Page 27 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Penelope clenched her jaw. She’d heard his slight hesitation before the word “fall” and knew he was calling her a liar. She gave a carefree little laugh. “Not at all! A slightly sore ankle. The more I walk on it, the better it feels.”
“Oh?” His blue eyes gleamed. “How fortunate we met. I was on my way to take a turn in the park. Perhaps you would care to accompany me?” He turned to her mother before she could utter a word. “With your permission, Mrs. Weston.”
“Of course,” said Mama at once, pleasantly surprised. “It will be good exercise, and spare you standing around waiting in the upholsterer’s shop.”
She could almost hear what her mother was thinking. Lord Atherton—and his parents, the Earl and Countess of Stratford—had every reason to dislike her family. It had been a thorn in her father’s side ever since Abigail rejected Atherton, dashing Papa’s hopes of a noble connection. But here Atherton was, smiling as charmingly as ever. A chance to restore the goodwill between the viscount and the Westons would delight both of Penelope’s parents beyond description. Even more, Atherton had fixed his attention on her in a way that implied he held no grudge over the things she had said to him. Of course, Mama couldn’t know about those things, but Penelope did, and it all left her very ill at ease. What was he plotting? A public stroll in the park was the last thing they should do together. Really, after the way they parted last, she thought he would never want to see her again. He did not like her; he had all but told her so the other night when they danced together. So why was he here watching her with an unwavering attention that made her skin feel taut and warm?
Penelope writhed inside, but saw no way out. He’d better have a good reason for this. She forced a smile to her lips. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
She put her hand on his arm and let him lead her off, across Pall Mall and down a side street into St. James’s Park. She waited until no one was within earshot to demand, “To what do I owe this honor, my lord?”
He smiled down at her, although now it seemed more ominous than before. “I wanted a private conversation.”
Oh Lord. That stamped out the unwanted but unmistakable thrill that had shivered over her when he drew her to his side. A chill of apprehension went down her back. About what? Mrs. Lockwood, most likely, or even worse, Lord Clary. She wet her lips. “How very mysterious of you. I’m sure we haven’t anything private to discuss.”
“Are you sure? Very sure?” He dipped his head closer and murmured in her ear, “Perhaps you should hear what I have to say before you answer.”
Her heart seemed to leap into her throat—in anxiety, she told herself, not in reaction to his breath on her cheek. “Go on, then,” she said coolly.
“I wanted to warn you.”
She tensed. “About what?”
“You can’t guess, after what happened the other night?”
“Oh, that.” She flipped one hand and pretended a great interest in the shrubbery they were passing, to hide the sudden thudding of her heart. She had hoped for more time... but perhaps it was best to hear it now and absorb the blow in private. “What is Mrs. Lockwood saying?”
“How interesting you would think of her. What have you got to fear from Mrs. Lockwood?”
Penelope gave him a guarded look. Why did he sound amused? “You know what. She saw—”
“Us?” he finished when she didn’t. “Alone together, in extremely suggestive disarray—what some might even call a compromising position? Certainly. But I suspect she also saw the young lady who’s been keeping company with her own daughter for several weeks. What, pray, does it gain her to go about accusing that young lady of impropriety? It might make some people wonder how much of it rubbed off on Miss Lockwood.”
That made sense and yet... If Mrs. Lockwood hadn’t been causing trouble, what did he want to warn her about? Suddenly she wished wholeheartedly that Atherton was teasing her, that Mrs. Lockwood or Frances was the problem, because if his warning about that night didn’t involve either of them, it would have to be about... Lord Clary. “She could say she was deceived! She could say she regretted allowing me to speak to her daughter, and... and...”
Atherton nodded once. “She could. But I somehow doubt she’s behind the rumors I heard.”
Oh Lord. Penelope steeled herself. “Why is that?”
“Because they are rather vile—far worse than anything I would expect Mrs. Lockwood to say.”
“What?” she demanded at once. He wanted to tell her, so he ought to tell her, not draw it out and make her want to shake him.
He turned them into the Birdcage Walk. The trees were losing their leaves, which crunched and rustled underfoot. The sun was warm but the breeze was brisker here, and Penelope had to fight off the urge to press closer to her companion. Her arm, tucked against his side, was deliciously warm, while the rest of her was acutely aware of the chill in the air.
“I believe there’s no question that Lord Clary is responsible.” He glanced down at her. “Whywereyou in that room with him?”
Penelope flushed. “I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t?” repeated the viscount. “Or won’t?”
“Very well, I won’t.” Her face still burned, but she met his eyes without flinching. “I swore not to.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “Swore to whom?”
“I can’t tell you that, either.” She shot a defiant glance his way and added, “Nor will I.”
He shrugged. “As you like. I recommend you avoid him from now on.”
