Page 37 of Love in the Time of Scandal
His eyes flashed at her, and she got the sudden sense that he wasn’t anywhere near as foxed as he seemed. Then his face eased and he thumped the flask down on the table before reaching behind him for the bottle on the sideboard. “She might have fallen into the river. She might have been set upon by highwaymen or kidnappers. She was only sixteen. I already admitted I was wrong, didn’t I?”
Penelope watched him pour a generous amount of brandy into his glass, then into hers. He was crazed with fear for Samantha, but he hadn’t gone to the river with a hook, he’d gone to Sebastian’s house. There was more to that than he was telling, but she let it go. “Then why didn’t you say anything to dissuade people from believing he murdered his father?”
He made a face. “What could I have said? I didn’t know where old Mr. Vane was. I never repeated the rumor and I never agreed with anyone who did.”
“But you never came to his defense, either, did you?” she couldn’t stop herself from replying.
Atherton’s eyes darkened, and his fingers tightened around his glass. Penelope tensed as well. “I was a young man,” he said after a moment. “Neither as sensible nor as noble as I ought to have been. I asked Sebastian’s pardon and he gave it. I never wanted him to be miserable or shunned, and I’m delighted he’s found happiness.” There was a definite note of warning in his voice.
Penelope heeded it—somewhat. There was still much more she wanted to know. She tilted her head and arched one brow. “Even though he got the girl you wanted to marry?”
He stared at her a moment, then gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Even though.”
“Were you very miserable when Abby rejected you?”
He sat back and shook his head, still wearing a humorless smile. “Must everything be a storm of passion and emotion with you?” He reached for his glass again. “I wouldn’t have asked her if I didn’t hope to be accepted.” He paused thoughtfully, glass raised, then added, “And the same went for Miss Lockwood, if that was your next query.” He tossed down the brandy.
Penelope’s face burned. “You didn’t love either of them.”
“No,” he readily agreed. “There are many reasons a man asks a woman to marry him. Love is only one possibility.”
She scowled, then quickly wiped it away. Her glass sat in front of her, untouched for some time, so she snatched it up and took a quick gulp, barely noticing the heat of the liquor this time. “But it’s a vital one. And you couldn’t even muster up a pretense of affection. That’s why my sister sent you packing, and that’s why Frances declared she never wanted to see you again, isn’t it?”
This time he looked irked. “Are we going to revisit every humiliation I’ve ever suffered at the hands of a woman? There was a tavern wench when I was at university who never would grant me a kiss...”
“Huh! I’m not surprised,” she muttered.
“And then there was a woman who bedeviled me for months,” he went on. “When we first met, she was charming and delightful, but she soon grew fickle. She’d dance with me one night, and then the next day look as though she’d like to skewer me with my own sword. Even though I tried to make amends—often for sins I hadn’t even committed—she said she’d rather I kept far, far away from her and told everyone I violently disliked her.” Penelope jerked up her head in shock. “I suppose I put paid to that suggestion this morning, though, eh?” he added with a suggestive wink.
She pressed her lips together. This had been a bad idea. He wasn’t as voluble a drunk as Jamie was, and his answers were only stoking her temper in spite of her efforts not to allow that. “You ought to have given it a try,” she said coolly. “It would have benefited us both.”
“But then we wouldn’t be here, savoring our wedding night together.”
“No, we could each be doing something far more pleasurable,” she snapped back. “Perhaps mucking out the stable stalls, or blacking grates. It would have spared us this pointless conversation at least.”
“Mucking out stables! Perish the thought.” With surprising speed he went from sprawled in his chair to leaning over the table toward her. “Very well.” He glared at her, rakishly dangerous with his dark hair falling over his brow and his blue eyes searing with intensity. “You ask why I courted your sister and Miss Lockwood. You really want to know why I paid them attention.”
Dimly Penelope thought there was a more strident warning there, but her blood was running. Her nerves were tingling, and she felt reckless and uncaring of what might come. “Yes, if you’re not too cowardly to admit it.”
“Cowardly?” He arched one brow. “Someday I’d like to know how your mind works. But if you want to know, you shall know. My sister recommended Abigail.”
That was utterly unexpected—and just as unsatisfying. “Your sister?” she repeated incredulously. “Samantha? You courtedmysister becauseyoursister took a fancy to her?”
Atherton poured more brandy, watching it slosh into the glasses. Some spilled on the table, but neither of them paid it any mind. “No, although Samantha’s good opinion means a great deal to me. She met your family and immediately wrote to me, saying she’d met the most delightful girl: sensible, kindhearted, independent without being wild, and lovely to look at.” He tilted the glass to his lips again as Penelope gaped at him in outraged shock. “Oh yes—the young lady had one more appealing attribute,” he added with a cynical twist to his lips. “An immense dowry.”
Penelope found her tongue. “The money? It was all about the money, not my sister or what she wanted, or even what you wanted? I could have forgiven it, you know, if you’d been bowled away with love for her, but I knew all along that had nothing to do with it—”
“Forgiven it?” His laugh was harsh. “You’ve never forgiven a single thing I’ve ever done.”
“Some of them don’t deserve to be forgiven,” she retorted, lurching to her feet. The room swayed dangerously around her, and she clutched the edge of the table to keep her balance. “I’m leaving, and I intend to tell my father to sue for repayment of my dowry—which was every bit as immense as Abby’s, as you would have known had you cared to ask.”
“I knew,” he said, watching her with glowing eyes. “Sit down.”
It struck Penelope like an arrow between the ribs. Her hands shook and her lungs seemed to have frozen. He knew. He knew it was just as profitable to marry her as it was to marry Abigail, and he’d still chosen Abigail. She was sure it wasn’t possible for one person to feel more humiliated and stupid than she did right now. “It makes me wonder what Samantha said about me,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice steady.
Slowly her husband raised his eyes to hers. His head tipped to one side, casting his chiseled face into sharp relief in the firelight, and for a moment she thought he would roll right out of the chair, drunk as a lord. If he did, she intended to leave him in a heap on the floor.
“Vivacious,” he said softly. “She said you were spirited, intelligent, strong-willed, and beautiful.”
