Chapter Nine

 

Lady Penelope Rayburn's resolve to mend her prankish ways and be good was heartfelt. It was, however—alas—also short-lived.

It lasted until Aunt Lucinda reluctantly rose from her cushion to head for her bed, lingering girlishly over her good nights to Cyril.

It persisted as Cosmo filled Cyril in on all that had happened to their dearest baby sister since they had waved the poor girl goodbye at Weybridge Manor, and while Cyril delivered a rather rambling homily on the wickedness to be found in the wilds of Derbyshire.

It even prevailed during their stealthy trip up the broad staircase and down the long hall to the door of her patient's bedchamber. It lasted, in fact, until she opened the door to that chamber, and Cyril exclaimed in shocked accents, "Good Lord, it's Lucien Kenrick!"

"What?" Lady Penelope squeaked, unprepared for this potentially damning information.

"Well, ain't it, Cosmo?" Cyril questioned, eager for assurance. "That's the Earl of Leighton Penny's got tucked up over there fast asleep, sure as check. You remember, don't you, Cosmo? We met him last year in London when we sneaked away from school to visit Philippos. What's Penny doing drugging Lucien Kenrick?" He turned to look at his sister. "Penny," he repeated, "what in blue blazes d'ya think you're doing—drugging an Earl?"

But his sister wasn't attending and hadn't been for some moments. She had heard the name Lucien Kenrick, and the blood had grown cold in her veins. Lucas Kendall. Lucien Kenrick. Her ears began to pound in rhythm with the agitated beat of her heart. Little Sedgwick's father. A lying, conniving son of a—"I'll kill him!"

"Now, Penny," Cosmo warned, pulling her back against his chest by the shoulders as Lady Penelope started forward, her hands squeezed into tight fists. "Just hold on a moment before you go off half-cocked. There has to be some reasonable explanation for all this."

"There is," she fumed from between clenched teeth as she struggled vainly to free herself from her brother's grasp. "The man's been running a rig ever since he got here! He never lost his memory—he was just playing on my sympathy. First he has me waiting on him hand and foot, then he steals a kiss as if I were some kind of—well, never mind that—and then he makes up that ridiculous farradiddle about being a married man with three children when he thinks his arrogance may have gotten him in too deep. Oh, the monster! I ought to choke him!"

"Penny, I think you're becoming hysterical," Cosmo interrupted. "Please calm yourself. I don't want to have to slap you or something."

But his sister had gotten the bit between her teeth and was not to be brought back under control so quickly. "Sedgwick! I should have known. How could I have been so stupid, so gullible? I'm going to kill him, Cosmo, so don't try to stop me. And when I'm finished with him, I'm going to find dearest Philippos and murder him, too. This prank has his mark stamped all over it! Now let me go!"

Cosmo coughed and sputtered, trying to get an errant lock of Lady Penelope's wildly flying hair out of his mouth. Still holding her tightly against his chest as her feet dangled inches off the floor, he urged, "Be reasonable—and stop kicking at my shins with your heels. It hurts. Killing the man won't solve anything, Penny. Think about it. There must be another way, something we could do that would even the score. He deserves killing, there's no doubt about that, but wouldn't it be even better if we could find some way to turn the tables on him, give him back a dose of his own medicine?"

Cyril, who wasn't sure he understood everything that was going on, but who recognized the chance for a bit of frolic when it presented itself, quickly added his approval, saying happily, "He's really out cold, ain't he, Cosmo? We could strip him down and hang him up in the middle of the square in that village we passed through a while back. What d'ya say, Penny? Sound good to you?"

Lady Penelope stopped struggling, her slight body sagging back against her brother as she gave herself over to thought, her head slowly tilting this way and that as she stared at the somnolent Lucien Kenrick, assessing her options.

"He looks very peaceful, doesn't he, boys? He's survived his fall, recovered his memory—or so he says— and is well on his way to a full recovery. How absolutely terrible it would be for him now if he were to have a relapse."

"What are you thinking, Penny?" Cosmo questioned, relaxing his grip on her shoulders once he was assured she wasn't about to leap on top of the drugged man and pummel him into splinters. "Not that I like Cyril's idea overmuch, you understand, but I don't think I like that tone in your voice. It's bad enough the man's been drugged, I won't be a party to poison."

"I said 'relapse,' Cosmo. Poison has nothing to do with it. Now be quiet, I have to think."

Cyril, who was beginning to feel the effects of his overindulgence into the tasty comfits Aunt Lucinda had been pushing on him all evening long, tottered over to the chair on the window side of the bed and gratefully sank into it. He looked at Lucien assessingly. "You sure he ain't toes up already, Penny? He's awfully still."

"His lordship is perfectly well, if you don't mind my saying so," came a thin, reedy voice from the shadows, causing Cyril to bounce back to his feet in alarm. "I am always extremely careful with my portions."

"Farnley!" Lady Penelope exclaimed, exasperated to learn that she and her brothers had been overheard. "What do you think you're doing here?"

The butler gingerly stepped out from the dark corner he had been standing in (being very careful not to cough and thereby disclose his presence before he had heard everything of importance) and bowed his head slightly in Lady Penelope's direction. "You told me to stay with his lordship all the night long, milady, if you don't mind my reminding you. It's not my place to say this, but I should like to assist you in your plans, if I may. His lordship has all but run me ragged—and my dearest Pansy, too—with his nonsense."

Lady Penelope smiled, biting her bottom lip as she surveyed her three cohorts in unladylike glee, her emerald eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight. It could work. If they all played their parts correctly, it just could work.

"Yes-s-s," she said at last, dragging out the word evilly, before tossing her head so that her tangled curls arranged themselves around her shoulders like a red-gold mantle, giving her the appearance of a naughty angel. "I think I should like that, Farnley, my friend. I think I should like that above all things. Gentlemen?" she prompted light- heartedly, motioning toward the door to the hallway. "May I suggest that we adjourn to the drawing room now, to discuss strategy?"

Cyril playfully nudged his brother in the ribs as they followed Lady Penelope down the broad staircase. "Here we go again, brother. Ain't it grand?"

 

* * * * *

There was a dry, cottony taste in his mouth, and his tongue felt twice its size as it tried in vain to find a comfortable spot to lie behind his aching teeth. Moving his head slightly on the pillow, he felt the heavy—and almost familiar—dull thump-thumping that told him better than anything else that he had somehow gotten himself a rare, crushing bruiser of a hangover.

He couldn't remember anything of the happenings of the previous evening, but he hoped he had enjoyed himself, for he certainly was going to pay for it this morning—in spades. He groaned self-pityingly as his stomach performed a nasty little flip, as if considering whether or not it really wished to continue offering refuge to its contents.

"He's awake! Isn't it above everything wonderful? Oh, Doctor Fell, come here quickly and see for yourself! And you said it wouldn't happen. Well, I just knew it, really I did. I never gave up hope. Mr. Kendall is finally awake!"

Lucien heard Lady Penelope's voice from somewhere above his head and struggled to open his eyes. The effort was beyond him, and he stuck out the tip of his tongue to moisten his parched lips, trying to form one of the many questions he longed to ask.

So I'm awake—why make such a fuss about it? I awake every morning; it is quite a natural occurrence. Why is she carrying on like some missish hysteric? Who in blazes is this Doctor Fell person she's screaming at anyway? And why can't I open my damned eyes?

"Yes, yes, of course, Lady Penelope," he heard a man's voice saying pettishly. "Mr. Kendall does, indeed, seem to be coming awake at long last. It's a very promising sign, I admit, although you realize it does not guarantee he will live. I had begun to despair for him, you know, and I still have my reservations."

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell, Lucien found himself silently quoting the first line of Tom Brown's facetious poem as he felt the doctor's cold hands examining his nude body under the coverlet. What had happened to his nightshirt? he wondered, thankful that he could feel the coverlet against his shoulders. After all, Lady Penelope was in the room.

"I know, Doctor. I remember everything you've told me since Mr. Kendall suffered this terrible relapse. It has been three days since our butler, Farnley, found him lying here unconscious." Lady Penelope's voice was soft, scarcely above a whisper, and Lucien swallowed down hard, realizing she was talking about him.

Three days? I've been lying here for three days? Unconscious?

"Such a development is not unusual in such cases, my lady, as head injuries are the very Dev—I mean, head injuries can be quite peculiar," he heard the doctor reply in what Lucien could only think of as a supercilious tone. "But I would have been ignoring my sacred oath if I had not told you not to get your hopes up for a recovery. This could still be only a temporary rally."

The reason why I cannot tell, his confused brain continued the recitation, rambling on: But this alone I know full well—

"One can only hope he shall not need to be bled again," continued the physician. "Such a nuisance. My supply of leeches runs low."

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell. Leeches! Leighton's body jerked almost completely into the air as he struggled against the thought of those fat, ugly creatures sucking at his skin.

"What—what in bloody hell is going on here?" he exploded, struggling to rise. He tried once more to open his eyes, but his bandage must have slipped, because he could now feel the cloth that prevented him from seeing Lady Penelope and the pessimistic Doctor Fell.

Well, he'd soon remedy that—among other things! He made to lift his right hand from the mattress, only to find that it moved no more than a foot before being stopped by cloth bindings which held him firmly tied to the bed at the wrist. He jerked angrily on the restraint, but to no avail, then tried to move his left hand.

It was no use. He was well and truly locked against the mattress. Even his ankles were similarly shackled. He felt like Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians.

"Lady Penelope!" he called out fretfully, twisting his head from side to side as he tried blindly to search out her direction. "What's happening? Why am I tied down? Remove this damned—dratted bandage at once!"

He felt Lady Penelope's cool hand on his cheek and relaxed a little, giving a heartfelt sigh. She was here; he hadn't been imagining things. Sane heads would rule at last. Stupid, old woman doctor! Lady Penelope wouldn't let him down.

"Thank God, Lady Penelope. For a minute there I thought I'd been transported overnight to Lilliput, and Doctor Fell was the Emperor. Please, uncover my eyes for me and tell me what this foolishness is all about."

"Lilliput? Oh, dear, I think he must be delirious, Doctor," he heard Lady Penelope say, her voice thick with what Lucien assumed were unshed tears, just before her comforting hand trailed slowly away, and he was left all alone once more. "I can see now why you insisted he be put in restraints. His brain fever has made him quite strong, and he might injure himself. Poor, poor, Mr. Kendall. I've sent off a note by messenger to his wife in Surrey, of course, We can only hope she and the children arrive in time."

"In time for what, you silly woman?" Lucien bellowed angrily, although his heart was beginning to pound. Had the whole world run mad? "I'm not sick. I'm never sick. This is ridiculous. Untie me at once, do you hear!"

"Shush now, Mr. Kendall, you must save your strength. Little—little Sedgwick will be with you shortly," he heard Lady Penelope say comfortingly, her voice cracking with emotion, before the faint clicking of her heels against the wooden floor beside the bed told him she was leaving—leaving him alone and defenseless with only Doctor Fell and his bloody leeches for company.

"Lady Penelope!" he called after her, fighting the restraints on his wrists like a wild animal caught in a trap. "Don't leave me like this, I beg you. I'm sorry I yelled at you, really I am. Stay with me, dear Lady Penelope. I—I'm not a well man."

His only answer came in the soft closing of the door, and he braced his body against the onslaught he was sure would come. He was alone in the chamber with the sadistic Doctor Fell and his thirsty leeches. Lady Penelope had gone, deserted him in his hour of need, and if he were not a grown man, he would like nothing more than to break down and wail.

"Don't you touch me, you charlatan," he warned Doctor Fell loudly, "or else once I am up from this bed I shall cut your miserable heart out and feed it to you for good measure. Do you hear me, you miserable leech? Answer me, damn you! Answer me!"

Lucien held his breath for a long time, listening to the silence that filled the room. They were gone, he realized at last, sighing with relief. They were both gone, leaving him sick, maybe even dying, and utterly alone.

What Leighton did not, could not, know was that Lady Penelope and her brother Cosmo—who had done such a superior job in his role as the morbid Doctor Fell—had no choice but to leave the Earl alone.

After all, it would have thoroughly destroyed their plan if they had lingered too long and he had heard their delighted laughter!

 

* * * * *

"He thought he was Gulliver? That's rich, 'pon my soul, it is!" Cyril crowed, leaning against his brother in his glee. "I don't know how you kept a straight face through it all. Doctor Fell, indeed. Couldn't you think of a better name than that old biscuit?" he asked before he and Cosmo threw back their heads and laughed aloud.

"'All who joy would win must share it—happiness was born a twin,' Byron," Aunt Lucinda trilled from the sidelines, enjoying their obvious delight. She and Cyril had been waiting in the drawing room all the day long, until the Earl had finally shown signs of wakening just before dinner.

The older woman had been pleased to have been made the confidante of the little group, not bothering to tell them that she had known Leighton's true identity from the beginning, but only refraining from trying to talk them out of their small revenge. She would call a halt to the scheme if it went on too long, but for now she was content to join in the fun.

Lady Penelope, who had just come downstairs after changing her gown for dinner, entered the room and joined her aunt on the settee, settling her pale blue silk skirts around her demurely. "Like little children who have escaped their governess, aren't they, Aunt?" she remarked placidly, just as if she herself hadn't been in her room, dissolved in giggles with Doreen over the whole affair not an hour earlier. "It takes so little to amuse some people. Did I hear Farnley say Pansy was preparing a special treat for us this evening? Anyone would think we have something to celebrate."

Aunt Lucinda turned to look at her niece, who was sitting beside her so demurely, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, and voiced her appreciation of the girl's genius. "'Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child,' Dryden," she quoted, patting Lady Penelope's modestly folded hands.

"Dinner is served," Farnley announced in stentorian tones from the doorway, bowing in a way that told them better than words that he considered himself to be the only responsible person among them.

"'A beetle-headed, flat-ear'd knave,' Shakespeare," his mistress grumbled, struggling to her feet amid her yards and yards of pink tulle skirt. Then, patting at her dyed blonde curls, which had been piled high on her head in celebration of some secret triumph she was not about to share with her young relatives, she took Cyril's proffered arm and led the way into the small dining room.

It wasn't until later, after they had finished polishing off Pansy's major triumph—a delicious, Madeira-flavored syllabub—that Cyril began having second thoughts about what they were doing to the Earl of Leighton. "Seems a bit much, you know," he said, licking the last of the creamy dessert from the back of his spoon. "I mean, we're keeping the man a prisoner, if you get right down to it. Have we even fed him?"

Laying her hand affectionately on his sleeve, Aunt Lucinda batted her scanty eyelashes and purred, "'A certain Samaritan . . . had compassion on him,' Luke, 10:33."

"Oh, well now, Auntie," Cyril protested, coloring hotly as his brother and sister stuffed their serviettes into their mouths to keep from laughing out loud, "I wouldn't go so far as to call me a Samaritan, would you Cosmo? It's not that I think we should let the fellow off scot-free. He did pull a very nasty trick on our sister here, didn't he? I just think we should draw the line at starving the man to death."

Lady Penelope, still wiping tears of mirth from her eyes at the sight of Cyril's obvious discomfiture, assured her brother that starving the Earl was the furthest thing from her mind. "Farnley is upstairs with him now, feeding him some lovely invalid gruel by hand. I realized that our patient's diet has been particularly heavy—full of roasted meat and such—and decided that it would be better for his poor, relapsed constitution if he were reduced to weak broth and watered milk for a few days. That is standard practice for invalids. After all, Cyril, I am his nurse." Turning to Cosmo with a wink, she ended, "Isn't that right, Doctor Fell?"

"'The Devil can quote scripture for his purpose,' Shakespeare," Aunt Lucinda reminded Lady Penelope, although her voice held no sting of reproach.

"Yes, but—"

"Oh, leave off, brother," Cosmo said imperatively, rising to his feet. "The man compromised our sister, it's as plain as glass. If she wants us to help her get a little of her own back, who are we to question her? After Penny's had her measure of fun with him, we'll summon Papa—if he isn't already on his way, on the hunt for us—and the two of them will be married. It's as simple as that."

"Married!" Lady Penelope screeched—for, daughter of a Marquess or nay, the shrill piercing sound could only have been so described—and jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair, which loudly crashed against the parquet floor. "Cosmo, have you lost your mind? I'm never going to marry, you already know that. And I'm certainly not about to wed that miserable, two-faced, lying libertine upstairs. I'd sooner drown myself in the Thames!"

"I doubt Papa would allow that," Cosmo supplied calmly, bending down to right the toppled chair. He'd given the subject a lot of thought the night before while he and Cyril had stripped the Earl down to the buff and trussed him up like a Christmas goose, and he'd come to realize that, as both his Papa and Philippos were unavailable, it was up to him to make sure justice was served and the honor of his sister protected. Marriage was the only sensible answer, even if he had to literally truss both the bride and groom up in knots to accomplish the deed.

Oh, there was another way to satisfy the Rayburn honor, but Cosmo had dismissed that idea as soon as it had entered his head. The Earl of Leighton was a tall, muscular creature, and years ahead of him in experience; certainly no fair match either with his fists or a weapon. No, a duel was out of the question, and the alternative—delivering him a sound whipping—was even more ludicrous. After all, they couldn't keep the man tied up forever. He was bound to get loose sooner or later, and then there'd be the devil to pay.

Yes, Cosmo had thought of everything, and marriage was the only remedy. He looked across the table to where his Aunt Lucinda was sitting, a bright smile on her face, and realized that he had just stepped up a notch in her estimation. Not adverse to gathering all the reinforcements about him that he could, he bowed encouragingly in her direction and asked her opinion on the subject.

"'Domestic happiness, thou only bliss of paradise that has survived the fall,' Cowper," the lady pronounced, clasping her hands together across her bosom. She had rather hoped dearest Cyril would have thought of something so obvious, but as long as the desired result was to be gained, she imagined it didn't really matter much either way exactly who was the author of the deed. Her elaborate coiffure hadn't been in vain. There would be a celebration!

Lady Penelope looked to her brother Cyril, who was busily pushing together the crude design of a church out of cookie crumbs on the tablecloth, then to Cosmo, who was looking more like Papa than she would have liked, and lastly, at Aunt Lucinda, who only tilted her ridiculously curled head at her benignly and smiled.

"You think all you have to do is say it, and it will happen? That I have nothing to say in the matter? And I thought you loved me!" she wailed, bursting into tears. "Well, I won't have it!" Lady Penelope declared, already running from the room. "I won't have any of it, do you hear me?"

"I think they heard her in Bond Street," Cyril remarked, rubbing his abused ears. "The sound really bounces off the walls in these closed rooms, don't it? What do you think she'll do now, Cosmo? I wouldn't put it past her to murder the Earl, just to get out of marrying him."

"I can't worry about that now, Cyril," his brother replied, his gaze still on the opened doorway Lady Penelope had passed through just a few moments earlier, in high dudgeon. "It's her eventual revenge on us that truly terrifies me."

 

* * * * *

"Please, sir, open your mouth," Farnley begged wearily, holding out the spoonful of barley broth. "There's only a few bites left, and then I can give you the rest of your nice warm milk."

"I'll give you—"

Lucien's angry words, meant to inform the butler of just what the Earl would like to give him and how, were effectively cut off as Farnley quickly shoveled the spoon into his open mouth.

"That's the ticket, sir. You need to keep up your strength. That necklace of red coral I hung 'round your neck after Doctor Fell left is still pale, proving to me that you're still a very sick man, no matter how much better you feel. Drink up all your milk now, and maybe by dawn tomorrow we'll see a little of its color coming back."

"You'll see color, all right, and long before morning, you idiot twit," Lucien snapped irritably, for he had been lying in this very uncomfortable position for over six hours and had long since lost any patience he might have had. "These damned rocks are so sharp they should be covered with my life's blood before another hour is out. Now stop pushing that cup at me and listen. I haven't suffered a relapse, it's all a hum. I'm being kept a prisoner here against my will. I need your help. Cut me loose, and you'll be a rich man, Farnley, I promise you."

"You'd—you'd pay me?"

"Oh, is it rich you're goin' to be now, Farnley?" Doreen Sweeney asked from the doorway. She had thought it wise to keep an eye on the butler, no matter how he had managed to hoodwink her mistress into believing he was one of them. Farnley was about as loyal as a hungry dog at its master's wake. Well, she, Doreen Fiona Elizabeth Sweeney, would soon put an end to this! "It's true then," she mused, hands on hips, "the Devil is good to his own. Tell me now, greedy guts, what is it you'll be doin'? Are you so hot for gold that you'd listen to the ravin's of a sick man?"

Recognizing the maid's booming Irish brogue, Lucien tried yet again to sit up, straining mightily against his bonds. "It's true, blast you, woman," he cried out angrily. "I'm not delirious. I'm Lucien Kenrick, Earl of Leighton, and I can make Farnley rich. I can make both of you rich. Just untie these knots for me, and I can prove it."

Doreen winked conspiratorially in Farnley's direction as she approached the foot of the bed. "Is it after making a fool of me you'd be, Mr. Kendall?" she asked, enjoying herself. "I can see you tryin' it with Farnley here. That googeen heard the money jinglin' in his mother's pockets before he was born. He'd believe anything, if he was to profit from it, don't you know. But you won't be foolin' me with your tall tales. Lady Penelope checked all through your belongin's when first you got here, and there ain't stitch nor seam that says any thin' to the point about you. An Earl, is it? Sure you are, and I'm Queen of the May! It's sick you are, and no mistake. Now why don't you just rest easy, Mr. Kendall, and let Farnley here tend you?"

Lucien collapsed against the mattress in defeat. Either the servants truly believed he was delirious, or they were in on the deception like everyone else. Doctor Fell, indeed! It may have taken him a little while to figure it all out, but the truth of the situation had finally dawned on him. They were playing him for a fool, all of them!

Somehow—although the details of that part of the thing he had not as yet figured out—they had discovered his true identity, and now he was being made to pay the piper. Lady Penelope may be many things, but she was not a consummate actress. Her heavy-handed grief over "little Sedgwick" had all but given the game away—once he had calmed enough to think things through, that is. Now she was out for revenge, and she had certainly not held herself to any half measures. Philip would be proud of her.

Philip! Was he Doctor Fell? That would go a long way toward explaining what's happening to me now, Lucien thought. Philip must certainly think he owes me something for tucking him into bed with that salmon.

Lucien tried with all his might to remember the exact tone of the man who had been speaking of leeches and certain death that afternoon. No, he decided at last, it couldn't have been Philip. The voice wasn't deep enough. Damn this blindfold! He'd spent over an hour that afternoon rubbing his head against the edge of the pillow, nearly dislodging the cloth, before Farnley had come in to feed him and retied the bandage even tighter than before.

"Listen to me," he pushed on now, trying hard to keep his voice low and his temper under control. "Whether you believe me or nay, I am the Earl of Leighton. I was drugged, I'm sure of it, and then tied up like this. Your mistress is keeping me prisoner here against my will, and you're helping her. When I am finally freed—as I assure you I will be—it would go better for you if I could tell the authorities that you two helped me. Prison is a dark, cold place, you know."

Doreen merely sniffed. "It's quiverin' in m'boots you have me, Mr. Kendall, don't you know. His brains are surely scrambled. When it comes to tellin' tales, he sure beats Banaghan, don't he, Farnley? Farnley?"

The butler didn't answer, but just stood beside the bed, thoughtfully worrying his bottom lip. Prison? He didn't want to go to prison. Fun was fun, and it wasn't as if the Earl didn't deserve it, but the butler hadn't thought about prison. How would Pansy ever go on without him around to guide her? And then there was that nonsense about being drugged. Farnley knew he had only dosed the man for his own good, but who'd believe the word of a butler over that of an Earl? "I—I don't know," he stammered. "Perhaps we should—"

"Blast your black soul, Farnley, for only thinkin' of your own neck!" Doreen advanced toward the butler, whom she outweighed by two stone, her fist in the air.

"No, no! I didn't mean it, truly I didn't," Farnley whined, as he was very easily cowed. Prison might lie in his future, but Doreen Sweeney was hovering menacingly in his present. He stepped back a pace, assuring her fervently, "I won't let him go. I swear it on my dear mother's head."

"Better for you to go down on your two bended knees and give thanks to God that I don't tell Lady Penelope what a snivelin', two-faced ferret you are," Doreen warned him before turning on her heels and stomping toward the doorway to check on her mistress who had come up to her chamber a few minutes earlier in quite a state. As there seemed to be nothing amiss in the sickroom, she'd have to go back to Lady Penelope and see what had happened to put her in such a flutter. "It's back here tomorrow mornin' at first light I'll be, Farnley, and it will go bad for you if Mr. Kendall isn't lyin' here sloppin' up some more of your gruel, and no mistake."

Hearing the door close, Lucien whispered bracingly, "You're not afraid of her, are you, my friend? She can't do anything to you, you know. Now be a good fellow and cut me loose. I can understand why I'm being treated like this, but I think I've been punished enough, don't you? We men must stick together, right, Farnley?"

The butler reached up one hand and eased the sudden tightness that had invaded his throat. He had never had any of these problems when he was valet for the Duke—except maybe that time Miss Tamerlane took him along to stop that duel—and for a moment he wished himself back in London and out of this madness. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Kendall," he said at last, his thin voice squeaking like an unoiled gate as he made himself busy with the dinner tray. "You're a sick man, you know, sir, and me, why, I'm only following Lady Penelope's orders. Now, please let me raise your head so that you can drink down this milk. There's only a little skin on it."

Lucien Kenrick, knowing when he was beaten, drank the milk.

Farnley finally departed, leaving Lucien alone in the room with only his anger and his conscience for company. After running off a lengthy string of colorful curses that would have had even his friend Philip covering his ears, the Earl tried to tell himself that things would be better in the morning.

Lady Penelope had had her little revenge now—and a brilliant revenge at that, for, at least for a while, he had truly believed he was ill—but she wasn't really the vindictive sort. She'd probably demand an apology from him, then order his bonds cut and his clothing returned to him. After all, what he had done wasn't all that terrible. So he'd lied about his identity; there was no real harm in that.

You kissed her, his conscience jabbed at him, rudely reminding the Earl of something he wanted to forget. You pulled her down onto the bed and kissed that gorgeous creature senseless—not Lucas Kendall, but you, the Earl of Leighton. The unmarried Earl of Leighton. You ran your licentious hands over her lush young body, enjoying every wonderful, decadent moment of it, thoroughly compromising an innocent girl. Then you cravenly tried to weasel your way out of taking responsibility for your actions by claiming you were a married man. You deserve all the punishment she can hand out. Hanging's too good for you!

Lucien closed his lips into a tight, thin line, knowing that his conscience was right. If he were any kind of a gentleman, he would have immediately owned up to what he'd done and offered to marry the girl. In fact, he realized with a jolt, that was probably what this whole thing was about—he was being held captive until the Marquess showed up, breathing fire, and with a cleric in tow.

"Penelope wouldn't do that to me," he said out loud, remembering his jailer's feelings toward the wedded state while not realizing that he had neglected to refer to her as Lady Penelope. "She's as opposed to marriage as I am. No, I don't believe I have to worry about the Marquess. She's just giving me a lesson in humility for deceiving her, for running her ragged doing my bidding. She'll be in here first thing tomorrow morning to release me. We'll both have a good laugh and then forget the whole thing. She's a good sport; she must see the humor in it. She isn't missish."

Turning his head to one side, Lucien tried to concentrate on going to sleep. Everything would be straightened out in the morning, and by noon he would be on his way to Scotland, his strange interlude in Wormhill—and his association with one Lady Penelope Rayburn—safely behind him.

The thought failed to bring a smile to his lips.