If He's Sinful (16 page)

Clarissa’s shrill command halted Ashton just before he reached the door. He looked behind him to see the butler approaching and curtly waved the man away. The butler hesitated for a moment and then obeyed the silent command. As stealthily as he could, Ashton moved to the doorway and saw Penelope. She looked adorably disheveled. Clarissa looked coldly furious.

“I have just come from tending the bruises you put on a boy of nine.”

“Did the brat run crying to you then? Probably met you in the kitchens, eh? Ungrateful whelp.”

“Did you even pause for but a moment to see if he
could
run after you had kicked him while he was huddled on the floor?”

“He ruined my gown! Do they not say
spare the rod, spoil the child
?”

Penelope stared at her stepsister. This journey to confront Clarissa had been a waste of her time. She ached to beat the woman, hurt her as she had hurt Hector, but realized it would change nothing. Clarissa would never see that what she had done to poor Hector was wrong. In Clarissa’s eyes, the only ones who ever did wrong were the ones who did not give her what she wanted or crossed her.

“You,
dear sister
, are a spoiled, vain, cold-hearted bitch.”

Clarissa hissed out a curse and swung at Penelope. Penelope, accustomed to her stepsister’s propensity to hit, was ready for it and caught Clarissa by the wrist. She then decided that such an attack deserved retaliation. And who better than one who had spent the last few years surrounded by boys? She idly punched Clarissa in the mouth. Clarissa stumbled over to the settee and sat down hard, her hand on her bleeding lip.

It had been an uncouth, even childish thing to do, but Penelope suffered no remorse. The woman deserved far worse for hitting and kicking a small boy. Penelope admitted to herself that the blow was also in retaliation for a thousand hurts and insults she had suffered at Clarissa’s hands for far too long.

“Oh, you shall pay for this, Penelope, and pay dearly.”

“How? By losing the small, cold bed in the attic you have so graciously allowed me? Denying me the right to go about freely in the society I was born into? Ah, but wait, you already do that. By making my life utterly intolerable? You have done that since the day my mother married your father, even before. But no more. Nay, not a minute more. I have stayed here because this is
my
house.”

“Do not be a fool. It belongs to Charles.”

Ashton noticed that Clarissa looked to the left as she spoke before glaring at Penelope again.

“Nay, Clarissa. ’Tis mine and well you know it. I can do nothing about it now but one day I will see you and your brother thrown out of here. ’Til then, enjoy your stay.”

“And just where do you think you can go? You have no money and you are Charles’s ward.”

“I do have a surfeit of relatives. I will go to one of them.”

“Charles will not allow it. He will drag you back.”

“Let him try.” Penelope started toward the door. “And beware, sister. The spirits here are not very fond of you.” Knowing how uneasy any talk of spirits made Clarissa, it was a petty dart to fling in parting, but it was also a satisfying one.

Ashton hurried down the stairs and out to his carriage. He had come to share tea with Clarissa, as ordered, but decided Penelope needed him. He was not sure he could hold firm to his temper if he faced his fiancée right now, either. The fury he had heard in Penelope’s voice was enough to tell him that young Hector had not suffered a mere slap, but the details had sickened him. He knew many people believed harsh discipline was needed to raise a child right, but his mother had never condoned it. As far as he was concerned, he and his siblings had not suffered for the lack of it.

He was waiting by the door of his carriage when Penelope strode out of the house. She had taken so long to appear that he had nearly gone back in to look for her. The bag she carried told him what had delayed her. She had meant it when she had said she was leaving. Although he knew Penelope had a comfortable place to stay, the Hutton-Moores did not, yet Clarissa made no attempt to stop her stepsister from walking away. When Penelope caught sight of him, he bowed and waved her toward the open door of his carriage.

Penelope hesitated only a moment before walking over to Ashton and allowing him to help her into his carriage. She rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes while he climbed in beside her. The carriage began to move and she opened one eye to watch Ashton slide closer to her.

“Why were you waiting for me? How could you have even known I was here?” she asked.

“I saw you enter,” he replied and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Did you eavesdrop on the conversation between Clarissa and me?”

“Yes, and I had to move quickly to do so.”

Penelope had to smile at his nonsense. Her fury had eased while she had gathered what few belongings she had. Even more so when she had stopped by Clarissa’s bedchamber and retrieved her mother’s jewels. A part of her was unsettled, certain she had given up too soon, but mostly, she was relieved to be rid of the Steps. The name the boys had given Clarissa and Charles suited them well, even when prefaced with some unflattering word the boys were so fond of using, she decided. They were not of her blood and had never been family. They were simply the Steps and she wished never to see or speak to them again. At least, not until she ordered them out of her house.

“Did you hear Clarissa say that I am Charles’s ward?” she asked Ashton, knowing that she ought to move out of his light embrace even as she relaxed against him.

“I did and that could prove to be a problem for you,” Ashton replied. “Perhaps you really should seek out one of your relations and go to him.” The words were hard to say for he found that he did not want her to move out of his reach. “The highest born, the one with the highest rank and the greatest power. By the time Charles could get the courts to help pull you back into his grasp, you would be of age and free of him. He could even lose the guardianship of you to one of your blood family.”

“The highest would be Modred.” She ignored him when he muttered the name in astonishment for most everyone had that reaction. “Modred Vaughn, the Duke of Elderwood. I will go to him if there is no other choice for me and I have no doubt that he would help. He might find the presence of the boys a severe trial, however. Do not misunderstand me. He is the kindest of men, but he has difficulty being near some people and I have never tested him with the boys.”

“There are rumors that he can read a person’s thoughts.”

“I can see that you believe that as much as you believe I can see spirits,” she teased and laughed when he blushed. “Aye, he can, but not as you think. Not as if every mind is an open book to him. He can grasp words and even whole sentences here and there, enough to know one’s thoughts. Especially if they are born of strong emotion, and strong emotions are not always good ones, are they. If you place poor Modred in a room full of people, he will be beaten down by emotions, his mind battered by snatches of thoughts until he can hear nothing but the cacophony in his head. That is why he stays at the family seat with his aunt Dob, who works hard to teach him how to, well, to shield himself from such an onslaught. I know you do not believe any of this.”

He kissed her cheek. “I am no longer sure what I believe. I saw Septimus ease your pain and Doctor Pryne obviously believes in that young man’s ability to do so. I know Hector has a keen eye for a lie, too keen for a boy of only nine. I also know that everyone in the Warren believes in such things.” He frowned as he struggled for the right words, ones that would explain but not offend. “The rumors of your family’s gifts have been around for too long to discount them out of hand, but I pride myself on being a man of reason. I need proof.”

“And for many of our gifts, that is hard to come by. Do not fear that I take offense.”

The soft smile she gave him was more temptation than Ashton could resist. He pulled her fully into his arms and kissed her. The way her body fitted so perfectly in his arms caused his blood to throb with the need that filled him. It was madness to keep taunting his lust and wrong to keep tempting her to sate it, but he had no willpower when it came to Penelope, not when she was so soft and welcoming in his arms.

The carriage halted, bringing him to his senses. He ended the kiss and fought to tamp down the mindless urge to push her down onto the carriage seat and make love to her then and there. The desire turning her eyes a soft blue and the flush of passion’s heat upon her cheeks did not make that easy.

Penelope inwardly shook herself in an attempt to regain her senses as Ashton helped her down from the carriage. She maintained a house for the illegitimate children of her relatives so she knew full well what she was so aching for. She also knew that Ashton had not closed his coat because he was cold. The hard proof of his desire for her had been very evident during their embrace. He was doing his best to be a gentleman. Penelope abruptly decided that she did not want him to succeed.

Everyone save for her brothers and Darius was waiting in the parlor when she and Ashton walked in. For one brief moment she feared something terrible had happened, but a quick yet careful check of their faces revealed no concern or fear in their expressions. She smiled a little warily at them even as she went to Hector’s side to check his injuries, pleased to see that the bruising and swelling had grown no worse.

“I wish to take the boys to my cousin’s home for an evening,” said Septimus.

“Are you sure your cousin wants so much company?” she asked.

“Yes. Her nephew is there for a week and he is bored. He is accustomed to others of his age being close at hand to play with. Ones who understand,” he added quietly.

“Ah.” Penelope nodded. “Of course they may go. I just hope your cousin knows what she has unleashed upon her home,” she added and grinned, ignoring the playful complaints of the boys.

It took but moments for the house to empty. It took only another moment for Penelope to realize that, for the first time since the night in the brothel, she was truly alone with Ashton. Suddenly nervous, she urged him to sit and hurried off to the kitchen to fetch some food and drink. By the time she returned with a tray, he was seated comfortably on the settee, smiling faintly at some drawings young Olwen had left on the wide, slightly scarred table placed between the settees, but he quickly stood and helped her set out the things on the tray.

“This is quite good,” he said, sitting down again and tugging her down beside him. “Who is your artist?”

“Olwen,” she replied. “Uncle Argus’s boy. He is trying to perfect his art so that he might better draw some of the things he sees or dreams about.”

“Olwen sees what will be as Paul does?” He poured them each some wine.

“Not exactly. It is so hard to explain, and because they are all still so young, it is hard to be certain exactly how their particular, er, skill will develop. Are you certain you want to hear this?” she asked and then sipped at her wine.

“How am I to come to a decision based on the reason I hold so dear if I do not have all the needed information?”

“None of us has all the information. It just is,” she said and began to explain as best as she could the various gifts, or curses, her large family had.

Ashton listened to her tales, asking only a few questions. He was still unable to believe in all the things she claimed her family could do, but he did understand one thing clearly. The persecution of witches might be legally at an end, but the Vaughns and the Wherlockes still suffered. They watched wives and husbands turn from them, mothers and fathers turn from their own children, they had to remain secretive, and they had to suffer the fact that few people believed in their various gifts. He felt almost guilty for his doubt.

He held her close as they talked and drank wine. The quiet in the house wrapped around them, but it took Ashton a while to understand the significance of that quiet. All the boys were gone. Penelope had no servants living in the house except for the tutor and he was also gone. He was alone with Penelope. The last thin restraint he had on his desire for her snapped. The moment she finished a tale about her uncle Argus, Ashton pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the hunger that had been knotting his insides for far too long.

Penelope was a little startled by the abruptness of Ashton’s embrace. Then he thrust his tongue into her mouth and began to work his magic on her. In some dimly aware part of her mind she heard her wine goblet fall from her hand and she ignored it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself be carried away by the fierce pleasure of his kiss.

Ashton soon had her on her back but Penelope made no protest. The press of his long, hard body against her made her blood flow hot and wild through her veins. She tilted her head back when he kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. The warmth of his mouth invaded her body as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin on her neck. His strong hands moved over her body, stroking her, and she trembled from the force of the need he was stirring inside her.

“This is madness,” Ashton mumbled as he realized he had begun to undo her gown.

“’Tis a very sweet one.” She kissed his throat, savoring the taste of him, and heard him groan softly.

“Penelope, I am close to taking you right here, on the settee in your parlor.”

“Aye, it is, perhaps, not the best place for this.”