Page 72 of Love in the Time of Scandal
“I know, love, I know.” Benedict paused, letting them both rest. He held her face against his chest. “I told you we’d make it.”
In spite of her tears she laughed a little. “It seemed a rum bet until now...”
His arms tightened. “Then I suppose I just won, eh?” He tipped up her face and kissed her, long and deep. “I’ve never wanted to get you into bed more than I do this moment.”
She gave another weak laugh. “And I’ve never been more eager to go! The only thing that might tempt me away from it would be a hot bath.”
“If Vane has a tub that will hold both of us at once, I shall buy it from him immediately, hang the cost.” He kissed her once more. “Shall we?”
Only by keeping her eyes fixed on the wide front door did Penelope stay on her feet.Almost there, she told herself with every step. Benedict was shivering now, although she had almost stopped. She hoped that was a good thing and refused to think about it anymore.
Benedict had to bang on the door more than once before it opened. A puzzled woman looked at them. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Vane,” rasped Benedict. Penelope felt herself slipping from his grasp, but her hands wouldn’t work when she tried to hold on to him. “Her sister... nearly drowned...” The canvas fell away as she slid slowly toward the ground, and the wind felt like an icy knife. She just wanted to huddle on the ground and sleep.
“Penelope!” Abigail’s scream cut off the rest of his explanation.
She floated dimly through the next several minutes. There was a bustle of activity, and someone scooped her up and carried her inside and up a flight of stairs. “Ben,” she cried weakly, reaching out.Don’t leave me now, she wanted to beg.Come with me. Forgive me for not trusting youmore.
“Sebastian is with him.” Abigail was beside her, hurrying along to open the door for whoever held her. “Put her down, Mr. Jones, and see to Lord Atherton. What happened?” Her sister began stripping off what remained of her clothing as the door closed behind the man. “Penelope, wake up! Talk to me!”
“What can I do?” another woman’s worried voice asked.
“Bring more towels and put them by the fire.” Abigail was yanking at her boot, none too gently. “Prepare hot tea for both our guests and make up the bed down the hall. And fetch Mr. Vane’s hunting knife; her boots won’t come off.”
She opened her eyes. “Ben—where is he?”
“No doubt Sebastian has nearly bundled him into the fireplace by now.”
“No! No, he mustn’t do anything to Benedict—” She struggled to sit up, but her sister held her down.
“To get him warm, Pen.” Her voice gentled. “What happened?”
Tears stung her eyes again. Now that Benedict couldn’t see her, she did nothing to check them. “We were on the yacht—Stratford’s yacht. He wanted us to go to Stratford Court. Benedict didn’t want to but I told him we should go for his mother’s sake...” Mrs. Jones returned, and Abigail began sawing at her boot laces. “Lord Clary was on the boat and he pushed me off. He wanted to know where Olivia was and I wouldn’t tell him so he pushed me into the river. And Benedict jumped in after me and then we had to swim and oh, Abby, the current is so strong.” She was sobbing so hard her sister probably couldn’t understand a word, but she had to get it out. “I didn’t know if we would make it and then we had to walk up the hill and I’m so, so tired, I don’t know if I can ever move again.”
“Shh,” crooned Abigail. She’d cut off both boots during Penelope’s increasingly hysterical outburst. “You can walk, just a few more steps. Fortunately Mrs. Jones had already prepared a hot bath, and we’re going to soak you in it until you look like a poached egg.” She helped Penelope sit up, now wearing only her shift, and with her housekeeper’s help they got Penelope into the bath. The water felt scalding, and she wept even harder as her feet and legs prickled painfully. Abigail folded a warm towel around her shoulders and pushed her down until her chest and arms were submerged.
Gradually her shivers began to ease, and with them her racking sobs. She rested her head against her sister’s shoulder, weary beyond words.
“Tell me again,” whispered Abigail, stroking her hair. “Who pushed you?”
“Lord Clary.” Olivia would have to understand. Penelope was never keeping another secret again. “He’s been threatening Olivia. She told me she had a plan to escape whatever hold he has over her, but then she left London and Clary wants to find her. And—and he told me Lord Stratford also wants to know.” Her voice shook. “I don’t know what they want from her, but I fear she’s in danger—”
Abigail shushed her. “Don’t worry about Olivia now. So Clary pushed you off the boat—are you sure it was deliberate?”
She nodded. He’d looked her right in the face as he did it, and she would never forget his expression.
“Did he also push Benedict? I cannot believe Lord Stratford would permit such a thing.”
“I don’t know.” She blinked back a few more tears. “But he saved my life, Abigail. I never would have made it without him.”
Her sister smiled. “I told you he was a better man than you credited him.”
She stared at the flickering flames. He was. Yet another thing she’d been very wrong about. “I know. I... I love him, Abby. And I’ve wished he would fall in love with me almost since the first moment I saw him. I wanted to hate him for what he did to Sebastian, but even then I wanted him. And now—now I understand why he acted as he did. With thatmonsterfor a father, how could he have done anything else? And that makes me a terrible person for assuming I knew better than he did how he should have behaved, and how could he ever love me after the things I said to him?”
Abigail handed her a handkerchief as Penelope began sniffling. “I think you’re too hard on yourself.”
She sighed. “Perhaps.” But she feared she had finally been truly honest.
