Page 66 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“The lack of privacy.” He traced the stitching on her glove where she held the rail. “I read the most intriguing account of a carriage journey the other day...”
Her lips parted. “Where did you read it?”
“In my lady’s dressing room.” He let his fingers slide between hers for a moment. “I’ve no idea where that coach was going, but I daresay most of the trip’s pleasure was had en route.”
“And you didn’t find it... alarming? Or shocking?”
“Very shocking, but in the best way.” He lifted her hand to his lips, watching her blush deepen as she stared at him in fascination. “Did you find it shocking?”
She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “No. In fact... I believe that was one of my favorite stories by the author.” Her pulse was rapid. “Have you any other knowledge of such a feat?”
“Not direct knowledge.” He laid her hand back on the rail. “Yet.”
“We’re not returning to London by yacht, are we?”
“No,” he said before she even finished the question. It was too cold and wet for sailing, in his opinion. One journey would satisfy his father; he doubted they would even be invited for a second.
“Well.” She tapped her foot against his, still smiling coyly. “Perhaps we shall test the author’s veracity.”
If the earl hadn’t been only a few yards away, he would have kissed her. As it was, he felt a fiendish eagerness to reach Stratford Court. After the journey, they would need to retire, to change for dinner and repair their appearances. Benedict thought an extra hour or so to restore their good humor as well was more than justified. And if his father made any snide remarks about the future Earls of Stratford, Benedict would simply smile and think of another pleasurable way they might try to conceive those heirs.
The sky grew darker. It began to rain, very lightly, as they passed the Bishop’s Palace at Fulham. Benedict turned up the collar of his coat, glad of an excuse to leave the deck. “Do you want to go into the cabin?”
“Not yet.” She raised her face to the rain as if in bliss. “It’s more like mist than rain.”
“It will still get us wet,” he reminded her.
She only grinned. “And what is that to us? We’ll soon be warm and dry.”
“You’re saying that because you don’t want to give any ground.”
“True,” she admitted cheerfully. “But isn’t it also an adventure? How many times can one claim to have braved a storm on deck? I feel rather like an explorer, facing dangers and terrors in pursuit of the unknown.”
He smiled. “If only there was something more exciting at the end of this trip.”
“I shall meet your mother.” Penelope hesitated, pulling her cloak more securely around her. “I hope to make a good impression.”
He squeezed her hand. “You will. When you first meet her, my father will be there. Don’t presume that is her natural manner. You must see her when he’s not nearby, to see the true lady of warmth and affection she is. She wants very much to like you, Penelope, and I know she will.”
“I hope so.” She didn’t look entirely persuaded, but her fingers curled into his, and he felt a burst of warmth for her again.
The rain pattered on, never heavy but stinging when driven by the wind. For a while they walked up and down the deck to keep warm, but eventually it grew too slippery and they retreated behind the helm, where there was some shelter from the wind.
Stratford looked Penelope up and down. “You must want out of the weather, Lady Atherton. My man will have tea prepared in the cabin belowdecks.”
Again Benedict was astonished. The cabin below was as finely appointed as the rest of the ship, and when Stratford went on longer sails, he took a complement of servants to provide all the luxuries of home. Benedict had just never heard—nor thought to hear—those comforts freely offered to anyone else. But Penelope only smiled. “It’s quite brisk out, my lord, but nothing to blunt my enjoyment of the trip.”
The earl arched one brow. “Quite a redoubtable woman, I see, unlike most ladies.”
Benedict heard his real meaning: unlikeanylady. First Stratford all but dared her to come aboard, and now he slighted her for not dissolving into a plaintive mess at the discomfort aboard. But when Benedict glanced at his wife, he noted the sheen of rain on her skin and the dampness of her cloak. It was silly for Penelope to remain out here just to show the earl how much backbone she had. He leaned closer and murmured in her ear. “We’re nearly to the dock. There will be a bit of a drive to the house, so you might want to seize this opportunity for a quiet moment alone.”
She met his gaze, then nodded. “You are so kind, my lord,” she said to the earl. “A cup of tea would be very refreshing.”
Stratford bowed his head and swept out one arm. “The door at the bottom of the steps.” Benedict turned to go, too. His father would think him weak and womanish and he didn’t give a damn. “A moment, Benedict,” said his father. “I want a word.”
He hesitated. Penelope stopped beside him, her hand on his arm. A gust of wind blew the rain directly at them, and he spoke without thinking. “Can it not wait?”
Stratford raised one brow. He didn’t say a word.
