Page 67 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Benedict bit back a sigh. “Go get warm,” he murmured to Penelope, releasing her hand. She gave him a sympathetic smile, and then she turned and made her way across the deck.
Penelope ducked her head and clung to the rail as she descended the short flight of stairs. The steps were wet, and the floor had a tendency to tilt suddenly beneath her feet as the yacht tacked from side to side, sailing upriver. A narrow passage opened at the bottom of the stairs, with a brass lantern swinging on a hook just barely above her head. The wood down here was polished to a glossy sheen; Benedict was right about his father sparing no expense, she thought as she headed for the carved door that must lead to the main cabin. But what a waste, to have such a craft and never invite others aboard. She thought of the barge her father had bought solely so her mother could plan parties on the river. Surely that was a better way to use one’s fortune. The Earl of Stratford might be immensely wealthy and noble, but she was sure her parents wouldn’t change places with him for anything.
She let herself into the cabin and untied her cloak, hanging it on a hook by the door before stripping off her gloves. Benedict had told her to dress warmly, but the cloak hadn’t kept her pelisse dry, and she removed it as well. It was dim in here, despite the lanterns, but also quiet and dry, thanks to the small round stove bolted to the floor beside her. After the whistling wind upstairs and the incessant spray from the river, it felt like paradise. Penelope removed her bonnet and set the damp, heavy thing aside with a sigh of relief. No wonder Benedict had wanted to avoid this. Why had the earl insisted they go by river? It might be faster than carriage but it was also considerably less comfortable. She’d been determined to hold her own on deck, but now that she felt the warmth of the stove and didn’t have the rain in her face, she was grateful Benedict had urged her to go below.
“There you are.”
The unexpected voice from the shadows made her jump and give a little shriek. Then she wanted to shriek again as she whirled around and spied the speaker.
Three quick thoughts flew through her mind. First, that she was going back on deck, even if a hurricane broke over them. Second, she wished there was a fireplace poker handy. And third—and most unsettling—this was why Lord Stratford had contrived to get them on his yacht. Far from relenting or softening in his attitude toward his heir, the earl had had something very nearly evil in mind.
“I thought I’d have to come fetch you down. Stratford was bloody certain you wouldn’t last half an hour on deck, and now it’s been almost two hours I’ve been cooling my heels.” A chilling smile on his face, Lord Clary managed to slam the door before she could run through it. “Won’t you sit down, Lady Atherton?”
Chapter 23
“What a surprise,” she said, trying to recover her poise and not show how rattled she was. “No one warned me we’d see monsters on the journey.”
He laughed. “Still very free with your tongue, I see.” His dark gaze slid over her. “And not such a virginal young lady anymore.”
She glared daggers at him, retreating toward the stove. Her dress was wet, and since she’d unthinkingly donned a light-colored one, it was also more revealing than it should have been. “I am sure my husband, Lord Atherton, will be just as gratified as I am by your kind felicitations on our marriage.”
“Will he?” Clary smirked. “He damned well owes the marriage to me, so perhaps he will be.”
“Oh dear!” She widened her eyes innocently. “Here I thought he owed it to my acceptance of his earnest proposal.”
“If Atherton had half a thought to marry you before that night, he’s a bigger fool than I thought.” Again his eyes moved over her figure with rude speculation. “Unless you gave him what you refused to give me.”
No, Penelope thought furiously, she was the fool. Benedict had known Stratford’s invitation was suspect, but she had said they should go. She hadn’t believed a father could be so heartless, so uncaring; surely there must have been some kernel of affection deep in his breast. Surely he must have wanted them to visit for a reason that might, possibly, have been considered generous or concerned. Now she knew better. It was possible Stratford had no idea what Clary had done to her, or that he’d started the gossip that led Benedict to marry her. But there could be no good reason for the earl to have manipulated them onto this yacht with Clary concealed belowdecks waiting to waylay her. “What do you want?”
His mouth curled in derision. “So direct! Very well. Where is Olivia Townsend?”
Penelope blinked. Olivia? Not for the first time she wished she knew what he wanted with Olivia, but it didn’t really matter. Under no circumstances would she tell him even if she did know. “She’s away from town.”
“I know that.” He came closer. “Where?”
“Far away, I believe.”
Clary’s face darkened. “Don’t toy with me,” he warned in a soft voice. “I want something from her, very badly. When I want something badly, I get it.”
“But she is a person, not a thing,” she replied politely. “You cannot have a person just because you want her. And if she has something you want, you can only make an offer for it in good faith and hope to strike a bargain.”
His laugh was ugly. “Bargain for it? No, my lady, I don’t think so. Perhaps I wasn’t clear—it already belongs to me. She knows this, and yet she won’t give it to me. What would you call that? It sounds like stealing to me.”
“I would say that it sounds like you’re lying, because Olivia isn’t a thief.”
Clary went very still. “Watch your words, girl.”
“You may call me Lady Atherton if we ever meet again—which I sincerely hope we do not. I think I will rejoin my husband now. Good day to you, sir.” She turned toward the door, trembling with fury and fear. The last time she found herself in a room with him, it had almost ended very badly... But Benedict was only one deck away. She just had to get back to his side.
And after this, she would never argue one word against avoiding his father. Clary was a monster, but Stratford had schemed to put her at Clary’s mercy, aboard a boat where she couldn’t walk away, and for that she tossed out every notion she’d ever had that she ought to try harder to think better of the earl since he was family now. He would never be her family.
Clary didn’t stop her from opening the door, but he followed her. “You can run back to your husband, if you think he’ll save you,” he taunted, crowding indecently close behind her. Penelope clutched her skirts and tried to walk faster, but the wet floors made it treacherous. “Of course, he may not take your side as eagerly as he did before. After all, he already got what he wanted from you. And Stratford wants to find Olivia Townsend nearly as much as I do. Why do you think he came to London to get you?” Penelope glanced over her shoulder in shock before she could stop herself. Clary’s thin smile widened, gloating. “You should be flattered. An earl and a viscount both hanging on your every word! A clever girl would think carefully about what that means, and about how she should answer their questions.”
“Given the earl and viscount in question, I am sure it means nothing good for Mrs. Townsend, and that’s why I won’t tell either of you anything.” She turned her back on him and grabbed the rail to climb the stairs to the deck. The rain had stopped, although the sky was thick with dark clouds. It might have been late twilight instead of midday. The wind was quieter, but she shivered as it cut right through her damp skirts. Her cloak was still in the cabin. It made her hate Clary even more; she ought to have been drying off in the snug, warm cabin, not rushing back out into the elements even less dressed for it than before.
Just as she reached the top step, Clary caught her arm. “Perhaps you ought to think of your husband instead of Mrs. Townsend.” He tilted his head toward the helm, on the other side of the ship behind the billowing sail. “He’ll tell you what it costs to cross Stratford—and be assured, refusing me in this is the same as crossing Lord Stratford. Do you want to bring down his wrath on your dear husband?” He sneered the last two words.
“I know my husband,” she said, low and furious. “I know he wouldn’t hand over a defenseless, innocent woman to your grasp, no matter what his father said.”
