The Duke's Quandary (8 page)

“Mr. Smythe is a purse-pinched rake who is seeking a wealthy woman to marry.” His soft-spoken words eased into her thoughts, all the more deadly because of its silky utterance. “Had you been discovered alone with him by anyone other than myself, he would have offered for you, and you would have been required to accept—or be ruined.”

The blood drained from her face. Of course she knew being alone with the man was unacceptable, but she’d no idea the consequences would be so dire. Married to that popinjay? When she remembered how much she’d disliked him, and how he’d held onto her when she had attempted to flee, the idea that he was trying to compromise her changed the fear of Drake’s wrath into teeth grinding anger. “How dare he use me in that fashion!”

“Precisely.” He stood and returned to his seat, crossing an ankle over his knee, now seeming more at ease. “You would not be the first woman trapped that way. Or man, for that matter.”

“I shall never understand these people.” How simple life had been in the country with her scientific work. That was what she found important. Not some sniveling wastrel trying to snare a wealthy wife in order to continue a debauched lifestyle.

Fatigue and depression descended on her like a shroud. Perhaps it was time to visit Aunt Phoebe and beg to be sent back home. Not only did she not belong here, and had no desire to remain, but she could easily ruin the rest of her life by one small mistake. She shivered at the thought of marriage to Mr. Smythe.

“I’m sorry, are you chilled? I can easily ring for some tea, or have a footman start a fire.”

…

Drake studied Penelope as she rubbed her palms up and down her arms. The poor girl had paled to the color of new snow when he had told her what Smythe might have had in mind. One thing was obvious. Penelope was correct. She did not belong in his world. She was far too innocent and naïve, more so than most girls having their come out. Which was why he had to keep a closer eye on her. It would devastate his mother if their houseguest got caught in some type of scandal while under Her Grace’s care.

Penelope made a movement to get up. “No. Tea will not be necessary. If you’re finished, I would like to retire.”

The weariness in her face troubled him. Between the difficulties on the dance floor, and her encounter with Smythe, it was no wonder she looked exhausted. He nodded at her request, then called her back as she headed to the door.

“Yes?”

“I suggest you put your spectacles on. I know you have them in your reticule. Wouldn’t you find it easier to see where you’re going?”

She flushed, and clutched the small bag to her chest, as if he intended to rip it from her fingers. Perhaps she took it as a criticism, when he merely wanted to keep her from stumbling her way upstairs.

“Haven’t we had a conversation about that before?”

Penelope chewed her lower lip. He was stunned at his body’s immediate reaction to that innocent gesture. Except there was nothing innocent about those lush, berry-red lips. In fact, he had a vivid memory of tasting them just a few days ago. They’d been warm and sweet, and had left him with a desire for more.

He also noticed how her gown sparkled in the room’s candlelight. Each time she moved, the gown shimmered, drawing his eyes to her lovely form. That he hadn’t noticed the allure of that gown until now amazed him. Although of modest cut, the neckline displayed her alabaster skin and the rise of her plump breasts to perfection. Her hair had been pulled up into a fetching knot, with the activities of the evening loosening it somewhat, giving her a soft, feminine look. No doubt it was not only her money that had encouraged Smythe to pull that stunt.

Anger once again coursed through him at the idea of Smythe, or for that fact, any man, putting his hands on her body. Of slowly easing that gown down to expose her perfect breasts, cupping them in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples until they beaded while he ravished her mouth, and then. . .

Sweat broke out on his forehead as he quickly pushed those disconcerting thoughts to the back of his mind. Who Penelope married, and consequently was bedded by, was not his affair.

“I find it hard to forego Aunt Phoebe’s remonstrations about my spectacles.”

It took him a moment to remember their conversation. “Ah.” His lips twitched, not wanting to embarrass her further by laughing. “But I thought you mentioned not having an interest in catching a husband?”

“You are right.” With a slight smile, she fumbled with the string on the reticule and yanked the spectacles out. As she settled them on her face, she caught several strands of her hair in the frames.

“Here, let me.” He strode up to her, and took the spectacles off, smoothing her hair back before replacing them. “You have such soft skin.” He stroked his thumb down her cheek, over the angles of her cheekbone, and then lightly cupped her chin.

She stared at him, her thick eyelashes slowly closing as he continued his caress. She licked her lips, a definite hitch in her breathing. Before he could consider the consequences, he lowered his head and moved his mouth over hers, devouring its softness. The very air around them seemed electrified and her innocent response to his embrace spurred him further.

Drake’s other hand moved up until he was cupping her face, both of his thumbs grazing her velvety skin as he angled to get a better taste of her sweetness. A shudder passed through her, and she leaned in farther, resting her delicate palms on his chest.

Penelope’s acceptance of his kiss stoked a gently burning fire into a raging inferno. He broke from her lips and kissed her jaw, her neck, and then the soft skin at the back of her ear. She turned her head aside, giving him greater access to the smooth, flower-scented skin.

“Drake, are you still speaking with Penelope?” His mother’s voice broke into his drugged brain, reminding him he was standing in the middle of the library, ravishing his mother’s houseguest.

Chapter Eleven

Drake and Penelope broke apart, both of them breathing heavily as the door to the library moved open, and the duchess entered. “Oh, there you are. I wanted to ask. . . ” Her voice faded as she took in the scene before her.

“Yes, Mother, what is it?” The abruptness of his statement and raspy tenor of his voice disturbed him. He moved to his desk, and shuffled the papers there, desperate to get himself under control. What would his mother make of this? She certainly was astute enough to guess what had been happening as she entered.

“If you will excuse me, Your Graces, I would like to retire.” Penelope grasped the sides of her skirts and hurried past the duchess, who kept glancing back and forth between the two of them, a slight smile twitching her lips.

“How did your ‘talk’ with Miss Clayton go?” The duchess inquired.

He noticed definite mirth in her eyes. Once again he felt as he did when he was in short pants and his mother had caught him in some transgression. Like with biscuit crumbs all over his mouth right before dinner. Or the time he’d placed a frog in Abigail’s bed. But dash it all, he was a man grown, and did not have to squirm under her amused glance. “Our conversation went very well, thank you. And to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Drake, unstiffen your back. If you think I intend to berate you, perhaps I will. Only to remind you that Penelope is our guest, and an innocent young girl. I will not see her trifled with, not even by my own son. Especially my son, under whose protection she resides.” She inhaled, and Drake took his opportunity.

“Enough, madam. I know who Penelope is, her station in life, and her status as a guest. I was not trifling with her, and I assure you I have been, and will continue to be, a gentleman. Now what is it that caused you to seek me out?”

Her Grace smoothed her skirts out and sighed. “I only wanted to tell you that I need you to watch over Penelope, but now I’m not so sure.”

Drake closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is the problem?”

“I heard one of the wretched matrons refer to our guest as ‘Clumsy Clayton.’ I know Penelope heard it, because she had just reached me, and I heard it as well. The poor girl blanched, and she had already looked pale when she returned from the garden. It was most unkind, and I’m afraid she will begin to hide herself as Marion does.”

…

Penelope fled down the corridor, then hurried up the stairs, her hands cupping her flushed cheeks. Whatever was wrong with her? This was truly a complete disaster. Being discovered in the dark garden with Mr. Smythe, and goodness sakes, even disgracing herself on the dance floor, was nothing compared to the duchess finding her and Drake together that way. Had she guessed what had been going on?

Of course she had. The woman is anything but stupid.

Her mind was made up. She would definitely go to Aunt Phoebe’s and beg to be sent home. She had to get as far away from Drake as she could. Nothing would ever come of her attraction to the man. He and his sisters had been very vocal about how he was seeking the “perfect” woman this Season to be his duchess. She was so far from the perfect woman as to be laughable. And it was best to stop her growing feelings before she got hurt.

“Penelope, is that you?” Marion called from her room as Penelope hurried past.

Not the best time to engage in a conversation; the only thing Penelope wanted to do was go to her bedroom, change into her nightgown, and crawl into bed. But the plea in Marion’s voice stopped her. “Yes, it is me.” Penelope pushed open the door to find Marion standing by the fireplace.

“Can you visit for a while?” The young widow seemed more animated than Penelope had ever seen her. Marion gave her a warm smile and waved at the settee.

Pushing aside her own turmoil, Penelope joined her, noting the tea things set up on a small table. A blue flowered teapot, with matching cups and saucers, was daintily laid out with a tray of biscuits and small lemon tarts.

They chatted amiably for a while, but Marion seemed distracted, as if she had something on her mind she needed to talk about. Eventually, she wiped her hands on a serviette and cleared her throat. “I’ve been looking at the garden for some time now, and I thought I would enjoy a walk there. Perhaps in the morning. I do love the forsythia that blooms this time of year.” She took Penelope’s hands. “And I want so much for you to accompany me.”

Stunned at this request, and with so many family members ready to jump at the chance to see her out and about again, Penelope smiled warmly. “Certainly. I would be honored.”

“You see, my family loves me very much, but I know a great deal of fuss and possibly questions will arise if I go by myself, or if I ask one of them to accompany me.

“Frankly, I am a bit nervous, not having left this room in two years.” She glanced around at what had surely become a prison. At least to Penelope’s way of thinking, that’s how it would be for her. Because of her work, time spent out of doors was her life. To be cooped up in one room—for two years no less—would be torture.

Marion breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. Shall we say, nine o’clock? Would that be acceptable to you?”

Pushing aside her plans to visit with Aunt Phoebe first thing in the morning to beg for release from her own torture, she agreed. “Nine o’clock will be wonderful.” Penelope took her last sip of tea and rose. “Now you must excuse me, as I fear I must seek my bed.”

…

The next morning, deep in thought, with his hands clasped behind his back and his head lowered, Drake came to the end of the garden pathway. His attention was gained by female voices. Surprised that his sisters had risen early enough to take a stroll, he glanced at the two figures approaching him, and came to an abrupt halt, his mouth falling open. Marion and Penelope walked arm in arm, both of them strolling as if it were an everyday occurrence.

He shook his head to clear it, and make sure he wasn’t mistaking Abigail or Sarah for Marion. No. It was definitely his eldest sister, and she was chattering and waving her arm as if her last two years of self-imprisonment had never happened.

What the hell?

Something held him back from making a fuss. If Marion were to resume life outside her room, she needed her family’s support, not hysteria at her decision. “Good morning, ladies. A fine day for a stroll, is it not?” He tipped his hat as they halted.

“Yes, it is indeed a lovely morning.”

“Is Penelope giving you a lesson in botany, Marion?” he teased, smiling in his sister’s direction.

“Yes. I am so impressed with her knowledge. She has been able to identify every plant and flower in the garden. And by their Latin names!”

The pleasure on Penelope’s face at Marion’s compliment was like a punch to the gut. He was merely trying to be polite, but her reaction to his sister’s praise reminded him botany was something very serious that meant a great deal to her.

“Well ladies, enjoy your walk.” He moved past them, and then turned. “Penelope, may I see you in the library when you return?”

As he continued on his way, he thought back to his mother’s comments the previous evening about her fear of Penelope hiding herself. It appeared the girl had instead convinced Marion to leave her self-imposed captivity. There was a lot more to her than met the eye. She might be socially inept and shy, but he’d bet underneath that soft appearance, she had a spine of steel.

…

As they resumed their walk, Penelope fought a wave of butterflies in her stomach, thinking back on last night’s encounter. But she needed to speak with Drake anyway, to request a carriage and a maid to travel with her to Aunt Phoebe’s house. She’d sent along a note to the woman early this morning, asking to be granted an audience this afternoon. Since Aunt Phoebe no longer held ‘at home’ days, they would have privacy when Penelope asked to be sent back to the country.

The glow in Marion’s cheeks and how she exclaimed over everything in the garden made Penelope a bit uncomfortable about her plan. How could she abandon the young widow who was just now coming out of her isolation?

Marion tugged Penelope closer. “Now you must tell me about your ball last evening.”

Once again memories of the disastrous dance, Mr. Smythe accosting her in the garden, and then
the kiss
, flooded her mind, causing her heart to pump harder, and surely to bring a blush to her cheeks. Then another incident she’d relegated to the back of her mind suddenly made an appearance.

As she had made her way through the ballroom in search of Her Grace, she’d overheard Lady Sirey refer to her as “Clumsy Clayton” to a group of matrons. She’d loudly whispered this appellation behind her fan, apparently meaning for her to hear it. Gales of feminine laughter had followed her to the duchess’s side. More humiliating had been the look of sympathy the duchess had sent her.

Bringing herself back to the present, she was horrified to feel two tears slide down her cheeks.

Marion viewed her with raised eyebrows. “Oh dear. What happened?”

Penelope shook her head. “Nothing really. Well, I did make a cake of myself during a quadrille.” She wiped her cheeks and attempted a smile. “Your brother was kind enough to shift everyone around so I was his partner, and he guided me through the steps.” That was as far as she would go on about Drake, both in speech and thought. The rest of it she still had to muddle through in her mind before she could make sense of it.

“That sounds very much like Drake. He is a very loving, compassionate person, you know. I hear from my sisters he’s become quite high in the instep since he’s become duke, but his visits to me have not shown that side of him.”

“Yes, I agree. He is very kind.”

And confusing.

…

Shortly after the exchange with Drake they headed back to the house. Marion went directly to her room, pleading fatigue. Penelope was ridding herself of her bonnet and gloves when Drake strolled down the corridor.

He watched his sister disappear from the top of the stairs, and then turned his attention to Penelope. “May I speak with you now?” He waved in the direction of the library.

“Certainly.” Penelope felt ready to face him, and then request a carriage and companion for her visit to Aunt Phoebe.

Once she was seated, he settled himself behind his desk and smiled. Fully. Her insides melted and she had the sudden urge to fan herself. Heavens, that smile could be bottled and sold as a cure for. . .well, just about anything. She pushed her thoughts aside when she realized he was speaking. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”

“No matter, I was merely commenting on the weather. What I really wanted to say was how very impressed I am with what I saw just now. In fact, one could say I am speechless. However did you accomplish in such a short time what my family has been trying to do for two years?”

Penelope shrugged. “It was Marion’s decision. Perhaps she was ready, and I happened to be there when she decided.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“Well thank you very much, but I am not sure I had much to do with it.” Uncomfortable with his praise, she shifted in her seat, waiting for an opening to ask for a carriage.

“In any event, I asked to speak to you because I want to apologize for my behavior last evening. It was inappropriate given your status in our household.” Drake ran his fingers through his hair. “It will never happen again, I can assure you.”

Despite an overwhelming desire to return to her comfortable life in the country, his easy dismissal of a moment that had meant so much to her, stung. Did he share so many kisses with young ladies that he could brush it off so easily?

To her it had been the most exciting thing in her life. The kiss he’d given her in the garden had been brief. Too quick, and surprising, for her to appreciate it. But last night she’d felt the stirring of something new and interesting. And now he apologized as if he’d done something wrong. Well, perhaps it had been wrong, but that didn’t mean he had to actually
say
that.

She drew herself up, and raised her chin. “I agree. It was inappropriate and I’m sure it will not happen again.”

Instead of looking aggrieved, her statement seemed to amuse him, and his lips twitched. He glanced down and began to shuffle his papers.

Very well, she would be adult about it too. “While I am here, may I request the use of one of your carriages this afternoon, as well as the services of a maid or companion?”

Drake leaned back in his chair, his elbow resting on the armrest, his thumb and index finger bracing his jaw. His deep hazel eyes bored into her, leaving her breathless. “Of course you may have what you need. Am I permitted to ask where you are going?”

“I wish to pay a call on my Aunt Phoebe. She requested I visit with her while I am your guest, and I’m afraid I’ve been neglectful of her wishes.” There, she sounded quite grown up and ladylike.

Drake smiled slowly, his eyes dancing with mirth. Did he not believe her? “If it is all the same with you, I would like to accompany you, since I have just this morning received some documents I wish to discuss with Lady Bellinghan.”

Her heart dropped like a stone when she realized he would be present when she again appeared foolish by begging to be sent back to the country like a frightened child. Drat. She would have to find a way to speak with Aunt Phoebe in private. “Would four o’clock be acceptable?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Will one of my sisters be coming along also?”

For heaven’s sake this trip that was supposed to be somewhat of a private matter would soon turn into the social event of the Season. “No. I believe Her Grace and your sisters are planning a shopping trip. Since I feel more than adequately outfitted, I thought it would be a good time to see my aunt.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Adequately outfitted? Truly a unique concept for a young woman. Then I look forward to our trip.” He nodded, obviously dismissing her. Apparently the only reason he had wished to see her was to make sure she understood his kisses meant absolutely nothing, and she should in no way expect any more.