A Lord Apart Read online

  Should she ask, or not? “I thought it might be those men from the Foreign Office.”

  Daniel looked at her as if he was unsure what to say.

  “I prefer the truth to protection,” Penelope added. The latter was an illusion. And reality was worse than ever when it was torn away.

  “They called, but I didn’t see them. I turned them away.”

  “That will only make them more determined.” Such people relished breaking down resistance. They preferred a battle and acted as if every word was a stratagem. Penelope had decided, after weeks of bewilderment, that this made them feel useful.

  Daniel sat down beside her. “Don’t worry. I will see to this.”

  Appreciating the sentiment, even if she couldn’t quite believe in it, Penelope smiled at him.

  “What are we looking at today?” He picked up a document and ran his eyes down it.

  “The top layer from trunk number two. Mostly tradesmen’s bills so far.”

  “Good God, this one is dated 1693. Are they all so ancient?”

  “These are. What is it for?” She leaned over to look. “A tester bed with carved posts and an embroidered tapestry canopy. Very grand. There are others for expensive furniture. And yards of cloth. I think one of your ancestors was redecorating.”

  “That sounds like the massive old bed in the east wing. Supposedly, royalty slept in it.”

  “Really? Which royalty?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Penelope bent over the page, her blue eyes alight with curiosity. As always, Daniel enjoyed the enthusiasm in her expression. “Let’s see, who would it have been in 1693?” she asked.

  Daniel ransacked his brain for school history lessons. “William and Mary? Wait, I think one of my several times great-grandmothers was a crony of Queen Anne’s in her youth.”

  “Really? Perhaps she left letters, or even a diary.”

  “Well, if she was like the rest of my relations, she never threw anything out.” Daniel remembered something else. “Her husband, or son, fought under Marlborough in France.”

  “These stories should be recorded in a family history.”

  “There’s another job for you then,” said Daniel. “I might have consigned much of this to the next Guy Fawkes bonfire.”

  “You wouldn’t have!” Penelope looked sincerely shocked.

  “Probably not,” he admitted. “More likely I’d’ve left them where they were in the attics and shoved the piles of paper down here in with them.”

  “How can you not be fascinated?” Penelope asked.

  “I’m interested when you tell me,” he replied. “It’s the hours of sifting through dusty documents I can’t bear.”

  “I’m going to put together a history,” she said. “You can tell me about the portraits in the gallery, can’t you?”

  “I know their names and a bit about most of them.”

  “And I’ll find the papers they left.” She looked triumphant.

  “The house of Frith is very lucky to have you.” Daniel enjoyed her flush of pleasure, as well as his success at distracting her from their unwelcome visitors. He had no illusion that he’d disposed of that matter, however. And indeed, later that day he received a letter from the Foreign Office agents, delivered by a neighborhood boy on a pony. Daniel took it off to the library to read in private.

  The language was less insolent than the bewhiskered man had dared face-to-face, but also more formal. Daniel was required to hand over his mother’s papers, they informed him, under the law of the land. As they cited no specific edicts, he didn’t worry much about that pronouncement. But the veiled references they made to Penelope enraged him. The notebooks must not be “left to fall into dangerous hands.” They must be kept from “those whose loyalty to the crown had been put in doubt.”

  Briefly Daniel enjoyed imagining the agents’ reaction if they’d seen Penelope deciphering parts of the notebooks in London. Apoplexy seemed the least of it. He toyed with the idea of having her translate all of his mother’s entries for her family history. But in fact, he didn’t wish to cause any problems for his country. And he could see that a government records office probably was the best place for the notebooks. He simply hated the way they were going about it, and the continuing threat hanging over his wife. He knew it nagged at her. He was determined to do something about it.

  Daniel wondered if Macklin had returned to London. He’d said he would be back by now, and the earl was a critical element in the plan Daniel had formulated. He’d left a letter for Macklin at his town house. It was to be hoped that the older man was even now acting on Daniel’s request.

  Eighteen

  “You do the honors,” said Daniel.

  Penelope took hold of the valve handle and turned. Water streamed out of the spigot and into the big tub. Wisps of steam demonstrated its heat. “It works,” she said.

  “Did you think it wouldn’t?”

  “No, but it still seems like a miracle.” She shut off the tap, then turned it on again. “Hot water at a touch. We did it.”

  “Mostly you,” said Daniel.

  “Mostly Henry Carson and his helpers. They did the actual work.” Penelope stopped and started the water again, delighted.

  “Of course the tub hasn’t been tested as yet. In action as it were.”

  Their eyes met, and each saw reflected the scene they’d imagined—a figure rising, naked and glistening, from the steaming bath. “True,” replied Penelope.

  “We should do that.”

  “We?”

  “Well, I don’t think the very first bath should be taken alone. Who knows what might happen?”

  The question filled Penelope’s mind with tantalizing pictures. “Yes,” she breathed.

  “And although you deserve the…treat after your hard work, I find I can’t wait.”

  Abruptly, Penelope ached with longing. What if they shed their clothes right now and leapt into the water like naiads? The vision was delicious, right up to the part where they ended up dripping with an obstacle course of corridors and servitors between them and towels. “Tonight,” she said. “After the servants have gone to bed.”

  Daniel started to protest that he couldn’t wait so long, and then realized she was right. He didn’t mind the staff knowing that he was besotted with his bride, but to act out their desires publicly was outside of enough. A day of anticipation would make their adventure even sweeter.

  Still, the hours dragged, and Daniel found it difficult to keep his mind on estate business. The time seemed eternal before finally, finally, they were sneaking down the stairs in their dressing gowns, whispering and laughing like errant children.

  The house was silent. Shadows cast by the lit candles in their hands jumped on the walls. They saw no one as they made their way to the bathing room, and found it transformed. Two chairs had been brought in, along with a wardrobe. Opening it, Daniel found piles of towels and scented soap. Curtains covered the tiny window. A small table held a candelabra. Penelope lit those tapers from her candlestick. “I thought this would be more comfortable,” she said. “I had coals put under the tank to heat the water, too.”

  “You don’t think the servants will suspect?”

  “That I might wish for a bath? Why else did we build it?”

  “Indeed.” As Daniel bolted the door, a thrill went through him. The combination of novel and clandestine was immensely titillating.

  Penelope plugged the drain and turned on the water. The tub began to fill. Steam wafted through the air.

  “I imagined you here, you know, rising like Aphrodite from the waves. Glorious.”

  “I imagined you doing the same. Well, from the steam.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did.” The huskiness of her voice roused him as never before.

  They laughed breathlessly. Daniel
removed his dressing gown and laid it over a chair. Then he gazed at his wife, waiting.

  With a teasing smile Penelope copied him and stood there in her nightdress. Candlelight shone through the thin fabric. He could see every line of her body.

  Daniel pulled off his nightshirt and kicked away his slippers. She did the same, and they faced each other, naked. Penelope’s blond hair was pinned up. She was as lovely as a goddess. His response was obvious. No way to hide it, and she didn’t seem to wish him to. He moved closer and offered his hand. She took it, and he escorted her ceremoniously to the tub. She stepped into water and sighed. “Ah. That’s wonderful.”

  He got in, wondering how long he could maintain control in these delirious circumstances. The water was perfectly hot on his lower legs.

  They sank down to sit facing each other, water rising over their knees. Little lapping waves teased Daniel. He’d never bathed in such a state of arousal.

  Penelope stretched out her arms. “So much room in a bath.” She cupped her hands and ladled water over her breasts.

  Daniel groaned.

  “Is it too hot for you?”

  “The temperature is fine. The sight of you is driving me mad.” The water rose to her midriff, and higher.

  Penelope giggled. “Turn off the water, or we’ll have a flood.”

  He did so, and she slithered toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He drew her into a searing kiss. And another. She was soft and slippery and wildly desirable. “You’re like a mermaid,” he said.

  “If I was a mermaid, I’d have a tail,” she breathed.

  “True. I was never sure how that worked.”

  “Worked?”

  His mental faculties had abandoned him. “Er, that is…”

  “My lord, whatever have you been thinking about mermaids?”

  “Something like this,” he answered, pushing her knees to either side of his hips. He slid his hands up her inner thighs and used all he’d learned about her body in their time together to tantalize and please her. When she cried out in release, he entered her at last, leaning back against the end of the tub to keep them from going under.

  The water surged and sloshed as if a storm had hit. Some went onto the floor. Daniel didn’t care. He took Penelope’s lips again as ecstasy overcame him and all thought burned away.

  The water in the tub calmed. Penelope rested atop him, her head on his damp shoulder. Their pulses beat, heart to heart. Their breathing gradually eased. Slowly, the world returned.

  “Will I ever be able to simply wash in this bath?” she said after a while. “I’ll always be thinking of…this.”

  Daniel laughed. It felt like the most joyous laugh that had ever come from his throat. For a timeless interval, they reclined together, nearly floating.

  “The water’s growing cooler,” said Penelope at last. “I suppose we should get out.”

  “For now.”

  She met his eyes, promises sparkling in her gaze. And then she rose, just as he’d imagined, with water sluicing down her lovely curves amid wreaths of steam.

  He followed her out, and she offered him a towel. Taking it, he applied it to her back rather than his own. She gave him a startled glance and then followed his lead. Gently, ceremoniously, they dried each other. Her hair had fallen out of its pins, and he rubbed the dripping tresses. “We should have brought a comb.”

  Penelope reached up and produced one from the wardrobe shelf.

  “You think of everything.”

  “Not quite everything. I did not know a bath could be so stimulating.”

  “Indeed.” She was delectable, adorable.

  “We were so right to put it in.”

  “You were.”

  “You had the plans.”

  “And you had the determination. It would never have been done without you, and now you see what a boon it is.”

  “Boon?”

  “Yes, my lady. A boon. Only think how much enjoyment we’ll get out of this small chamber.”

  “The servants will talk.”

  “Let them. I believe I am allowed to sport with my wife.”

  Penelope laughed. “Sport?”

  “Frolic, cavort, gambol, lark about, carouse.”

  “Carouse, my lord? Is that really proper for a respectable married couple?”

  “Perfectly. At every opportunity.” He ran the comb through her hair. The movement drew his eye to the small mirror on the inside of wardrobe door. There they were, half obscured by mist from the heat, naked side by side. She was all a man could want. He had to make her happy, and be sure he never lost her.

  * * *

  Their glorious bath was still on her mind the next day as Penelope strolled in the garden, which was at the height of its summer glory. A symphony of color and scent surrounded her as she walked. The foliage rang with birdsong. There wasn’t one thing she would change about this beautiful landscape, she thought. It provided an ideal setting to enjoy the gifts of nature as well as the happiness that sang through her veins.

  She noticed two men approaching from the back of the property. They wore long-tailed coats and top boots and were clearly not gardeners, which was strange. When they came closer, she recognized the blond man with the side-whiskers who had questioned her in Manchester.

  “Lady Whitfield,” he called.

  What were they doing in the garden, uninvited? Had they been spying, watching and waiting for her to appear alone? For a tremulous moment, Penelope feared they’d come to take her away. No one would know where to look for her. She started to back away, then gathered her wits. She would not let them intimidate her. She’d done nothing wrong. She’d proved that over and over. She didn’t have to do it again. And here, in her new home, there were people within earshot who would help her.

  The men stopped several paces away.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “You are not surprised to see us?” asked the bewhiskered man, as if a normal person would have been surprised.

  That was his way—to make anything one did or said seem suspicious. As the conversation continued, his tone would grow sharper, more incredulous. He would try to make Penelope doubt her own words. But she wouldn’t; she’d learned her lesson about that trick. “My husband told me of your earlier visit,” she said.

  Her interrogator looked grave, shaking his head. “Husband. I’d thought better of you, Miss Pendleton. Lady Whitfield, I should say. I wouldn’t have said you were the sort to bring ruin on a fine old family. Because ruin follows you, doesn’t it?” He nodded at his dark-haired companion to emphasize the point.

  Penelope hid her reaction. “You follow me apparently,” she replied.

  “That you’d put the taint of treason on the viscount.” The questioner shook his head and gave her his disappointed expression. She’d seen it before. She was supposed to argue now, try to convince him that she would never do that, that there had been no treason. And he would not be convinced. It was his business not to be convinced. Penelope was overcome by the terrible frustration she’d experienced under this man’s badgering. He didn’t care for truth; he wanted confessions. “You’re trespassing,” she said.

  “Go and get the notebooks and bring them to us!”

  He used the harsh voice he’d employed in the worst of her interrogations. The bark of an officer on the battlefield, the growl of an enraged patriarch. Penelope had snapped to attention under that voice. For a long time, she’d even tried to obey. Until she learned that no justice lay behind it, and nothing she could do would appease. A stark, simple answer was best. “No.”

  The side-whiskered man came closer, so that he could stare right into her eyes. “Do it, or we will rain destruction on you and your unfortunate husband.”

  Penelope hid her shaking hands in her skirts. Threats were this man’s specialty. He could
make you imagine all sorts of disasters. And yet few of his dire predictions had ever come true, she reminded herself. She steadied. “Leave now, or I will call someone to escort you off the property.”

  “You jumped-up little—”

  The dark-haired man interrupted with a hand on his companion’s arm, pulling him back. The latter glared at Penelope, fiercely contemptuous. “You’re making a serious mistake,” he said. “We will not let this go.” His friend tugged again, and they turned and strode away.

  When they were gone, Penelope sank onto a bench and struggled to calm down. That man was a master at destroying peace. What he said wasn’t real. Deep breaths helped. “Ruin does not follow me,” she murmured. But the reality was that he’d spoken her persistent fears. Her doubts began to clamor for attention.

  Daniel found her there sometime later, when the late-afternoon air had grown cool. “I’ve been looking for you. No one knew where you’d gone.” He sat beside her and took her hands. “You’re cold. Come inside.”

  Should she tell him? Or pretend nothing had happened?

  “Something’s wrong. What is it, Penelope?”

  She couldn’t stay silent under those tender eyes. “The Foreign Office men were here.”

  “Today? In my garden? On my land?” Daniel was annoyed, particularly because the intrusion had obviously upset her.

  Penelope nodded.

  “What insolence. I’ll have the gates locked.”

  “I brought them down on you.”

  “No. You didn’t.” He spoke sharply to shake her out of her despond. “My mother did. They’d be plaguing me for her notebooks if you had never existed.”

  “Oh, yes.” She spoke as if she’d forgotten this detail. Her tone was distant. She’d gone to a place far from him.

  Daniel suppressed his anxiety. “You see?”

  “But I’ve made it worse. If I weren’t here—”

  “They would be acting just the same,” Daniel repeated.

  “He said I’d bring ruin on you. That they would rain destruction on us. What would that mean?”

  His wife gazed at him with haunted eyes, and Daniel cursed the man who’d caused that fear. “Nothing. It’s nonsense.”