Page 50 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Slowly he let out his breath.Christ. The last person he wanted to emulate was his father. He made himself soften his tone. “Can you give me your word that this money won’t cause trouble for you?”
After a brief pause, the door creaked open.Tell me, he silently urged her as she regarded him somberly.Tell me who you’re protecting from Clary.
“I give you my word,” she said, and nothing more.
He let out his breath and went back to bed. Exhaustion was making him short-tempered and stupid. It was better to go to sleep before he made things worse. “You should trust me. I have a duty to you now.”
“I might say the same,” she muttered. “You hardly tell me all your secrets.”
“What secrets?” He rolled under the covers, his muscles aching with relief at the prospect of sleep. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Huh,” he thought she said under her breath. “‘How did your family take the news of our wedding, which none of them attended?’ Who would wonder about that?”
She climbed back into bed a moment later. He listened to her yank the covers into place before she went still. It was peace, though a fragile one. But she never rolled back across the bed into his arms, as he privately wished she might do. And he fell asleep before he could work out any words of conciliation.
Chapter 17
Penelope stared out the carriage window as they drove through the busy streets of Mayfair. Benedict sat beside her, inches away and a vast gulf apart. Scarcely a dozen words had been exchanged so far today, all of them cool and polite. She’d woken to a bundle of banknotes on his pillow beside her. He had been gone. Even though he’d given her the money she wanted, Penelope felt no triumph or delight. She sent Lizzie to deliver the money to Olivia, and then sat brooding over her cooling tea for an hour.
Had she just spoiled everything? His charge that she seduced him only for money bit into her like a burr under her clothes.That wasn’t the only reason, she argued fiercely in her own mind... although it wasn’t unreasonable for him to draw that conclusion. She’d waited up for him and poured his wine, determined to be sweet and engaging. When he began kissing her and teased her about Lady Constance, it had only seemed like she was succeeding beyond expectations. And then he invited her to make love to him, which had been thrilling and daring and so arousing, there weren’t even words to describe it. For the first time it had seemed possible her marriage would become what she’d always dreamt of: Benedict, wild with desire for her, daring her to be wicked and brazen, the pair of them finally forging a bond that would spawn a deep, abiding love.
Naturally that had been wrong.
Still, how could he demand that she trust him when he told her nothing? He went all the way to Richmond to tell his parents, the day after the wedding, then wouldn’t tell her how they received the news. Penelope hardly wanted to face the Earl of Stratford personally, but she was still warily curious to know his response. Would he bring himself to be gracious, now that she was Benedict’s wife, or would she be the shame of the family, the nouveau riche coal heiress who’d only caught a husband because she couldn’t keep out of scandal? Unfortunately she had a feeling it was closer to the latter, by the way Benedict dodged her question. And if the earl disdained her, she would probably lose whatever affection Lady Samantha felt for her as well. Benedict’s other sister, Lady Turley, and his mother the countess had only ever been polite to her, so she probably hadn’t lost much there, but... She heaved a soundless sigh. It would have been lovely to feel welcomed by someone.
The carriage stopped, jolting her out of her thoughts. Benedict pushed open the door and jumped down before holding out his hand for her to follow.
She stepped out of the carriage, covertly surveying the surroundings. It was a pretty little street, lined with attractive homes, though none was large. He hadn’t told her a thing about where they were going, and she hadn’t paid attention during the drive, so she had no idea where they were.
A gentleman waiting on the steps of the house in front of them hurried forward. “Good day, m’lord,” he said, bowing. “My lady. Thomas Grace.”
Benedict shook the fellow’s hand as he peered up at the house. “Good day. Shall we go in?”
“Indeed, sir, I was just examining the house, and the front rooms get very good light. I think you’ll be pleased.” He went up the steps into the open front door.
“I thought we should find a house.” Benedict offered her his arm. “A lady deserves a proper home.”
“As does a lord,” she said, gingerly setting her hand on his arm.
“A married lord, at any rate. But if this one doesn’t suit you, we’ll find another.” He led her after Mr. Grace.
As the man had said, the front rooms were wonderfully bright. The dining room was elegant and spacious, with columns at both ends. The back parlor was charming and cozy. The drawing room on the first floor was nearly as large as the one in the Westons’ Grosvenor Square house, and Penelope instantly liked it. It was a handsome house, suitable for entertaining. Mr. Grace escorted them through the first few rooms, extolling the virtues of the house, its craftsmanship, and its setting, but then he excused himself and let them explore in privacy.
“What do you think?” Her husband had barely said a word to her during the tour of the other rooms, but now his attention was fixed on her.
Penelope ran her fingers along the windowsill. They were in the master’s bedchamber, another large room overlooking the street. Thus far they had shared a bed, meaning this would be their bedroom if they took the house. Or perhaps only his, or only hers. There was another bedroom, though not as spacious or as bright, and there was a dressing room between it and this room. After last night, it seemed far more likely they would do better apart.
Her glove came away gray with dust. She tried to brush it off, then just folded her hands. “It’s very comfortable.”
“Do you like it?” He had propped one shoulder against the wall beside the window and folded his arms. The sunlight gleamed on his dark hair and caught his eyes, making them seem brighter than ever. But his expression was carefully neutral, as if he didn’t want to discuss what had happened the previous night.
“It will do.”
“So you like it?” he prodded. “There are hundreds of houses in London; I want you to be pleased.”
As if a house could make up for everything lacking in their marriage. “Yes, I like it.” She turned away from the window and headed for the door.
“Penelope.” His voice was low. “Stay a moment.” She stopped but didn’t face him. “Last night... I didn’t want it to end that way.”
