Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (19 page)

He hastened back to the Inn, but neither the innkeeper nor the barmaid had spotted Penelope. Sweat broke out in beads across his forehead. Had she been kidnapped? Had Twist gotten to her after all?

Perhaps she was waiting at the livery barn with the carriage. That was the last sensible solution he had. Yes, that was it. She didn't know that he planned to stay in Leicester, and had elected to wait by the carriage until his return.

He skidded to a halt inside the barn. "You, boy," he called to one of the stable lads. "Have you seen a young lady with red hair?"

"Yes , sir." The young boy ran forwards. "She hired a coach and left about half an hour ago."

Bloody hell. She had left without him.

"Get me a horse, quick as you can," he ordered the young boy. The lad doffed his cap and hurried back to the stalls.

She was headed for Dunstable. That much was certain. But why did she leave without him?

He would ride her down and get the answers he sought.

Chapter Nineteen

Hot tears spilled over Penelope's eyes, scorching a path down her cheeks. She swiped them away with an angry brush of her gloved hand. It was over. It was all over. Once she got to Dunstable, she would track Cicely down on her own and Pierce Howe, or Lord Pierce Howland, or whatever his blasted name was, could go hang himself. She was done with men and their lying, deceitful ways. She would go back to her London townhouse, shrug off this little affair, and go on being the Ice Goddess until she got so old that no one particularly cared what her melting point might be.

The carriage bounced over a rock in the road, sending her careening against the side. Her head hit the wall with a smart crack. Well, it was her fault anyway. She had told the driver not to spare the whip, for she was in a terrible rush to reach Dunstable. She wedged herself more cozily into a corner of the cushions and braced her feet against the floor.

She was furious with herself for crying and bit the side of her cheek to make the tears stop flowing. It just wasn't bloody fair, that was all. Pierce knew everything about her. He knew about her sham marriage to Peter. He knew her darkest sexual secrets and desires. And she knew nothing of him. She didn't even really know his name. Just as Peter had concealed his true self from her for years of marriage, so Pierce had concealed himself from her in just the few weeks since they had started their affair.

She would never, ever be so trusting again.

Now she could only thank her lucky stars that she had struck out from Leicester so quickly. If Pierce even noticed she was gone, it would be hours before he thought to track her down. And by then she would be closing in on Dunstable, and tracking Cicely down. Likely she would leave Dunstable with Cicely in tow by the time he even thought to follow her—if he even decided to follow her. For heaven's sake, she didn't even know the man. 'Twould be impossible indeed to pretend she knew his motives or actions at any given time.

A commotion sounded outside—pounding hooves and shouting. Penelope's heart leapt into her throat. Were they being beset by highwaymen? Surely not. They had nothing of value to steal, and no one knew she was really the wealthy
Lady
Annand
. Well, not unless that strange man Twist had bandied her true identity about.

The driver swore viciously and slowed the horses as the pounding of hooves grew louder and closer. Penelope flicked the curtain of the carriage window aside, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. If only she had a pistol or some means of defending herself. As it was, she only had a bundle of clothing and a tin of raspberry sweets with her inside the coach.

The coach rumbled and lurched to a halt, as the driver unleashed a string of obscenities. A rider, his hair disheveled and his bay horse lathered, answered in kind. Drat it all, it was Pierce. She would recognize that blonde hair and those strong shoulders anywhere, at any time. What was he about anyway, stopping her carriage?

She pushed open the door, a peppery tirade poised upon her lips.

"Ah, darling." Pierce spoke up smoothly, dismounting from his horse. "It seems you rode off without me. I thought I made it clear, I was coming to Dunstable with you." He tied his horse to the back of the carriage and nodded to the coachman. "Seems to me you were traveling a bit fast. We're in no great hurry. You may ease up." He tied the lathered bay to the back of the carriage, giving the beast a final pat.

The coach man looked from Pierce to Penelope with a glint of humor in his eyes. "But the lady said—"

"Never mind what the lady told you. She was mistaken. We are in no rush to reach our destination. Please don't tax any of the horses further." With that, Pierce grasped Penelope about her waist, tossing her up into the carriage. She tumbled across the cushions with a gasp. Pierce followed her in, closing the door firmly behind him. With a sharp rap on the window, he signaled the coachman, and they were on their way once more.

"How dare you?" Penelope's hands trembled with anger. Once again, Pierce and his autocratic ways had overridden her wishes. "I left you behind in Leicester for a reason. I never want to see you again."

"I am sorry to hear that," he responded blandly. He was sweating—little beads of perspiration standing out across his forehead. For a distracted moment, Penelope's mind flashed back to their previous night of lovemaking, with Pierce crouched over her, sweat beading his brow, his expression a mixture of pleasure and passion.

She shook her head as though that gesture alone would clear her mind.

"I am coming with you, my dear. Depend upon it." He withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket, swiping it across his brow and his cheeks. "Now I have only to ask—why you left me in Leicester. I was worried about you, you know. Until I remembered what a formidable mind you have."

"Flattery will get you nothing, sir." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I am tired of your company. I'm tired of this investigation. I want to find Cicely and then go home so I can be blessedly alone again."

Was that a flinch? She could not tell for certain. Surely the suave and smooth Pierce Howland wasn't wounded by what she said. He was too much of a rogue for that.

"Why are you tired of my company and tired of our journey? If I recall correctly, you were quite well-pleased with me just last night."

Her fingers fairly itched to slap his smug face. Fine, if he was going to be so infuriating, then she would happily call his bluff.

"Oooh, I likes 'aving a toss in the hay with a toff,
Lord Howland
," she crooned in a high-pitched Cockney accent. There. Now it was all out in the open.

Pierce's jaw clenched and his dark blue eyes turned black. "Damn it to hell. Twist told you the truth."

"Yes, he did. And I appreciated the fact that one man, in the whole course of my life, was honest with me." She faced him squarely. "Talk your way out of this, if you can."

He swallowed. He looked, for all the world, like he was ashamed of himself. He darted a glance at her from under his eyebrows. "Penelope, darling, my family history is so sordid. When I first started seeing you, I had to maintain that professional façade. No one knew about the Howland connection, and as a thief-taker, I tried to keep everyone from knowing the truth." He leaned forward a bit. "If people knew I was a lord, they might refuse to work with me. Or else, try to take advantage of the title. So I had to create this image of a working man so that I could do well in my profession."

She tapped her slipper impatiently against the floor of the carriage. She was finding it hard to give a damn whether he succeeded in his profession or not.

"When you and I became involved," he hastened on, adjusting his cravat with a nervous gesture, "I couldn't find a way to tell you the truth. I wanted to, but I couldn't do it. And so I just kept up the pretense of being a commoner."

"So, you get to know everything about me, but have the pleasure of concealing the truth about yourself? Good God, you know it all." A sob choked her throat, and she had to swallow before she could go on. "You even took my virginity, for heaven's sake. I have nothing left to conceal. You know everything. And you traded on that."

"No, I didn't, Penelope. Oh, sweetheart, please listen to me." Pierce knelt on the carriage floor before her, capturing her hands in his. "I meant to tell you, truly I did. Only I knew how badly Peter had hurt you. And I didn't want to be just another bastard out to break your heart." He opened her palms and pressed his lips against them. A scorching trail of fire burned down her arms, and she drew her hands away.

If she gave in to him now, she would be just another weak woman. She turned a blind eye to Peter's activities so that they could both rub along together in society. And that willful ignorance was an awful precedent to set. It meant that men could simply walk all over her, taking advantage of her to achieve their own means.

That's what it all boiled down to, didn't it?

She snuck a glance at Pierce from under lowered eyelids. He still knelt on the carriage floor, but his face had turned a dull ashen color. He no longer looked the smug and handsome rogue. He looked downright sick. As she watched, he closed his eyes and swallowed.

She resisted the sudden and overpowering urge to reach out to him by folding her hands primly in her lap. She would never be taken advantage of again. If Pierce lied to her now, and only told her the truth because Twist beat him to it, then who knew what he would be capable of in future? Would he have mistresses and lie about them too? Would he gamble all her money away and then laugh it all off? She had endured too much for too long to take another risk on a man.

"I don't want to talk about it any longer," she murmured, keeping her eyes downcast. "When we reach Dunstable, I shall go in search of Cicely. You may return to London if you wish. And do be sure to send me the bill for your services, as you have certainly earned a fair wage."

***

Penelope's icy tone was like a punch in the gut. She was releasing him like she would release a recalcitrant servant. He felt a fool, kneeling before her like this.

"Penelope, listen." This was his last attempt to make her see reason. Only by laying his soul bare could he possibly begin to repair some of the damage he'd done. "It wasn't just a professional ruse. There's terrible scandal associated with the Howland name. Scandal I would sooner forget. When I left home I changed my name and set about to earn my own living. I didn't want anyone to know about my family."

Her features softened a bit, the corners of her mouth turning down a bit, showing her dimples. "Are you speaking of your mother's murder?"

"Yes." He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He hadn't spoken of his parents in years. "My father killed her. She was having an affair with another man." He darted a glance up at her. "Not a pretty story. Do you see why I concealed it from everyone?"

She nodded, her bright henna-tinted
hair glinting in the pale sunlight streaming in through the carriage window. "We both have sordid histories, do we not?" she murmured.

"We do." Was she going to forgive him? His heart hammered in his chest.

"Pierce, I am very sorry for all you suffered. It must have been very difficult indeed." She was no longer looking at him. She turned her lovely face away so he could only view her profile, as clean and as pure as a cameo set against velvet. "I am amazed at what you were able to accomplish simply by your own wits. But I am afraid I must end our tryst. This whole thing was ridiculous from the start."

"Ridiculous? Ridiculous how?" He had been keeping his own temper on a tight leash, knowing that he was, after all, the source of the problems they now confronted. But hearing those words made him lose his grip a bit. Their affair was anything but ridiculous. Scandalous, delicious, torrid—but not ridiculous.

She shrugged and pulled at her neckline, as though checking to make sure none of her beautiful bosom was on display. She said nothing—which was probably for the best. Any subsequent remark would surely be rather cutting.

He was still on his knees before her. With one swift movement, he situated himself on the bench opposite her, keeping his anger tightly leashed. "Very well then,
Lady Annand
. We have a day's journey ahead of us. Surely we must stop to change horses once more before reaching Dunstable. What do you propose?"

"Well, Lord Pierce," she responded in a scathing tone, "I arranged with the coachman to take me as far as Northampton, and from there I had planned to go on. I had not planned to spend the night anywhere, but to press on through after a change of horses."

"Very well." That was for the best. Another night in an inn with her, unable to embrace her or make love to her would drive him insane. He would ride along beside them, or on the box for the rest of the journey. And then, once they found her damned maid, she could go to hell for all he cared.

He was a fool, thinking that he could melt the Ice Goddess. Talk of ridiculous. Hadn't he thought of proposing? Hadn't he imagined the two of them together in his flat? He would come home at the end of a long day and see his beloved. He would tell her of that day's cases, his work in the field, and his plans for what to do next. And he had imagined her listening, offering a word of advice along with a drink. And then later, making love until the wee hours of the morning in his bed. Day after day. Night after night. The future had been poised before him, each day sparkling like a diamond on a debutante's necklace.

But she no longer cared for him. He'd have to find some other satisfaction in life.

He watched her as she stared out the window, feigning obliviousness to his gaze. She was gone from him already. A door had closed somewhere in her soul. And the generous, warm woman who had witnessed his desire and longing last night and then joined him to end both of their misery was vanished. She was the Ice Goddess once more. And he was merely a paid servant.

Damn Twist and his sneaking, lying soul. He had gotten everything he wanted from Pierce and left nothing behind. With one word, he had obliterated Pierce's future. And though he was going half-mad from anger and frustration, the worst part of it was—he could blame no one but himself. Had he been honest with Penelope from the very beginning, Twist would have had nothing on him. He had lost his beloved through his own folly, and that was the most maddening thing of all.