DeVere had fallen gleefully into the gambling, whoring ways of idle youth in London, but this, too, Graham had discounted. So many others of their age had succumbed to this pagan life that he could not condemn DeVere for it. He had simply ignored him and went on with his own life. Not once had he considered the older man’s influence on others.

So, in a way, it was his own fault. Graham didn’t doubt that DeVere had been the one to send his drunken playmates out to seek revenge against Guy. When the incident had got out of hand and Graham and his wife became the victims, it had probably not disturbed a particle of his warped soul. Graham had foiled his attempt to silence Guy. In DeVere’s mind, he had probably deserved the accident. He’d certainly not responded to Arthur’s cry for help.

If nothing else, the experience had completely disillusioned Arthur to his old friend’s character or lack thereof, but it had destroyed the boy’s confidence in himself, too. So what did the hands of God require Graham to do now? Save the lad’s life by sending him home to his mother, or let him regain his self-esteem by allowing him to hunt DeVere down for the dog he was? Graham groaned and covered his eyes. He needed Penelope’s wise judgment to guide him.

“DeVere is after me,” Graham reminded them. “He abducted Penelope and forged those notes just to lure me out where he can get at me. I think he’s finally realized that I know him for what he is, and that I am coming after him as I did the others. You and Guy can’t destroy him any longer, but I can. He will leave you and your families alone if you will just stay out of this.”

Arthur started to speak, but Guy’s harsh voice overrode him. “Balderdash! There ain’t a soul safe while that bounder walks the streets. He’ll be hitting Dolly over the head and carrying her off to one of his bordellos to get even with us. He’ll decide we know too much and send one of his thugs out to throw us into the bowels of some ship as Navy deserters. The bloody monster has tried to assassinate public officials and has murdered women in the street to make you into a maniac. You want us to lie idly by and watch you claim all the glory?”

This time Guy swung into a sitting position so he could glare at Graham. “It will bloody well take some getting used to your new face. You should have been on stage.”

Arthur had grown pale at the mention of Dolly’s possible fate, but his expression was resolute. “He’ll not suspect me just yet. I can’t get about much, but I can be your eyes and ears. I’ll say the physician has a new treatment for me and go up to London. Guy, you’ll have to persuade Dolly and my mother to stay here and not accompany me. I want them kept out of this.”

Guy studied the suggestion. “Without you here, they have no reason to miss the Little Season. How am I to persuade two females from following their natural inclination?”

Graham gave up the battle. Glancing from one aggravating companion to the other, he gave the answer his wise Penelope would have. “By giving them a wedding to plan.”

Both men turned to stare at him. Arthur showed a hint of laughter behind his weariness. Guy stared in outright astonishment.

Graham shrugged. “Since I am quite certain Penelope has no use for you, Guy, you might as well find a good woman and settle down. The sacrifice is worth it, don’t you agree?”

Arthur chuckled as Guy struggled with this solution. Even Graham’s lips began to twitch at the eligible bachelor’s dismay. Guy might act with courage in battle, but one small female had him checkmated. Graham’s grin grew wider as Guy gave up the fight without a protest.

“Tomorrow. I will ask her tomorrow,” he muttered. At a look from both men, he amended, “Today. Let me get some rest and change my clothes. I’ll ask her today.”

Graham reached for the decanter and tray of glasses. “A little fortification is needed here, gentlemen. To tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 37

PENELOPE GLANCED at the letter in her hand introducing the very proper lady seated in the cottage’s best parlor chair. Mid-thirties, she guessed, with a youthfulness about the mouth and eyes. Her stiff traveling suit had been carefully brushed and pressed, but Penelope’s experienced eyes noted the traces of alterations made from some much larger woman’s wardrobe.

The letter of introduction confirmed what her eyes had already told her. Priscilla Greene came of impoverished gentility and supported herself by teaching the children of wealthy families. The letter also stated she was of good character and a hard worker, but Penelope had already developed that impression, too.

She smiled with genuine welcome. “Miss Greene, I think we will get on well together if you should accept the position. It is not the same as working in the comforts of an earl’s estate, you realize.”

A bit of relief and excitement appeared on a primly stoic face. “You gave me to understand that the girls’ welfare will be in my management. To educate deserving young girls instead of pampered, bored youngsters without the interference of well- meaning but ignorant parents is worth every bit of discomfort I might suffer. I am a teacher, Lady Trevelyan. I enjoy teaching. Let me do what I know best and we will suit exactly.”

Penelope stood and held out her hand. “Pack your trunk and prepare to move in as soon as possible, Miss Greene. We’ll need to start looking for other teachers to help you. I know someone who is already preparing a list of girls deserving of our efforts. I hope you are prepared for the type of children you will be trying to teach.”

Priscilla Greene’s chin set firmly. “Were it not for a distant relative, I would have been one of them myself, Lady Trevelyan. I am more than eager to offer them the same chance I was given.”

And so the foundling home Penelope had dreamed of became a reality.

GRAHAM DIDN’T HAVE the pleasure of immediate satisfaction. Once DeVere discovered his prisoners had escaped, he had gone into hiding. Graham had spent weeks tracking a cold trail. He kicked at the ashes of emptied files in the cold grate of DeVere’s small flat.

They should have surrounded the prison cell in the old keep that first night and waited for the villain to return to the scene of his crimes instead of wasting time on arguments of duels and guilt. DeVere must have seen them and fled to the continent. Half of England seemed to be in Paris right now, gawking like tourists and engaging in sword play with the defeated French soldiers. Just the place for a blackguard like DeVere.

But he had found no trace of the villain having left England by any of the usual routes. DeVere would still carry the papers of his diplomatic office, although his leave of absence from the department had long since expired.

Still suspicious of Graham and his dual roles, the government continued to conduct its own investigations in the matter of the assassination attempt and the street murders, but again, the clues were old. No new murders occurred, and there was nothing to prove that Lord Trevelyan hadn’t murdered the diplomat as well as the soiled doves.

Graham slammed his fist against DeVere’s desk. He couldn’t let the rogue go just like that, not after what he had done to Penelope. He would grind the man’s bones into dust for laying his filthy hands on Penelope. Unless he wished to believe Guy guilty of the crime, he knew DeVere was the only other person capable of using the hidden passages Penelope’s abductor had used to carry her out of the house without being seen.

They would have to lure him out of hiding. If DeVere had gone to the continent, it would not be easy, but Graham felt certain he was still in England. He had returned to his flat, burned all his papers, packed his bags, and taken up residence elsewhere.

When Graham finally came upon an idea, his companions were dubious but willing to try. Nell was understandably reluctant. But Graham showed her the cape and eye patch hidden in DeVere’s room, the one he’d presumably used to imitate Graham while he murdered her friends, and she wholeheartedly joined the plan. Pippin thought it a great lark. Now established in Graham’s household with a fancy uniform all his own and free meals for his ugly mastiff, he was more than willing to track the villain who had hurt Lady Trevelyan.

Guy continued to shake his head as Graham completed his plan. “I don’t like it. It’s too close to home. If he should have any suspicion of what we’re about, he’s apt to take off with Dolly or Alexandra as hostages. We can’t risk it.”

Graham tapped his pen against his desk. “It has to be some place he’ll feel comfortable going to and that we know as well as he does. That eliminates everywhere else. Nell and Pippin know the East End, but we want to keep them out if we can, and city streets are just too easy to get lost in. It will have to be Surrey. Isn’t there something that’s been said about criminals returning to the scenes of their crime? I should think the old keep ideal.”

Arthur leaned forward eagerly. “Guy can write an impassioned love letter begging Dolly to come to London to keep him company, and you can send Alexandra to Penelope. That should keep them both out of trouble.”

Guy flushed a little at this suggestion. Still overcome by the shock of Dolly’s acceptance of his proposal, he had not yet come to terms with the role of lovelorn bridegroom. He shifted uneasily in his chair.

Graham had been looking for an excuse to talk to Penelope, but after all these weeks, how could he just drop by with Alexandra in hand and say, “Oh, by the by, would you take my daughter? I might be killed any day now.”

Graham shook his head in disagreement. Allowed to grow out, his hair had begun to return to its natural state. He kept it trimmed, but paid little heed to where the leonine mane fell, particularly when he ran his hands through it.

“What would you have me tell Penelope that wouldn’t frighten her to death? I’ll just keep Alexandra here with the governess. I don’t think DeVere brave enough to risk entering the house again, and if he should, he might be a little surprised at the changes made.”

Through Dolly he had kept up with Penelope’s activities, but their estrangement seemed total. They were both keeping busy as if their lives remained unchanged from that of before their marriage. Yet Graham meant to protect Penelope from anything that might harm her. He could not bear to lose Penelope as he had Marilee. He would suffer all the torments of hell before exposing her to any more danger.

Arthur broke the silence following Graham’s declaration. “Are you sure we can rely on this Nell of yours? It’s dangerous business going in that sordid crib of DeVere’s. Maybe we ought to send someone else.”

“Who else would you send? All Nell needs to do is enter his crib and say she has a message for DeVere. If DeVere keeps any connection at all with the place, he’ll receive it. Just her brashness in entering ought to infuriate him into responding. I’ve promised her she can be there to watch us capture him but she’s a right one. She’ll do.”

They discussed the other details of their desperate plan to draw DeVere from his hiding place and departed after their separate tasks shortly later. Graham remained alone, still tapping his pen against the desk.

He tried not think of Penelope, for each thought made him all the more conscious of his pain in losing her. Yet nothing and no one would let him forget. Even Nell had pierced him with arrows of anguish when she told him how his clever lady wife had asked her to help locate young girls deserving of a better home. Nell had been enthusiastic over the project, but Graham could scarcely listen for the pain twisting at his insides.

He could still see that wounded look on Penelope’s proud face when he had refused to give up his revenge. He had been wrong, terribly wrong, but it was too late to go back and tell her now. It was better this way She was safe and doing well without him. He had set up an account for her to draw on whenever she needed money and ordered his banker to replenish it as necessary. He had no idea whether she had touched the funds or not. He just felt better having provided them. Now, if something happened to him, she wouldn’t have to suffer, and Alexandra would still have someone to love.

Thinking of Alexandra’s anguished questions at Penelope’s disappearance, Graham rubbed his head and turned it to other thoughts. Once he could be certain DeVere was behind bars, he would send Alexandra to Penelope for a while. He hated to be separated from both of them, but at least he could relieve Alexandra’s agony, if not his own.

Never forgive. Those words haunted his dreams and every waking hour. She had said she would never forgive him. Running his hand through his hair, Graham bent his head over the desk and groaned. All the deceits and deceptions she had forgiven unquestioningly, but he had refused the one thing she had asked. All these years of his own mercilessness would be paid back in triplicate.

His cry of pain echoed through empty corridors.

SHADOWS MOVED along the wooded lane in the chilly October night. Three people were seated on horses. A smaller figure crouched with a mangy hound on the ground. Their whispers made little noise, yet their argument was vehement.

“You can’t go out there, maggot-brain! One good shot and your spoon will be in the wall. It’s light as day out there.” Guy gestured toward the moonlit field and its rubble of stones.

“DeVere won’t come out where we can see him until he sees me. He won’t shoot until he’s certain I’m not Chadwell and can’t give him the information he seeks. By then, if you value my life, you’ll have moved in,” Graham soothed his restless mount.

“He’s bound to know you and Chadwell are the same! If he comes at all, it will be in anticipation of killing you. That’s probably the only reason he has remained in London. Don’t give us Spanish coin, Trev. The message said ‘at the keep.’ We’ll just wait until he appears,” Arthur insisted, handling his horse with ease despite his injured leg.

“DeVere won’t appear until I do,” Graham explained again. “Pippin’s animal should set up a howl when he scents him, so I’ll know to protect myself. Just concentrate on catching the cad when I draw him out.”

“By Jupiter, why don’t I ever learn?” Guy groaned as Graham swung his mount around and walked him into the open field.

The small group sat in silence, waiting for the prey to walk into the trap.

Graham caught a brief flash of moonlight on metal in the shadow of one of the toppled tower walls and slowed. He had forgotten that tumble of rocks would be sufficient to almost cover a man of DeVere’s size. Running would risk a ball in the back. He hadn’t come this far to let the killer free. He swung down and approached the fallen stones on foot, keeping the horse between himself and that flash of metal.

The dog would scent nothing unusual since the wind blew from the direction Graham had assumed DeVere would take. He didn’t doubt that he’d upset the watchers by his unplanned action. They could see nothing, however, and would not risk everything by riding out without a sign of their target.

Graham spoke first, in low undertones. His plan had not called for speaking at all, and he had to improvise. “You wanted to see me, DeVere?”

The shadow rose from behind the rocks and waved the pistol. “Step out where I can see you. I’d like to know who has the audacity to label me a traitor and offer to save my neck in the same breath.”

Graham gestured behind his back, hoping Guy and Arthur would have the sense to circle around behind the wall. That would take time, and he didn’t have much of it. The normally imperturbable DeVere sounded rattled.

“More than your neck will be lost if you don’t listen to me,” Graham called back. “Castlereagh has been searching for a connection between the monstrous maniac in the streets and the assassination attempt ever since you tried to implicate me. Thanks to a few of your girls, he’s found it. They’re closing the brothel and gambling rooms tonight. Your neck will be all you have left shortly.”

“That’s preposterous!” DeVere’s voice rose nervously but his pistol hand remained steady. “There is no connection. They can’t possibly find one. People of that ilk talk too much. Give me a man of breeding anytime. That’s you, Graham, ain’t it? You always kept your lips sealed. So did Arthur. Guy was the only telltale. That religious mother of his, I suppose. Definite lack of breeding there. Come out from behind the horse, Trev. I’ve been waiting for you.”

A shout emerged from the trees. Guy and Arthur must have circled around to see what was happening. DeVere’s head jerked sideways in surprise and his gun wavered.

Graham seized the advantage offered. Leading his mount, he lashed out with his foot, kicking over the wall and knocking the gun from his enemy’s grip.

DeVere shouted in fury, but before he could dive for the weapon, two more men raced into the field. Realizing Graham hadn’t come alone, he spat an oath and leapt for his own horse. Before Graham could remount, DeVere was off across the field in the opposite direction.

With a cry resembling a general’s call to arms, Graham gained his seat and set off after the rapidly disappearing steed. His horse was exhausted from the long journey from London. DeVere obviously had a fresh horse.

Graham raced his tired mount across the stone-strewn field. He sensed rather than saw the other two riders following close behind him. Arthur was already exhausted from the journey and risked his health in this madcap chase. Guy’s roan was already too winded to keep up with Graham’s stallion. It would be up to Graham to stay with the scoundrel. He had enough revenge in his heart to follow DeVere into hell.

DeVere guided his horse in a flying jump over a hedgerow and galloped for the cover of a stand of trees. Graham gestured for the others to circle around while he followed on their prey’s heels. He’d not been on a hunt in years, but he had not forgotten the emotions generated by the chase as his horse sailed across the hedgerow after his quarry. The thirst for DeVere’s blood was strong.

In the distance, Pippin’s dog howled and raced to intercept their path, as if running a fox to ground.

Graham’s blood pounded as he spied his target emerging from the trees. DeVere had cost him his wife and five years of his life and a love he could never hope to find again. The insane bastard would pay if Graham had to strangle him with his bare hands. He pushed the stallion harder as it reached the flat expanse of a wheat field.

The field was only half threshed. DeVere drove his horse through the center, leaving a wake of crushed grain behind. The senseless destruction infuriated Graham even more. The man thrived on pain. Let DeVere feel it for himself for a change.

Racing after his prey, Graham lost all sense of Guy and Arthur. The dog’s cries were faint in the distance. He cursed as he realized another stand of trees lay in front of them. He suspected the low lying limbs indicated an orchard. To ride upright through an orchard begged for a blow to the head and a topple from the horse.

DeVere took the trees at a reckless pace, lying low against his horse’s neck. He was not as skilled a rider as Graham, but his smaller size made him more maneuverable.

Graham thought he recognized his surroundings, but he was intent on keeping his seat as he dodged trees and branches. Not until DeVere guided his horse over a turnstile and into the neatly turned earth of a vegetable garden did Graham curse his ill luck.

Penelope’s orphanage! How could he have forgotten? He had only been here once, but he recognized the brick edifice even from the rear. Not many farmhouses were so sturdily made.

The place had been empty of all but workmen when he had last been here over a month ago. As his horse took the stile, Graham had the sinking feeling that this was no longer true. Lanterns glowed in half the downstairs rooms, and he could see the occasional flicker of a candle above. Hell, surely DeVere didn’t mean to seek shelter in a foundling home?

Even as he thought it, Graham caught sight of the villain leaping from his horse and running toward the house. Infamous! To take cover behind the skirts of women and babes was even lower than he had dared imagine any man could fall, much less a gentleman born and raised.

But he had to admit it was the only protection the isolated countryside offered. Negotiating the mangled cabbage patch, Graham dismounted more slowly than DeVere. This would take thought.

He heard the hoof beats of Guy’s horse and thought to wait—until screams erupted inside the house. Leaping for the back step, Graham dashed through the kitchen doorway and into the house.

The screams within nearly drowned the sounds of the howling dog running after him. Graham shook his head in dismay. His reinforcements: a boy and a dog.

It had never occurred to him that DeVere would take a house full of orphans as hostage, but it should have. He ran through the kitchen to enter the uproar in the front hall, pistols in hand. He slid to a halt at the madness he encountered.

Women in mobcaps, wielding dusters, screamed curses that would put a man to shame. Young tykes with golden hair streaming down their flannel night shifts screeched in upper registers from between the stair rails. Their words weren’t exactly clear, but their murderous intent was obvious. Much larger girls filled the parlor doorways. Graham gaped as one voluptuous beauty winked at him before returning to the fray with a candlestick holder and a cry that would terrify a banshee.

Guy burst through the front door and into this melee. He halted much as Graham had, staring in disbelief.

Graham finally discerned a flustered DeVere clutching a kitchen knife to the throat of a primly dressed lady of indeterminate age and amazed expression. She did not seem frightened so much as confused as her young charges turned to a horde of screaming demons in her defense. Without flinching she lifted her gaze to Graham standing bemused in the kitchen doorway. His great size did not prevent a number of urchins from scampering in and out around him, arming the crowd with knives and iron skillets and rolling pins.

Even as they watched, one of the golden-haired tykes from above launched a pallet down the stairs while a trio of youngsters at the bottom took swift aim at DeVere’s knees with their kitchen weapons. A rowdy miss with the arms of a wrestler smacked the villain’s shoulder with a long-handled iron ladle, and the knife flew into the air. The air erupted in whoops and hollers akin to a tribe of wild Indians.

Graham couldn’t help it. The look on DeVere’s face as the lady broke loose and smacked him across the face while the screaming demons launched a full frontal assault doubled him up with laughter. Women had ever been DeVere’s downfall.

Across the room, Guy struggled to keep his face straight. By this time DeVere was on his knees covering his head with his arms, his cries beyond comprehension. The suave, polished diplomat disappeared beneath a flurry of dusters, pallets, and petticoats.

From behind Graham a small voice exclaimed with disgust, “Gor blimey, a gaggle of petticoats bummed the rat!”

Pippin’s look of pure distaste broke Graham’s last remaining hold on impassivity. His roars of laughter brought even a pair of angelic twins from above to amazed attention.

The vengeance of the women DeVere had ruined or murdered was quite properly wreaked by the hands of little girls.

CHAPTER 38

GRAHAM GNAWED on the end of his pen as he stared out the window and not at the wide foolscap on the desk. He had never failed at words before, but his mind couldn’t provide the impassioned plea that would ensure Penelope’s return.

He watched as the governess pushed Alexandra on the swing in the yard below. His daughter had grown pale and listless these last weeks in town while he worked with the authorities to bring DeVere to justice. By the time he had produced the evidence of the villain’s involvement in the multiple murders and cleared his own name, Alexandra had quit speaking Penelope’s name. She looked at him as if he were a stranger. Returning to the Hall had not returned the roses to her cheeks. The only time he heard her laugh was over some antic of Pippin’s, and now that the boy had been sent off to school, he never heard her laugh at all.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have sent Pippin away. Penelope would have known the right thing to do. The boy was too clever to be left untaught, but Alexandra was lost without a companion to play with. Graham cursed and began to pace the floor.

He should have written sooner. He should have told her he was wrong. He should have apologized, explained, pleaded, anything to make her understand. But he was terrified of her rejection. How could he say the words just right to make her understand and come back to him? She had said she would never forgive, and Penelope’s pride was an un-breachable wall, much as his own had been.

Lost in tormented thought, Graham failed to notice his daughter slipping from her swing until he turned to discover her perched on the edge of the leather chair, watching him through large, dark eyes.

“Alexandra! I thought you were with Mrs. Haywood.” Graham crouched before the chair and stroked her lovely hair.

“Mrs. Haywood has a headache.” Soberly Alexandra contemplated him.

Graham asked what he had known he would have to ask. “Do you miss our Penelope?”

Dark eyes met his warily. “When will she come home?”

Graham sighed and stood, pacing back to the window. “I fear she will not.” He turned to look at his daughter. “But if you would like, I could ask her if you could visit for a while. Would you like that?”

A glimmer of hope leapt to the child’s eyes. “I could tell her how much we miss her. Then she would come home. I know she would.”

Graham shook his head. “I don’t think so, Alex. Do not get your hopes up. But I will write and ask her if you might visit a while. I’m sure she misses you.”

Alexandra’s wariness turned to defiance. “Penny said she didn’t like to leave someone she loves. She must not love us. I don’t want to see her never, no more.”

Graham crossed the room and swept her up in his arms, crushing her in his embrace as he pressed her tearful sobs to his shoulder. “If Penny said that, then she meant it. She didn’t want to leave, but I made her go. Please, Alex, don’t cry. She loves you just as much as I do. I promise, poppet.”

Alexandra lifted her head and sniffed back a tear. “Then make her come back! I’ll help. I want her to come back more than anything in the whole world. She can even ride my pony. I’ll tell her so. Penny said if we want something badly enough, we have to fight for it. And you gave me my pony when I asked. Maybe she will come home if I promise to be a good girl. Please, Papa, ask Penny to come home. Don’t you love her anymore?”

Graham had to turn his head away to keep the child from seeing the tears running down his cheeks. “I’ll write to her today, poppet. Then we’ll see what happens”

Satisfied, Alexandra ran from his arms and out to tell her story to her pony. When the door closed behind her, Graham sat down at his desk and began to write. She might turn deaf ears on his pleas, but he would make her know why he had done what he had to do and beg her forgiveness. The words of love he longed to say would have to wait until he knew whether she would listen.

PENELOPE STOOD IN THE STUDY, gazing out over the sunlit winter landscape. The bare trees looked as bleak as she felt, and for the thousandth time she repented her harsh sentence.

She tried to summon up all the arguments that had kept her anger fierce these last weeks. He was a vengeful man who would kill an injured man to achieve his own selfish goals. He had deceived her wickedly, cruelly. All the time he had whispered words of love, he was bent on revenging his first wife, his real love. For him to ignore her pleas, she could mean nothing to him. Nothing. Now that his disguise was revealed, he could return to the carefree society a young viscount of handsome visage and great wealth could enjoy. He didn’t need her any longer. With DeVere behind bars, he could seek the proper wife he needed, and he would no longer need a plain vicar’s daughter to mother Alexandra.

Penelope’s eyes remained dry as she numbered these arguments. She had used them so frequently, they rang hollow. She only knew she needed to see Graham again, needed to hear from his lips that he no longer wanted her. His lack of letters should be convincing argument enough, but her heart wouldn’t listen to reason.

Her worst problem now was that she knew herself too well. She knew that as soon as she saw Graham she would do anything conceivable to keep him, up to and including telling him of the child.

She touched the rounding that was the only outward sign of her condition. He would have to know sooner or later, anyway. She knew the gossip flying between their houses would carry the news as soon as it was evident.

If only he would take her back without knowing of the child, take her back because he wanted her and loved her as much as she did him. . . That would be too much to ask. She would have to be content with the love of the children and an occasional glimpse of the handsome husband who would endure her presence for the sake of them.

Tears slid down her cheeks, but she wiped them away at the sound of footsteps outside the door. The laughter of girlish voices reminded her she was not in her lonely cottage.

By the time Penelope left the orphanage, she had gathered the courage to do what she must do. It was late and there would not be time to return to her cottage if Graham refused to see her, but she could stop at the Reardons’ to see how Dolly’s wedding plans fared. Dolly’s letters were a joy to read, but they would sound even better with Dolly’s gleeful voice to speak them aloud. Perhaps Guy and Arthur would be there, too, and it would be almost like old times.

Not daring to believe Graham would be at home, much less willing to receive her, Penelope stepped from the carriage at the Hall doors. The house was as lovely as she remembered, and she stared up at it longingly. She had been a fool to throw it all away. Her punishment was to discard her pride and admit her foolishness.

EXCITED LAUGHTER in the front hall drew Graham from the upstairs study. He clutched the rail in disbelief at sight of Penelope gracing the entrance to his home, looking more beautiful than his dreams. His feet moved of their own accord, almost running until he caught the stair rail. He forced himself to descend slowly, not daring to take his eyes from the dream below.

Penelope looked up at him. The shadows of her violet eyes took his breath away, and he lifted his hand in silent entreaty. Penelope stepped forward, her gaze focused upon his face, but she said no word. It took eternity for him to reach her.

The servants melted from the hall, leaving Graham to lead Penelope into the parlor. He closed the door and leaned on it, his eyes feasting on the vision of loveliness his painful thoughts had conjured into being. She seemed paler than he remembered, her cheeks more hollowed and less pink, but if those full lips would only turn up at the corners. . . His breath caught in his throat as Penelope took off her bonnet and twisted its ribbons between her fingers.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Graham.” She couldn’t look at him anymore. The sight of that pale scar across his cheek disturbed memories so deep she could not speak. She wanted to touch his face, to run her fingers through the silver mane of his hair. She couldn’t believe that after all these weeks she was actually standing in the same room with him. She felt faint, and she steadied herself on the back of a chair.

Graham instantly offered his hand and gestured toward a seat. “Sit, Penelope. My surprise. . . I wasn’t thinking.”

When he tried to take her pelisse, Penelope shook her head. She wrapped the protective folds around her and balanced on the chair indicated. Graham’s proximity drove all thought from her mind, and she did not know what to say next.

“Let me send for some tea. You must be cold.” Graham started toward the door.

Penelope stopped his flight with a raised hand. “No, do not distract me. I must say what I have come to tell you before I lose my courage.”

He watched her with doubting eyes, and her heart sank.

Before she could speak again, Graham imitated her gesture and held up his hand to stop the flow of words. “Perhaps I should be the one to speak first. I just don’t know how to find the phrases. Help me, Penelope. Tell me what an ungrateful, unforgiving wretch I am. Curse me. Throw things at me. Just don’t sit there with those wide accusing eyes and bring me to my knees, because I’ll go down on them if it will help.”

Penelope’s lips parted in astonishment, and she rose before he could do as threatened. Daringly she stepped closer, her eyes searching his for explanations. “Do you know then? Has your sister already guessed and told you? I would not have kept the truth from you, but I so much wanted to hear from you first, before you knew of the child. But you never wrote, and I knew I had said terrible things, and I didn’t think I would ever hear from you again. . .”

Graham stared at her in disbelief, shook his head, and pushed her down in the chair again. “Don’t apologize to this lying, deceiving, arrogant beast, Penelope, but let me speak my piece first. My behavior has been reprehensible to a degree beyond forgiveness, I realize that. But for Alexandra’s sake, can we not find some common ground, some means of hiding the breach so we can be together again? I will do anything you like, explain everything I can, just don’t turn your back on us until you’ve given us a chance.”

Penelope’s eyes clouded with tears. For Alexandra’s sake, of course, she should have realized that. He would do anything for his daughter without even needing to know of the child she carried. He was offering her the opportunity to come back. Why, then, were the tears running down her cheeks and her heart disintegrating into painful shards of glass?

Graham took her response for denial and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to face him. Penelope refused, turning her head away, but he would not let her refuse him. He clutched her fiercely. “Don’t deny me, Penelope. You came here for a reason. Was it Alexandra that brought you here? Tell me, Penelope, so I can find the right words to keep you.”

Penelope took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I came because I could not stay away. Pride cannot keep me company. It makes a very lonely bedfellow. Besides, I thought it would be best if you heard it from my lips first. I am going to have a child.”

Graham’s grip on her shoulders tightened. He continued staring at her. “A child?” Dumfounded, he staggered back a little.

Penelope studied his stricken expression with amusement. “A child. I believe that happens occasionally. Since you already have one, I rather thought you knew how it came about.”

Even with that shocked expression, Graham was so handsome it almost made her cry. He did not wear his frock coat, and the gold brocade waistcoat he favored hung unfastened over an untied cravat, but he could never be any less than the man she loved. She longed to touch his silver mane of hair, did not dare consider her need for those firm, chiseled lips on hers, but waited for his recovery from her news. She had done it. Now, he could not turn her away.

In amazement, she watched joy cross features she had once considered hard and impassive. The angular planes of his cheeks lifted, pulling with them the corners of his lips. His breathtaking smile nearly destroyed Penelope’s composure. She had expected resignation, politeness, perhaps some anticipation, but not this overwhelming, unrestricted, tremendous joy.

Abruptly, Graham lifted her from her feet and swung her around the room in dizzying circles. A curl tumbled from her pins and her pelisse flew like the wings of a great bird. Her head spun giddily—not just at the wild dance but from Graham’s intoxicating proximity. She did not want him to ever let go.

“Oh, my pretty Penny, I’ll not make you sorry you married me this time. I’ll make it all up to you, you will see. I will do everything right from now on, and the child will make you happy, and soon you will not regret having a fool for a husband.”

Laughing, crying, afraid to hear more in his words than was there, Penelope clung to his wide shoulders as if her life depended on it—as it did. He was her life, her soul, her happiness. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against the fresh scent of his linen-covered shoulder and surrendered to his mad ecstasy.

A moment later he was slowing down, apologizing again, his kisses trailing across her cheek and hair. “I did not think. You should be sitting still. Let me put you on the sofa. I’ll have a maid bring a blanket to wrap around you. You shouldn’t have been out in that cold. Let me send for tea. I’ll send someone to pack your things and close up the cottage.”

Penelope held a finger to his lips as he set her against the cushions. She tugged on his arm to pull him down beside her. Bracing his arm on the carved back of the couch, Graham looked down at her questioningly.

“I am glad that you are happy about the child. I feared you would consider it a nuisance now that you can safely return to your proper place in society. I just want you to know I will not hinder you in taking that place. Perhaps you would prefer it if I stayed in Hampshire. It’s just. . . I would like to see Alexandra once in a while, if I might.”

Graham studied her with bewilderment. “I would not prefer you in Hampshire. I would prefer you right here, in my bed, where I can keep an eye on you. Somebody has to keep you from climbing ladders and gallivanting into slums. If you do not feel well enough to share my bed, I will understand, but I’ll not let you any farther than the next room, and then I would prefer you keep the door open between us.”

Laughing shakily, Penelope traced the hard line of his cheek. “I am having a baby, not dying a lingering death. I am perfectly healthy and do not need a guardian angel. Just do not pretend for the sake of the child, Graham. I know we married for convenience. If I have gone a little over my head, it’s my concern and not yours. I am quite independent. You need not think you must be beside me.”

Graham frowned, a horrifying frown that should have shook her to her toes. Penelope smiled, and he scowled worse.

“You are a greater fool than I if you think I intend to let you go your merry way again,” he growled. “To hell with convenience. You are my wife and you are carrying my child. I’ll not let you out of my sight if it pleases me, and it does. Perhaps I have deceived you too long so you cannot trust me, but I am not pretending now, Penelope, nor will I in the future. I want you as well as the child.”

Penelope smiled sadly at the sincerity in his voice. How many times had he spoken words of love, cajoled her with soft caresses while pretending to be what he was not? He would not have let her go in the first place if he cared as much as he had promised.

“It would be better if we could start out honestly, Graham. I am grateful that you are taking me back. You need not pretend you are pleased to be saddled with a vicar’s daughter.”

Graham muttered irascibly and stood, stalking up and down the floor as he spoke. “I suppose this is what I deserve for having deceived you. What do I have to do to persuade you that I have never been less than honest in my feelings for you? You are the woman I want, the woman I wish to spend the rest of my days with. You have been from the very first moment I stepped across the portals of that damned cottage. I want the child, yes. I want many children! But I want you to be their mother.”

He was roaring, his deep voice vibrating the sounding board of the harpsichord and jarring a delicate bud vase to the edge of a table. With his back toward the door, he did not see it open, nor notice the small figure slipping through, crumpled paper in hand.

Penelope did, however, and her face lit with pleasure. At Penelope’s expression, Graham swung around, and his frown was fierce as he noted the mangled foolscap in his daughter’s hand.

“I want Penny to stay.” Alexandra glared back at her father and stamped her foot. “And you do, too. It says so right here.” She shook the paper under his nose, or more properly, his trouser band. “I just can’t read all the words.”

Before Graham could pounce on her, Alexandra placed the precious letter in Penelope’s hands. Penelope recognized Graham’s writing, then glanced questioningly at to him.

Graham managed to look embarrassed and annoyed at the same time, but he nodded curt permission for her to read. Penelope smoothed the paper lovingly, postponing the moment of revelation, wanting to savor the flavor of hope and not the bitterness of disappointment.

She scanned the lines of explanations, his apology for not listening to her about Arthur, for deceiving her, his decision to protect her by leaving her in Hampshire out of DeVere’s reach. She read this last cautiously, not daring to let hope rise too high. She lifted her gaze to Graham, but he was staring into the fire. Alexandra watched her expectantly, and Penelope continued to read the long, sloping lines of her husband’s unsent letter.

A tear formed in her eye as she read his words of love, the outpouring of a heart as proud as hers. He begged her forgiveness, if not for his sake, then for Alexandra’s. He asked only that she see him again, allow Alexandra to visit, and no more. He had poured his heart into this letter and never posted it.

Penelope folded it and studied her husband’s back. “Graham? Why did you never post this?”

He swung around. “You came before I could finish. I could not find a line that would say how much I am sorry, how much I miss you, how much I love you, how much I want you back. I did not mind if you laughed in my face, but I could not bear it if you refused.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she held out her hands to him. Dazed, Graham knelt beside the couch and pulled her into his arms where Penelope’s tears mixed with her kisses.

“I think my beast may have turned into a handsome prince at last. I love you, Graham. Don’t you know I could never refuse you?”

“Then know now, my sleeping beauty, you are mine forever after. That’s the way the spell works.”

As he bent to kiss her, a dainty black-haired fairy grinned and crept out the open door whispering, “And they lived happily ever after, just like the story says.”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

With several million books in print and New York Times and USA Today's bestseller lists under her belt, former CPA Patricia Rice is one of romance's hottest authors. Her emotionally-charged contemporary and historical romances have won numerous awards, including the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice and Career Achievement Awards. Her books have been honored as Romance Writers of America RITA® finalists in the historical, regency and contemporary categories.

A firm believer in happily-ever-after, Patricia Rice is married to her high school sweetheart and has two children. A native of Kentucky and New York, a past resident of North Carolina and Missouri, she currently resides in Southern California, and now does accounting only for herself. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Authors Guild, and Novelists, Inc.

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SILVER ENCHANTRESS

DARK LORDS AND DANGEROUS LADIES

Copyright © 1988, 2016 Patricia Rice

First Publication: 1988 New American Library

Book View Café: 2016

To buy Silver Enchantress by Patricia Rice:

Silver Enchantress

EXCERPT - SILVER ENCHANTRESS

England, September, 1740

ELLI CARRIED in an armful of firewood and stacked it by the grate, then fed smaller kindling into the flames to revive last night’s ashes. She enjoyed watching the small flames licking the dry twigs, growing larger and hungrier until the whole kitchen filled with their warmth.

The coziness of Dulcie’s kitchen always attracted her, and she worked to keep it that way. The kettle sang a merry tune as the fire grew strong, and Elli reached for the tin mugs hanging on the hooks on the wall. She brought down the blackened frying pan, too, and sliced rashers into it. Dulcie enjoyed waking to the smell of coffee and breakfast cooking. It was one of the reasons she had first allowed Elli to make herself at home there.

Elli’s thoughts were far from the past now as she stirred the meat and held a slab of bread above the fire. The day had begun with a frost upon the ground, but the sun promised a lovely day, at last, and she had plans for just such a day.

Dulcie waddled into the tiny kitchen area behind her shop, rubbing the arthritic hip that had kept her awake most of the night. “You’re a dear, my girl. What’s an old woman to do without a young one about?” She settled at the old wooden table, inhaling the aroma from the mug Elli set before her.

Elli made no reply, but lifted the pan from the fire, sopping the grease onto the toasted bread and producing plates for both of them. She hummed contentedly as she worked.

The old woman sighed and shook her head. She would give a year’s earnings to hear the tale that never passed those silent lips. The first time Elli had appeared in the village she had been just a child tagging behind Nan and her assorted brood. Nan had always wanted a girl, instead of that unruly herd of young hooligans. But Nan had sworn she was her sister’s child and none could prove differently.

Over the years the child had taken to wandering into the village on her own. At first, one or the other of Nan’s brood would fetch her, but after a while she came and went on her own. There was no questioning the girl, but the occasional blackening bruise upon her fair wrist or cheek spoke volumes. Her willingness to work had opened doors as well as hearts.

Eventually the child had become a part of the village, sleeping wherever there was a spare bed, eating wherever there was an extra bowl. One of the men had sought out the girl’s family, only to discover them gone from the hut they had occupied for so long. The villagers could have turned her over to the parish, but none seemed willing to agree to that. So the child stayed, adopted by an entire town.

The girl’s silence irritated some but was accepted by most. Many thought her a half-wit and laughed at her daydreaming ways, but Dulcie knew better. She had once worked in a house of quality and knew their looks and manners. This changeling child had the high, fine cheekbones and straight, proud nose of an aristocratic lineage. Her long, slender figure was repeated in the fine bones of her hands and feet. By-blow she might be, but witless she was not. Her seemingly mindless wanderings had a purpose, though it differed from the prosaic ones of the villagers.

“Fine day today. Off to the woods, are you?” she inquired, watching as the girl bit hungrily into the toast.

Elli nodded, sketching with her hands in the air as she did with a stub of charcoal when she had paper. The child had learned to coax color from many of the plants in the woods, and Dulcie knew the berries would be ripe enough today to make red.

Dulcie nodded in understanding, wishing she had the coins to buy the child real watercolors. But this was a poor village, and the meager living she made at mending and sewing scarcely kept a roof over her head. The others, too, had families to feed and clothe. Elli received what little they had to give, but coins for watercolors none had to spare.

The girl moved with grace about the tiled floor, nearly dancing as she scrubbed the last of the grease from the pan and washed the breakfast utensils. Dulcie guessed she must nearly be fifteen years of age by now and sighed again. The skinny child of a year ago was rapidly blossoming into a woman. There were not many boys hereabouts, not since Nan and her brood had left, leastways, but men had a way of searching out unattached young women. This one would be no exception. She wondered how much the child knew about the ways of men but hesitated to broach the subject. Every woman learned soon enough.

Elli gave Dulcie a peck on the cheek and danced out the door. She stopped at the Clancys’ back door and helped the youngest pull up his breeches before following him into the kitchen. The baby wailed for its breakfast while his mother spooned gruel for the others. Elli relieved her of the pot and finished the task while Molly gratefully picked up the babe and quieted it with a full breast. For a fifteen-year-old, Elli had learned more about life than many more educated girls.

Molly gave her a hunk of day-old bread and a slab of cheese as she left. Elli hugged the baby and wandered on. She had no regrets at losing the home in the woods where she had spent so many years. Nan had tried to love her, but the others never had. They had begrudged every morsel that passed her lips. The boys had been rough with her, knowing she could not cry for help or tell on them. As they grew older, they had been worse than rough, and she did not miss their constant harassment. The village was her home. Its inhabitants were her family. She was as content here as she could be anywhere.

That was not to say she was any angel, she knew. When aroused, her anger was violent and rebellious. One of the boys still bore the scars of the red-hot coals she had flung at him. The blacksmith had nearly lost a finger when he made the mistake of touching her in the wrong place while her hands were within easy reach of a knife. Luckily for everyone, her temper stayed well buried for the most part, a hidden demon that haunted her dreams.

Elli switched at the long grass beside the road as she wandered away from the village, sketchpad in hand. She had stolen the sketchpad from a drunken soldier who had stayed at the tavern one night. He had no use for it where he was going, and his poor attempts at likenesses had not been worth the waste of the precious paper.

A carriage rolled along the road ahead, approaching the village Elli had just left. Carriages were rare in these parts, and this one seemed to have some difficulty on the rutted cart path. It lurched from side to side, sending up clouds of dust.

Elli stepped from the road into the tall grass, watching with amusement and fascination as the unwieldy vehicle hit a bump and the driver cursed. She admired the proud bays working so diligently to haul their heavy load.

Today, she had chosen to wear a wide-pocketed apron over an old frock of Molly’s, taken in and hemmed up until it was good as new. The morning sun glittered on the dew, as well as the auburn braid she’d tied with her prized possession, a simple yellow ribbon.

Elli could see a pale woman garbed in mourning inside the carriage, her hair capped and hidden from view. A man sat on her far side, but Elli could discern little of him except the rich blue of his coat. She wished she could squeeze a color such as that from her plants and berries, but so far she had succeeded in only a watered-down version.

The woman glanced out as the carriage rolled by, and for one brief moment their eyes met. Elli smiled and waited for the dust to settle so she might walk on. The woman screamed.

Puzzled, Elli hurried on her way, eager to reach the place where the best berries grew before others found them.

INSIDE THE CARRIAGE, the woman frantically tugged at her husband’s arm as he yelled for the driver to halt.

“Emily! It was Emily! I swear it! Not her ghost, John! Oh, God, please stop and catch her! John, make him stop!” Her shouts grew more hysterical as the driver struggled to bring the horses to a halt.

Her husband looked harried and worried at the same time, nervously patting his wife’s hand and muttering reassurances as he tried to glance down the road behind them. He knew better than to expect to see their dead daughter risen from the grave, but his wife was not normally an excitable woman. Her daughter’s untimely death had strained her health, but he never had reason to suspect it had taxed her mind.

The carriage finally came to a halt and a footman opened the door. Sir John attempted to persuade his wife to stay inside, but she insisted on following him into the roadway.

“There she is, going into the woods! Oh, follow her, John, hurry please!”

They had traveled nearly half a mile from where the girl had veered off into the tall grass and strode toward the stand of trees. The man gazed down at his wife in incredulity. Normally a placid man of middle age, he had not run since he was a boy, and he had no intention of taking up the practice now.

He turned to the footman and gestured toward the disappearing child down the road. “Follow that girl, Quigley. Tell her my wife would like to speak with her, if you please.”

The young footman hastened to do as told.

As the lad ran in pursuit of the girl, the woman wilted against her husband’s arm. “Oh, John, am I losing my mind, then? Is this what happens when grief takes its toll? She was so young, John. It just does not seem fair.”

Awkwardly, he held her close and patted her shoulder. “Don’t cry, Emma. You’ll see. It’s the hair, I should imagine. The hair is much like Emily’s. But she’ll be some robust country miss with rotting teeth or crossed eyes or pox marks. Quigley will bring her back, and I’ll give her a shilling to be on her way. You can’t help wishing, my dear. I’d give all I had to bring Emily back for you, but I daresay she’s happy where she is. We must remember that, Emma.”

The woman grew quiet but refused to return to the carriage. She had seen what she had seen, and she refused to believe her eyes had confused a snaggletooth peasant with her own lovely, delicate daughter.

Quigley followed as best as he could, but this was unfamiliar terrain. As soon as the girl slipped into the shade of the trees, she was lost to him. Brambles tore his clothes and small branches slapped his face as he sought some discernible path or a sight of the mysterious girl who had sent the missus into tears.

Elli heard his thrashing and cursing and paused behind a wide oak to discover the source. Unimpressed with the young man in fancy gray livery who had obviously followed her into this lonely place, she slipped away, leaving him to his plight. Men did not rate high on her list of favorite things.

In despair at disappointing the man who had treated him well for so many years, Quigley finally fought his way from the woods back to the waiting carriage. The absence of his quarry told his tale without words, and the lady began to sob. Sir John questioned him with his eyes.

“It weren’t no use, sir. There’s no sign of a path. I called, but she didn’t answer. Disappeared, she did, like a deer at dawn.”

Or a ghost, but Sir John did not put that thought into words. “Thank you, Quigley, you did your best. Make inquiries in the village, will you? She must live hereabouts. I’ll take Lady Summerville to the inn and return to help you.”

Quigley bowed and set off toward the village, and the lady hugged her husband tearfully.

“Come, Emma. You are overwrought. This journey has been too much for you. We will make you comfortable, then settle this mystery at once.”

They climbed into the carriage and rode off, leaving the hapless Quigley to question the suspicious and closemouthed villagers.

By the end of the day, the young footman had resorted to sitting on a stump beside a small tavern, whittling a piece of kindling and watching the world go by. The carriage had not returned and neither had the girl, if she existed at all.

Returning with her sketchpad crammed with colors and leaves, her apron filled with the treasures she had found, Elli spied the young man at his post before she had passed the first house. She turned down an alleyway and entered Molly’s kitchen from the rear.

Brown-eyed, dark-haired Molly glanced up in relief. “There you are. There’s a gent from one of the fancy houses askin’ after you. What’ve you gone and done now? Stolen more apples from his lordship’s trees?”

Elli shrugged and sampled the stew simmering over the fire. She was aware of doing nothing wrong, though she considered his lordship’s apples the same as the leaves on the trees or the chestnuts on the ground, free for the taking. The fancy young man would never find her if she did not wish to be found, and he could prove nothing against her if he did.

Presenting a handful of acorns to the toddler, Elli slipped out into the deepening twilight. Molly knew nothing of interest. Perhaps Dulcie would.

Mischief made her cross the road near enough to the tavern for the young man to catch sight of her bright hair and yellow gown from a distance. He yelled and ran after her, but she paid him no heed.

Dulcie gave Elli a look of irritation as she entered by the back door. “What have you been up to now that the swells are looking after you, you naughty heathen?” She demanded as Elli stopped to warm her fingers at the fire.

She looked up with a smile and a shrug. Even if she could speak, what could she say? She had done nothing.

“Well, there’s some gent’s man out there askin’ questions of you. I’m surprised you didn’t see him when you came in. All day he’s been out there. Proper grand, he is. Mayhap you ought to see what he wants.”

That suggestion struck Elli as ludicrous. She was curious, certainly, but so was the cat who had looked upon the queen.

A pounding at the shop door warned that the footman had begun his rounds again. Shrugging, Dulcie dragged herself back to the front room.

Elli listened as the liveried servant inquired after “the young girl in a yellow frock” seen crossing the street in this direction.

“Isn’t there enough girls where you come from that you must pester after ours?” Dulcie demanded.

“No, ma’am,” the man said. “It’s not that, you see. It’s me mistress. She’s been taken ill since her daughter died. And then she sees this girl what looks so much like Miss Emily, she cries and carries on so that Sir John sent me to look for her. He don’t mean her no harm. It’s just to make the lady happy, you see.”

Elli heard desperation in his voice, and she scowled at the pots on the walls. She had no great amount of faith in her fellow man, but she did not want to cause anyone trouble, either. She intended to go nowhere alone with the man, but she supposed it would do no harm to show she existed.

There was no sense getting Dulcie in trouble. Elli let herself out the back door and walked around to the front. The sun had not yet set. There would be light enough to see the stranger’s expression when she walked in on them.

In the distance, she saw a carriage approaching, probably returning for the servant. She had best end this quickly. Then she could escape into the woods, if necessary. No one ever found her there.

She opened the shop door and brought the colors of the setting sun into the room with her. Quigley swung around and gaped openly.

“This here’s Elli. Be she the one you seek?” Dulcie inquired innocently.

The young man’s thin, dark face was a picture of astonishment as he studied her. “How do you do Miss Elli. . .?”

Elli curtsied and wandered past him, into the shop. She was starving, and mischief brightened her eyes as she produced an apple from her apron and munched it. Dulcie nearly turned purple, but the young man didn’t turn a hair.

“Is there a surname you are called by?” Quigley asked.

“She don’t speak,” Dulcie informed him, apparently relieved that he had shown no recognition of the forbidden apple.

“Surely she must have a name. Who are her parents?”

The rattle of the carriage in the street ended this conversation. Quigley headed for the door to signal his employer. Dulcie and Elli exchanged looks, and Elli eased toward the back of the shop.

Elli watched astonishment and worry cross the pretty man’s countenance as he greeted the elegant lady descending from the carriage. He stepped aside to allow her in, followed by an older gentleman, who nodded approvingly.

“I see you found her, Quigley. Good work. Apologize for the delay.”

His wife’s faint cry caused the gentleman to strain to see inside the cottage.

“Beth?” The lady asked in shock, holding her fingers to her lips and staring at Elli, who shifted nervously from foot to foot.

The gentleman’s frown grew more anxious. “Emma, you should not have come. You have over-tired yourself.”

“No, John, look. She looks just like Beth at that age. Beth had all the coloring, everybody said. Our daughter looked more like me. Oh, my God, John, am I truly losing my mind?”

Since his wife’s sister, Elizabeth, had died at the hands of Irish highwaymen years ago, Sir John seriously feared this might be so. He studied the child with more care.

He studied the thick, nearly red hair sweeping to a waistline of incredible tininess. Delicately boned, expressive features framed wide, light eyes of intense curiosity, and Sir John understood his wife’s hysterics. Seen hastily, she would easily pass for Emily’s twin.

As the girl hesitantly stepped toward them, John gasped. He had known his wife and her sister since they were young girls. They had grown up on the estate neighboring his. Elizabeth had been the younger, wilder, and more beautiful sister of the two. He remembered her well, now that he was faced with her image. But the uncanny resemblance was not what had made him gasp. It was the eyes.

He gestured gently toward the young girl. “Come forward, please. We mean no harm. We have only just lost a daughter to smallpox. You resemble Emily so closely . . .” He noted the older woman’s skeptical look and sent her a pleading glance, indicating his wife’s entranced expression with a nod. The shopkeeper’s face softened at the sight of Lady Summerville’s obvious rapture.

“What is your name, child?” John spoke without thinking, his gaze still intent upon the play of silver in the girl’s eyes. His sister-in-law had never possessed eyes like that. But her Irish husband had.

“She don’t speak, sir,” Quigley whispered. “Her name’s Elli. That’s all I’ve learned.”

Elli. My God, this wasn’t possible. His stomach lurched. He was too old for this. But hope had already found a place in his heart. He turned to Dulcie.

“You are her mother?” he demanded, knowing the answer without being told.

Dulcie snorted. “Not me, I ain’t. Nan’s the one you want, but she ain’t been heard from this while back. Claimed the girl was her sister’s, but nobody’s been by looking for her. None but you, leastways.”

The girl Elli now stood before Lady Summerville. Child and woman stared at each other. His wife lifted a frail hand to tuck a strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, and Elli didn’t flinch.

“Does she go by any other name but Elli?” John inquired, striving to hide his excitement.

“Not ’zactly. Nan called her summat like Ellen, but ’round here she’s just called Elli, Nan’s girl.”

Emma seemed to come awake, and her tearful gaze turned to her husband. “Eileen? Could they mean Eileen? John, surely this cannot be. . .She’s dead like Beth.”

But the girl’s eyes had gone wide, and she covered her mouth and backed away.

The baronet gently said the name again. “Eileen? Is that your real name?”

Elli stared at the elegant, pale lady who looked so sad and frightened. She was taller and considerably plumper than herself, but her features were small and delicate, and her hair a faded russet beneath the white cap. Elli tentatively touched her own fiery tresses. She had seen few people with hair like hers.

Swallowing hard, she shifted her gaze from man to wife and back again. She did not know these people, had never seen them in her life, but they spoke a name that echoed in her memory. Nan’s husband had sneered it upon occasion, calling it a popish name, but the memories jarred were older than that. And she was suddenly afraid.

“Emma, I do not want to raise your hopes. We may be over-reacting. I’ll have to send someone out to search for the girl’s parents or this Nan person. But those are Richard’s eyes or I’ll be damned. Too bloody handsome for his own good, your sister’s Irishman was. Could be a by-blow of his, but where would he have found another wench just like your sister?”

Sir John turned toward the woman who appeared to be the child’s guardian. “Would you consider allowing the child to come with us? I know how it is to become attached to a child, but it would be for the girl’s own good, I promise you. You may come with her, if you wish, to see for yourself, but I promise she will be treated better than our own daughter.”

Elli’s hopes lit with a fiery light at these words. The memory had frightened her, but not these people. She knew instinctively that this elegant gentleman offered new worlds to explore. She had glimpsed that world once. She would see more of it. With swift determination, she flew from the room.

Emma gave a cry of dismay. “Oh, John, you’ve frightened her. What will we do now?”

Dulcie sent a sharp glance after the lass. “That one’s frightened of naught. You’d do well to teach her a little fear, if you ask me. I have no hold on her. She comes and goes as she pleases.” She turned a wary eye back to the gentry. “But don’t be expecting to get your lady daughter back. She’s wild as any vixen. Gentle enough most times, but headstrong. She won’t tame easy.”

John smiled faintly. “Emma, she’s just described your sister. Do you think there could be two of them in the world?”

“Only the original and her daughter.” And Emma’s sad lips turned up at the corners in anticipation.

When Elli returned, she bore all her worldly possessions wrapped in an old shawl and carried her sketchpad under her arm. Her gaze danced eagerly from one newcomer to the other. Now life could begin.

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Silver Enchantress by Patricia Rice

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