Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (26 page)

He rubbed his hand over his chin. Good Lord, she was right. He hadn't ever sported a beard this long. "Help me?"

"Of course." She was off again, in a flurry of bell-pulls and servants. When she returned, she was dressed in a gown the color of marigolds, her hair tucked up neatly in a coil atop her head. Simmons trailed in after her, a basin of steaming hot water, a badger hair brush, and a razor on a wheeled tray.

"I'll handle this, Simmons." She shooed him away with a wave of her hand. "I used to help Peter shave when he was ill, before he died," she explained. "These are his shaving implements. Good thing I kept them, isn't it?"

He nodded. He wished she would let Peter go for good, but yes, having his shaving kit around was a rather lucky thing.

She lathered the soap and applied it with the badger hair brush with all the flair of an expert valet. Then, with long, even strokes, she shaved off his beard. "Hold still," she commanded, as he moved his head around to watch her more closely. "We've had enough injuries to last us a lifetime."

She puckered her lips, pulling them down. "Like this," she commanded. "I need to get the bit under your nose."

He did as she bade him.

She applied a hot towel to his face and wiped the last traces of soap away. "There you go," she said with a chuckle. He hadn't heard her laugh in so long. The sound enchanted him. "Your face is a great deal more angular than before, Pierce. Rather difficult to shave, but then, you'll round out a bit once you start eating again."

She put away the razor and the towel, busying herself with the tray. Was she afraid to settle down, to stop busying herself with little tasks? They needed to be still, to talk with one another.

He reached out and grasped her arm. "Penelope, please."

She jumped as though his touch burned her. "Yes?"

"You called me your betrothed. I remember that." It was the last real thing he could recall before lapsing into the fever. The sound of the words had sustained him through the worst of the fever. He knew that now.

"Yes, well, I needed a quick explanation, Pierce. The Runners were there, helping us, and I couldn't very well call you my lover, or my paramour, or my partner, or anything like that…" She trailed off, her cheeks a lovely shade of rose.

This had gone far enough. He refused to dance around the matter any longer. They had almost lost each other, and he wasn't going to lose her again. "Marry me?"

Chapter Twenty-Six

Penelope gasped. Had she heard aright? Was Pierce actually proposing marriage? She leaned closer, to better gauge his state of mind. His dark eyes were clear and lost that feverish glint they held for so long, but even so, could she trust his judgment so soon after his illness?

Before she could press him further, a knock sounded on the door. "Enter."

Simmons entered, followed by Jannings and Burkett, the patrollers from that horrible night at the Lily. "Gentlemen, come in. Mr. Howe is feeling much better today, as you can see."

"Yes." Jannings strolled into her bedroom, eyeing Pierce with a calm expression. "Your butler was telling us that he got the turn last night.
I beg your pardon for disturbing you both on Christmas morning, but I do wish to speak to Mr. Howe without delay.
"

"
Of course, Mr. Jannings
." With a wave, she dismissed Simmons. Then she pulled her vanity bench and a side chair over to the bed. "Please come in, and sit." Heavens, she must look a sight. Even though she tidied up a bit before giving Pierce his shave, she still bore the marks of too many sleepless nights. And of course, her cot sat there in plain view. Obviously these men, accustomed as they were to gathering clues, had no doubts about the state of their relationship now.

The patrollers sat,
and once again Jannings spoke
. He was the leader of the pair, always taking charge. "Mr. Howe, we came to discuss a few things with you, as we heard you were doing better."

Pierce nodded his head as though it pained him to do so. "Of course."

"You should know that we've shut down the Lily and the Barclay Agency, but to avoid any scandal or connection with his name, Cavendish has offered a sizeable sum of money to the victims of his actions." Jannings cleared his throat. "You, uh, have been offered enough that you can retire if you care to."

"I don't care to retir
e, nor do I want his money.
"

Pierce voice brought tears to her eyes. He still sounded so ill—so unlike his usual self.

Jannings nodded. "I was certain you would think so, Mr. Howe. Mr. Twist took the money as he indicated he was ready to retire, but we shall keep yours to do with it as you see fit."

Pierce managed to hitch one shoulder up. "I don't care."

Penelope intervened. This conversation was taxing him already. "Perhaps, gentlemen, the money could be put into a charitable trust, to help other victims of Cavendish's actions. Such as, oh, a home for prostitutes who find themselves pregnant? I am sure that there are many such women who have worked for Cavendish over the years, and who received little but the back of his hand once they found themselves in the family way."

The patrollers turned a bright shade of red. Were such rough and tumble gentlemen really that discomfited by discussing pregnancy? She stifled a laugh, and turned to Pierce. "What do you think, darling?"

He nodded. "Good idea."

The patrollers looked at each other and then at Penelope. "We could turn the money over to Mr. Howe for such an endeavor. But it's rather out of our range of expertise."

"We will handle all the details," Penelope responded with a smile. "Just hand the money over to Mr. Howe, and we will take it from there."

"There is one more thing," Burkett piped up. "Mr. Ford would like for you to join our force, Mr. Howe. Though you've turned down our offers before, perhaps this latest incident has made you decide to seek a safer method of employment. Since you don't care to retire, that is."

Pierce rolled his head around on his pillow so that he could look Penelope squarely in the face. "Yes. I do want a safer position. I accept your offer."

"Jolly good." Burkett slapped his gloves against his thigh. "When you are entirely well, Howe, come round to 4 Bow Street. We will be waiting for you. I am sure Mr. Ford already has an assignment in mind."

Pierce nodded, closing his eyes. "Excellent."

Poor darling, he really was quite worn out already. Penelope rose, indicating the end of the interview. "Gentlemen, it was so good of you to stop by, but as you can see, Mr. Howe is still recovering. I must ask you to leave now, as he needs a rest."

Both patrollers rose with her, nodding their agreement. "Of course." They made their way to the door, and Jannings turned back to smile at them both. "You needn't come to see us until after your honeymoon, naturally." Then he tugged on his hat and both he and Burkett departed.

Heat rose in Penelope's cheeks. Well, what did she expect? She had told them, after all, that she and Pierce were engaged. She hid her flaming cheeks by bustling around the room, putting the chairs away and fluffing Pierce's pillows.

"Penelope."

She turned to look at him. His eyes were open once more, and a slow smile spread across his thin cheeks. Her heart lurched. Oh, she loved him. She would never stop loving him.

"
Is it really Christmas day? Have I been sick that long?
"
He rubbed a much-thinner hand over his visage.

"Yes, it is. And what better way to celebrate Christmas day than by sitting up in your sickbed, sipping broth?" She cast a bright smile his way as she tidied up the table beside the bed.

"I can only offer you one Christmas gift, weary as I am. Come and sit down, sweetheart."
He patted the space beside him on the bed.

She drew close, sinking down onto the mattress. He grasped her hand. She averted her eyes from the raw scar that trailed his wrist. Seeing it always brought tears to her eyes, and she couldn't bear to start crying again. Not now.
And his lovely talk of Christmas gifts? She must delay him until she could pull herself together.

"So Cavendish paid everyone off," she murmured. "I'm sorry, Pierce."

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I liked your idea."

She
dropped her gaze to the bed sheet. For some strange reason, she was having difficulty
breathing
. Her heart beat heavily against her ribs.

"You never answered my question." His voice, even as scratched and weary as it was, held a note of tenderness.

"I-I wasn't sure—I'm not sure you're in your right mind," she responded with a half-hearted chuckle.

"I'm saner now than I have ever been in my life." His hand, still warm and large through weeks of illness and emaciation, clasped hers. "Please, Penny?
Make me the happiest thief-taker in London. I have only one wish and one gift this Christmas. Will you marry me?
"

She glanced up at him, tears burning her eyes. "Of course I will marry you, Pierce." She bit back a sob. "If for no other reason than to never lose you again."

He laughed softly and pulled her into his lap, kissing her with the same slow, measured fierceness that had been her undoing on the carriage ride to Leicester. But this time, she made sure to return the embraces with all the fervor and warmth that weeks of loneliness and worry had instilled in her being. He was hers now, and she was his, and all the Cavendishes in the world could go hang themselves.

***

Pierce promised Penelope he would wed her the moment he was strong enough to carry her over the threshold. So he set about to make sure that he could regain all his strength. When he was well enough to be moved, he returned to his bachelor flat. His housekeeper made stout teas and soups and slowly, over the coming weeks, his strength returned.

He closed up shop. No more thief-taking for him. Penelope deserved a husband she didn't have to rescue every time she turned around. Besides, he wanted to spend his nights at home, by her side. Not crouching in some godforsaken alley trailing a criminal. Bill and Jim had already been pressed into service with the Runners, as assistants to the patrollers.

So, as he sat eating porridge in his lonely flat one morning, he had done everything he needed to do except get well. Penelope begged for a simple wedding, not a grand affair like her wedding to Peter. And he wholeheartedly agreed. He hated society and all its trappings.

"Why, hello,
Lady Annand
," his housekeeper called from outside the dining room. "He's just having his breakfast. I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't even hear you come in."

"No matter, no matter," Penelope called in her dulcet tones. "I'll just let myself in. Thank you."

She whirled into his breakfast room, resplendent in a dark blue wool gown. "Pierce, darling, I have a plan," she gasped, throwing herself into his arms as he rose.

"What is it? Is everything all right?" He gripped her back and held her a few paces away from him. He couldn't concentrate when she came at him like that. As it was, he had half a mind to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bedroom.

"I was talking to Jane this morning and it dawned on me—we don't have to wait to get married." She bounced up and down on her toes. "Why see to the reading of the banns and all that rubbish? Let's go to Gretna Greene."

"Gretna Greene?" He smiled, already liking the sound of it. "But I'm hardly a young buck out ravishing a debutante, Penelope. Are you sure it's what you want?"

"It's perfect. Some of our happiest moments have been in carriages, you know." She darted a sly glance up at him, her emerald eyes sparkling. "And it's quite a journey from London, as you know. And with the roads turning icier, well, we may have to prolong our journey."

Pierce laughed. What she said was absolutely true. "But what about your friends? And your position in society?"

"Oh, Pierce, you are adorable. You know very well that everyone knows what we've been up to. After I kept you in my home for weeks, nursing you back to health, our names have been associated with nothing but scandal." She traced her finger along his jaw line. "If you elope with me, then you will make an honest woman of me. At last."

Pierce made a rough mental calculation. "I can be ready to leave in about an hour," he responded. "Just need to pack a few things, and close up the flat."

She pouted a bit, tracing the outline of his lips. "An hour? Truly? But I am ready to leave now." She waved her hand at the window. "My carriage is waiting downstairs."

He couldn't stifle the quirk of his lips. She had, with her usual energy and efficiency, arranged matters just so. Only this time, he was not the least bit annoyed. Rather, vigor flowed through him at the mere thought of being alone with her in a carriage for several days…sleeping together in wayside inns…

"I'm ready now," he admitted in a hoarse croak.

"Excellent." She pulled away and rang for the housekeeper. "Let's toss your things into a trunk and be on our way. I cannot wait."

The housekeeper entered with a curtsy. "You rang?"

"Yes. Could you ready my trunk with a few traveling things? I need to leave in a hurry."

The old woman gave a gap-toothed grin. "Ready right away, milord."

Within a quarter of an hour, they were bundled into the carriage, racing northwards toward the border. He hadn't been alone—so delightfully and privately alone—with Penelope in an eternity. Pulling her into his lap, he began removing her hairpins, one by one.

"Pierce, really." She swatted at his hand. "My coiffure took forever to arrange this morning. Don't you think it looks fetching?"

"It does," he agreed, removing another hairpin. "And I am happy to see the gold coming through once more as the henna fades. But it's been so long, Penelope, so long." He coiled a tendril around his healing wrist. "When I was ill, I dreamed your hair was the sun's rays."

For a moment, Penelope did not respond. Then she pushed away from him and loosened her hair, removing all the pins until the gleaming mass tumbled down her shoulders.

"Better?"

"Infinitely so. As always, you are so generous and good." He pressed a row of kisses along her hairline, breathing deeply of her scent.

She began untying his cravat. "Do you feel well enough, darling?"

His breath caught in his throat. "Let me just say that whatever we are about to do will only make me feel better. Much, much better."

Penelope eased away from him, unbuttoning his trousers with swift, sure hands. Finding him, she wrapped her hand around him, moving up and down as he groaned. "Penelope. Honestly, darling. You'll be the death of me." His arousal was so strong; he would only be able to last a few moments if she kept that up.

He pulled her into his lap and, pushing her skirts up around her waist, allowed her to slip over him at her own pace. Then he tugged her bodice down, taking first one nipple, then the next into his mouth, tasting, pleasuring.

Penelope moved up and down at her pleasure, moaning as she did so. "Pierce. Oh, Pierce. I missed you so much."

He held back as long as he could, glorying in the silken feel of her as she glided up and down atop him, her scent of ripe peaches and sensuous gardenias flooding his senses. "Bloody hell, Penelope. I missed you too. Never again." He ground the words out as he tried to hold still.

"I must move faster, Pierce," she whispered. "Please. Help me."

He had never denied her anything before, so why start now? He grasped her bottom in his hands and began moving with her, quickening the pace. Damn, he was going to finish quickly. He needed to hold back, but the rhythm Penelope set was driving him mad.