Page 17 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“Hmm.” He leaned closer. “Your arrival was quite... inconvenient.”
“Was it?” She blinked innocently. “It did look as though Mrs. Townsend had a prior engagement, though, so your conversation would have soon ended anyway, don’t you think?”
He leaned closer yet, until his face was very near hers. Up close she could see the veins beneath the pale skin of his temple. He lowered his head and inhaled a long breath. “You smell delicious,” he whispered.
For the first time a frisson of alarm went down her spine. “How kind of you to say so. The perfume was a gift from my father. My mother is very fond of it, too.” Somehow, frequent and repeated mentions of her parents seemed necessary, so he would know she wasn’t without protection. Unlike Olivia.
“You don’t smell like a virginal little girl.” He traced one finger down the ribbon edging her bodice. “Nor act like one.”
“Take your hands off me,” she said, firmly but quietly. “I am not a little girl, but a young lady capable of screaming very loudly if assaulted.”
“Assaulted?” A smile slowly curved his lips, making him look almost demonic. “I haven’t touched you.” Giving the lie to his words, his finger bumped over the ribbon, brushing her skin more than once.
“And you’d better not,” she replied. “Let me pass, sir.”
“Not yet.” He lightly touched the brooch pinned at her bosom, right between her breasts. “You’ve got a bit of a reputation already, Miss Weston. A bit daring, a bit scandalous, far too adventuresome for a proper young lady... But perhaps that’s to be expected of an upstart schemer.”
She struggled to contain her temper. “I shall overlook your general ignorance of my reputation, to say nothing of your repulsive true nature, if you stand aside and let me go at once.”
“Who would believe you over me, anyway?” he went on. “I have connections your father can only dream of. If you—or he—were to accuse me of anything, well...” He shrugged. “But your friend Mrs. Townsend promised me something this evening, and you prevented her from giving it to me. Perhaps I ought to collect it from you instead.”
Penelope didn’t move, but she glared at him with icy hatred. “You don’t deserve the slightest thing from her, or from me.”
He raised one brow. “Deserve? Who said anything about deserving it? But now that you have, perhaps you should learn what happens to curious little girls who interrupt assignations.”
Her shock upon learning that Olivia had, in fact, made an assignation with this disgusting man was quickly put aside when Lord Clary suddenly ripped the brooch from her gown. The lace at her neckline tore off with it, to her outrage. “Let’s just have a touch,” he said, and grabbed her breast in a rough squeeze.
Acting on advice from her brother, Penelope brought up her knee, right between Lord Clary’s legs. She didn’t manage to do it as hard as Jamie had suggested, but apparently it was enough. Clary cursed and rocked back, just enough for her to get her other foot against his chest and kick for all she was worth. He tumbled over backward and she scrambled out of the chair. Her voice seemed to have fled; her heart was racing so hard her hands shook. Outraged, appalled, and furiously frightened, she tried to run for the door, only to feel his hand clamp around her ankle.
“The bitch likes a bit of a scratch and tumble, eh?” He yanked, sending her crashing to the floor so hard she saw stars. “I can play at that.”
“You disgusting pig!” Penelope kicked again, but her dancing slippers didn’t have the impact she wanted.
Lord Clary thrust his other hand up her skirts, seizing her knee in a painful grip. “Disgusting? I just want what any man wants. If you’re the only female around to provide it—”
“My father will kill you!” Penelope twisted, but he had her. All her wriggling had thrown up her skirts, and as Lord Clary plowed his hand farther upward, her petticoats were being tossed aside as well, baring her legs.
“I don’t give a damn about your father,” muttered her assailant—for that’s what Penelope was rapidly realizing he was. “Nor your bloody brother nor cousins.”
“How about me?” The voice rang through the room, deadly calm and icy cold. Penelope looked up through the locks of hair that had fallen over her face, and her heart leapt. Benedict Lennox, Lord Atherton, stood in the doorway, very tall and dark and angry. Or so it appeared from her position sprawled on the floor.
“I said, do you give a damn about me?” he repeated when no one spoke. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him with an audible click. “On your feet, Clary.”
Lord Clary gave Penelope one last malevolent look before shoving her away and rising to his feet. Penelope scrambled to safety behind the armchair, and watched with speechless gratitude as Atherton, one of her least favorite people in the world, advanced on Lord Clary. For a second his gaze flickered her way. “Are you hurt, Miss Weston?”
Wordlessly she shook her head. It wasn’t true. There would be bruises on her knee, and she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep for days, with the memory of Clary’s repellent touch and intentions fresh in her mind. But the thought of what hurt she would have suffered in a few minutes left her mute with relief.
“Good.” Atherton turned back to Clary, who was straightening his jacket and looking furious. “Get out of this house.”
Clary’s lip curled. “Mind your manners, young man.”
Atherton began unbuttoning his regimental coat. “You may address me as Atherton, although I’d rather you didn’t speak to me at all. Get out of this house, or I’ll ruin you.”
Clary laughed. “How? By insinuating I had a liaison with her? Try it. I’ll not hesitate to tell everyone she met me here, eager for a little adventure. No one else in town will have her, even with her father’s coal-tainted millions.”
A hot ball of rage burned in Penelope’s chest. What the devil had Olivia been thinking to meet such a man? If Penelope hadn’t followed her, it would be Olivia here, with bruises and most likely worse. Clary was angry to have been interrupted, but he hadn’t been treating Olivia much more gently, in the glimpse Penelope had seen.
“Try it.” Atherton straightened his shoulders. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll tell them you had something more like rape on your mind.”
