CHAPTER SIX

 

 

The day of the outing to Richmond Park brought pleasant weather. Seated on the perch of his gig with Penelope at his side, Edmond lightly held the reins. The road before them lay vacant, with the picturesque scenery of the countryside framing it. London had become an afterthought, left behind over half an hour ago. They made good time, and he estimated they would arrive to Richmond Park first, unless one of the other pairs had left earlier than they had.

Penelope shone radiant in a carriage dress of pale yellow muslin, a white spencer trimmed in lace buttoned just beneath her breasts. A white hat pinned with matching flowers covered her head, and a few locks of her auburn hair caressed the side of her neck, continually drawing his stare.

Clenching his jaw, he forced his gaze back to the road, reminding himself that he must be on his best behavior today. Never mind the fact that he hadn't been able to chase memories of Penelope's kiss from his mind, or that the desire to repeat the experience never seemed far off. He'd invited Penelope on this outing for the sole purpose of forcing her into close proximity with Colin—not to spend more time with her himself.

Clearing his throat, he fumbled for a subject of conversation. "Have you ever been to Richmond Park?"

Turning to stare at him, she gave a wistful smile. "I haven't been since I was a child. Before my father died, he would surprise Mother and me with picnic baskets on sunny afternoons. We would drive to the park and spend hours there."

Edmond snuck another glance at her. "How old were you when he died?"

"Five," she replied.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I cannot imagine."

His financial woes suddenly seemed minute compared to life without one's parent.

Smiling at him, she shrugged. "I miss him, but the pain of it has faded. It's more an occasional longing. I suppose that is because I've had Hartford since the age of seven. He could not sire children of his own, so he took me as his daughter. He has treated me with more love and affection than I could have imagined a person might feel for a child not their own."

That the marquis doted on Penelope as his own daughter did not bode well for Colin. The man would not stand for him attempting to worm his way back into her good graces after having ruined and abandoned her.

"I am glad for you," he replied. "My father is quite a bit more … complicated."

Brow wrinkled, she gave him a curious glance. "I'm sorry?"

Sighing, he pursed his lips. He did not know what possessed him to want to tell her his shameful secret. He told himself it must be her eyes—so wide and guileless, genuine with curiosity and concern. They made him feel like telling her everything he'd ever thought or felt, no matter how shameful. The back of his neck grew hot, and his tongue became thick and unwieldy, useless inside his mouth.

Smiling at him, she placed her hand on his knee. The touch seared him to the bone, causing the muscle to grow tense at her fingertips.

"It's all right," she murmured, seeming oblivious to the effect he had on him. "You don't have to speak of it if you don't want. But … we did decide we are friends. Nothing you could tell me would cause me to think poorly of you. I admire you very much, Edmond."

Christ, what was it about this woman that made him feel so exposed? He wanted to be held by her. He wanted to say to her all the things that he dared not. He wanted what he had no right to.

He forced a smile. "Ah, I'm certain you've heard the story before. Only son of a nobleman is born to a family with high expectations. Rigorous education, opulent lifestyle … one that the young man learns is all a farce protecting a dark family secret. Suffice it to say, if I don't nab a wealthy wife this Season, I might see all our possessions sold at auction and find us all shamed due to lack of credit."

She gasped, her expression morphing into one of horror and pity. "Oh, Edmond, how awful."

He shrugged. "I can no longer avoid the marriage trap. So … your help in scouting out potential mates is most welcome. I would like to marry someone amiable, as well as wealthy. She doesn't need to be highly intelligent, but I'd like to be able to hold a conversation with her. I want to like her, at least. I have no delusions about love."

With a frown, she edged closer to him on the gig's perch, her hand still lying on his thigh. His throat constricted, and he found himself wishing she'd trail those slender digits of hers a bit higher.

"That sounds ever so boring," she whispered, her eyes glittering with mischief.

Unable to resist, he quirked one brow and smirked. "Does it?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured. "That is why I do not believe in marriage. Very few ton unions are based on anything more than business—what one may offer the other to advance their position."

"What about your mother? She seems happy with Hartford."

"An exception to the rule. Marriage is a farce; one I have no desire to participate in. I prefer a life of freedom … of passion. I'd rather live in the moment with someone, with no thought of tomorrows, than be trapped in monotony, facing the same stale courtesies and predicable routine day after day."

She sat so close now he could smell her—an enticing scent that seemed uniquely hers. His will had fled, and as they arrived at Richmond Park, he pulled the gig to a halt and gave her his full attention. They sat alone, as none of their companions had arrived yet. The serenity and solitude of the picturesque park emboldened him, and he indulged himself by leaning closer, lowering his face toward the curve of her neck. Her hat shaded them, stray strands of her hair tickling his nose and lips. Her scent grew stronger, tickling his nostrils and seeming to invade every crevice of his head until felt as if he drowned in her. Awareness sent a tingle down the back of his neck, which traveled the length of his spine and coiled in his groin, spreading outward in a warm rush.

"That sounds like a wonderful fantasy," he whispered, nuzzling her neck. "I only wish I were fortunate enough to partake in such a relationship."

She lowered her head, skimming her lips along the line of his jaw. Their mouths hovered inches apart, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the afternoon. He gripped her chin with his fingers, moving her until their lips brushed—not connecting, but caressing in short, languid strokes. Hers parted, and he detected the quickening of her breath.

"You could," she whispered. "At least, until the Season ends and you make an offer to your bride. One last indulgence."

His thumb stroked her chin, then her lower lip. Whimpering, she brought her tongue forward, flicking it out to caress the pad of his finger. He groaned, sliding his hand back to grasp her neck.

"I would … if there were only a woman I wanted badly enough to entice into such an arrangement."

She shivered in his hold, tilting her head back as if inviting his kiss. His gut clenched, his entire being aching as hunger echoed through him. He'd just made up his mind to take her mouth with his, when the thud of horses' hooves and clatter of carriage wheels alerted him that someone approached.

"Goddamn it," he muttered, pulling away with a sharp gasp.

Her eyelids fluttered several times as she blinked, seeming to clear her head. Sitting up straight, she moved away from him on the perch before the other conveyance came into view, her hand snatching away from his thigh as if it had just grown unbearably hot.

Cheeks flushed, she lowered her gaze, refusing to meet his stare, hands folded in her lap. Had she just offered him the passion she'd spoken of? With her?

Edmond grew aroused at the thought of Penelope naked and spread beneath him, legs around his waist, breasts bouncing and nipples tickling his chest as he thrust between her hips, his cock buried deep in her honeyed sheath. He wanted it, more than he'd been willing to admit after their first kiss. Yet again, he reminded himself that she was not his to want. To pursue her when Colin loved her would be the height of betrayal, and against the unspoken gentleman's code. He was not that sort of man.

"I'm sorry, Penny," he whispered before alighting from the gig. "I can't."

 

***

Penelope nibbled on cucumber sandwiches, her gaze lowered to the blanket she shared with Edmond. On the warm grass around them, four other pairs shared blankets, as well as hampers of food. Chatter exchanged between them, as well as delicacies brought from home. She had tasted lemon tartlets from Miss Miranda York's kitchen, blackberry jam and cakes from Rose Weatherby's cook, and sumptuous cream puffs provided by Sybil Beauchamp.

The supplier of said cream puffs sat beside Colin on the blanket across from her and Edmond, looking as pretty as a portrait in white muslin, her hat removed and pale blonde ringlets framing her face. Her doll-like features caused her to appear porcelain, yet she was anything but cold. Soft smiles and tinkling laughter drew the attention of all their companions … Colin, most of all.

His attention was rapt upon Sybil, his eyes twinkling as he murmured to her in hushed tones, his smile wide, his laughter deep and throaty. Every time he chuckled, the sound stroked her spine like a caress, flooding her veins with warmth. The light of the sun caused his hair to gleam like a halo … yet this man was no angel. As he plucked a grape from the bunch he shared with Sybil, she watched him bring it to his mouth. Her lips parted of their own volition when he parted his. His gaze lifted to meet hers as his tongue caressed the round fruit before he enveloped it, biting down. He licked his lips, causing heat to pool in her belly, spreading down between her thighs. Memories of his tongue tickling her clit made her grow moist as a low pulsation began within her core.

A strong hand found hers, and she started, turning to find Edmond gazing at her in concern. She realized that he was waiting for her to speak—likely having asked a question she had not heard, having been too busy staring at Colin.

Pull yourself together, she chastised herself. It is Edmond you want! Besides, Colin has perfect little Sybil to keep him company. He has moved on, and so should you.

She gave Edmond a sheepish smile as she realized he'd spoken and she hadn't heard a word. "I'm sorry ... my mind wandered for a moment. What did you say?"

"Would you like to walk a bit? It seems everyone has finished eating. I don't know about you, but I'd like to stretch my legs and take in more of the scenery."

Glancing around, she found that the others had begun packing the remains of their picnics into their baskets and folding their blankets. Taking Edmond's offered hand, she rose.

"That sounds wonderful," she replied, keeping her attention on him and trying to ignore Colin.

As it was, being in the company of both men had her on edge, causing butterflies to beat their wings inside their belly, and her palms to grow moist. The moment she'd shared with Edmond in the gig remained foremost in her mind, while memories from the night of the Avonleah ball with Colin assailed her as well. Having them both on either side of her, their presences overwhelming and masculine, made a muddle of her thoughts and a ruin of her senses. A walk seemed just the thing to take the edge off.

She took Edmond's arm, and they set off down a winding path behind the other couples. A gently moving stream flanked them on their left, with a great expanse of trees and foliage to their right. Birds chirped among the boughs, and the sun glinted off the surface of the water. A more romantic setting could not be asked for. Too bad she was forced to suffer Colin's presence and the tittering Sybil Beauchamp, who gasped in delight over a flitting butterfly, prompting Colin to point out a mallard duck drifting on the river—which only provoked more girlish squeals and an infuriatingly endearing clap of her hands.

Penelope found herself stomping over the ground with fists clenched, her teeth grinding together. She did not want to feel the sickening sensation swirling in her belly, nor did she wish to acknowledge the reason for it. What she wanted was to put as much distance between herself and Colin as possible. As well, a bit of space from Edmond might do her some good.

"Go on without me," she murmured, halting and dislodging her arm from Edmond's. "I've grown a bit tired. I think I'll return to the blankets and rest until you all return."

The entire group halted, having heard her.

"Surely, you cannot return alone," Sybil said, clinging to one of Colin's arms with both hands. "Captain, perhaps we should return with her. You could rest your leg."

Colin gave her a strained smile. "My leg is fine, Miss Beauchamp, but if Lady Penelope requires an escort, we could go back with her."

"Oh, no," Penelope insisted. "I'll be all right on my own. I do not want to keep you all from your walk."

"I've had quite enough of walking," chimed in Miss Weatherby. "I'll be more than happy to accompany you, Miss Hunt."

The amiable company of Rose Weatherby was preferable to that of the two men whose presence threatened her sanity.

"Thank you, Miss Weatherby," she said, falling in step with her new companion.

"I shall come, too," Sybil decided, dislodging from Colin. "We will see the gentleman after your walk. Enjoy!"

With a sunny smile, she reached for Penelope, linking arms with her as if they were lifelong friends.

Forced to continue on the path back to their picnic spot, Penelope fought the overwhelming urge to scratch the other woman's eyes out.