If He's Sinful (23 page)

“Perhaps she but grew weary of sleeping in the attics.” Ashton smiled faintly when Charles’s eyes narrowed.

“Our family troubles are not yet your concern. As I said, Penelope has been missing for far too long. I grew increasingly concerned when I heard that there had been an attack upon a woman in the park near me. I merely wish to see for myself that she is unharmed.”

A quick glance at Hector was all Ashton needed to confirm his opinion that Charles was lying through his teeth. The man was concerned that his attack on Penelope had failed. Charles needed a body to prove his right to openly take everything that was rightfully Penelope’s. Ashton wanted to throw the man out but resisted the urge. It was not just because the man held the late viscount’s debts over his head, either. Charles was Penelope’s guardian. Until she married, became of age, or was freed from his hold by her family and the courts, Charles had the law on his side. There would be some pleasure in showing the man that he had failed in his attempt to be rid of Penelope, but that would be severely dimmed by the knowledge that she would continue to be in danger.

“She has not been well,” Ashton began, knowing it was a futile attempt to hold the man back.

“Ah, I see. Since you have also been conspicuously absent during this time, am I to understand that
you
have been caring for my ward?”

“Do not be foolish, m’lord,” said Aunt Honora as she stepped out of the parlor, Alex at her back. “What man is capable of caring for someone who is ill? I and Lady Radmoor have had that honor.” She looked at Ashton. “Perhaps you should take him to see his ward, dear. She cannot be moved yet, but he should be shown what good care she is getting. That should ease his mind.”

A little stunned by how bravely his timid aunt Honora had just faced down Charles, Ashton nodded and started up the stairs. He signaled Charles to follow him with a negligent flick of his hand. The man walked through the silently glaring boys lined up on either side of the hall and Ashton was certain Charles had grown a little pale. It would be no surprise if he had. The fury in the gazes the boys sent Charles’s way would make anyone uneasy. He also noticed that, subtle though it was, Charles had an odd gait, like a man who had suffered an injury to his more private parts. He was sorely tempted to see for himself it that injury was a bite from a dog.

Ashton just hoped that seeing Charles did not cause the barely recovered Penelope to regress. He was not sure of everything that had happened to her under Charles’s roof but knew she had no fondness at all for her stepsiblings. The sound of rapidly retreating footsteps told him that she would be warned of the coming confrontation, however, and that had to be enough.

“’Tis Charles,” said Paul as he tumbled into the room. “He has found us.”

Penelope suspected the man had known about the Warren for a long time but she could not worry about that now. “Here, Paul, shove this under the bed,” she ordered as she shut the box holding her mother’s jewels and handed it to him.

She slumped back against the pillows Lady Mary had plumped up behind her, wearied by her moment of panic. Penelope was surprised when Lady Mary shifted her seat closer to the bed and took her hand. The woman intended to show Charles that there was a united front against him. She wanted to tell Lady Mary that was a dangerous stand to take, but before she could get the words out, Ashton walked in with Charles right behind him.

One look at her stepbrother was enough to make Penelope very glad for Lady Mary’s support. She was fleetingly amused to see Mrs. Pettibone’s spirit draw near the bed and face Charles. That flicker of good humor died a quick death when she met Charles’s ice-cold gaze.

For a while Charles was all that was pleasant and gentlemanly. With a tone of deep concern he asked about her injuries and her health. His declaration that something needed to be done to catch the miscreant who had assaulted her was perfect in tone and in delivery. He even exchanged a little pleasant gossip with Lady Mary. Throughout it all, from beneath the bed, came a soft growl.

Penelope ignored the possible implications of the dog’s hostility toward Charles and waited for the axe to fall. It was Charles’s way to lull his victims into a state of calm with idle chatter and charm and then slap them hard with a piercing question or a bludgeoning statement. The moment he turned his well-practiced smile on her, she braced for it, determined to give nothing away in word or expression.

“You must thank the Radmoors most kindly for their help, my dear,” he said, “as I have done. Then, once you are dressed, I shall take you home.”

“No, Lord Hutton-Moore,” said Lady Mary in a firm voice, “that will not do. Not at all. Penelope has but recently roused from a debilitating fever. To move her anywhere now could bring it back. As weak as she is from conquering the last bout, another would easily kill her. Since I am certain you do not wish her death on your hands, it would be best if you left her right here until her doctor says she may leave her bed.”

Penelope saw the faint tick in Charles’s cheek that indicated he was straining to control his temper. He was not accustomed to being thwarted. There was nothing he could do, however. Not only was Lady Mary right, but she was far higher born than he and arguing with her could easily prove to be social suicide. He could not even threaten Lady Mary with her late husband’s markers for he had already used that tactic on Ashton. To try and wield that club on Ashton’s mother, who had to already know about it yet still gave him orders, would be a complete waste of time. To try and dun a woman under such conditions, especially with the head of the household alive, would also be a grievous faux pas and he could not be sure that it would go unspoken of. Penelope nearly fainted from the strength of the relief that swept over her when, after a rather curt farewell, Charles left.

“That man did not come here out of any concern for you,” said Lady Mary.

“Nay,” agreed Penelope. “He came to see the body. He may not have pulled the trigger of the pistol used to shoot me, but he is definitely the one who put it in the hands of the one who did.” She glanced at the way Killer eyed the door, the dog’s whole small body still tensed to attack. “I believe, however, that he
was
the one who shot me.”

“I do as well,” said Ashton. “He now has an odd gait which could easily be from a rather, er, intimate dog bite.”

Lady Mary looked at her son. “I think it is time you got some help from people who deal with criminals every day. A constable, or thief taker, or one of those fellows from that office on Bow Street. They help find criminals, do they not? If naught else, they could help to protect Penelope and the boys while you continue to seek out the truth.”

Ashton nodded. “The moment I saw him at the door, I knew more needed to be done.”

“Do you think he would try to hurt the boys?” Penelope asked.

“I think that man is not above using whatever is needed to get what he wants.”

“Damn.”

There was no more to say, for Ashton was absolutely right. Penelope had known from the day she had stood by her mother’s grave that her stepsiblings did not want to share anything with her, even what was rightfully hers. As she had grown older, she had begun to fear that they would never let her reach the age of five and twenty or marry, but it had not been something she thought on for too long or too often. She had believed herself prepared for the hard truth that her stepsiblings wanted her dead, but it was still a bit of a shock. However, she could not wallow in self-pity. She had to get better, had to regain her strength as swiftly as possible, because now she truly was in a fight for her life.

Chapter Thirteen

Penelope heard a rap on the door and started to rise to answer it, only to have her way blocked by one of the burly footmen Ashton had placed in her home. She thought this one was named Ned, but she was still not sure which was which as they both looked remarkably alike. She sat down again as the other one answered the door. It was strange to have two big men wandering through her house during the day, and sometimes at night. Ashton always sent them home when he came for the night but that had not happened much lately and he did not stay in her bed, much to her disappointment. She could understand his reticence when his mother and aunt were there but they were gone now.

It had been two weeks since she had been shot, and although her shoulder could still give her a twinge on occasion, she knew she was completely healed. It had been three days since Ashton’s family had left and she had begun to miss them the moment the door had closed behind them. She had never realized how much she missed the company of other adults, especially women, until she had enjoyed it for a fortnight. Or rather, part of a fortnight, she thought with a grimace as she recalled how she had been locked in a fevered state for most of that first week.

Ashton strode into the room and her thoughts scattered. She heartily returned his kiss, wondering if this would be the night he would cease treating her as if she were too fragile to endure any more than a kiss. The warmth in his eyes as he ended the kiss and sat down by her side gave her hope.

“’Tis very quiet in here,” he said.

“The younger boys are at their lessons. Artemis, Stefan, and Darius are off spying. Now that you know when you will be able to get into the brothel, I had thought that would stop.” She frowned. “It worries me that they spend so much time in that dangerous part of the city.”

“They will be fine and it will be over soon.” He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek.

There was a certain tone in his voice that made her suspicious. She leaned away from him and studied his expression. Penelope struggled to recall all she had been told as well as all she had overheard in the last few days and suddenly tensed.

“It is tonight,” she said. “Or tomorrow night. You will be sneaking into Mrs. Cratchitt’s tonight or tomorrow night.”

“‘Sneaking’ is such a harsh word.”

“Ashton.” She was not surprised to hear herself nearly growl his name.

He sighed and rose to pour them each a drink of wine. She looked healthy, he thought as he served her the drink and sat back down beside her. It made it very difficult to act the gentleman. He wanted to push her down onto the settee and bury himself deep inside her heat. It was too soon, however, no matter how much certainty there had been in Doctor Pryne’s voice when he had declared Penelope healed. By the look on her face, lovemaking would not make her forget that she expected an answer to her question, either.

“It is all planned for tomorrow,” he replied. “And it will not be at night but in the afternoon. Tucker delivers the wine in the afternoon.”

“Oh. Well, ’tis no matter. Spirits are not concerned about time. I should be able to see or at least sense what ones are there.”

“What?! You are
not
going with us.”

“Of course I am. How will you know if there are any murdered people in that place if I do not go?”

“We will know with the use of a shovel and our own eyes.”

“Are you telling me that I cannot be a part of ending what I began?”

Ashton softly cursed. She had indeed begun this; there was no question of it. Whether one believed she had seen a ghost there or not, it was what was leading to an arrest and, undoubtedly, the hanging of an evil woman. The more information they had gathered on Mrs. Cratchitt, the more he and his friends were certain that people had died at that brothel, and Mrs. Cratchitt knew it. Or had done the killing herself. Ashton realized his greatest objection to Penelope joining them was that he did not want her anywhere near that ugliness.

“You are not healed enough,” he said, making one last attempt to dissuade her.

“Oh, aye, I most certainly am. ’Tis not as if I ask to help wrestle the miscreants into their chains. I am healed enough to go along and see what happens, what is found there. To see that poor Faith finds peace.” All the while she spoke, Penelope tugged at her gown. When her wounded shoulder was finally exposed, she pointed to it. “Does that not look healed to you?”

“Remarkably so,” Ashton muttered and stared at the place where the bullet had torn through her soft flesh. The wound was still ugly and somewhat red, but it was otherwise completely healed. “How is it you have healed so quickly? I have seen many wounds, from a small cut to a sword cut or bullet wound gained in a duel, but none of them, even the smallest one, has healed as fast as this has. This is what so astonished Doctor Pryne, is it not?”

Penelope inwardly cursed herself for acting so rashly as she straightened her clothes. She had just wanted to prove to Ashton that she was healed enough to go with him when they brought down Mrs. Cratchitt. Instead, she now had to explain how it was she had healed with a speed that left even her a little stunned.

“You know that Septimus can ease a person’s pain…”

“He can heal like that as well?”

“Nay. He can help make one recover from ills and wounds a little quicker, but no more than that. It was Delmar. I do not know whether it is just his touch or his touch plus Septimus’s, but I could actually feel my wound heal at times. S’truth, I am not sure Delmar realizes what he has done for he was but holding my hand. I have not spoken to anyone about it yet.” She placed her hand over his. “Please, keep it to yourself. Such healing gifts can prove as dangerous as they are wondrous. Everyone who has a disease or a wounded loved one seek out such people. The gift weakens the one who uses it, can even weary them unto death if it is not controlled and limited.”