Page 26 of Love in the Time of Scandal
It was like fate was throwing her at him. And even if it was a mad idea, reason and logic hadn’t won him a bride, either. Penelope might claim to hate him—might think she hated him—but if that fervor could be turned into a different sort of passion... It wouldn’t be the sort of marriage he had wanted, but there could be other compensations. Without meaning to, he imagined making love to her, and a bolt of pure lust shot through his veins, straight to his groin. Benedict closed his eyes and inhaled raggedly. He was no better than Hollander, it seemed—except that he was willing to marry her.
But he would have to play his cards just right. Logic and sense might win over her parents, but Penelope herself would require more dramatic suasion. What had she said the other night? A woman wanted a man to be half mad with passion for her. Benedict’s mouth crooked wryly. Half mad was a fair description of how he felt around her. It wasn’t strictly desire, though desire was unquestionably part of it. And if he could make her want him, too, there was a chance that theirs might be an incomparable union.
Not to mention one that would save them both from ignominy.
Chapter 10
For once Penelope was not at all sorry to be unwell. She kept to the house that night, thinking it best to give Frances and Mrs. Lockwood time to cool their tempers, and to give herself time to think of an appropriate response. Sooner or later she would see them again, and she hoped to have something conciliatory to say when they did meet. Even if Frances’s friendship was lost forever, Penelope did not want anyone to think she had schemed to steal the other girl’s suitor. No good explanation had come to her yet, but surely something would.
A package arrived from Olivia the next morning. Penelope opened it to find the travel journal of Italy she’d bought in Madox Street. “I expect you are imagining yourself anywhere but home by now,” read the enclosed note, “and I enclose this to aid in your imaginary wanderings. I am feeling much better about the vexing matter we discussed yesterday, and have every expectation of a solution soon.”
The gift made her smile and breathe a sigh of relief. Olivia was no fool, and even though it had looked very bad with Clary, Penelope was hardly in a position to judge by appearances.
But she was not made to be an invalid. The day was bright and sunny and it seemed the walls of the house were closing in on her. When her mother mentioned after breakfast that she was going shopping, Penelope asked if she could go as well. It took multiple assurances that her ankle was strong enough, that the swelling had entirely subsided, and that she would be very careful when she walked, but finally Mrs. Weston consented.
Shopping with her mother was not the same as shopping with Olivia or her sister, but on this day Penelope didn’t care. It was bliss to be outside, with the sunshine on her shoulders. She followed her mother into various shops and amused herself by trying on fur tippets and admiring the latest style of bonnets. For the first time in two days she was able to forget about Frances Lockwood and Lord Clary, and apparently it was obvious.
“You seem restored,” remarked her mother.
“Restored? What do you mean?”
Her mother gave her a thoughtful look. “You seem your happy self again, as if you’ve shaken off some great worry.”
Oh heavens. Had her mother noticed? Penelope ducked her head, uncomfortably aware that she had not shaken off anything; she had merely forgotten it for a little while, until now. She picked up a carved fan and fluttered it in front of her face. “It’s just lovely to be out of the house again.”
“I imagine.” Mama sent the shopkeeper to wrap up the gloves she was purchasing, and then she and Penelope left the shop. “Shall you feel well enough to attend the Crawfords’ soiree tomorrow?”
Oh dear. That was a conundrum. Mrs. Lockwood was nearly as close friends with Mrs. Crawford as Mama was. There was a strong chance Frances would be there. For a moment the word “no”hovered on her lips, but then Penelope swallowed it.Be brave, she told herself. “I believe so, Mama.”
“Very good.” Her mother’s eyes flickered, then widened. “Good heavens. Is that—?”
Penelope tensed. Oh no; she said a quick prayer it wasn’t Mrs. Lockwood, descending on them with vengeance in her heart. “Who, Mama?” She didn’t even dare look but kept her bonnet brim tilted to hide her face.
“I believe it’s Lord Atherton,” murmured her mother in wonder. She was almost staring, which meant she missed Penelope’s cringe of horror. Hastily Penelope revised her prayer. She would much rather see Mrs. Lockwood than him, especially in view of her mother. “And he is coming directly toward us.”
Grimly Penelope eyed a nearby shop. Could she plausibly pretend a sudden desire to dash inside? Unfortunately it was a tobacconist. Her mother would never believe she wanted to go in there. She dared a peek around her bonnet brim.
It was indeed Atherton, his gaze focused and intent on her. It was eerily reminiscent of the look he’d given her the other night, the mesmerized expression that hinted at real interest. That was dangerous; it tempted her mind to wander off and wonder what might happen if he really did look at her, long enough to truly see her for the first time, and realize... And realize that she saw through him, and that she wasn’t fooled by his charming facade and perfect face. Penelope squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and reminded herself that she’d seen Atherton’s true colors last summer, when he allowed Sebastian Vane—a guest in his family home who had once been his dearest friend—to crawl home unaided after his own father had caused Sebastian to fall on his crippled knee. She’d seen Atherton’s real measure when he persisted in pursuing her sister, Abigail, even when it was clear Abigail was in love with someone else. She’d known what the viscount really was when she learned he had allowed accusations of murder and theft to endure for years against Sebastian, without speaking a word of support or protest. Atherton might be the handsomest man in all of England, and he had saved her from Clary, but Penelope really didn’t want to see him.
Naturally her prayers were not answered. “Mrs. Weston,” he said, his voice as rich as caramel. “How delightful to see you again.” His blue eyes settled on Penelope. “Miss Weston.”
“The delight is entirely ours, sir,” replied Mama warmly. Penelope dipped a stiff curtsy and said nothing. What did he want? He looked magnificent today in regular clothing instead of his uniform, with a charcoal coat and dark blue trousers that outlined his form exquisitely. It was really unfair for a man to be that beautiful and yet a complete fraud as a person.
He laughed. “I flatter myself to hope it’s even half as great as mine! I’ve worried over Miss Weston since the other night, and it gladdens my heart to see her on her feet again.”
She jerked her head up. Mama was regarding her with surprise, and Atherton with an expression of warmth and concern and... determination. What the devil? “Yes, thank you, sir,” she said politely.
“I was very fortunately close at hand when she suffered her mishap the other night,” he told Mama, still radiating charm.
“How very kind.” Mama sent Penelope a probing look. “You didn’t tell me Lord Atherton assisted you when you slipped on the stairs.”
She widened her eyes innocently. “Didn’t I? Oh dear, I must have forgotten. I was very shaken, you know.”
“No doubt,” murmured the viscount.
She flushed, reminding herself to be more polite. He could expose her as a liar with just one word. “I must thank you once again, my lord. Your help was both timely and considerate.”
“Not at all! I was very distressed when I discovered you after your fall, and have worried ever since that you would suffer a lasting injury.”
