Page 16 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
“That women are capable of every emotion and deed that men are, even the unscrupulous ones,” she declared. “To think otherwise—”
“Is to think well of that singular group—the well-bred Englishwoman.” Sterne’s eyes were piercing as he met her gaze directly. “Those other women are victims of their circumstances.”
“I think you are viewing an entire class of women through rose-colored glasses.” She was growing exasperated, now. “It isn’t scientific.”
His jaw tightened and she could see that he was going to hold onto his position with all of the stubbornness that so many males were capable of. “Perhaps you don’t know Lady Tresham’s circumstances,” she said quietly.
That made him pause.
“I agree with Penelope,” Hope declared. “And if you want a male perspective on the lengths a woman will go to, to get what she wants, I invite you to revisit my courtship with Tensford.” The countess’s mouth twisted around a grin, but she continued on. “Furthermore, I propose a solution to our current disagreement. When we get to Town, you gentlemen may pursue Stillwater. Andweshall investigate Lady Tresham.”
“I don’t know,” Sterne objected. “Perhaps you should not. We cannot risk—”
“No! You cannot have it both ways.” Penelope was abruptly on her feet and clutching her knife. “You have just declared it impossible for Lady Tresham to be involved. If you are to hold to your beliefs, then we cannot possibly be at any risk.”
Lord Tensford choked on his ale. “She’s got you, there.”
“Point to the well-bred English girl,” the countess said wryly.
“I find that I’ve lost my appetite,” Penelope declared. Carefully, she set down her knife. “I shall retire. I know you wish to leave early,” she said to the earl. “Goodnight, all.”
And she swept off, with as much dignity as an aching yearning and a flaring temper would allow.
* * *
A biteof his dinner stuck in his throat as Sterne watched Penelope Munroe walk away. Devil it, but she was even lovelier when she was riled. He’d been as distracted by the bright shine of those green eyes as he was distraught at the soundness of her logic.
He eyed the notebook she’d left on the small table near the door when they entered. He didn’t call her back or bring any attention to it. He just sighed and wondered why he was so resistant to her idea.
“I think I shall go up, as well,” Lady Tensford said delicately. “An early evening sounds just the thing.”
“I’ll join you.” Tensford downed his ale, wiped his mouth and tossed down his napkin. “Are you coming up, Sterne?”
He poured himself another drink. “No. I think I’ll stay.”
“Give the landlord our thanks, will you?” the earl called, following eagerly in his wife’s footsteps.
Brooding, Sterne stared at his ale without seeing it until the innkeeper came bustling in to clear the table. Moving out of the way, he went to retrieve the notebook.
It was a fine, leather bound journal. No doubt, if he peeked inside, he would find the organized notes of an orderly mind. But he wouldn’t look. He had no wish to add to the list of his sins in her eyes.
Frowning, he carried it with him as he crossed the room. Why was he so resistant to the idea of Lady Tresham’s involvement? It was more than just manly pride at the recollection of being struck down. He felt a gut-deep repugnance at the thought. And why did the thought of her keep bringing his mother to mind? They both did share a certain coldness—
“Sure ye wouldn’t like a bit of pudding, sir?”
“No, thank you.” Book in hand, he went to the window. “If you’ll bring me a flagon of ale, I think I’ll just stay here a bit, though.”
“Of course.” The man nodded toward the window as Sterne lifted the sash. “Looks to be a tempest heading our way. It’s a good night to stay in,” the innkeeper said as he took his rattling cart out.
There was a storm brewing. Sterne stood for a while, letting the wind wash over him and watching the clouds roll in and the lightning jumping between them like a squirrel scrabbling amongst the trees. When the door opened, he didn’t turn away, but just spoke over his shoulder. “Just leave it on the table. Thank you.”
“I’m afraid I’ve come in search of something, not on a delivery.”
He spun around. Miss Munroe stood just inside the door. She wore her green traveling pelisse, but had obviously donned it over her nightclothes. Lace-trimmed, white linen peeked out over her feet, clad in embroidered slippers.
“Have you seen a notebook? Bound in leather and—oh.” She stopped as he held it out.
“I haven’t sneaked a peek,” he said a bit defensively. That coat, it had mocked him all day. The petaled caps at the shoulders had floated in the wind, continuously catching his eye. Decorative braiding along the seams of the bodice hugged her tight and invited his gaze to follow. A thousand times today he’d imagined peeling that coat off of her—and now here she was, wearing next to nothing beneath it. He thrust the journal toward her. “My word of honor. I did not look inside.”
