Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (11 page)

Instead of walking toward him, her arms outstretched in supplication, Penelope stalked over to the window.

"Out. The way you came in," she ordered, with a curt nod of her head.

"B-but, Penelope," he stuttered, the fire of his ardor doused by the blank expression on her face. "I'd like to stay with you a little…to make sure you are all right…"

"I assure you, Pierce, I am very well. And perfectly capable of taking care of myself. In fact, you were the one who nearly murdered an innocent stable lad with your bare hands." She opened the window wider. "And now, if you please, I am exhausted and would like to have some rest before dawn breaks."

Very well. He knew when he wasn't wanted. He crossed over to the window and leapt onto the sill. "I'll call for you tomorrow. We shall plan what to do next."

She leaned against the window frame with a sigh. "Fine. Thank you for a most interesting evening, Pierce."

He turned to go, and caught a glimpse of a sparkle in her eyes. The lady was playing a game with him. Was she asserting her own authority or merely undermining his? No matter.

It was a game he was quite willing to play.

Chapter Eleven

Here he was again, on the fashionable front steps of the Barclay Employment Agency. Pierce knocked thrice upon the door and whistled, as he had been instructed to do by Lord Blake, and waited for Ms. Ealy to answer. There had to be a way to obtain an invitation to the house party the two women had mentioned the previous evening. It was the clearest path he could find to track down Emma, and once he found her, he was sure to find Cicely.

The glossy black door opened a crack to reveal Mrs. Ealy's well-preserved visage. "Lord Banks, how good of you to return," she purred. She opened the door wider. "I trust your visit last night went well?"

"Yes, of course." He was not about to gossip about it on the front stoop, however. "May I come in? I would like to hire another…maid."

"Of course." She motioned him in with a graceful wave of her wrinkled hand. "Won't you please come into my office?"

Mrs. Ealy led him down the hallway to the same office she had led him to before, with its ornate Louis XIV desk and pedestal. She motioned him to a chair and sat, opening her ledger book. "Now, your lordship, what sort of gel do you have in mind?"

He crossed his legs casually, gauging what he should say next. He didn't precisely need one of their girls, just an invitation to that house party. "Well, Mrs. Ealy, I have a quandary. As much as I enjoyed last night, I find myself in need of something more."

"Something more?" Her forehead furrowed. "Are you talking about needing more girls? Or perhaps a longer visit?"

"Definitely a longer visit." Ah, there we go. Now they were on the right path. "In fact, I feel a need to leave London for a while. Too many young ladies are on the Marriage Mart and they want to rein me in, make me into a husband before I am ready. I'd like to have a good debauch, Mrs. Ealy, something that lasts longer than a few hours at the Gilded Lily."

She nodded and pursed her lips. "I understand, sir. It can be very difficult indeed to preserve one's liberty, especially when one is considered such an eligible match."

"Precisely." He leaned forward and affected a confidential air. "I should like to retire to the country and bring a few wenches with me. Have you any way of helping me fulfill this desire? Are there any other…gentlemen…who also do that sort of thing?"

"Yes, of course." She gave him a wide smile. "Many gentlemen hold house parties, even, and invite other gentlemen to partake.
Bachelor escapades are quite common during the holiday season.
You need not feel any hesitation, your lordship, to pursue this wish of yours."

"Ah." Dash it all, he wasn't feeling embarrassed. He just wanted an invitation to that party. "I would enjoy trying one of those house parties myself. If, of course, you could arrange an invitation for me?"

"Much as I would like to, your lordship, I am afraid I cannot. You see, the host is responsible for the guest list. I merely provide the entertainment. So I am not in a position to invite you, myself."

"I see." He fumbled around in his pocket and produced a wad of bills. "I don't want to put you in an awkward position at all, Mrs. Ealy. But a little recreation in the country does sound mighty refreshing." He peeled off a few bills—
damned
if this case wasn't getting expensive—and laid them on her desk. "Perhaps you could tell me the name of a few estates where these parties are being held? I am sure I could arrange my own invitation."

"Well…" She was thinking it over. He cast a winning smile her way as she looked over at him. She sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't do much harm to tell you. Most of our aristocratic clientele are already acquainted. At the moment, there is one house party occurring in Derbyshire. Lord Adam Cavendish is hosting it."

"Cavendish? Of course I know him. We were at Eton together. Bloody hell, I had no idea he was up to those kinds of shenanigans." Pierce slapped his thigh. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Ealy. Perhaps I can still get the rest and recreation I deserve before being leg-shackled for life."

"Of course, your lordship. I am happy to be of service." She discreetly palmed the bills and secreted them in a drawer of her desk. "If I may make a suggestion, Lord Adam has a theme of sorts for this party. All of the women are blonde with blue or green eyes. He wanted to have a lot of "goddesses," as he called it, for his friends. Since your tastes run to brunettes, you may be disappointed."

"Oh, not at all," he responded, with a wave of his hand. "I find blondes most amusing as well."In fact, one particular blonde was downright delectable. He still hadn't completely gotten over his wonder at how Penelope had completely ravished him and then sent him packing. Goddess? There was no one in Mrs. Ealy's stable who could hold a candle to her.

"Very well, sir." Mrs. Ealy closed her ledger book and looked at him squarely. "I wish you the best of luck with this house party. May I help you with anything else?"

"One more question for you, Mrs. Ealy. Are there enough women to go around if I should be invited?" A thought was beginning to brew in the back of his mind. A way for him to bring his own goddess to the party.

"I should think so, your lordship. Adams ordered a baker's dozen of blondes for the space of a fortnight. Of course, you may always ask Adams himself when you make arrangements to attend. And if you need help securing the services of another gel, simply let me know. I should be most happy to help you." She rose. The interview was over, clearly.

He rose too. "Mrs. Ealy, you are a wonder." He extended his hand to her. "I am indebted to you, I assure you."

She grasped his hand briefly. "Not at all, your lordship. And you can always thank me by sending your friends to the Barclay for their needs."

"Of course, of course." He allowed Mrs. Ealy to lead him back down the hallway and to the door. "And if I cannot finagle an invitation from Cavendish perhaps I will establish my own house party. In that case, I will certainly call upon the Barclay for my entertainment."

She opened the door with a flourish and gave him a tight smile. "Of course, your lordship. I shall be most happy to help at any time. Have a pleasant sojourn in the country."

He nodded, pulling on his hat. "Good day, Mrs. Ealy."

"Good day." The door clicked shut behind him.

Well, that went better than he expected. He took the steps two at a time and sprang into his carriage. She was visibly nervous after giving him the information about the house party, but perhaps he had disarmed her with his charm. Now it was just a matter of finding a way to contact Cavendish and get an invitation to his party. Lord Blake could probably assist with that minor detail. The baronet was a veritable font of information regarding any kind of debauchery.

It was rather too early to call on Blake, though. Knowing him, he had been up until three or four at one of the gaming hells, or at the Lily. Pierce consulted his pocket watch. No, it would be better to wait and call on Blake in the late afternoon. Now, though, he could call on Penelope and report his findings. She would be up and about to partake of luncheon soon. Perhaps they could dine together.

"
Lady Annand
's. Grosvenor Square," he told his driver, and shut the window with a snap.

Yes, he needed to have a little chat with Penelope. Not just about the case. There was a new mystery afoot. The Ice Goddess had made love to him last night, but it was very obvious she had never made love—at least not fully—before.  And yet, she had been married to the viscount for years before his death. How on earth could that be? How could such a woman, so desirable, so beautiful, remain a virgin for years while married? Surely her nickname had nothing to do with it. His own explorations had informed him that the Ice Goddess was anything but frigid and cold.

Whatever the reason behind the mystery, he was ready to know the truth.
Lady Annand
would have to confess it. And then, he would ensure that she made up for turning him away last night, for having to climb back down that dratted balcony. They'd just have to do a little more exploring…together.

***

Why was that name so very familiar? Howland. And why was someone calling Pierce by that name? Whoever it was must certainly have been calling to Pierce. The only other person present that night was Bill. And certainly the person in question needed to speak to Pierce, not Bill. After all, Bill had dared to interrupt their lovemaking twice to try to get Pierce's attention.

It certainly was a mystery. But one she hadn't had an opportunity to solve last night. After all, when one had a stable lad hiding in one's room, and a rather overzealously protective friend hiding on the balcony, one could be forgiven for forgetting incidents that occurred earlier in the evening.

But still…that name. Howland. It simply didn't make sense. Had she even heard aright?

Simmons knocked on the door to the study. She put her pen aside and took out her blotter. "Enter?"

"Your ladyship, would you like to have your luncheon on the terrace or in the dining room today?"

The sun
was
shining, but the keen nip of fall hung on the air still. "It's too chilly to dine outside, Simmons. The dining room is fine."

"Very good, ma'am. Do you have any letters to post?"

Drat. She had been so busy mulling over the Howland name that she hadn't even answered a single letter that morning. "No, not yet. They will have to post tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am." A knock sounded on the front door. Bother. Another distraction. Would she never get on with her day? "I'll see who is here, your ladyship."

"Thank you, Simmons." Well, there went her morning. She'd just have to be more productive in the afternoon. She had to find a way to track down that house party and find Emma so she could find Cicely.

Simmons opened the door again and admitted Pierce,
who strode into the room with a decisive air
. Heavens, were his shoulders always that broad? And he was so tall, he had to stoop a bit to get through the doorway. And there were other parts of his anatomy that were quite large too—she shut off her thoughts with a snap.

"Mr. Howe, please come in." She rose from the desk and walked toward him, her hand outstretched. Better to remain professional in front of the servants. After all, Simmons had already seen Pierce carrying her around like a caveman—surely he suspected something.

Simmons bowed and closed the door as Pierce took her hand. But he drew it to his lips, lingering over each knuckle. "Penelope," he murmured. "You look
stunningly beautiful
, as always."

His touch and the dark rumble of his voice made lightning streak down her middle. She snatched her hand away. "Pierce.
Behave yourself
."

He quirked one eyebrow. "Am I to take it that you don't like my touch, Penelope? Seems rather contradictory, after last night."

Heavens, he was infuriating. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, perhaps you will be more adoring of me when you hear what news I have." He strolled into the room and tossed his hat and greatcoat onto the hearth. "I went by the Barclay this morning. It turns out that Lord Adam Cavendish is having a gentlemen's house party at his country home. I will wager Emma is one of the young women who were recruited to provide entertainment."

She smiled. He was useful, after all. "Oh, Pierce—that is excellent news. Were you able to secure an invitation?"

"No. Mrs. Ealy—the madam who runs the Barclay—could not secure an invitation for me. And it
took a pile of blunt to weasel
that much information out of her. But I have another connection—Lord Blake—who can help me get in."

"Lord Tristan Blake? He's a terrible rogue, you know." Peter had warned her to steer clear of Blake at soirees. He had a hankering for married women, and could apparently seduce them with no trouble at all. And, like a dutiful wife, she had obeyed her husband and stayed well away from Blake. But how could Pierce know him? They didn't exactly run in the same circles.

"I know. That's why he's perfect for helping me in this matter." Pierce grasped her elbows and pulled her close. "Now, we have other matters to discuss. Shall we have lunch together?"

"I was going to dine at home." She refused to meet his eyes. Being so close to him was playing havoc with her anatomy. She was furious with herself for giving into his charm so readily. If he wasn't holding her so tightly, her knees would give out.

"I'll join you." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "In the meantime, we can play a game."

"Whatever are you talking about? I'm not a child." Giddiness was enveloping her. She shook her head and grasped the lapels of his jacket to steady herself.

"This is not a children's game. It is a game just between the two of us."

Oh my…

He led her over to the settee and set her down. Then he sat beside her, so close that she could see the stubble of his beard. His green eyes had fascinating gold and brown flecks in their depths.

"Shall we play our game?"

Her hands were perspiring. She rubbed them briskly on her gown and tried to appear nonchalant. "Of course. Though this seems very silly to me. How do we play?"

"I ask a question, and you tell me the truth."