Page 20 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Mrs. Lockwood gasped loudly. Penelope’s eyes nearly popped from her head. “Atherton?” It was ludicrous—so ludicrous she gave a hysterical little laugh. “That’s absurd!”
“He always talks about you,” Frances went on bitterly. “‘Did Miss Weston tell you that?’ ‘What did Miss Weston say?’ ‘May I dance with Miss Weston?’”
“Is this true, sir?” demanded Mrs. Lockwood, her face almost purple.
“Of course it isn’t! It can’t be!” Penelope turned to the viscount in panic. “Tell them! For goodness’ sakes, you proposed marriage to Frances—”
“And was promptly told to go to the devil,” he replied. He hadn’t looked away from her since Frances blurted out that Penelope hated him—curse it, she knew she ought to have held her tongue around Frances—and it was starting to unnerve her. Why wasn’t he protesting? He most certainly did not want to marry her! He wanted to marry Frances, yet was just standing there watching the nightmare unfold with a curious, almost speculative expression.
And then it got worse. With two spots of color burning in her cheeks, Frances Lockwood drew herself up. “I refused you because you aren’t in love with me. You didn’t do anything a man in love would do.” She thrust an accusing finger at Penelope. “You’re in love with her, aren’tyou?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” retorted Penelope before she could think better ofit.
Frances paled, then flushed a deep, sullen red. “That must be what you think I am. Telling me you hated Lord Atherton and then sneaking off with him the first moment youcan!”
Mrs. Lockwood swept her daughter into her arms and turned a venomous look on Lord Atherton. “Well! I must say, I quite understand my daughter’s actions now!” Her glare moved to Penelope. “And as for you, miss, I knew all along you were a bad influence. Low breeding always shows itself in the end, I say, and it certainly has in this case.”
“You’re wrong,” Penelope said once more, uselessly. “It’s not what it looks like...” She glanced at Lord Atherton, wishing he would do something to stop this, but he just raised his shoulder in a faint shrug, as if he had no idea what to say, either.
This time Mrs. Lockwood’s glance held some pity. “You never think the rules apply to you, do you, miss? Well, I assure you, they most certainly do.” She took her daughter’s arm in hers. “Come, Frances. Let us find more worthy companions.”
Penelope stared after them, numb. She was doomed. The Lockwoods would ruin her out of spite—oh, why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut the other day? Frances had broken off with Lord Atherton, and her mother blamed Penelope as the cause. As ifshehad compelled Frances to tell him to go to the devil. Good heavens, had Frances really said that? She shook her head, her thoughts still tangled and jagged.
Slowly she turned toward Atherton. He, too, was staring out the door, although with a more distant expression, as if he was lost in his own thoughts. What remained of Penelope’s goodwill toward him bled away. So much for a heroic rescue. All it would have taken was a few soothing words to Frances, or some exaggerated exclamation over Penelope’s turned ankle, and Mrs. Lockwood would have been distracted. Instead he just stood there looking rumpled and beautiful and guilty—all of which made Penelope hate him all over again. Even worse, he turned toward the mirror on the wall behind them and began buttoning his coat, just like a man might do after an illicit, scandalous rendezvous.
“Why didn’t you stop that?”
He cocked one brow without looking away from his reflection. “How?”
“By snatching Frances into your arms and making love toher!”
“Is that what I ought to have done?”
Penelope flushed at his dry tone. “It couldn’t have hurt!”
“No?” He pivoted on his heel and strode toward her until she stepped back in alarm. “Speak for yourself. If I had ‘snatched Frances into my arms and made love to her,’ as you so delicately suggest, her mother might have insisted I marry her. And as you know by now”—his tone grew harder—“she turned my proposal down flat.”
She had guessed as much. “But if you proposed, that means you want to marry her,” she tried to argue.
“Not any longer.” He pulled loose the end of his cravat and began retyingit.
That was understandable. Penelope switched to the next most pressing problem. She planned to pretend Frances had never said anything at all about Atherton being in love with her, which was just unthinkably stupid. “But now Mrs. Lockwood thinks we had an—an—assignation!”
His gaze ran down her figure, just once, but it was enough to make her skin prickle and burn. “Would you rather she have seen you with Lord Clary?”
She shuddered at the name, and wrapped her arms around herself as a chill shot up her spine.“No.”
He finished with the cravat and did the last buttons on his coat as he faced her. “Then I suggest you repair your appearance and carry on with your evening, as I intend to do.” Again his eyes flickered downward. “Are you certain you don’t want me to send for your mother?”
Penelope gaped at him. He was going to go back to the rout and smile and dance as if nothing had happened? “Are you mad?” she demanded in a constricted voice. “She’s going to gossip—tell tales—”
“I doubtit.”
Her temper snapped. He had rescued her from one terrible fate, true, but then done nothing to save her from the other, possibly worse, scandal. Before she could stop it, her hand was swinging toward hisface.
He caught her wrist just before the slap landed. Jerked to a halt, she stumbled toward him, then into him as her injured ankle gave way. His arm went around her waist to steady her, and Penelope froze. For a moment they both seemed frozen, in fact, her wide-eyed gaze locked with his steelyone.
“Don’t,” he said quietly, giving her upraised hand a slight squeeze. “We might well need each other.”
