Chapter Ten

 

Lucien awoke all at once, instantly aware that someone else was in the room with him. Whether or not the long night was finally over and it was morning, he could not tell, for the bandage over his eyes was still, maddeningly, in place. Struggling to keep his breathing even, he continued to feign sleep, wondering who was standing beside his bed and what was going to happen next. By this time, he had learned to expect anything.

His visitor must have realized he was awake, for suddenly he felt a hand creeping behind the pillow, raising his head to the cup that banged sharply against his front teeth. He drank the hot, sweet liquid gratefully, for the warm milk that idiot Farnley had forced down his throat the night before had left a terrible, cloying taste on the roof of his mouth that had been plaguing him mercilessly ever since.

"'Tea! thou soft, thou sober sage, and venerable liquid—thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing, heart-opening, wink-tippling cordial, to whose glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moments of my life, let me fall prostrate!' Cibber," he heard Lucinda Benedict trill above him in her high, childish voice.

"You quote Colley Cibber, madam?" Lucien asked after draining the cup, deciding to move more slowly with this potential rescuer. After all, he couldn't really offer her a bribe, as he had Farnley and Doreen. This time he would use finesse rather than threats and bluster. "I should think you'd shun him, as his mutilation of Shakespeare's work is so well known. But perhaps you, like me, applaud him for his many fine plays. I was fortunate enough to attend a presentation of his Love's Last Shift, or the Fool in Fashion in London last year, and have read his biography. Truly, the man was born before his time. He would have been right at home sparring with Sheridan."

Then, thinking he had paved the way sufficiently with this nonsense, he went on brightly, "Please, ma'am, would you tell me the time?"

He could hear the soft rustling of Mrs. Benedict's skirts as she walked around the bottom edge of the bed and settled herself into the straight-backed chair near the window. "'I never knew the old gentleman with the scythe and hour-glass bring anything but grey hairs, thin cheeks, and loss of teeth,' Dryden," she quoted obliquely, just as the clock in the hallway helpfully chimed out the hour of seven, giving him an answer that was definitely more to the point.

"So it is morning," Lucien said, turning his bandaged head in the general direction of the window, knowing the sun should be warming his face shortly, if, indeed, it was not raining. "I wonder, Aunt Lucinda—and please forgive my familiarity, but you have been so gracious that still I dare to be bold—do you think I could prevail upon you to remove this bandage? I am sure even the learned Doctor Fell would agree that it has been on long enough, don't you think?"

He held his breath as he waited for Aunt Lucinda to stop dithering and come to a decision. Finally, when he thought she must have fallen asleep, he felt her fingers struggling with the knots, and in a few moments he was blinking against the sudden return of light.

"Bless you, madam," he breathed in real gratitude, rapidly opening and closing his eyes experimentally several times. "I had begun to despair of ever again seeing our watery English sun." Then he looked at the woman, trying his best to school his expression into one resembling that of his childhood hound, Bruno, who had owned the saddest face in nature. "Indeed, Aunt Lucinda, you see before you a man who is nearly overcome with woe and deepest despair."

Aunt Lucinda only smiled at him knowingly, quipping, "'Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?' Shakespeare."

The Earl allowed his breath to hiss through his clenched teeth. "So you're in on it, too, Mrs. Benedict? Or should I be saying, 'Et tu, Brute' in my best schoolboy Latin? Why then, may I ask, are you here at all? Surely a lady such as yourself is above gloating."

Making a great business out of unfolding her fine, embroidered lawn handkerchief and dabbing it carefully against the corners of her brightly painted mouth, Aunt Lucinda replied with patent dishonesty. "'I would bring balm and pour it into your wound, cure your distemper'd mind and heal your fortunes,' Dryden."

"Balm, is it? Strange. It feels much like salt to me," Lucien mocked, turning his head away from her. "How much longer am I to be punished? I'll admit it, I deserve everything that's been done to me, but my patience runs thin." He would have added that he had begun to believe the Marquess was on his way, and a marriage between he and Lady Penelope was all but an accomplished fact, but he restrained himself. After all, if the idea had not as yet occurred to Aunt Lucinda, he wasn't about to make her a gift of it. Instead, he only said, "You know who I really am, don't you? That's the only reason I can find for my treatment."

"'One ear heard it, and at the other out it went,' Chaucer." Clearly Aunt Lucinda wasn't about to admit to anything. His estimation of her intelligence rose in accordance with his drop in spirit.

"Very well, if that's the way you wish to play it," Lucien agreed resignedly, turning once more to face her as he tried another approach. "I lied. I am not Lucas Kendall. I am Lucien Kenrick, Earl of Leighton, a member of one of the oldest, most distinguished houses in England. In plain words, your captive, madam, is a very important person."

"'A fool, indeed, has great need of a title; it teaches men to call him count and duke, and to forget his proper name of fool,' Crowne," Aunt Lucinda warned him, wagging one be-ringed finger beneath his nose as she rose to her feet, in preparation of quitting the room.

"Please don't leave, Aunt Lucinda," Lucien pleaded even as he wondered why he wished she would stay. "I didn't mean to be arrogant, truly I didn't. I can't imagine what came over me. Please forgive me."

"'A toad-eater's an imp I don't admire,' Wolcot," was all Aunt Lucinda said, lifting her skirts carefully until she had passed back around the bottom edge of the bed, as if she hadn't wanted to contaminate herself.

She had learned all that she needed to know. The Earl was still a long way from being ready to admit what she was sure was in his heart. She wasn't very disappointed, for she hadn't expected to find him prostrate on a bed of guilt, calling for her niece with an offer of marriage in mind.

After all, no man really understands his own heart. It takes time, time and careful planning, to bring gentlemen of independent ilk up to the sticking point. The Dowager had taught her that. For now she would content herself with the sure knowledge that the Earl of Leighton was on the hook, and although still fighting for his freedom, was nearly ready to be reeled in to shore.

"Wait!" Lucien called after her, anxious not to lose his only ally, if Aunt Lucinda could truly be called that. "Won't you please reconsider? A pretty fool I am at that, and in no position to be asking favors, I grant you. But, please, come back and sit with me, at least until Farnley appears with my gruel—Oh, damn and blast, she's gone!"

Lucien was left alone again for nearly an hour, an hour during which he alternately ranted and raved at his deplorable situation and patiently worked on loosening the binding around his right wrist, which showed signs of coming loose, before Farnley arrived bearing some insipid runny porridge that the Earl refused to eat, saying the butler would have to do more than truss him up and blindfold him to get him to voluntarily take poison.

"Poison?" Farnley cried, aghast. "Oh, no, m'lord, never poison. I told 'em I wouldn't be a party to that. It was only a bit of poppy flower in your rabbit stew, I swear it, and I only did that to keep you from getting brain fever from Mrs. Benedict's silly prattlings. Please, m'lord, if I leave the blindfold off, won't you understand that I have to obey my orders? I'd let you go in a minute, really I would, but they'd know it was me and then they'd turn me off without a notice—me and dearest Pansy—and where would we be then, I ask you? With you run off someplace and no help to us, we'd be sleeping among the hedgerows—me, who's got all the way up to butler's keys. Please, m'lord, have pity on me."

"Pity on you?" Lucien jibed, laughing in spite of himself at the sight of the agitated little man. "I'm tied naked to a bed, with no hope of escape, while that lovable widgeon Aunt Lucinda spouts bad poetry at me and the butler weeps into my porridge—only after drugging my rabbit, mind you—and you want me to feel sorry for you? What's even more surprising, I think I actually am sorry for you, Farnley, for indeed, you are the sorriest human being it has ever been my misfortune to meet. Now hie your sniveling self out of here before I am completely unmanned by your plight and find myself bursting into womanish tears!"

Farnley fled as fast as his thin, bandy legs would carry him, leaving Lucien once more alone and growing increasingly ravenous, which probably explained the longing look he directed at the cold chicken leg that soon appeared in the room, and why he paid so little attention to the fashionably dressed young man carrying it.

"Whoops!" Cyril said, hastily stepping back a pace when he spied out the Earl looking in his direction. "I thought they said your eyes was covered? Oh well, I guess it's too late anyway, now that you've seen me. I'm Cyril Rayburn, by the way—Penny's brother. I helped strip you down and tie you up the other night.''

"Really? How exciting for you," Lucien commented, still staring at the half-eaten poultry.

Cyril interrupted his introduction long enough to take another healthy bite of the chicken leg. "Yes. It was accomplished simply enough though, since that opium already had you sleeping like a babe. I wanted to hang you up from the pub sign in the village square with nary a stitch on you, but Cosmo shot me down. Pity. This was all right for a while, but we'll have to let you go sooner or later, won't we? They should have thought of that."

Lucien stared at the young man, remarking silently on his close resemblance to Philip, both physically and in his open, friendly, and somewhat dim-witted manner. "Who's Cosmo?" he asked at last, when Lord Rayburn's confession ran down.

"M'brother. We're twins, you know. Surely Philippos must have told you. We saw you last year in London at some rout or other; only I guess you didn't see us, because most people remember. We look deucedly alike, you see, Cosmo and me." He thrust out his bottom lip, deciding whether or not he should be insulted by this oversight, then chose to let it go. "The room was fairly crowded—what Philippos says is called a crush—so I guess I can't blame you."

"That's awfully decent of you, Cyril," Lucien replied, hiding a smile. "So you and—Cosmo, was it?—are the people I have to thank for my current predicament. You said it wasn't your idea, so I'll assume it is Cosmo who came up with such a brilliant plan. Not many minds would even dare consider trussing up an Earl."

Cyril dropped easily into the chair beside the bed, his long legs sprawled out in front of him. "You're wrong there, you know," he supplied cheerfully, wiping at his chin with the back of one hand. "Our sister Penny thought it up all by herself. She's a real gun with a prank, Penny is, and this one thrilled her right down to her toes. Not that she's crowing too loud this morning, of course. Hasn't been ever since Cosmo told her she has to marry you."

"Marry me?" Lucien prompted, hearing his worst fear confirmed.

"Yes," Cyril agreed easily. "I told him Penny wouldn't stand still for it, but Cosmo says it has to be that way. He's probably right, too. Cosmo's the bright twin, you see." He held the half-eaten chicken leg out to the Earl. "Here. Want a bite? No, I guess not. You're all tied up at the moment, aren't you? Ha! I think I made a joke. 'All tied up at the moment'—oh, I say, that's rich!"

"Enjoying yourself, brother?" Cosmo asked, entering the room, a frown on his face.

It's beginning to get crowded in here, Lucien decided ruefully as Cosmo sat down familiarly on the bottom of the bed. "If you ring the bell," the Earl growled, "I'm sure we can convince Farnley to bring up some refreshments. Really, sirs, make yourselves comfortable. I'm always at home to callers on Tuesdays. This is Tuesday, isn't it?"

Cyril carelessly tossed the denuded chicken leg onto a nearby table while he chuckled at Lucien's dry wit. "He's a bit of all right, ain't he, Cosmo? He's even making jokes. Can't we cut him loose now? After all, Penny's locked in her rooms all right and tight."

Lucien looked from one twin to the other, noticing the flush that had invaded Cosmo's cheeks. "You locked Lady Penelope Rayburn in her rooms? I'd rather try to tame a wild lion with a riding crop. My congratulations, gentlemen. You're much more courageous than I would have believed."

"Cosmo here caught her tippy-toeing down the hall last night with a sewing shears in her hand," Cyril supplied, preening a bit at this praise. "She somehow got it into her head that if she cut you loose, you'd lope off and she wouldn't have to marry you as soon as Papa arrives. Cosmo sent a note off to him this morning, you understand, telling him all about it. As if we wouldn't know where to find you if you was to make a break for it. Silly girl."

"Cyril."

Cyril turned to look at his brother inquiringly. "Yes, Cosmo?"

"Shut up, Cyril," Cosmo said succinctly, effectively wiping the pleased smile from his brother's face.

"I didn't tell him anything he won't find out sooner or later," Cyril said, pouting and continuing to speak as if Lucien weren't in the room. "Penny told us he compromised her, so they have to be married. You said so. Told her so, too—which is why the poor dear is locked in her rooms, breathing fire."

"She doesn't want to marry me?" Lucien frowned, trying to understand why this knowledge, which should have lent him some small comfort, bothered him.

"I guess you could say that," Cyril quipped, "seeing as how she flew straight up into the boughs the minute Cosmo pointed it out to her. I don't think Penny likes you very much, sir, to tell you the truth. Sorry."

Lucien looked from one twin to the other, then shifted his bound body slightly on the bed in an effort to make himself more comfortable. "Doubtless I shall go into a sad decline," he said, pretending weariness with the subject of Lady Penelope's poor opinion of him. "Tell me, am I to remain tied up here until she has a change of heart, or will Lady Penelope and I both be dragged to the altar at sword point? As far as weddings go, it lacks something for romance, I feel bound to point out, but then who am I to cavil, miserable creature that I am? After all, I have already been cast in the role of a hardened seducer of innocent maidens, haven't I?"

"I don't think I like what you're implying. You kissed her! Penny wouldn't lie to us about such a thing!" Cyril declared angrily, rising to his feet, all sympathy for the Earl having disappeared with these last words. "Let me tell you, it's a lucky thing for you that you're tied up, sirrah, or else I should be tempted to call you out."

After watching his brother stomp heavily out of the room, his chin in the air—probably to head straight for Aunt Lucinda and some tender sympathy—Cosmo took his place in the chair beside the bed, saying blandly, "You're making quite a few friends during your stay here in Wormhill, aren't you, sir? With that velvet tongue of yours, I can see why you're known as the toast of London."

"I don't like that you have locked Lady Penelope away in her room," Lucien complained, surprising himself. Once he had begun to speak, he decided to go the whole route, saying, "She is totally innocent in this, you know. I did trick her, take advantage of her. I did compromise her. I'm not proud of it, but I did it, knowing full well she was Philip's sister. Cyril has every right to hate me, as you do. But do you really think you should punish Lady Penelope for being a victim?"

Cosmo debated with himself for a few moments, considering Lucien's words. Penny wasn't happy, it didn't take a prize scholar to figure that out, but what else was he to do? Her honor had been tarnished, the entire Rayburn family had been insulted, and the only remedy was to have the Earl and his sister wed as soon as possible. Surely his sister would come to realize that—once she had calmed down and stopped throwing vases at his head each time he tried to enter her chamber. Even Doreen was on his side, whispering something to him about the first drop of the broth being the hottest, and that her mistress would soon learn to swallow the idea.

If he could only get the picture of his sister's sad, tear-streaked, little face out of his mind, he'd feel easier about the whole thing. Oh, he knew she was up to her old tricks, blatantly playing on his sympathies so that he'd order her door unlocked, whereupon she would go hotfooting to the Earl's chamber and set him free, but that didn't mean he was entirely invulnerable to her woebegone expression and impassioned pleas for assistance.

If only Papa would arrive soon so he could dump all this awesome responsibility onto older and wiser shoulders. Aunt Lucinda was less than no help at all, walking about with that inane smile on her face, and spouting random verses from The Taming of the Shrew.

"I can't do it," Cosmo said at last, looking to Lucien for understanding. "She'd only sneak in here tonight and set you free. Penny's like that, you know."

All the time the twins had been in the room, Lucien had been working on loosening the bindings holding his right wrist, and he had felt his hand come free in time to wave that appendage at Cyril in farewell if he had so chosen.

Now he pushed back the coverlet and held up his unencumbered hand to Cosmo, saying confidingly, "If I had chosen to lope off, my friend, I could have easily conked you over the head with that candelabra sitting beside me minutes ago and then been on my merry way. However, although I have already admitted to my sins against your sister, I have not sunk so low that I would turn my back on my own perverted sense of right and wrong. I do have some honor left to me. Now, kind sir, if you would bring me back my clothes and release your sister, I will endeavor to make her understand why we should become betrothed—preferably before the Marquess arrives. I shan't try to escape."

 

* * * * *

Lady Penelope was in the drawing room an hour later, pacing up and down the length of the Aubusson carpet at a rate that would have made most young ladies breathless, her small hands gathered into tight fists at her sides. Her unbound hair billowed around her shoulders as she walked, the fiery gold curls bouncing up and down in rhythm with her firm, determined steps as if they had taken on a life of their own. Angry color had turned her cheeks to palest peach, and her emerald eyes (now most lamentably narrowed into evil-looking slits) glittered like hard stones. The skirts of her sunshine yellow morning gown foamed about her ankles, and she kicked at them furiously whenever they dared to tangle around her legs.

She was incensed and taking no pains to hide the fact.

She was also heartstoppingly beautiful and totally unaware of that beauty.

Lucien stood in the doorway, admiring the young woman at his leisure as he carefully adjusted his shirt cuffs below the sleeves of his finely tailored mustard-gold jacket. He lightly touched a hand to his cravat, assuring himself that it was still arranged in the simple perfection he had achieved with the admiring Cyril and Cosmo looking on in openmouthed awe, and then advanced into the room, his injured ankle causing him to limp only slightly.

"You're still in residence, then," he said urbanely, by way of a greeting. "I had rather expected you to have hopped aboard that huge grey gelding you ride and run away like a Minerva Press heroine who has just been told she is about to suffer a Fate Worse Than Death. What a pity; I'm disappointed in you. I should think I'd like another chance to match my Hades against your mount, although I should insist upon first examining the course, as I find I have recently developed quite an aversion to stone walls."

Lady Penelope had stopped her furious pacing and slowly turned in his direction as he spoke, her demurely muslin-draped bosom drawing his admiring attention as it rose and fell rapidly in her agitation. "You!" she ejaculated accusingly, glaring at him. He was still the most handsome, elegant man she had ever seen, and she hated him more with every breath she drew.

The Earl smiled deprecatingly and executed a graceful leg in her direction. "Lucien Kenrick at your service, my lady. However, I would appreciate it if you would please seat your sweet self down somewhere, as I would then be able to rest my ankle without fear that you were about to launch an assault on my person."

"I wouldn't waste my time on such a sniveling coward as yourself," Lady Penelope countered, nevertheless walking across the carpet to plunk herself down on one corner of the satin settee.

"Coward?" Lucien repeated archly, gingerly seating himself at the opposite end of the settee and resting his ankle on a nearby footstool. "Ah, that's better."

"Yes, coward!" Lady Penelope crowed, turning on the settee to face him. "I'll say it again. Coward, coward, coward! You didn't even put up a fight, did you? How dare you tell my brothers that you'll marry me?"

Lucien lowered his head slightly as he reached to scratch at his temple, hiding the smile that had involuntarily sprung to his lips. Obviously the lady was not pleased.

"Well?" Are you just going to sit there like a lump?" Lady Penelope pushed on, longing to do the man an injury. How could she ever have worried that she was attracted to such a man? "Don't you have anything to say for yourself? After all, it's you who got us into this mess."

Now Lucien did look at her, his mobile left eyebrow arching high on his forehead. "Oh, really? I suppose it was I who went running to my brothers with the sordid tale of how you threw yourself onto my bed of pain and all but ravished me? How remiss of me; it must have slipped my mind—probably somewhere between nibbling drugged rabbit and awakening to find myself tied to my bed."

"How was I supposed to know you were the Earl of Leighton?" Lady Penelope argued belligerently, inelegantly tucking one leg under her as she leaned forward to make her point. "I thought you were Lucas Kendall, a married man, and I wanted to have my brothers help me move you out of the house before my father could show up—which he is sure to do because the twins left Weybridge without permission—and learn that I'd gotten myself into another scrape, which would put me in the basket for certain because then I would have lost the wager and have had to agree to a London Season, not that that is any of your business, for it is not."

"Naturally, however—" Leighton tried to interrupt, but to no avail, as Lady Penelope was not about to let him get a rebuttal in sideways.

"Of course, if Cosmo hadn't been prattling on and on about the Pettibone—as if I couldn't possibly have anything even the least bit shocking to say after being stuck away here at Wormhill—I probably never would have mentioned the kiss at all. And if you hadn't lied to me, making me think you were married and embarrassed to have been attracted to me when you couldn't recall who you were, while I found myself—well, never mind about that! I would never have told Cyril and Cosmo that you kissed me. I'm not that much of a zany that I wouldn't have eventually realized that Cosmo would figure out that I had been compromised and then be so straitlaced as to demand we be wed. And I didn't drug your stupid rabbit, Farnley did."

"Oh, I see," Lucien said, nodding his head as if he understood, while secretly marveling that anyone could say that much so quickly without having to stop for breath. So he had been right in one thing at least—his kiss hadn't left her totally unaffected. "Let me see if I have got this correct. If you had known who I really was before blurting out that interesting information concerning my stolen kiss, you would have merely asked Cosmo and Cyril to remove me from the premises and never mentioned our little interlude, is that right?"

"Yes!"

"As a matter of fact," he continued, smiling in spite of himself, "I might then have awakened yesterday afternoon to find myself swinging naked in the breeze in front of a covey of interested villagers—if I remember Cyril's sentiments correctly. No, wait, I imagine not. Please forgive me, as I grow confused. I would have merely been banished to a safe distance, like an annoying but harmless pest, and not punished at all. Oh, yes, and you didn't drug my rabbit. Farnley did. Do I have it all straight now?"

Lady Penelope sagged back in her seat as she answered tiredly, "Exactly, although it all sounds so—so sordid when you say it like that. So you see, the entire thing is your fault. Yours and Philippos'—I mean, Philip's."

"Philip? You think Philip is in on this?"

"Isn't he?"

Lucien rubbed his chin thoughtfully, once more considering this possibility. "No, not really, at least not directly. He did tell me you were residing in the neighborhood for the winter, but he took great pains to push home to me the fact that you and I should never suit. You really might see if the boy needs spectacles, or else his powers of observation are sadly remiss. Ask him to describe your features one day. Anyway, as it was, I only came upon you by accident, having taken a wrong turning near Buxton on my way north. If he hasn't shown up here since my arrival, I'd have to conclude that the fellow is innocent of any wrongdoing."

Rising once more to her feet, Lady Penelope set to pacing again while considering the Earl's last words. She hadn't really believed Philippos to be behind the scheme, although he had known she was to be staying at Wormhill and could have sent Lucien to her. Stopping in front of Leighton, who was eyeing her feet carefully as he held out his hands as if to protect his injured ankle, she agreed austerely, "So Philippos is innocent. That still does not explain why you shamelessly feigned that loss of memory, for I know now that your illness was all a sham."

"Not quite entirely a sham, my dear, and I have the bruises to prove it. Consider the thing from my side for a moment. I was alone and injured and in a strange place," Lucien pointed out, carefully shifting his injured ankle onto the settee. "I wished to check out the lay of the land, as it were, before disclosing my identity. Once I deduced, and correctly as it turned out, that you were Philip's sister, I decided to remain anonymous as—how shall I put this?—I wasn't particularly anxious to have you summoning your dear brother to my bedside if, indeed, you did know his direction. He is staying at a house party not far from here, you know."

"But my brother is your friend," Lady Penelope remarked, confused. "Why wouldn't you want him here? And don't call me 'my dear,' " she added scrupulously, wishing she could ignore his easy charm.

Now Lucien smiled engagingly, causing Lady Penelope's stomach to flutter against her will. "Sad to say, you are not the only person who plays pranks. When last I saw dear Philip, he was comfortably tucked up, snoring away in Lord Crompton's larder beside a rather large salmon. I did not wish to be exposed to Philip just then, while I was all but helpless."

"Philippos sleeping with a salmon? How angry he must have been when he awoke!" Lady Penelope exclaimed, trying hard to keep a straight face as she pictured her brother reduced to such circumstances. "He can't abide the things."

"Yes, so he said. You can see my dilemma," Lucien retorted, grinning up at her, and then they both laughed, easing the tension in the room for a few moments.

But this relief did not last long, for it wasn't many minutes before Lady Penelope remembered that, no matter what circumstances had brought them to this stage, there was still the matter of their betrothal to discuss. "I won't marry you, you know," she said finally, settling herself on the now vacant footstool. "I have vowed never to marry." Her words resounded hollowly in her ears, as if she were merely repeating an oft-stated remark and not really convinced of its merit. "Never!" she added quickly, to make her point.

"Then we do have something in common other than our sad proclivity toward pranking, my lady," Lucien pointed out, sobering, "for I, too, have resolved never to wed."

Lady Penelope raised her palms toward him in exasperation. "Now I'm thoroughly confused! Then why have you told Cosmo that you and I should become betrothed? You know, for an Earl, you really don't make a great deal of sense."

Lucien leaned forward to chuck her gently beneath the chin. "As your dear Aunt Lucinda might say, 'There is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,' Palladas."

"Meaning?" Lady Penelope asked hurriedly, feeling hopeful at last. She wanted Lucien Kenrick out of her life as soon as possible. He was a dangerous, dangerous man, complicating her life and making her doubt her own mind. All her resolve to remain independent seemed to melt like snowflakes in the hot sun at his slightest touch.

"Meaning, my dear prankster, that between us, we should certainly be able to convince your family that a union between the two of us is the very last thing any sane person would desire."

"In other words, if we don't fight the betrothal, but merely proceed with it, and then show how much havoc we could cause as a pair, Papa and my brothers will eventually beg us to call it all off? Would that satisfy their ridiculous male honor?" And allow me to return to my beloved Weybridge where I can forget this maddening man even exists, she added silently.

"It would," Lucien promised, hoping he was right.

"My Lord Leighton," Lady Penelope replied sweetly, bravely holding out her right hand to seal their bargain, "I do believe you begin to interest me. Please consider your kind offer of marriage accepted. Now, precisely what do you have in mind for our opening salvo?"