The Midnight Rake (25 page)

“It’s a pleasure to be in your company again.” Phineas knew he should offer more in way of conversation, but the desire to have his questions answered dominated all coherent thought. “Forgive my forwardness as I’m in need of your assistance concerning your cousin’s foolhardy plan. It occurred to me I may be reaching too high in pursuit of this unknown gentleman and have committed a misstep in escorting Penelope to the most sought-after invitations within the
ton.
If your description of this character is correct, he possesses a darker nature. Neither one of us would abide Penelope entering any establishment that would besmirch her reputation. Am I correct?” He tried to exemplify interest, frustrated with the preamble of conversation necessary. He wanted nothing more than to demand immediate answers.

Elizabeth looked at him with a curious expression. He couldn’t decipher if she considered the directness of his approach or debated how to answer. She flattened her lips in contemplation before assembling her reply. “I’ll help you any way I’m able, but I cannot break my vow. Penny promised to assist me with a matter most important. It wouldn’t be fair to expect her to keep her word if I did not keep mine.”

Phineas expected nothing less than loyalty, but he was willing to negotiate even if
he
were the goods to be bartered. Foolish female. “As before, I will be more than amenable to arrange whatever you wish if it’s within my power to do so.”

He spoke with candor, taken aback when Elizabeth smiled in triumph, a devious gleam in her eyes.

“La, I could never ask you forthright.” Her fingers played on the handle of her teacup and her insolence could not go unnoticed.

“I insist. I am at once at your disposal.” Phineas leaned forward to implore his dedication to the task, his vehemence exacerbating the lady’s condition. “Tell me what you know and I’ll comply with your request.”

They remained in pensive silence, Phineas lost in deliberation of the decisions to be made, while the lady planned her price. Time was of the essence and he rose to leave.

“I cannot reveal the name of the man, but I will reveal everything I know to help locate him. He runs with a fast crowd. Penelope described him as tall and outspoken, with dark eyes and dark hair. Oh, and there was something else. She mentioned a misplaced patch of white hair at his temple. Would that help you distinguish him?”

He jerked to attention, uncertain if his ears deceived him. Then as Elizabeth repeated the description, he mumbled excuses, his determined strides eating up the carpet as he raced from the room.

Penelope did a visual sweep of the elaborate entrance hall, searching for any sign of Simon, desperate to find him and put her misery to rest. Her initial intention to visit Elizabeth and confess she could not keep her promise was thwarted once Aubry rushed into her bedchamber with words overflowing. While she could never condone eavesdropping, no harm was done. Providence held Aubry captive when the ladies settled in the room to discuss Phin’s affections. Much to her dismay, the news thrilled and saddened her heart.

To be accepted by Lady Fenhurst and defended by Lady Livingston were gifts beyond value, but to be loved by Phineas, as his mother proposed; why, the thought caused Penelope’s head to spin faster than the guests waltzing across the ballroom’s parquetry. Still the same impossible chasm kept them apart. She needed to find Simon. Confronting the blackguard and regaining her pride was the only way she would ever be free to tell Phineas she shared his feelings.

Phineas. He hadn’t returned to the house in time to serve as escort and Lady Fenhurst displayed her anger in open mutters of distress, mostly spoken in French. Penelope discerned Phin specifically instructed his mother to accept Lord Holcombe’s invitation. The modest estate, situated on the outskirts of the city, was unknown to the Countess and she had little to share about the evening’s host other than she’d rather not attend. It all perpetuated the confusion enveloping her during their carriage ride tonight.

Now, her silent musings led her across the main hall in a direct line to the ballroom at the rear. Music strained through the night air and champagne flowed. Servants darted about with trays of savouries and assorted sweetmeats, candelabras burned bright amidst exquisite hothouse flower arrangements decorating every available surface, but none of this held her attention for long. She examined the dance floor for a second time. Couples enjoyed a promenade and she turned her attention to the perimeter of the room in an effort to inspect every guest in attendance.

A brash burst of laughter drew her eyes to a corner near the refreshment area. Gentlemen in black evening dress conversed closest to the wall, their backs in her line of sight. A single gentleman stood out amongst the others. His waistcoat, a shade paler and his knee breeches, not of the same superfine quality, announced his presence as irregular. When he angled his head, she caught a glimpse of his profile and her heart stopped beating altogether.

Her posture tight and furious, Penelope fisted her hands at her sides and cemented her determination. Finally, she’d confront the man who singlehandedly brought about such tragic despair that her father had died from the strain. Months of meager living and worrisome nights fortified each unwavering step as she made her way across the tiles. The country dance ended and the orchestra stressed a final note before conversation and laughter welled in volume. The room grew infinitely more crowded.

Moral fiber prevented her from rushing upon the surreptitious lout. She’d vowed not to become emotional, heaven forbid hysterical, and ruin the opportunity to resolve her past and ensure her future. Everything came down to this significant moment.

With unexpected ease, Simon turned toward her, his face a mask of blue and black, the bruising most startling against his sudden paled reaction. For one fleeting moment, sympathy replaced anger, but the sentiment did not last. She matched his eyes, devoid of all emotion other than surprise. Malevolence darkened their depths.

When Simon made no move, she swallowed a knot of trepidation and took the final steps required.

Constantine intercepted her path. He shook his head in silent warning, his face an expression of grave seriousness, but nothing would deter her and Penelope tossed him a brief look of confusion before moving beyond his reach. She stood amidst Simon’s grouping, her hands trembling.

“Make introductions, won’t you, Ridley?”

A man with a lecherous gleam in his eye nodded in her direction. She noticed a vein ticking near Simon’s right eye. Having observed the same reaction in the past, she now read it for what it was. A small part of her shrunk with immediate panic, but a strong fortifying breath dismissed her sudden desire to flee.

“Miss Rosebery, what a clever surprise. You catch me unaware or I might have penciled my name on your dance card.”

The bitterness in his voice belied an attempt at witty conversation. She lifted her chin to hold back the accusation itching to leave her tongue.

“My lord.” Her voice shook and she inhaled a steadying breath. “I’d be delighted to share a dance this evening as soon as the orchestra begins again.” She forced an even tone of congeniality and refused to capitulate even though her heart hammered in her chest. She knew his mind spun with a dozen different ways to disarm her.

Con’s deep timbre met her ear with a conspiratorial whisper. “Phineas will knock me flat if I allow you within ten paces of this man.”

Unaware he had shadowed her, Penelope’s eyes narrowed in question, a look of confusion tossed over her shoulder, yet Constantine persisted.

“Lord Ridley is trouble. His is not an introduction to benefit your reputation.”

She sent him a tremulous smile. No matter he discerned her unnatural nervousness, nothing, absolutely nothing, would take this opportunity from her. It meant everything in the world to her and Aubry’s future.

Besides, Constantine was mistaken. He’d called Simon, Lord Ridley? She spared no time to consider it and with the first notes of music, extended her gloved hand for the dance.

The waltz afforded them privacy. Penelope held herself in rigid deference, offended by the touch of Simon’s hand clasping hers. Anger simmered in a threat to civility. She concentrated on the steps for the first turn before she mustered her voice.

“Did you think I would never find you? You stole everything we owned.” Strength replaced any lingering trepidation, her voice vehement as she listed his heinous insults. “Father’s health failed under the strain of your treachery. He died earlier this year. We all trusted you. Does it not matter in the least?” Anger and distress peppered her whispered accusations.

“Aah, hard knocks have fortified you. Do you regret not being of the same resolve months ago? It is unfortunate you cannot relive the past. By the by, you need to stop calling me Simon as it was never my name, just a clever ruse to assist in covering my tracks were your father set on seeking Bow Street. Now learning of his timely death, I need not have worried.”

Penelope struggled to digest his unremorseful response. He reacted as if she’d complimented his illicit deeds. She bowed her head to collect her conflicted emotions. How naïve to believe he would show any signs of repentance.

They turned within the dance and Simon leaned forward, his breath striking her cheek. It took every ounce of power not to recoil.

“And with whom did you share this little story? Surely to cast guilt in my direction, guilt that could never to be proven, would cause you to fall further than you have already. The awkward truth remains that with your father gone, you have no one, no evidence, no recourse. So why are you here?”

The man considered himself untouchable, safe from recrimination, using her father’s death as fortification. Penelope clenched her teeth to temper the desire to strike him. He should be embarrassed and humiliated, made to feel as foolish and regretful as she had every day since his departure. Aware the opportunity to speak would be fast ending once the music ceased, she rebelled.

“You must give it all back. Most especially my mother’s jewelry. Her cameo is dear to me.” Her voice shook with urgency and emotion.

“You foolish girl. I wouldn’t have taken what you suggest I did, had I any desire to return it. I only regret not having taken more from you.” His hand tightened on the small of her back. “Seeing you here amongst society dressed up pretty improves your appeal.”

The congenial mask she wore for the sake of appearance dropped, and her eyes lit with anger. An overwhelming frustration, at being left alone to confront this horrible man and resolve her future, challenged her determination while despair struck swiftly, scolding that she should have taken Aubry’s advice and confided in Phineas from the start. The fear she’d be left penniless even though she’d located the one man who held all the answers, intensified and demanded restitution. The conflict of emotions held her immobile until a sudden parting of the crowd on the parquet floor forced her attention away.

She was dancing with a dead man. Phineas struggled to contain his anger as he viewed Penelope in Ridley’s embrace at the center of the dance floor. A familiar black feeling roiled with intense objection, but he would not permit jealousy to obscure rational thought. He devoured her, cataloging each excruciating detail.

Her eyes never left the scourge in her grasp, her skin flushed pink. Was she blushing from some intimate compliment or flirtatious murmur, her head inclined as if poised for the cleverest rejoinder? Her lips barely moved when she spoke, her words a secret. Did she offer affection, still enchanted after Ridley wronged her? His eyes raked over her length, halting midway. Damnation, Ridley’s hand wrapped her gloved fingers in a vise-like grip as if he could not draw her near enough, the other hand lost in the silk at the base of her spine. Fierce emotion, ugly and destructive, clenched his heart. He swallowed hard and suppressed the impulse to lunge for the man.

With calculated effort, he took the final steps needed. Guests hurried out of the way, not knowing what to make of his imposing height and fierce expression. A hushed wave of questions circled the room with lightning speed. It just wasn’t done, but scandal be damned. From the corner of his eye he watched his mother push through the throng of dancers motionless on the edge of the floor. All the while Ridley held Penelope intimately within the waltz frame.

When finally she turned in his direction, her face revealed surprise. He offered his hand, his arm outstretched to draw her from Ridley, but at her resistance, total possession took control.

“It doesn’t appear the lady wishes to go with you, Fenhurst. You’re interrupting our dance.”

Ridley’s voice rang loud securing distasteful things would be whispered by the gossipmongers. Phin was too far gone to worry about such foolishness.

“You have no claim on Miss Rosebery. Excuse yourself, and shut your mouth or I’ll do it for you.” He flexed his fists, anxious to make use of them. Only Penelope’s safety held his temper in check.

Daring a glance, he couldn’t decipher her expression, but seeing Penelope within Ridley’s embrace pushed him beyond all boundaries of tolerance. With brief execution, he contemplated the scenarios that might ensue. It would do no good to strike the man here in the ballroom. Too many people could intervene and prevent him from pummeling Ridley senseless and finishing the job.

Releasing Penelope, Ridley leaned forward, his nose barely an inch away, while she stood almost as close, her face stricken with concern.

He spoke in French, his demeanor arrogant, while his comments intended for Phin’s ears only, carried to Penelope with ease. It was a glory she did not understand the language because translated, the blackguard boasted every man should keep a country whore ready to pluck whenever he fancied. He ended on a note of laughter and invited Phineas to enjoy his discarded conquests.

He should level Ridley with one punch. Using every ounce of civility, he uncurled his fists. “Name your second. You insult not only the lady, but my code of honor. Lord Colehill will serve as…”