In all his thirty years, no one had spoken to him that way, not even his mother. He stared at the minuscule woman who was walking—no, limping away with a sense that he had been soundly put in his place. Him! Bested by a mere slip of a woman who barely came up to his shoulder? He shook his head slowly as if to ascertain that he was not dreaming and glanced towards where she had disappeared into the ballroom, a fresh wave of boiling rage sweeping through his entire being. The wench would learn not to cross him in future; he would make sure of that soon enough. He rubbed absently at the spot where her tiny finger had jabbed at his chest, scowling at the lingering scent of her, a fragrant mix of jasmine and lemon that seemed to have embedded itself in his nostrils.
The annoying woman had gotten under his skin somehow, and he thoroughly disliked the feeling, yet something about her words rang true, and he knew she had meant every syllable of the threat. The thought made him grimace in distaste. He was hardly finished with her though. Not until he discovered exactly what her whelp of a sibling had to do with Jane.
“Foolish girl,” he muttered, “she will come crawling to beg me sooner or later.” He’d much rather have it sooner, though, for patience was not one of his virtues, and he needed to be done with this as soon as
possible to return to London. He still did not know what had possessed him to attend the ball, for he had no intention of doing so up until an hour ago when Jane had casually mentioned that all of the Millcote gentry would be present at the function.
A flutter of fabric caught his eye. It was the shawl Miss Inglewood had worn draped over her shoulders caught on a branch. He reached for it and sniffed its scent as he curled the delicate fabric in his left hand. He brought it to his nose to sniff once more before tucking it into the pocket of his coat.
Right. It was time to leave this hideously boring ball and return to his home where he intended to indulge in a few glasses of brandy for the rest of the night, but first, he had to retrieve his errant fiancée.
He turned and took a few steps back to the spot he had come upon the two women talking earlier. He found Jane seated on a garden bench, staring out at the cool evening sky. She stiffened when he came to stand before her.
“Get your coat. We leave immediately,” he instructed coldly. “That is if you are done with your rendezvous, of course.”
She looked up at him, a quick flash of intense dislike flitting over her face. “But we have been here barely an hour. It would be rude to just…”
“Unless you wish to walk all the way home, I strongly suggest you go fetch your coat. I will not wait long.”
She gave a defeated sigh and rose to do as he ordered. “Whatever you wish.” She avoided looking at him as she swept
past him, walking quickly, for she knew he was perfectly capable of doing as he had threatened. He followed her into the ballroom, intending to wait by the front door while his carriage was summoned. But first, he had to return the shawl to its headstrong owner.
***
“Where have you been, Penny?” Lucy exclaimed the minute she spotted Penny. “We came back with the lemonade, but Mrs. Ingram said you had gone out to the garden.”
“I went in search of you,” Penny replied, hoping her face did not betray her current state of agitation. She resumed her seat, forcing herself to remain calm, for she did not wish to arouse inquiries of any kind. “You were a long time at the refreshment tables, so I assumed you had gone out for a walk.”
Lucy shook her head and handed over a glass of lemonade which Penny accepted gratefully, downing the contents in one gulp. “Oh no, the drinks at the table were horribly tepid, so Henry suggested we go to the kitchens for a fresh batch instead. Are you all right? You look flushed.”
Oh dear. She raised a hand to her face and muttered that she was fine, just tired from her search, cursing her fair skin that was so susceptible to flushes. She was still angry at the Duke and a bit afraid lest he come after her seeking revenge for the way she had spoken to him. She had not meant to lose her temper, but dear God, the man could tempt the devil himself to murder. Why did he assume she was promoting a match between Miss Rosebury and Edward? And how dare he accuse her without taking the time to find out if his assumptions were wrong? Remembering the cold, arrogant way he had sneered at her made her angry all over again, and she wished she had boxed his ears soundly too. Perhaps the silly man had never had his ears boxed before, and it would certainly do some good in bringing him down a peg or two. The man was too sure of his power, and looking as handsome as he did was no help either—if one liked that sort of haughty male attractiveness
She didn’t find him at all attractive.
She was such a terrible liar.
She vowed never to allow him to ride roughshod over her or her family; she would fight him with every resource she possessed. She could only hope that Edward’s infatuation with Jane would fade when he realized just how self-centred the girl really was.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts then reached up to pull her shawl more securely over her shoulders, frowning in puzzlement when she touched the sleeves of her gown instead. Where had her shawl gotten
to? She rose to check the chair. Perhaps it had slipped when she sat down, but the chair was empty.
Fiona and Lucy halted their conversation to stare at her. “Are you looking for something, dear?” Fiona asked.
“My shawl. I cannot find it.”
“But you had it on when you walked to the garden,” her friend replied. “It is possible it must have caught on a bush or something.”
“Shall I go look for it, Penny?” Lucy offered. “Did you wander
far?”
Penny’s reply was cut off by a familiar cold voice. “I believe this belongs to you, Miss Inglewood?”
She gasped and spun around, wondering why the man always chose to startle her. He was holding out the shawl by the tip as though touching the material was distasteful, and she glared at him while taking it back.
“Yes, it is. I wondered where I had dropped it. Thank you for returning it to me.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I decided to brave the possibility of being murdered. I am quite curious about how you will manage to achieve that.”
“I meant every word.”
“Of that, I am in no doubt whatsoever. As I said, it is the means by which you intend to achieve that end that has stirred my curiosity. Death by jabbing with a finger perhaps?”
She blushed, biting down on her lower lip to stop herself from replying to his taunt with angry words. He would not get the better of her this time. “I will not apologize if that is what you are after, Your Grace.” “I will be insulted if you do. Good night, Miss Inglewood. Ladies.” He inclined his head to acknowledge the women gawking at him, spun about, and walked away, leaving her more flustered and angrier than
ever. The nerve of the man.
“What on earth was that about?” Lucy demanded, her eyes wide in astonishment as she watched the retreating duke. “How did he come about your shawl?”
Fiona glanced up at Penny and arched a brow. “I had no idea you were acquainted with the Duke.”
“I’m not. I have only met him in passing twice now, and the second time was in the garden. He must have seen me wearing the shawl and returned it.”
The two women did not appear satisfied by her sketchy explanation, but Penny was in no mood to be forthcoming and hoped Lucy would not mention the scandal. She suddenly wished she were home and in the safety of her bed, not in the same room with the vilest creature on God’s earth.
“Well, the two of you were certainly engaged in quite the strangest conversation for mere acquaintances,” Fiona replied coolly, sensing there was more her friend was not telling her.
“We are merely acquaintances. We have not been formally introduced.” Penny sighed and rubbed her forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache. “I wish this ball were over soon. I long for a good night’s rest.”
Lucy looked at her, noting for the first time how tired her sister looked. She felt guilty, for she knew that Penny only came here to chaperone her. “Perhaps we should make our excuses and leave? I have danced enough anyway, and Lord Westbrooke has promised to call on me tomorrow.”
Penny smiled at her gratefully. “Are you sure?” “Of course.”
Relief swept through her, and she hurried to make their excuses to Lady Margrove. Dinner was about to begin, and the other guests were drifting towards the dining rooms. She caught sight of Edward for the first time that evening and was grateful that he had at least kept his promise to stay clear of Lady Jane in public. He was deep in conversation with Miss Letters, a petite red-head who appeared to be hanging onto his every word.
There would be no need to ask him to leave as well. He would come home when he was ready.
***
The cool air washed over the two women as they began the walk home in companionable silence, each lost in thought. Lucy no doubt was thinking about the wonderful evening with Lord Westbrooke and the promise of courtship in the days ahead, while Penny’s thoughts inevitably drifted towards the Duke. Thankfully though, she had dispatched a letter to her father that morning, explaining the problem with Edward, and if the good weather held, he would get her letter in a week. Hopefully, it would not be too late by then.
“Do you hear that?” Lucy cocked her head to the side, listening to an approaching sound. It sounded like a carriage, and sure enough, as they looked back, an elegant carriage drew even with them and pulled to a halt. As the women watched curiously, the door opened, and the devil himself alighted.
Penny groaned inwardly. What now?
“Good even, Miss Inglewood, and Miss Lucy I presume?” he addressed Lucy even though his gaze rested on Penelope, much to her discomfiture.
Lucy bobbed a curtsy and replied in the affirmative, earning her one of his half smiles. Penny merely nodded at him, not trusting herself to speak.
“It is quite cold to be walking. There is room in the carriage for extra passengers if you will permit, Miss Inglewood?”
That was the last thing she wished to do. “That is hardly necessary, Your Grace. My sister and I prefer to walk. Besides, our home is just over the hill, quite out of your way too.”
Phillip chuckled. “Such vehemence. Still, it is no matter if it is out of my way. I am sure we can accommodate you perfectly well.”
“I do not wish to inconvenience you,” she replied while Lucy looked on curiously.
Miss Rosebury peered out the open door. “Please do come, Miss Inglewood. I assure you it is not an inconvenience. I would love some company too.”
Lucy looked at her hopefully, and Penny finally caved in.
“Very well.” She dared not look at Newbridge’s face as he held out a hand to help her into the carriage. His touch was firm yet gentle when she placed her hand in his much larger ones. Lucy had already climbed in and seated herself next to Miss Rosebury, so that left the seat opposite. She stiffened when he climbed in and settled beside her, his thigh brushing against hers in the small space.
The carriage set off with a jerk, and she was thrown against him briefly, feeling heat suffuse her body at the point of contact and the wry smile he cast her way.
An uncomfortable silence reigned in the carriage as the occupants rocked gently to the motion of the vehicle. Penny concentrated on staring at her hands safely encased in white kid gloves and wished for the journey to be over soon so she could escape Newbridge and his overwhelming presence.
Miss Rosebury cleared her throat, the sound mercifully breaking the silence. Penny looked up in time to catch the apologetic smile cast her way and forced a smile in return. She knew the girl only wished to engage in polite conversation, but she wasn’t in the mood to engage. All she wanted was to be home as soon as possible and away from this torturous ride.
“The ball was quite interesting,” Jane murmured, her voice sounding awkward and unsure. “I had no idea there were that many people living here in Millcote. Such a crush.”
“Yes, indeed,” Penny replied, wishing the girl had kept silent. “But I dare say a few guests came from outside Millcote as well.”
Jane cocked her head to one side, the elegant coif atop her head giving a graceful arch to her neck. She seemed to study Penny in the dim light, for what purpose Penny could not fathom. “You are quite correct,
Miss Inglewood. I believe the Earl brought along a few guests from London. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”
Phillip turned from his study of the window and looked at Jane, a mocking smile playing upon his lips. “Why do you need to seek my opinion on such trivial matters?” he said, his voice devoid of humour despite the smile. “I could tell you, my lady, that everyone here simply wishes to be left to their own thoughts. You would do well, madam, to refrain from idle chit chat.”
Jane’s face flamed in embarrassment, and she ducked her head, murmuring something that sounded like an apology. Penny felt pity for the poor girl but dared not interfere, for she had enough of his scathing words to last an evening.
Mercifully, the journey was over quickly. The carriage pulled up at the front doors, and Philip jumped down to assist the women. As she alighted, her injured leg cramped up, causing her to lose her balance. She cried out, her arms flailing to grasp the closest solid object, which happened to be Philip’s arm. She felt his other arm slip around her waist, steadying her before she fell flat on her face.
Lucy cried out in alarm. “Penny! What is it?”
Winded, Penny could only cling to Newbridge even as pain lanced up and down her leg. He murmured something and lifted her easily into his arms, then carried her into the house.
“I–I am quite alright, Your Grace. Please put me down,” Penny pleaded, her senses bombarded by the scent of his aftershave, something earthy and warm. She could feel his strength as he held her as though she weighed nothing. He followed Lucy into the parlour, while Jane hovered uncertainly.
He ignored her protests but set her down gently on the couch, an inscrutable expression on his face. Lucy knelt beside her anxiously, and Penny hastened to assure everyone she was fine. The pains had subsided to a dull throbbing ache, nothing a hot bath wouldn’t take care of.
“Perhaps some tea will help?” Jane suggested to Lucy, who nodded and hurried off to make a fresh pot. Penny was left alone with Newbridge, who hadn’t moved from his position in front of the couch.
“I find myself in your debt once again,” she murmured softly, smoothing her skirts nervously.
“Does it always bother you like this?”
She shook her head. “Not often. Only on cold days, and I have put a lot of strain on it, though, so it is hardly surprising.”
“What happened?”
“A riding accident when I was younger. It was my first time riding, and I got a bit careless. Tried to make a jump, but the horse tripped and fell, trapping my leg underneath.”
Something crossed his face, and Penny could have sworn it was pity, which made her flare up. She did not want pity, least of all his pity. “I am quite all right. I was perfectly capable of walking earlier. There was no need to carry me.”
His eyes flashed blue fire then he levelled a cold look at her, causing a chill to run up her spine. “I see. Thankfully, there will not be a repeat. I have wasted enough time here.”
He stepped back, called out for Jane, then strode out of the room.
A minute later, the carriage rolled away, much to her relief.
“Why did they leave so suddenly? I made enough tea for all of us,” Lucy asked, setting down the tray of tea things on a stool. “And I cut some of that fruit cake you made yesterday.”
“I have no idea, Lucy. Never mind. We will try to finish the tea and cakes on our own.”
***
Philip tugged off his cravat with a curse, his mood foul. This was what happened when he tried to be helpful—have it thrown back in his face. He should have left the two women to walk home, but instead, had given in to Jane’s pleas to offer a lift—something that went against his very nature. He cursed once more as he thought of the unbidden wave of desire that had washed over him when he held Penelope Inglewood in his
arms. She had looked so vulnerable he had been quite overcome with an inexplicable urge to kiss her freckled nose, or better yet that soft, full inviting mouth, carry her to bed and…
“Bloody hell!” he growled, shaking his head as though to rid him of the image. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of it, and her scent swamped him, stirring up something in him. The woman was a menace, a small but annoying menace. No woman had ever stirred his blood or invaded his thoughts the way Penelope Inglewood managed to do, and he despised the effect she had on him. He would get her out of his system, find a willing woman, and purge himself of this wretched desire.
Finally undressed, he crossed to the window and gazed out at the clear night sky, the cold breeze hitting his bare flesh, causing goosebumps. Cursed with the inability to sleep at night, he had often spent many a night losing himself in drink till the early hours of the morning, when he would finally doze off for an hour before he was awake again. His mistress had called him the Devil’s Spawn because of that.
That night, he needed something other than spirits, he decided, moving away from the window, crossing to his wardrobe. He dressed in sporting breeches and a light shirt, donning the special pair of shoes he had made for such a purpose and quietly made his way outside. He took a few breaths of the night air then set off on a gruelling run.