The black look he gave her made her shiver, but she stood firm, her spine rigid, shoulders back, as she had been trained from childhood.
He muttered something she could not catch, and she decided she would rather not know what it was, judging by the expression on his face. But inwardly she trembled at that stern countenance. She accepted his arm, noting that Lady Harford had paused to chat with several friends.
“There she is,” Lady Charis whispered. “Over there by the door.” They all looked across the room to see the mousy-haired girl dressed in a sallow shade of yellow.
“In about an hour you must contrive to do your part. We depend on you to help with The Plan,” Penelope declared softly.
Her words brought a proud smile to the younger girl. She nodded. “Do not fear, I shall be at the library at ten of the clock.”
“So organized,” Lord Harford murmured into Penelope’s dainty ear, disturbing a careful curl in the process.
“I do my best,” she replied, while searching the room for possibly eligible husband material. “Is there anyone here you think might be amenable to my offer?”
Lord Harford drew a vexed breath. Really, this chit was beyond all belief. He was not accustomed to being ignored while the woman at his side hunted for a better, or more agreeable, catch. Truly exasperating.
The first young cub approached, and Penelope swept off in his arms to a delightful cotillion. Lord Harford watched as she danced her way through a minuet, a quadrille, followed by a country dance that ought to have reduced her to a limp rag. She looked radiant, alive, and . . . perhaps a trifle bored, if he was not mistaken.
At the conclusion of the latest dance, he claimed her hand, ignoring the young pup who had walked forward, his eyes on Penelope’s little card that probably had his name inscribed on it. He stopped at the glare from Harford.
“We shall walk now. I do not want you to be overly tired for our confrontation.”
She sobered, then smoothed her glove so that it properly met her sleeve. “Of course.” She strolled at his side, wondering what she could say to him.
Ahead, Charis urged Miss Dunston to walk with her, as the room was quite warm, and Miss Dunston had managed to secure a rather fast country dance.
“It is time. Shall we proceed?”
“You have not told me precisely what I must do,” Penelope reminded him. "Only that we shall be together when she enters the room. That is sufficient?”
“Surprise is the essence of conviction, my dear cousin.” She frowned, mulled over his confusing words, then decided she might as well go along with whatever he had planned, for she did want to pay her debt to him.
He led her into a library, where a small fire burned in the grate, casting a pleasant glow about the room. The smell of leather-bound books combined with a potpourri of meadow roses and heather to entice a reader to linger. Penelope paused before the fireplace, turning to face him. “Well?”
“The setting should be sufficient if Charis brings her in here, agreed?” He joined her, adopting her reserved demeanor. He lit a branch of candles, then placed it on the desk so as to silhouette them to anyone who opened the door.
“I expect so. Is that what happens at assignations? It seems rather dull to me. I scarce see why I am warned against them if that is the case,” Penelope replied in a considering way.
“Impossible girl. I believe it runs more to impassioned kisses. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? Not believing in love, that is?” He stood close to her, his dark eyes seeming to tease her. She found them fascinating, and lost herself to everything else.
“I somehow doubt if love is necessary for kisses. Of course, I am not an expert, but it is my estimation of the matter.”
“Little fool. Your very naiveté inflames one. I am tempted to see what lies beneath that skin you dare to flaunt to the world tonight.”
“Oh, come now,” she scoffed.
“You believe yourself impervious to my charm?” He stepped closer, slid his arms about her waist, then gazed down into her nervous eyes.
“Naturally. Remember, we should not suit, my lord.” Her voice wobbled a little on those last words as she saw his head drawing nearer.
She found herself melting into his arms, for a kiss turned out to be vastly different than she expected. To think a mere touching of lips could produce such sensations, like hot and cold, trembly and afire, all at once. She dimly perceived the sound of an opening door, a gasp of horror, or something like that, but she was far too lost to do anything but concentrate on the man in whose arms she nestled. Then he withdrew and she felt adrift on an open sea of emotions.
“Well?” His voice was deep and husky.
She cleared her throat, wondering if she could speak after such a profound experience. “Really,” she managed, “I believe I quite underestimated the pleasure of a kiss.”
He threw his head back in a bark of laughter, delighted with her open and frank enjoyment of their kiss. No protestations, no demands, no clever ploys. Just pleasure, for he could tell she had enjoyed it as much as he had.
“Are you quite finished!” Lady Charis demanded in a soft voice, entering the room on tiptoe.
“Sorry, little sister. I believe we are satisfied for the moment, at least.” He slanted a sly look at the bemused girl at his side. He dropped his arms away, thrusting his hands behind him, for he was tempted, so tempted, to take her in his arms again. Just to prove a thing or two, naturally.
“Hm,” Charis said, looking first at her brother, then at
Penelope. “Well, I fancy it may have done the trick. She
was angry and vowed to be done with you. She called you
a philanderer, dear brother. Are you one?” she inquired
