“Let me see, all you require is a decent sort of husband after getting properly rigged out? Nothing more than that?”
His sarcasm was not lost on her. She chose to ignore it, for she could hardly pull caps with him when she wished his help. She wryly smiled, then added, “I should like a husband who would take himself off somewhere—possibly the Continent—so I might be left in peace to attend to my interests.” She tilted her face, giving him a considering look. “What a pity you are not in the line for marriage. I should think you would be only too happy to part ways with me,” she concluded in her frequently outspoken way.
His eyes narrowed again as he considered her words. “You do not see me as husband material, then?”
“Goodness me, no,” she declared fervently. He intimidated her to the point of alarm, although she would never let on so to him.
He made no reply, so Penelope plunged ahead with what she hoped would be her winning argument. “I should be happy to pay you, you know. Merely name your fee.”
In the silence that followed that statement, Penelope could hear the ticking of the mantel clock, the faint rumble of the carriages that passed the house, and somewhere in the distance—belowstairs perhaps—an altercation between distinctly angry people.
“My fee?”
“Forgive me, I inadvertently overheard that you had lost a vast sum in a wager with Lord Stephen Collison. I thought perhaps you might be in need of help, and we could mutually assist one another. I am generous, I promise. I believe a person ought to be properly rewarded.”
Penelope dropped her gaze to her lap to study her pretty blue limerick gloves, thus she missed the amused gleam that briefly entered his lordship’s eyes.
“Is that so? Well, well.” He ought to say no, as he filly intended to do eventually, and shoo this impossible child on her way. Why he persisted in leading her on, he didn’t know. She entertained him, with her serious blue eyes and outrageous request. Fee, indeed. She thought him to be as penniless as those bucks who had clustered about her last evening. The wager that had been lost had not been a monetary one—at least not yet. He had lost to Collison, and as a result this evening was required to produce a fine dinner designed for the taste of gentlemen. He knew his French chef could manage it with a flick of his hand. However, if the dinner failed to come off for some reason, the damage would be considerable.
Jonathan had no intention of losing that wager. It was a matter of principle with him, as it was to most gentlemen of the ton. He had been contemplating the menu he had composed and had been about to hand it to his chef when his new “cousin” had presented herself at his door.
Jonathan rubbed his jaw as he considered the problem, thus concealing much of his inner reflections. She was certainly a diverting creature, with those remarkable blue eyes, enchanting face, and, if he was any judge of it, a rather trim form. “Take off your bonnet, please.”
Startled at his words, she withdrew slightly, then reached up to remove her chip bonnet tied with the same blue as the sprigs on her gown. Silvery-gold hair, neatly drawn into a simple chignon, was more than pleasing, in spite of the rather dowdy style she affected. He had noticed her hair last night from across the room. He hadn’t believed it real, thinking it either a wig or a trick of the lighting. Now he could see that it was undeniably genuine.
“Hmm. Are you willing to cut it?” Why did he persist? He couldn’t actually partake in this wild scheme. She swallowed with care, then nodded. “I could see that the way I wear it is not the fashion.”
He shook his head, ashamed of himself for raising her hopes even a trifle. “I realize your need for sound advice:
the sea of matrimony is fraught with dangers. However, what you suggest is out of the question. You must see that. It is wicked just to contemplate such a plan.”
“Oh, please, Lord Harford, I would not be any trouble.”
He couldn’t repress the smile that tilted his mouth. Trouble? He’d wager that she inspired the word. In spite of her meek attitude, he’d caught her glance of defiance, the hint of impertinence in her voice. The mere circumstance of her being here was sufficient to warrant caution on his part. His life did not need any complications at the moment.
He shook his head, ignoring the woeful look on that exquisite little face, the pleading in those beautiful eyes. She would melt the heart of a lesser man. “It is not seemly.”
“I daresay you do quite a number of things I might consider unseemly, sir. I cannot believe that helping out an orphaned cousin in dire need of your assistance to be unseemly.” Scorn flashed from her eyes.
“Orphaned? That, I did not know.” What was in his head? He couldn’t help her out. Unthinkable. He was about to deny her once and for all, when his butler entered the room, standing just inside the door, a look of extreme agitation on his face.
“Sir? If I could have a word with you? Immediately?” Glancing at his newly discovered cousin, Jonathan had an idea. If she thought him beset by other troubles, perhaps she would depart and leave him alone. “Speak up, Darling.”
Penelope blinked at the name, thinking it most unusual. ‘Tis the chef, Rene. He decamped. Just like that, sir.”
Darling wrung his hands in dismay.
Jonathan sprang from his chair, striding across the room.
“Left? No reason? The cook or kitchen maids not giving him a problem?”
“Lord Stephen’s man was outside. I suspect a bit of hugger-mugger, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.” The butler gave an emphatic nod of his graying head as he concluded this
