Love in the Time of Scandal (21 page)

He smiled in turn. “Nor on mine.” He hesitated, then laid her down on the bed before lowering himself atop her. Gently he unwrapped the ribbon from her wrists. “I cannot change what I did to Sebastian.”

Penelope blinked. He thought she held that against him? “I know. He’s forgiven you, so I have as well.”

Benedict raised his head. “You have?”

“Of course.” She traced the line of his collarbone with one finger. “My sister ordered me to, but I would have done so anyway. As you said, it can’t be undone, and it’s foolish to let the past ruin the future.”

“Then what caused the distance between us?” he asked slowly. “Is it about my parents?”

“No.” She touched his lower lip. “I would like to know what made you the man you are, but if you don’t wish to see them or talk about them, I can accept that. I gather they are not like my parents at all, and I confess your father isn’t anyone I’d like to dine with.”

For a moment his eyes were shadowed. “My father . . . I don’t think we’ll ever dine with him, and that suits me. You wouldn’t like him.”

She had already sensed that, quite strongly. “Then he is banished from our marriage.”

A spark of surprise lit his face before he kissed her. “So he is. My duty—my life—is with you now.” He hesitated. “I would like you to know the man I am.”

“And can it be more like this all the time?” She wound her arms around his neck.

“Yes, darling, it certainly can.”

“Can I ask . . .” She hesitated. “What inspired you tonight? Was it the neckline of my gown? Or were you jealous of Mr. Greene?”

“Fishing for compliments?” He grinned. “I do like the neckline of that gown, very much. And Mr. Greene had better keep his distance.” Then he chuckled. “But if you must know, I was advised by someone to carry you home and ravish you as you wished to be ravished.”

“Advised!”

“By a woman I’ve never met.” He smiled again at her astonished expression. “But one whose name, I suspect, we both know. She was bold, with an eye on all the dancers, and her conversation was very daring and suggestive. She said you were tormenting me, trying to provoke me, and that my best course of action would be to make desperate, passionate love to you.”

Penelope frowned in thought, then her mouth fell open in disbelief. “Lady Constance?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

She seized his shoulders. “What does she look like? Where did she go? What a coup it would be to recognize her! Did you know there’s a bounty on her name? Oh, did she mention any hint of when her next story will appear?”

“No, to every question. She was the most unremarkable-looking woman I’ve ever met, and she melted into the crowd before I could inquire into her publishing schedule.” He turned onto his side and pulled her against him. “I’d much rather think of you than of her.”

“And so you should.” Penelope wiggled a little closer. “But I wish I could thank her, all the same.”

Chapter 20

T
he evening of Samantha’s dinner party arrived, crisp and clear. Samantha greeted them warmly. “I hope you will be pleased,” she said, leading them through the drawing room. “I thought it would be lovely to receive the guests in the garden, since the weather’s been so fine. Gray teased me that I was inviting rain, but thank goodness he was wrong.” She threw open the French windows into the garden. “But if you disagree we can easily remain in the house.”

Benedict glanced at Penelope. Surely this would reassure her of Samantha’s regard. His sister had turned her garden into a fairyland. Lanterns winked in the trees, and small lamps glowed along the path that circled the small fountain. Streamers of silk fluttered in the light breeze, although thanks to the garden’s high brick walls, it was surprisingly warm. And sure enough, Penelope’s expression was one of amazed delight. She looked at Samantha. “It’s wonderful!”

Their hostess beamed in relief. “Oh, I’m so glad you agree! It was such fun decorating—Gray wanted to put fish inside the fountain but there wasn’t time. This is my first dinner party and I want to do it well.”

“I believe you’ll set a trend.”

Samantha laughed. “Wouldn’t that be a fine thing!” She excused herself to go answer a hovering servant’s question, and Benedict offered his arm to his wife.

“I told you Samantha would be pleased by our marriage.”

“It would be quite rude of her to act otherwise.”

“She’s not just being polite,” he said in a low voice. “I hope you know that.”

She was quiet for a minute. “I’m very glad to hear it. I always liked Samantha, and I did feel very sorry when . . . Well, last summer.”

“That’s all over,” he said firmly. “The past is over and done with.”

She looked grateful. “Thank goodness.”

The guests began to arrive soon. One of Gray’s brothers with his wife, an amiable, good-natured couple. Another couple who were good friends with Samantha, Lord and Lady Roxbury. A neighbor, Mr. Wayles-Faire, who was also an artist, and his sister, who kept house for him. Abigail and Sebastian had not been able to come after all; nor had Elizabeth and Lord Turley, but Samantha passed on their congratulations and an invitation to visit at the soonest opportunity. Everyone was friendly and warm. Benedict was both pleased and surprised that his sister had such a circle of friends, and greatly touched that she had arranged such an evening for him and Penelope.

They strolled about the garden chatting. It was a magnificent evening, and more than one lady discarded her shawl in the cloistered warmth of the garden. From time to time someone would exclaim over a newly discovered figure painted in some hidden spot, causing Samantha to exclaim in astonishment and hurry to see. Gray’s satisfied grin got bigger each time she laughed at the lizard painted on a stone bench, or the frog painted on the rim of the fountain.

“What a prankster you are,” Samantha scolded her husband with a fond smile.

“Of the best sort!” Penelope wanted to see each little gem, too, and the four of them had congregated over the tiny image of a hummingbird painted on the bricks above the roses. “Such whimsy! What have we overlooked?”

Gray just winked at her. Samantha gasped. “Oh, there are more? Where?”

“You’ll have to keep looking for them,” he told her. “Inside the house and out.”

“Inside the house?” Samantha turned shining eyes on Penelope. “We must search it from top to bottom!”

They were all still laughing when the butler appeared in the drawing room doorway, looking ill at ease. He hesitated, his eyes roaming the garden before lighting on them. Then he all but ran to Gray’s side. “My lord,” he murmured, and whispered the rest of his message in his employer’s ear.

Gray’s eyes narrowed. He gave a curt nod and turned to follow the butler back into the house, but his wife stopped him with a hand on his arm. “What is it?”

He glanced at Benedict, then leaned down and told her, too softly for anyone else to hear. Samantha was already facing him, so Benedict had a good view of his sister’s face as it went ashen. “Father’s here?” she whispered, almost numbly.

Benedict felt the same stab of alarm. Instinctively he reached for Penelope’s hand and pulled her to his side. “Why?”

“I don’t know!” Samantha looked to her husband in worry. “What should we do?”

“Invite him to call another time,” suggested Penelope after a moment of frozen silence.

“Brilliant thought! I concur.” Gray no longer looked jovial or pleased.

“Oh no, we couldn’t dare!”

“I could,” muttered Gray. “What say you, Atherton?”

Benedict felt the weight of three sets of eyes on him: his sister’s anxious, his brother-in-law’s measured, and his wife’s wary and curious. Why the devil was Stratford here? He wasn’t invited. He barely acknowledged Gray, and he’d banned Benedict from his sight. Whatever had brought him to town, to this house tonight, couldn’t be anything good. Tonight, when he and Penelope were in good charity, when Samantha was so happy, the earl was the very last person he wanted to see. “Turn him away,” he said in a low voice.

Gray clapped his shoulder. “Excellent decision. Crawley, tell his lordship we are engaged, and ask him to call another time—” he began telling the butler.

“Too late,” whispered Samantha, facing the house.

As one, the rest of them turned toward the house. Framed in the well-lit doorway stood the Earl of Stratford, as dark and grim as the specter of death. As if he’d been waiting for their attention, he came down the few steps and strode toward them, his gaze never wavering. The other guests withdrew at his approach as if they felt a chill, and the hum of conversation grew noticeably quieter.

Gray muttered something to his butler, who hurried off, and stepped forward as Stratford reached them. “Good evening, sir,” he said with a bow.

Stratford barely looked at him. “Indeed.”

Samantha wet her lips and stepped around her husband, who immediately put his arm around her. “Good evening, Father.” She curtsied. “I had no idea you were in town.”

“Only just arrived.” He glanced around at the lanterns, the streamers, the now-quiet guests. “I trust I’m not intruding.”

“Obviously not,” said Gray evenly. “We’re delighted to have you join us.”

“How gracious.” Stratford turned his hooded eyes on Benedict. “Is there a special occasion being celebrated?”

“Indeed,” said Samantha, beginning to recover her poise, although she never released her husband’s arm. “My brother’s marriage. I’m delighted to have another sister, and we wanted to wish Benedict and his bride joy.”

“Indeed,” repeated the earl. He finally turned to Penelope, giving her a brazen up-and-down inspection. “Here is the bride, I take it.”

Benedict felt as if he’d just been smacked in the face. Samantha gasped softly, and Gray’s face grew dark. Penelope smiled her sunny smile as if the earl had just paid her a lavish compliment, and dipped a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. I’m very honored to receive your blessing on our marriage.”

Stratford’s mouth firmed. Benedict was torn between wanting to applaud his wife’s response and the urge to whisk her away before the earl could berate her for impertinence. “I had not thought it would take this long to give it.”

Penelope nodded sympathetically. “We were so sorry you and Lady Stratford didn’t attend the wedding. I hope to make her ladyship’s acquaintance soon.”

Samantha was staring at Penelope in wide-eyed awe, Gray in open approval. Far from being cowed or even muted by the earl’s presence, Penelope seemed more fearless than ever. Every word she said was utterly true, perfectly polite, and absolutely guaranteed to infuriate Stratford. He preferred people respectful and accommodating, and instead Penelope had just told a garden of people that Stratford hadn’t approved his own son’s wedding. Benedict considered waiting for the earl’s reply, but the watching assembly of guests dissuaded him. At least in public, he preferred to maintain some civility. “Has Mother accompanied you to town, Father?”

Stratford watched Penelope with a curious expression. Benedict had long been a student of his father’s expressions, attuned to any clue to his mood, and he had no idea what this one meant. It was unnerving. “She has not.”

“What a terrible pity,” Samantha put in, catching his eye. She was trying to follow his lead. “I hope Mother is well?”

“Yes.”

Thankfully the butler rushed up, walking as fast as he could without running. “My lord, my lady, dinner is ready.”

“Excellent!” declared Gray at once, giving Benedict the strong impression that he’d sent the butler off to rush dinner along as soon as Stratford appeared. He had noted the way his brother-in-law stepped in front of Samantha as the earl approached, and the way he kept her close to his side. “Crawley, set another place next to mine for Lord Stratford.”

Stratford’s smile was cold. “That won’t be necessary. I will dine at my club.” He glanced at Penelope again. “I shall call upon you tomorrow, Lady Atherton.”

“Of course!” She beamed at him again. “I look forward to it, sir.”

“It would be our pleasure,” added Benedict evenly. “Until tomorrow, Father.”

A muscle twitched in the earl’s jaw. Without a word he bowed, turned on his heel, and left.

No one spoke until he was gone. Samantha let out her breath. “What does he really want?”

Benedict felt Penelope at his side. Somehow he had a bad feeling Stratford had come because of her, although he couldn’t see any reason for that. “I expect we’ll find out tomorrow,” she said, seemingly unconcerned. “Is he always so stern and grim?”

Samantha shuddered. “No,” she murmured. “Sometimes he’s worse.”

“Enough about him.” Gray took her hand again. “I refuse to let him ruin this evening. Shall we go in? I told Crawford to announce dinner even if it was still raw from the butcher, but I am personally quite ready for the wine.”

Samantha’s worried gaze flitted around, taking in her curious, expectant guests. She gave a strained smile. “I am as well. Perhaps we could begin with a toast in the drawing room to give Cook a little more time for dinner.”

“Wine sounds ideal,” said Benedict. “But would you allow us a few moments alone?”

His sister nodded, and he seized his wife’s hand. Through the garden, into the house, into a small salon away from any prying ears. He closed the door and paced the length of the room, plowing his shaking hands into his hair. “I hope you didn’t provoke him.”

“Oh,” she said airily, “no more than he provoked me, I’m sure.”

Benedict looked at her in amazement. “What? Why, Penelope?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, obviously struggling to choose the right words. “Do I understand this correctly? Your father arrives, unannounced and uninvited, well into the evening, to look me up and down like a piece of furniture. He deliberately insults me, by your admission. He slights Samantha and Gray in their own home. He announces he will call upon us tomorrow, and then he walks out after barely acknowledging the invitation to stay to dine. And I’m the one at fault? Was I not polite?”

“That’s not the question,” he began.

“What ought I to have done?” she exclaimed. “Cowered in fear and whispered my thanks when he deigned to glance at me? That’s not my nature.”

“I know.” He sighed and reached for her. “But it would have been better—”

She stepped back out of his reach. “Better? So he would think he can bully me as he’s done to you?”

Benedict stood motionless, his hand still outstretched. “I will never let him touch you.”

“Then I regret nothing. Perhaps it’s time someone stood up to him.”

He gave a bitter laugh and let his arm drop. “‘Perhaps it’s time.’ As if no one else has ever tried.”

“Then why does he still do it?” This time she reached for him. “You’re a grown man, independent and able. Why can’t you? Why can’t Samantha? I wager Gray would be happy to defy him, but you and Samantha—”

“Stop,” he said in a low voice.

“I know he’s not a kind father, and never was,” she barreled onward. “I know a child can’t easily defy his father. But you’re no longer a boy to be punished for impertinence. What can he do to you now? Why do you and Samantha both still live in fear of him?”

“Who told you that?”

She waved one hand impatiently. “Sebastian told Abby, and she told me. And more potently, Samantha’s reaction proclaimed it clearly. If my father had behaved that way, I would have fled at the first opportunity and never looked back, let alone received him in my house.”

“Very easy to say when your father treated you with particular kindness and indulgence.”

Penelope snorted. “He punished me—”

“It was not the same,” he cut in savagely. “Just . . . don’t presume you know what it was like for us.”

Her face changed, becoming more frustrated than indignant. “Then tell me! I keep trying to understand you, and you never let down your guard. We are married! Why must you keep so many secrets from me?”

“My secrets.” He threw up his hands. “I’ve no idea what you want me to tell you.”

His wife stared at him for a long moment. “The simple truth would suffice.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to rejoin the guests. If you have any other critical remarks on my actions or inexplicable commands for me to follow, I will hear them tomorrow morning.”

He caught her arm when she started past him. “I
have
told you. You don’t want to hear it. You want me to fall on my knees in abject regret because I didn’t stand by Sebastian, or apologize for things beyond my control.”

“No,” she protested, “I want to know why your father exerts such control over you that you dare not contradict a word he says!”

“Because he can,” he snarled. He’d thought it would be better for Penelope not to know, but now she had to know, before she unwittingly brought the earl’s wrath down on herself. The look in Stratford’s eyes as he studied Penelope had put a chill in Benedict’s heart. “He always has. It didn’t matter what the offense was; if we defied him, we were punished, harshly. No matter is beneath his notice. My mother dares not order so much as a new bonnet without his approval. Elizabeth once went riding without express permission, and he sold her horse; she was forbidden to ride again except in public. One must keep up appearances whenever society might be watching, but the rest of the time . . .” He shook his head. “Samantha was nearly married off to a dangerous lunatic because she stole those guineas from him.” He smiled humorlessly at her wide-eyed start. “You wanted to know what he did to Samantha? He had a marriage contract with the Marquess of Dorre’s middle son—the mad, dangerous one—drawn up, ready to be signed, before Gray’s father, the Duke of Rowland, interceded on his behalf. Samantha’s pleas meant nothing to him, nor did Gray’s. I still don’t know what Rowland said to persuade Father to allow it, but I would be astonished if he didn’t threaten some awful reprisal—and even then my father cut Samantha’s dowry almost to nothing.”