Page 7 of Love in the Time of Scandal
He brought her hand to his lips and took his leave, telling himself he was, and would be, a gentleman. He bore Penelope no ill will. Once upon a time, they’d even seemed to share a joie de vivre, when she dared him to prove Hampton Court was haunted and they laughed together in dusty corridors about ghostly legends. The memory quickened his step; when Penelope was in a good humor, she had a sly wit and a laugh that made men stop and listen. All he had to do was rekindle enough of that good feeling between them so she wouldn’t try to turn Miss Lockwood against him.
It took him a few moments to locate her. Unlike Miss Lockwood, who was always watching the dancers as if she couldn’t wait to be one of their number, Penelope had retreated to a corner. Benedict made his way through the crowd without hurrying, giving her plenty of time to note his approach. He could tell the exact moment she did. She raised her chin, leveled a cool glare at him, and deliberately turned her shoulder to him.
Damn. This would take some effort—and for some reason he felt an unwonted thrill at the prospect.
He summoned his most charming smile as he drew near. “Miss Weston.”
She faced him the way Queen Elizabeth must have faced the Earl of Essex before sending him to the block. “Lord Atherton. What an unexpected pleasure.” She glanced at the woman beside her. “May I present to you my friend Mrs. Townsend? Mrs. Townsend, this is Lord Atherton, whose father has a very beautiful property in Richmond near ours.”
“It is a pleasure, Mrs. Townsend.” He bowed.
“How do you do, sir?” Mrs. Townsend curtsied, shooting a fleeting, curious glance at Penelope.
For some reason he suspected that they had been speaking of him, and he had the sudden desire to charm Mrs. Townsend mercilessly, just to see what Penelope would do. He checked the impulse—he wanted to win her over, not antagonize her further—and kept his easy smile in place. “We didn’t have a chance to speak earlier. Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Weston?”
“How kind of you to ask, my lord. Are you certain Miss Lockwood can spare you?” she asked, somewhat archly.
“Miss Lockwood encouraged me,” he replied.
Penelope raised one brow. “Did she? Well then, how could I possibly refuse?” With a vaguely ominous smile, she gave him her hand. “Shall we?”
They joined the dance figures forming on the floor. Unlike the other couples, many of whom spoke to each other or at least exchanged a glance, Penelope gazed straight ahead as if no one stood beside her.
“I hope your family is well,” he said, thinking to start cordially.
“Yes,” she said. “They are all very well.” Finally she looked at him, an almost sly glance through her eyelashes. “My sister especially.”
Benedict absorbed the hit without a flinch. He’d expected it. “I am delighted to hear that. I always wished her well.”
“She’s married now, you know,” she went on. “It was a lovely wedding, small and private. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so in love as my new brother-in-law.”
He clenched his jaw but kept his expression composed. “Vane was due for some good fortune and happiness. I’m glad to hear he’s found it.”
Penelope smiled that dangerous smile again as the music began. “He most certainly has.”
They turned and made the courtesy to the couples on either side of them, then faced each other and did the same. The next several steps separated them, but when she took his hand and they turned, Penelope’s eyes shone in a way that put him on guard. When the dance moved on to the other couples, he discovered why.
“Have you known Miss Lockwood long, sir?”
“A few weeks. She’s a charming young lady.”
“She is,” agreed Penelope warmly. “I’m very fond of her; she’s like a younger sister to me.”
Benedict took that as a warning. “She’s fortunate to have secured your friendship.”
Her eyebrows went up. “She considers herself more fortunate to have attractedyournotice.”
“I can hardly comment on that.”
“No? You never seemed one to ignore your own advantages, my lord.”
Fortunately the dance sent her away from him, before his temper could slip from his grasp and cause him to say something rash. She seemed to know it, though, for she sent him a simmering glance as she moved around the other dancers. He could barely control his impatience for her to be back at his side. Such a comment could not go unanswered.
“Are you accusing me of misrepresenting myself?” he asked as soon as she took his hand for the next turn.
She tipped her head as if pondering it. “I don’t know. How highlydoyou think of yourself?” He looked at her incredulously, and she smiled, with a tiny shake of her head. “Never mind that. Tell me instead what you love best about dear Miss Lockwood.”
For a moment he didn’t reply. He couldn’t. All thoughts of Miss Lockwood, his potential bride, had been driven out of his head by the infuriating woman at his side, with her gleaming blue eyes and secretive smile that always rattled his equilibrium. He scrambled to control his thoughts and say something sensible. “Her warm and kind spirit.”
