If He's Sinful (13 page)

Doctor Pryne looked at Septimus when he was done bandaging Penelope’s head. “Sure you will not join me in trying to keep some of the fools out there alive?”

Septimus shook his head as he moved away from the bed. “No. I cannot. Now and then, perhaps. Every day, patient after patient? Pain and more pain? It would break me.”

“Fair enough. A shame, though. A demmed shame.” Pryne moved to wash his hands. “She will be fine. As I said, keep her abed, at least for a few days, and make her go softly for the rest of the time until I can remove the stitches. She might be light-headed at first. Come for me if she shows any signs that she has bruised her brain. You know what to look for, lad.”

“I do.” Septimus began to escort the doctor out of the room. “What do we owe you?”

“Nothing. His lordship downstairs paid me handsomely. Best go and wrap his knee and let the fool put his breeches back on.”

Ashton watched them leave and then looked at Penelope. They all believed she could see spirits. Paul believed he could foresee danger. The doctor believed Septimus had a gift that allowed him to ease the pain of injured or ill people. Rumors had persisted for generations, he mused, and then shook his head. He was a man of reason and control. He no longer thought Penelope and the boys were some family of charlatans, but he refused to believe in magical or mystical gifts. He needed proof to believe in such impossibilities and no one had shown him any.

Penelope groaned softly. Ashton took her hand in his and sat on the edge of the bed. He did not understand why he was so drawn to her but he acknowledged her hold on his interest. Her grip on his emotions, and his lust, were deep and firm. Even her strange belief that she could see and speak to spirits did not lessen it.

She slowly opened her eyes and Ashton was hit by the powerful force of lust and enchantment. He knew he ought to fight it, banish it, for he was, in a word, a fortune hunter. He was also betrothed to her stepsister, whether he had actually proposed to the woman or not, and he should not have to keep reminding himself of that very important fact. But he did. Every time he looked at Penelope, or even thought of Penelope. To touch Penelope as he ached to, he would have to be the worst of cads. What frightened him was how great a part of him was willing to don that shameful mantle. He feared he had more of his father in him than was comfortable.

“Paul?” she whispered, her voice little more than a hoarse croak.

“He is fine. He did not suffer even the smallest of bruises. Would you like something to drink?” he asked.

“Please.”

Ashton stood up and looked around the room. Near the fireplace were a small table and two chairs. On the table were an ornate silver jug and two silver goblets. He hurried over to it, sniffed the liquid in the jug, and discovering it was cider, quickly poured her some. She looked asleep as he approached the bed, but the moment he sat down on the edge, facing her, she opened her eyes again.

Penelope started to reach for the goblet, her dry throat begging for reprieve, and saw how badly her hands shook. “I believe I may need your help.”

The hint of petulance in her voice almost made him smile. Lady Penelope was not a good patient, he thought as he set down the goblet, and then settled himself on the bed right beside her. When he put his arm around her, doing his best to place it so that it would support her neck as well as her shoulders, she frowned at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Penelope could not believe how good it felt to have him by her side. Her head was throbbing and her body did not have one tiny spot on it that did not ache. Yet the warmth of him seeped into her blood. She wanted to curl her body around his. She could not blame that wanton urge on Mrs. Cratchitt’s potion this time.

“I was attempting to ensure that this cider goes into your gullet and not all over you or the bedclothes.” He picked up the goblet and held it to her lips. “Drink it slowly. I have cracked my head before, and oddly, it tends to make one’s stomach rebellious,” he said as she sipped the drink.

“I suppose I must stay abed for days.”

“Yes. Will that be a problem? Will the Hutton-Moores grow suspicious about your long absence?”

She drank the last of the cider, and once he had set the goblet aside, she leaned all her weight against him before he could move away. She wanted to enjoy his closeness for just a little while longer. “I will have Mrs. Potts help me to keep them away. She is good at making excuses for me and they are accustomed to the cook knowing what I am doing, though they rarely ask. I spend a lot of time in the kitchen.” The soft warmth of his lips moved over her aching forehead and she shivered. “Thank you for catching Paul,” she said quietly as she turned to look at him.

“You are most welcome.” He gave in to temptation and brushed his mouth over hers, savoring the silken warmth of her lips beneath his.

“This may not be wise.”

“Very unwise, but I
will
steal a kiss before I leave.”

Penelope knew she should deny him, but she had no will to do so. At first he was gentle, almost tentative, his mouth moving over hers slowly and tenderly. When his tongue prodded at the seam of her lips, she cautiously parted them. He pressed his tongue into her mouth, exploring, stroking, claiming her with the depth of his kiss. Despite the pain it caused her, she reached out to hold him close. She could not fully smother a tiny groan, however. He cursed softly and leapt from the bed, leaving her with achingly empty arms and lips that still craved his kiss.

“I must go.” Ashton wondered how he could even say those words when every part of him ached to crawl into that bed with her. “I will see you on the morrow. Rest,” he ordered as he fled the room before he lost all control.

He almost ran out of her bedchamber and Penelope sighed. It was wrong to kiss him, to want him, as she did. Ashton was betrothed to Clarissa and he needed money to save his family. Penelope was not sure she had any. She also had ten children to care for and few men wanted that burden. If that was not enough to make any man run for the hills, there were her
gifts
. Few people outside of the family dealt well with those gifts, as shown by the many broken marriages that littered the family tree. If she let her heart, and her body, reach out for him, she could end up heartbroken and thoroughly disgraced.

It was a familiar litany and it had about the same meager effect on her good sense as it always had. Penelope closed her eyes and knew she ought to be concerned about how little that possible sad fate troubled her. Perhaps she would worry about it tomorrow.

Chapter Eight

“Are you listening to me, Ashton?”

Ashton blinked and looked at Brant. He frowned but it did little to banish his friend’s amusement. It had taken two days to finally gather with his friends in their favorite club and start the discussion he had intended to have the day Penelope had been hurt. He should be discussing the possibility of an investment right now. Instead, he kept thinking about how sweet Penelope tasted, how her scent invaded all his senses, how perfectly she fit into his arms, and how badly he wanted her naked and in his bed. In her bed. In any bed. Pleasant as those thoughts were, they did not fill his pockets and that need was one he had to fix his full attention on.

“I was plotting how to speak of what I have gathered you all here to listen to,” he said, glancing around their club to make certain no one was close enough to overhear them. “What did you say?”

“I but asked how the Lady Penelope fared.”

“She is recovering. Young Paul has attached himself to her like a leech but that will soon pass, I think. The other boys wait upon her as if she were the queen, but that, too, will undoubtedly wane. She says she will return to the Hutton-Moores’ in a day or two if only to give Mrs. Potts some relief from lying for her.”

And probably to escape him, he thought morosely. He could not stop himself from visiting her and kissing her every chance he got. Ashton knew she shared his passion, could taste the sweet temptation of it in her kiss, the way she shivered when he touched her, but they both knew what they did was wrong. He might not get free of Clarissa, and even if he did, he might still need to marry an heiress.

He shook those thoughts from his mind. Until he got some money, there was no solution to his many troubles. There was no more time to waste.

“We can discuss that strange but fascinating little family later,” he said. “I have something else I must discuss with all of you.”

Victor frowned. “You sound most serious. Another trouble?”

“No, praise God. A possible solution to the ones that plague me now. The answer to most of the problems I suffer through is money. I need some. Badly.” He held up his hand to silence his friends when they all began to speak. “And I will not get it by adding more debt to that which weighs me down now or by shifting it about. I wish to discuss investments.”

The look of interest in his friends’ faces raised Ashton’s hopes. He had feared that his friends would hesitate to dabble in trade, but he should have known they would not be prey to such prejudices. None of them was poor, by any means, but each would welcome some added weight in their purses. As precisely as he could, he told them everything Lord Burnage had told him and he could see their interest grow with every word he spoke.

Then the questions began. Ashton tried to answer them as precisely as he could. The only break in the barrage came when an unusually serious Cornell would call for another bottle of wine.

“I think it might behoove us to meet with Lord Burnage,” said Cornell, his dark brown eyes holding an intent look Ashton had rarely seen in his cheerful friend. “It will help us decide which investment to make and, I think, he can be trusted to see us steered to the right people so that we are not fleeced.”

“So you wish to partner with me in this?” asked Ashton, the burn of excitement sliding through his veins.

“Strike me blind! Of a certain I wish a hand in it. I would have tried it myself except that the outlay could have beggared me for a full year if I lost and I was never sure whom I could trust. I am a third son. Father has seen that I am not impoverished, but I will never see any lands or any more money than I have now. Someday I will marry and I shall need a house to put the wife in. I will also need something to be certain any children I have will be well cared for.”

“And I could use some funds to improve my properties,” said Whitney, his straight dark brows lowering as he frowned. “I keep hearing of new farming methods I should like to try at Ryecroft but they require money I cannot spare.”

Victor nodded. “’Tis the same with me.” He scowled at a stray lock of his brown hair when it tumbled over his brow. “Everything needed to make money seems to cost money, especially if it is some new machine or new breed of stock. I have no reluctance about dabbling in trade if it will get me what I need.”

“Nor I,” said Brant. “Victor is right. Near everything needed to improve one’s lands or fatten one’s purse requires money. I have enough to maintain what I have now but not enough to improve it.” He grimaced and then smiled crookedly at Ashton. “And of late, I have developed an abhorrence of debt so borrowing what I need is no option for me. And your face now tells me where your thoughts are leading you. We do this for our own benefit as much as we will do it for yours. And we have all put aside monies to help you if you ever let go your pride to let us.”

“I thank you for that and for joining me in this despite that touch of selfish interest,” Ashton said. “Partnering in this venture means less profit for each of us—”

“And less loss if it all goes wrong. Alone, I cannot bring to the table what is needed for an advantageous investment. Together with the four of you, we can place a handsome bet on the table.”

“That was what I was hoping for.” He signaled to one of the footmen tending to the members of the club and requested writing materials. “I shall send a note to Lord Burnage requesting a meeting.”

“Will you be able to attend one of his choosing? From what you have said, the Lady Clarissa has you tightly scheduled for the next fortnight.”

“Business with Lord Burnage is of far greater importance than escorting Clarissa about town. I shall just have to be cautious for I do not wish her or her brother to discover what I am doing.”

Victor rubbed a hand over his faintly dimpled chin. “Afraid old Charles might try to tighten the chain he has looped around your neck?”

“Exactly,” replied Ashton. “I need time. With it and luck, I may well be able to escape their clutches completely.”

“So that you may more openly pursue the fair Lady Penelope?”

There was such laughter and knowledge in Victor’s light green eyes that Ashton actually felt his cheeks heat with a blush. “Mayhap, although I should leave her be.”

“Because of her large family?”

“Well, only a fool would not consider the fact that those boys come with her, but no, ’tis not that. She believes she can see and speak to the spirits of the dead.” He sighed when they all just stared at him. “They all believe she can, too. Just as they all believe little Paul can foretell danger.”

“Ah, that.” Brant smiled faintly. “I heard most of that but thought it was just a child’s fancy. You mentioned how Lady Penelope said she could speak to the dead once before but I paid that little heed as well. Just another fancy.”

“They all share that fancy then. That tutor, Septimus, believes he can ease a person’s pain or even heal. That gruff old doctor believes it, too.”