The Lady Who Came in from the Cold (21 page)

“I don’t deserve you, Marcus. I don’t,” she said, her voice muffled. “But I’ll make you proud, I swear it.”

Puzzled, he set her back, looked into her tear-bright eyes. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Penny. I couldn’t be prouder to be your husband. If you don’t know that, then
I’m
doing something wrong.”

“I do… I do know it.” She bit her lip. “It’s just that I… oh, I’m overwhelmed. Thank you, Marcus. For the necklace. For loving me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, “though no thanks are necessary.”

She expelled a breath, smoothed her skirts. Nabbing a handkerchief from the vanity, she dabbed at her eyes. “Heavens, I must look a fright. And with guests coming at any moment, too.”

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said solemnly.

“Don’t—you’re going to make me cry again.”

“All right. I’ll save my praise for after the party.”

“That you can do.” In one of her lightning quick changes, she flashed a sultry smile that made his blood run hotter. “At that time, I’ll give you your proper thanks, too.”

“We have a deal.” He offered her his arm. “Ready to greet the mob, Lady Blackwood?”

“Of course, Lord Blackwood.”

They went down to welcome their guests.

Chapter Twenty-Five

December 1829

The smashing of China greeted Penny as she entered the foyer, Marcus at her side.

“Ethan made me do it!” Owen immediately jabbed a finger at his brother.

“I did not. You’re just a clumsy oaf,” Ethan shot back.

“I’m not an oaf!” Owen’s face turned red. “If you hadn’t pushed me when we were going round the corner, I wouldn’t have bumped the table, and the vase wouldn’t have fallen. It’s
your
fault.”

“I saw everything,” Jamie volunteered. “Owen was running too fast,
and
Ethan pushed him. Therefore, it was both their faults.”

“Tattletale,” Ethan muttered.

“
Boys.
” The dowager’s cane rapped the marble floor. She came up slowly behind the squabbling trio, her eyes narrowed above the froth of black lace that covered her to her chin. “That’s quite enough out of you. Your parents have only just arrived home, and there you are carrying on like residents of Bedlam.”

Before the dowager could scold them some more, Penny intervened. Opening her arms, she said, “Come say hello, my darlings.”

They rushed forward. She hugged them each in turn, inhaling their little boy smells and kissing their sweet, squirmy cheeks. Lord, how she’d missed them.

Jamie escaped to his father. “I learned a theorem by Pythagorus this week, Papa,” he said, man-to-man. “I can derive a proof from it.”

Marcus clapped a hand on their eldest’s shoulder. “That’s quite an accomplishment, son.”

“I’ve been reading all about the Romans.” Ethan bounded over. “I know the Emperors by heart, beginning with Augustus.”

“Well done, Ethan. We’ll hear a recitation before supper,” Marcus said.

Owen approached his father last. He crooked his finger, and Marcus obligingly bent down so that their youngest could whisper something in his ear. When he straightened, his lips were curved.

“That’s quite an accomplishment, lad,” he said.

Owen beamed with relief. “You think so, Papa?”

Marcus placed a big hand atop Owen’s dark mop. “Absolutely.”

“What did you tell Papa that you did?” Ethan said.

“It’s between me and Papa.” Owen lifted his chin. “And I won’t tell you because you’ll just make fun.”

“Only if it’s something stupid,” Ethan retorted.

“I’m not stupid!”

“Boys.” Marcus’ firm tone cut the squabble short. “Let us remove to the drawing room where you may each fill me in on the rest of your week.”

“Yes, Papa,” the three chorused as one.

Marcus winked at Penny, stopped to kiss her lightly on the mouth, and led the way out. Falling obediently in line, the boys trooped after their father.

“I don’t know how he does that,” Penny mused aloud.

Her mama-in-law snorted. “He does that by not coddling them and spoiling them rotten.”

Although tempted to argue, Penny decided to take the higher road. The fact that she was fairly floating on happiness made it easier to bite her tongue.

“It was kind of you to look after the boys in our absence. Thank you,” she said politely.

“Given the perilous state of your marriage, I had no choice. So let us dispense with the formalities—I’m far too old for such nonsense.” The dowager waved an impatient hand. “What I want to know is whether you’ve succeeded in winning my son back from that licentious tart Cora Ashley.”

Penny stared at the older lady. “How… how did you know about Lady Ashley?”

“The whole Town’s abuzz over it. Some wag saw you running from your own ball as if the devil himself were after you. Someone else saw my Marcus emerging from a balcony and that despicable Lady Ashley came out of the same said balcony not two minutes later.” The dowager’s knuckles whitened on the jeweled knob of her cane. “Everyone’s put two and two together and come up with four. I knew about the gossip even before you came to me for help, but since you looked as lost as a babe in the woods, I decided you didn’t need to trip over rumors whilst you were attempting to find your path. I assumed that your little
business trip
with Marcus was an attempt to win my son back.” Her mama-in-law arched a brow. “Since the two of you appear to be lovebirds once again, your plan succeeded, did it not?”

Penny didn’t know whether to feel annoyed or grateful. “First of all, I didn’t have to win Marcus back from anyone,” she retorted. “Especially not the likes of Cora Ashley. He loves me and only me.”

“I know that. I raised my son to be a good and loyal man, and he would never betray the vows he made to his wife. Even so, one tempts Fate by leaving the doors open wide and unlocked for any thief to march through.” The dowager aimed a stern look at her. “You really must guard your valuables better in the future, my dear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Penny said through her teeth.

“Well, then, that’s settled.” Her mama-in-law gave her an imperious look. “There’s only one more thing to attend to.”

“And that is?”

“Suppressing the scandal, of course. We can’t have the world thinking anything’s amiss between the Blackwoods.” The dowager’s eyes narrowed. “I never liked that Cora Ashley. Always said she was too common by far.”

Penny could actually feel the divots in her tongue, formed by the many times she’d had to bite it during this conversation. But… she would let bygones be bygones.

“’Tis easier to stop the flow of the Thames than gossip once it’s started,” she stated.

Her mama-in-law harrumphed. “Shows how much you know, my girl. Well, take it from one who has been around the
ton
several decades longer than you: there’s a solution for everything. It is merely a matter of committing one’s mind to the problem.”

“I’m dying to hear what you’ve come up with,” Penny said.

“You shan’t have to expire, my dear.” The dowager gave her a sardonic look. “I shall simply tell you.”

~~~

“Your mama has bats in her belfry,” Penny announced.

As this was not the first time his wife had made such a statement during the years of their marriage and likely not the last, Marcus said mildly, “Oh?”

Penny set her brush down on the vanity with a click and stalked over to where he was lounging on the bed. He noted with interest that she didn’t appear to be wearing anything beneath her emerald satin robe.

She braced her hands on her hips. “Apparently the Ashleys are giving a Christmas Ball, and your mother thinks we ought to go.”

“Oh?” He was right—she wasn’t wearing anything. He could see her tight, hard nipples poking against the delicate fabric. He felt himself getting hard under his own dressing gown.

“
Oh
—is that all you have to say?”

Other possibilities leapt into his mind.
Come closer so I can suckle your breasts. Would you prefer to ride me tonight, or shall we try another position?
He tried to focus on his wife’s words. “What is the problem, precisely?”

“The problem,
Marcus
,”—never a good thing when she said his name in that tone—“is that I have no intention of gracing that trollop’s house with my presence.”

Understanding pierced his playful mood. With remorse, he said quietly, “I acted like a fool, but you do know that I have no interest whatsoever in Cora Ashley, don’t you, love?”

“Of course I know that.” The indignant fire in Penny’s eyes eased the knot in his chest. Pacing back and forth alongside the bed, she said, “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“No bitch in heat is going to wriggle her rump at you and try to take what is mine.”

He choked back a laugh. “Er, pardon me?”

“You heard me. She’s like a farmyard beast after you to rut her.” Penny narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you laughing at me?”

He was trying not to. Ever since the revelations at the cottage, Penny seemed freer, more confident, more… herself. Previously hidden facets of her caught the light, sparkling brilliantly. Although he didn’t want his wife to suffer unnecessarily, he couldn’t help but find her feminine jealousy rather delightful—especially since it made her breasts surge against her neckline and her eyes blaze with violet flames. An intriguing image flitted through his head, one evoked by Penny’s discussion of farmyard mating rituals.

As a result, he was no longer getting hard—he was fully there.

“No,” he said contritely. “But your description was rather… colorful.”

Penny sniffed. “It’s the truth.”

“Be that as it may, you may want to consider Mama’s advice.”

“What?” his wife said in outrage.

“You and I both know nothing happened, but if we don’t go to the Ashleys’ party, it will only fuel the gossip. The best way to deal with this is head on. We put in an appearance, and we leave. Once everyone sees that there’s no friction between us and the Ashleys and thus no cause for drama, the rumors will die. End of story.”

He could see that his reasoning hit home… even if she didn’t like it. Huffing out a breath, she said, “You’re assuming a lot.”

He raised a brow. “In what regard?”

“In the regard that I’ll be able to hold myself back from using my garotte on bloody Cora Ashley,” Penny groused. “We’ll see about friction then.”

Chuckling, he snagged her hand and pulled her onto the bed so that she was sprawled atop him. “Don’t pack your garotte in your reticule that night,” he advised, “and you’ll do fine.”

“Oh, all right.” Just as it always did, her storm passed. The fire in her eyes was replaced by a different sort altogether. A wicked, sensual spark that made his blood run hot. “Darling, do you have something in your pocket,” she purred, “or are you just
very
happy to see me?”

“All that talk of rutting may have put ideas in my mind,” he murmured, running his hands through the wild raven silk of her hair.

“Oh? Any ideas you’d care to share?”

“Why don’t I show you instead?” he said.

Crushing her mouth to his, he set about doing just that.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was small of her, Penny knew, but as she and Marcus waited in the long receiving line, she took in the ballroom with a touch of smugness. Cora Ashley’s blood might be bluer than Penny’s, but the former wouldn’t know taste if it knocked her over and dragged her down the street. Penny could tell the countess had poured a small fortune into the night’s endeavor and, with all that blunt, managed to create an ambience that was both overblown and unwelcoming.

One couldn’t walk two steps without a suspended sprig of mistletoe smacking one in the forehead. The orchestra was three times as large as it needed to be, its volume so deafening that guests were shouting at each other to be heard. The buffet table was piled high with fussy, greasy bits that appealed to neither eye nor stomach. Yet in Penny’s opinion, out of all of this, it was the champagne fountain that truly took the cake.

Even from a distance, she could see the towering gold monstrosity. It stood some twelve feet high, frothing forth champagne tinted what (she guessed) was supposed to be a jolly, seasonal shade, but there was no denying what it actually looked like: blood. To Penny, the thing was as grotesque as it was impractical. Every now and again, a cry erupted from some unsuspecting guest when the fountain belched and doused them with a gory spray of red.

As Penny and Marcus approached their hostess in the receiving line, however, her eyes narrowed. Whatever one could say about Cora Ashley’s party throwing skills, she clearly had a masterful eye when it came to fashion. The demure, ruffled white creation looked simple but must have cost a pretty penny, the skirts floating elegantly around her slender figure. With her pale blond hair and blue eyes, she looked every inch an angel.

In comparison, Penny had chosen a bold gown of crimson velvet that clung lovingly to her curves. Her ruby necklace was her main accessory, and she wore it with pride as she faced her nemesis.

“How good of you both to come,” Cora said in a breathy voice, her eyes fixed on Marcus.

“Thank you, my lady. Lord Ashley.” Marcus inclined his head politely at their host and hostess, his face expressionless. “My wife didn’t want to miss it.”

The Earl of Ashley, a short, balding fellow who smelled as if he’d bathed in brandy, gave them an indifferent greeting and continued flirting with a young matron. His bloodshot eyes glued to her low-cut décolletage, he waddled off with her, abandoning his receiving duties altogether.

“Heavens!” Cora gave a little shriek.

The pressure in Penny’s veins shot up as the blonde threw herself against Marcus’ chest.

“A spider,” Cora gasped. “It just ran over my slipper.”

With clear distaste, Marcus set her aside. “I don’t see a spider.”

“If there’s an insect lurking about,” Penny said, her jaw clenching, “I’ll gladly squash it.”

Patting her skirts into place, Cora recovered herself and aimed a saccharine smile at Penny. “Oh, but I wouldn’t want you to ruin your slipper, my dear Lady Blackwood. Or your striking ensemble. May I mention how very festive you look?” The subtle emphasis on the word
festive
implied a far less flattering adjective. “I couldn’t pull off such a gown, and I daresay not many ladies could.”