The fear left her face, to be replaced by blazing temper. “Well, and how kind of you to ask how I fare!” Those wide eyes now flashed with indignation.
“You are safe enough for the moment. Unless you tumble into another disaster.” His voice was rough with what she could only assume was anger or annoyance.
“Remind me to mind my own business next time I suspect a woman is out to give you a love potion,” she muttered as she bent to brush off her pelisse. There were twigs, and bits of soil from where she had knelt in the garden. Avoiding the critical eyes of her cousin, she checked her front and back to be sure she would not disgrace them both. She didn’t think to adjust her bonnet.
He bowed his head for a moment, then finally spoke while placing one of her hands on his arm. “Do you have any idea of what a turn I had when I saw your carriage come back empty with your fool coachman babbling something about the constable? By the bye, where did you hire that man? At any rate, I managed to wring from him just where he had left you. I arrived none too soon, my girl. You were well and truly about to discover what the interior of the nearest jail looked like.”
Stunned, as the memory of her recent danger returned, Penelope retreated to lean on the trunk of the beech tree against which she had been placed earlier, leaving the support of his arm for something a bit more solid. “Oh, dear. I hope the potion proves to be worth it.”
“Potion?” he demanded in the most silky of voices.
“Yes,” she replied absently, looking about until she espied Lord Harford’s lovely curricle waiting not far away. His tiger stood by the horses, ready to walk them if need be. The scent of oiled leather and horses was comforting in an odd way, for it was so very normal.
At the prolonged silence, she looked back at Lord Harford, adding, “Miss Nilsson has been sadly out of curl of late. I wished to buy some germander speedwell, for that makes the best potion for such a melancholy. The fresh is the most desirable for this sort of thing, and I ought to have realized it could not be found in the city. But the third apothecary I went to was so obliging as to give me a ticket to the garden.” Recalling her possession of that slip of paper, she dug into her reticule and pulled it out in mild triumph.
“Did you show it to the gardener?”
“Yes, but you must know the man could not read. And I quite forgot to show it to that horrid young man who came rushing out of the building. Indeed, he scarce gave me a chance to defend myself.” She took several unsteady steps in the direction of the carriage, then added, “I perceive our system of justice has a number of flaws in it. For a person to be near death due to a mere snipping of an herb is beyond belief.”
“You would go off by yourself,” he reminded her. “Did you not tell them who you were?” He went to assist her into the curricle, then, seeing what a difficult time she was having, picked her up in his arms and gently placed her on the cushioned seat.
At this unexpected display of gallantry, she gave him a bemused look before answering, “Most definitely, I did. And the fools made fun of me. They refused to believe a word I said. And then you arrived. You may be the most annoying man on earth, but I confess I was excessively glad to see you,” she allowed, the admission reluctantly dragged from her by her compulsive honesty.
At this bit of frankness Lord Harford gave an abrupt bark of laughter. Then he climbed up beside her, nodded to his tiger, who released his hold and ran around to jump up behind them as the curricle set off for London.
“This bit of idiocy could have put paid to your chances of ever contracting a respectable marriage, my girl.” His voice held strong shades of disapproval, such as she frequently heard from Miss Nilsson.
She drew slightly away from him, turning to bestow a studied look on her rescuer. “I believe you are refining too much upon it. In my experience money can overcome any number of obstacles, especially when combined with impeccable background.”
“Breeding still accounts for a good deal, but having windmills in the head is not a desirable trait in a wife or prospective daughter-in-law,” came his swift response with a wicked chuckle, followed by a hurried glance at her flushed face. She was fast forgetting her narrow escape in the heat of argument. He, in turn, was learning more about this impossible cousin he had promised to help find a husband.
Without due regard for her choice of words, she snapped, “Lady Harford thinks I am quite acceptable.”
“But then lam not marrying you, am I?” he said in the most bland and lofty manner.
“More’s the pity,” she flared back at him. “If you were inclined to wed, then ignore me, this nonsense might all be avoided.” She sighed a great gusty sigh, as one monstrously put upon.
“My dear girl, if we were to marry, I seriously doubt I could ignore you. I might wish to throttle you from time to time, but never could I ignore you.” There was the barest hint of sensuality in his voice, one she caught and that made her tremble slightly.
Instead of his words bringing the retaliatory remarks that would normally have leapt to her tongue, Penelope found herself musing on what he had said. How would it feel not to be ignored by his lordship? His kind regard for
