Page 52 of Love in the Time of Scandal
That lazy, dangerous smile crept over his face. “I think I’ve found part of it already.”
She knew he was going to kiss her. She tried to tell herself that he meant he’d found passion, which was very different from love, and that she was still offended by his remarks the night before. But somehow she didn’t move away or say something smart as his head dipped toward hers. Unfortunately for her, she liked it when he kissed her. She liked it when he dug his fingers into the back of her neck. She liked it when he nudged her jaw open so he could kiss her deeply. She liked it when his arm went around her and pulled her onto her toes, forcing her to cling to his shoulders and neck for balance as he sucked hungrily at her tongue, and she absolutely loved it when she gently bit his lower lip and he growled in approval.
“Do you truly like this house?” he whispered against her lips.
“Hmm?”
“Can you imagine making love in this room?” His hands went down her back to cup her backside. He pulled her against him, and Penelope gulped back a moan at the feel of him growing harder against her stomach.
“Right now?” She’d never seen another man’s erection, but she was continually impressed by his. “There’s no furniture...”
He cupped one hand over her breast, raking his thumbnail over her nipple. “I didn’t mean to—right now—but now that you mention it... Lack of furniture is no obstacle...”
“Really,” she said, intrigued. “On the floor?”
“Against the wall.” His voice had gone guttural. “I’ll show you—” The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house made them both jump. Penelope blushed, then choked on a giggle, and something like shock flashed over Benedict’s face before his expression eased.
“Mr. Grace will be wondering what we’re doing.”
“No doubt.” He kissed her again, lightly this time. “And for the future... If you ever wanted something like a new bonnet or gown, seducing me on the sofa would be an excellent way to ask.”
Slowly Penelope smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do that.” Her husband grinned. “Shall we take the house?”
“I think we must.” She smoothed his cravat where it had gone awry. “So you can show me about the wall.”
Benedict’s mood was irrationally buoyed by Penelope’s confession, to say nothing of the kiss that followed. For a woman who was remarkably open and free about expressing her thoughts and feelings, she’d kept a friend’s secret even when it damaged her own reputation. He had a guess who the friend was. Penelope had introduced him to someone once. Little about the woman herself remained in his brain, because he’d been so focused on Penelope, but after a while he decided her name might be Townsend, or Thompson, or something that began with T.
Still, it sounded like a significant entanglement this woman had with Lord Clary, and for a few minutes Benedict debated calling on Clary to remind him to stay far away from his wife. He stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. She was sitting next to him in the carriage, her brow clear, watching out the window with idle interest.I almost gave a huzzah when you punched him, she’d said. He wished he’d known that at the time. Not only would he have relished punching Clary a few more times, apparently it would have won Penelope’s esteem earlier.
On impulse he laid his hand over hers and entwined their fingers. She went abruptly still, then relaxed. A hesitant smile curved her mouth, and she gave his fingers a little squeeze. He leaned forward and thumped on the carriage roof. “Stop here,” he told the driver.
“Is there another house to view?” Penelope asked as he helped her out.
“Of a sort. My sister’s house is there.”
She shielded her eyes with one hand and peered in the direction he indicated. “Where?”
“On the other side of Green Park.” He took her hand in his. “Care for a stroll?”
“Will she be expecting us?” She hung back.
“I think I can visit my own sister without advance warning.” He grinned. “If we’re not welcome, she’ll have no trouble closing the door in my face.” Still Penelope looked doubtful, and he remembered her muttered remark about his family from the previous night. “She’ll be delighted to see you, even if not me. Samantha will be so pleased to be your sister. She didn’t come to the wedding because she and Gray—her husband—were out of town for a few days. It will be years before she forgives me for marrying while she was away.”
Finally she began walking, though slowly. “I hope you’re right.”
“I know Samantha. I’m right.” He tugged her hand around his arm. Penelope walked beside him in silence, but he could tell from her expression that she was thinking hard about something. Not only did she grow quiet when she did that, but her gaze grew focused and dark. He wondered what it was, and prayed she would wait to ask what he didn’t want to discuss: his family.
“Did your father really beat her for her part in stealing the money?” she asked abruptly.
Benedict stiffened. “No.”
“You said he would.”
He thought back to that night when Penelope had sent him an almost taunting note, daring him to come look for four thousand guineas that Sebastian Vane had been accused of stealing from Stratford Court some seven years previously. By then they both knew that Samantha had actually stolen the money in a foolish attempt to help Sebastian, but Penelope wasn’t content with the truth; she wanted to find the money, and she’d offered him a bribe to come help search for it. Benedict had told himself he went to help because he really wanted the bribe, namely the location of the long-lost grotto of Hart House, which he had spent his childhood seeking. It allowed him to pretend it wasn’t guilt that sent him out into the woods, just as he told himself he helped break into a mausoleum as part of the search because Samantha was determined to confess to their father, and Benedict hoped that recovering the money would temper the earl’s fury. Instead... He sighed. “I feared he might. He was furiously angry when she told him.”
“Did he beat you?”
