The Romantic Page 3

  “I found Russell Square convenient to the City, and the Inns of Court.”

  They began up the stairs. The lamps showed wisps of her dark hair escaping her coiffeur to brush against her snowy cheek. Her face displayed fatigue from her worry and the voyage, but her expression was sweet all the same.

  “With a house this size, I think you should marry and start a family,” she said.

  “Lady Laclere agrees with you, I fear.”

  She giggled. It was a wonderful sound, one he had loved hearing since he was a boy. Suddenly, despite her worries, she was the Penelope he knew.

  “Has Bianca been trying to find you a wife?”

  “Once your brother Dante married, I suspect I was doomed. She must have concluded that if he could be induced to wed, any man could.”

  “Is she waging battle alone? No supporting troops?”

  “I think the strategy was devised with the Duchess of Everdon and Mrs. St. John. Dante’s wife, I suspect, demurred only because she is with child.”

  “Oh, dear. Sophia and Diane are after you, too. You may indeed be doomed. Having been part of that army, I know how effective we can be. Be glad that I am not staying in England. If I joined up you would not stand a chance.”

  “My dear lady, your involvement could only benefit me. In fact, should I ever think to marry, your approval of the match will be essential.”

  She paused on the stairs. “Truly? You value my opinion that highly?”

  “Certainly.”

  “What a very nice thing to say, Julian.”

  Julian.

  She had not addressed him like that in years. He doubted she realized that she had now.

  He remembered the precise day when he had become Mr. Hampton. It was the afternoon when she called on him in chambers to seek advice about the earl. As he heard her sordid tale and watched her embarrassment, he had known that he would never be Julian again. The revelations of that day demanded a certain formality in their subsequent relationship.

  He led her to the door of a bedroom on the third level. His own chambers were on the other side of the landing. It went without saying that she could not stay in the best of the closed rooms, the one connected to his, the one that would never be used by a mistress of this house.

  He stood aside so she could enter. He stayed on the threshold as she surveyed the room.

  “Yellow and green and white,” she said with admiration. “It is like being in a garden of jonquils.”

  Decorating this chamber, and all of the others, had been mercifully easy. When faced with any decision he had simply chosen what he thought Penelope would like.

  She strolled around, inspecting the restrained carving of the fruitwood furniture and other appointments. She noticed a garment on the bed. “Your valet must have woken the housekeeper if he found a nightdress for me. I have become a nuisance already.”

  “You will be no nuisance. They will be happy to serve you. I have sent Batkin for your belongings at the hotel. He will make sure that no one knows where they are going.”

  Her clear blue eyes appeared a little moist and her brow a little worried. He wanted to soothe her in ways denied him. Instead he just stood at the doorway.

  “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “It is rashly generous of you.”

  He was not being generous, but selfish. If she lived here even one night, her presence would remain forever.

  He would always sense her in the air and feel her in the spaces.

  The part about being rash was true, however. Allowing her to remain here was an unspeakably risky thing to do, for both of them.

  “It would be quite scandalous if anyone learned of this,” she said, echoing his thoughts.

  “Not too scandalous. No worse, for example, than that business in Naples with you and those other ladies and that fishing boat.”

  A blush rose up her neck and over her face. She grimaced with chagrin. “Oh. You heard about that.”

  “Although the officers on the ship that rescued you showed the discretion of gentlemen, several of the common sailors, upon their return to England, did not.”

  “Does everyone know?”

  “If Ido, I expect so.”

  “I want you to know that was quite innocent. We were victims of villainy. Whoever expected that fishing boat to go off with all our garments on it and leave us stranded in that cove like that?”

  By “like that” she meant wearing only their chemises, or so the story went. Wet chemises, since the women had commissioned that fishing boat to take them to the secluded cove so they could bathe in the sea.

  —Pen walked out of the cool sea. Droplets on her body and eyelashes sparkled in the sun like tiny diamonds. The soaked garment adhered to her soft curves like a transparent veil, and—

  “If you are honest, Mr. Hampton, you will admit that the outing to that cove can at worst be described as a bit reckless, a little headstrong, a tad ill-advised …” She groped for more diminutives.

  “Slightly naughty?”

  “Still, not scandalous, as this will be.”

  “This will be scandalous only if others find out. We will be sure they do not.”

  She blushed again and made a little awkward gesture with her hands, as if at a loss how to end the meeting.

  He memorized the image of her standing in his home.

  “Good night, madame.”

  “Good night, Mr. Hampton.”

  “Julian! Sir Julian, save me!”

  The cry came from the tower. Julian looked up to see pale skin at the arrow slit, high on the guards’ chamber.

  “I am up here, Sir Julian. Help me!”

  Julian grasped his wooden sword tighter. “I am coming, my lady!”

  Above on the battlements of Laclere Park’s medieval ruins, Vergil whacked his own sword against Dante’s as they fought for control of the castle.

  The plan had been for Julian to join Vergil, overpower Dante, and together rescue the damsel imprisoned by her evil guardian, Sir Milton. But Vergil could defeat Dante alone, and the lady was calling to Julian for help.

  Julian charged across the bailey yard, jumping stones that had fallen from the decaying fortress. He dodged past little Charlotte, who had been permitted to join them but only if she played Vergil’s squire. She stood safely in the bailey holding an invisible horse, shouting treasonous encouragement to Dante up above.

  Inside the portal of the guard tower, Julian pressed against the wall and listened.

  Above, Lady Penelope called again, her girlish voice gaining maturity in the stones’ acoustics. Another sound caught his attention as well. Bootsteps on the stairs. The evil guardian was coming down.

  The boots stopped. Preparing himself, hoisting his plank shield, Julian started up the curving stone staircase.

  Milton waited halfway down, his own sword and shield at the ready. Julian considered how to attack from his disadvantaged position.

  “That is the thing about these curved stairs,” Milton said with a smug smile. “The invader cannot use his sword arm unless he exposes his body by turning.”

  “I will risk the blows.”

  Milton’s dark eyes turned serious. The eldest of the Viscount Laclere’s sons, he was also the most handsome, even more so than young Dante. He and Julian had a special affinity, since they were both quiet and more given to observing than participating in the raucous conversations of the others. Milton had made it clear that while Julian visited Laclere Park as Vergil’s friend, Milton considered him a kindred soul.

  “You should always weigh whether any prize is worth the blows, Julian.”

  “I do not seek my own prize, but my lady’s freedom,” Julian said, assuming the bluster of a medieval knight.

  Despite the advantage of the stairs, Milton could not defend well. He had never been especially interested in the actual battles of their games, but rather the strategies.

  Whacking his way past Milton, Julian rushed up to the guards’ chamber. Playing her role with e
nthusiasm, Penelope ran to his protection.

  Her gratitude was interrupted. Milton appeared at the threshold. Julian thrust Penelope behind him and prepared to fight again.

  She cowered closely, her body tucked against his back and her hands on his shoulders. Their contact stunned him and incited a pleasurable warmth. Time froze for a moment while he accommodated the powerful sensation.

  He glanced back at Penelope. She had frozen, too. She looked in his eyes with a curious, startled expression.

  He forgot about Milton and the sword and the tower itself. He turned slightly, unable to stop looking at her, incapable of breaking the silent, astonishing conversation they were having and for which neither of them knew any words.

  Finally, Pen stepped away. She glanced past him. He looked in the same direction to find Milton watching them. Milton’s own expression was both unfathomable and comprehending.

  “The tower is yours, Julian. The lady is rescued. Well done.” Milton looked down at his sword. With a small smile, he let it drop to the floor along with his shield. “I think that I am much too old to play such games anymore.”

  The memory came to Julian as he lay in his bed, sensing the presence of Penelope as surely as if she slept beside him.

  A year before that day neither of them would have noticed that touch. It would have been one of many, as the stories that Julian created played out on the estate.

  That moment changed everything. At fourteen he had been aroused before, but not like that, not by a specific female whom he knew and honored.

  It had been a turning point in other friendships, too. Milton had never played with them again. It had taken Julian many years to realize that his long look with Penelope was the reason.

  Now Milton was dead and Penelope was married and here he was, lying in bed, wanting another man’s wife who slept in a nearby chamber.

  He weighed the events of the night. Pen had been correct that the law would not protect her. Only the combination of her courage and Julian’s own guile had ever done that.

  He did not know what waited around the curve in the staircase he had begun climbing. As always, his position in the whole matter would inhibit his sword arm as surely as that wall had in the old tower.

  He knew only one thing for certain.

  Glasbury would never hurt Penelope again while Julian Hampton lived and breathed.

  chapter 3

  Anthony, tenth earl of Glasbury, tried to ignore the sound at his dressing room door. He did not like his pleasure disrupted by any distraction, least of all one that heralded complications to his well-calculated plans.

  Now just such a disruption had occurred. Caesar would never interrupt with that loud knocking otherwise. Caesar knew better than to incur his master’s anger.

  Gritting his teeth, swallowing hard, Glasbury stepped away from the pretty round bottom raised for punishment. The most delicious arousal swam in his loins, demanding more stimulation. The submissiveness of the naked body obeying his commands lured him to ignore the interruption.

  The loud raps continued on the door. Something had gone wrong. There could be no other explanation for that sound.

  He groped through the haze of intoxicating power for some clarity of thought. He gazed at the cane in his hand and the red welts on his pleasure slave’s buttocks. Should he have her stay and wait? She was new, and he had not determined yet that she would be adequate.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  Dark hair rose. A face turned. Moist eyes looked back at him. There was enough fear in them to arouse him again. He saw no indication that she had enjoyed this.

  Good. He did not want partners who took pleasure. It made the submission less than complete.

  He plucked a guinea from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. “Get dressed and leave. Return Thursday and there will be more.”

  She swept up the guinea as she rose on her knees. There was no question that she understood “more” meant other than just more money.

  She appeared unsure that she wanted to return, but he knew she would. She was a whore and the pay was good. It wasn’t quite the same when you paid them, of course. The control was compromised if they had a choice, too.

  But she would do for a while. He would bring her along slowly, and she would learn well enough.

  He turned away. Within moments the woman and the pleasure were out of his mind and body. He left the chamber to find Caesar waiting in the corridor.

  Caesar was not in his livery, so he must have been roused from his bed by another servant. A dark mulatto, Caesar obeyed all orders with precision. He showed no fear of reprisal for this interruption, however. He remained expressionless as always, a demeanor that reflected the dull mind in the dark head.

  It was also a reflection of the changes twenty years could make in a country’s sense of rights and privilege. There had been a time when Caesar would have had good cause for fear, but those days had been slipping away most of Glasbury’s life and were over for good now.

  More’s the pity

  “He came back,” Caesar said. “A groom heard him in the garden and came and woke me.”

  “He is alone?”

  “Just him.”

  Damn.

  “Where is he?”

  “The library.”

  “Return to your chamber. I will not need you anymore.”

  Glasbury returned to his dressing room where his pleasure slave was struggling to close her dress.

  He did not aid her. “Go down in a few minutes.”

  He made his own way through the silent house to the library where the man waited.

  The visitor sat on a sofa. He was round faced and bland in countenance, and insignificant in presence and size. One had to look closely to even notice this man existed. The ability to be unseen was one of his great talents.

  He looked over with eyes that could reveal a deep cunning if the anonymous mask slipped.

  “She was not there,” he said simply.

  “She had to be. The person who saw her knows her well. Veil or not, the identification was not likely to be wrong.”

  “I said she was not there when I went for her. I did not say she never was there. I found a night servant who says a lady of her description, always veiled, was a guest there for a few days. But she is gone now, and her trunks were moved just this night. I must have missed that by an hour, no more.”

  Glasbury barely contained his anger. The little bitch had slipped away again.

  He would find her, however. He would no longer tolerate the way she had repudiated his rights. He would no longer bear the humiliation she had heaped on him with her willfulness. He certainly would not stand still while she used his name to promote revolting ideas that directly insulted him.

  He no longer needed to.

  “Where did the trunks go?”

  “The manager said he does not know. He did not like my waking him to ask about it, and he could have been expressing displeasure by not giving me what I wanted. I could try and make him talk if you—”

  “No, we can’t have you doing that. The police will be involved if you get rough.”

  “So, what do you want to do?”

  “Have your colleague keep a watch on her house, in case it is opened. I will let you know when I need you again.”

  Glasbury did not expect that house to be opened. If Penelope was no longer at the hotel, he knew where she most likely had gone. She had probably run to hide behind her brother Laclere.

  Well, he knew how to handle that. His rights of possession had been compromised in all kinds of ways these last years, but not where she was concerned. It would be more complicated to fight her family, but he would prevail.

  After all, he owned her.

  chapter 4

  Julian was surprised in the morning by a summons to La-clere’s house. He left Mrs. Tuttle to see to Penelope’s comfort and rode his horse to the one o’clock appointment.

  He was shown to the viscount’s study. Laclere�
��s dark head rose at once from its contemplation of some documents on the desk when Julian entered.

  “I am expecting a caller. I thought I should have you here when he comes,” Laclere said without formality. “I wrote to you as soon as I received his letter in the morning post.”

  “Someone was rude enough to demand to call? It is generous of you to receive him.”

  “It was Glasbury.” Laclere’s normally bright blue eyes wore a dulling concern. “I can’t imagine what he wants, since he and I have not spoken in years. I assume it is about Pen, of course.”

  They chatted about the banquet as they waited, carefully avoiding the subject of Lady Laclere’s designs where a certain bachelor was concerned.

  A visitor soon arrived, but it was not the Earl of Glasbury. Laclere’s brother Dante entered the study and greeted Julian.

  In face and stature Dante was a more refined version of his brother. Where the viscount’s features had a roughly hewn quality, Dante’s were smooth and perfect, as if the sculptor’s rasp had sought to make all the edges subordinate to the total effect.

  Dante raked his fingers through his brown hair in a gesture that spoke befuddlement.

  “I received a letter from Glasbury this morning. He said he was meeting with you and suggested I attend.”

  “The mystery is getting thicker,” Laclere said.

  “More than you know. I saw Charl’s carriage coming as I entered the house.”

  “If he wants to meet with the whole family, he must be planning a dramatic announcement.”

  “Maybe he intends to pursue a divorce,” Dante said. “Rather late for that, I would say.”

  Julian did not say a word. Both these men had long ago accepted his silences, and today that was extremely convenient.

  Charlotte entered, looking much like her older sister with her dark hair and pale skin and middling height. She had always been more slender than Penelope, and her eyes were more worldly and shrewd. It was not that Charlotte was hard in her appearance and outlook, but that Penelope was so soft.

  She explained that she had received a letter similar to Dante’s. “I considered ignoring it, since I cannot imagine why he wants me here. Aren’t such things supposed to be too important for a woman’s participation?”