The Romantic (17 page)

“I think Mr. Hampton would agree with you.”

Catherine smoothed the top edge of the blanket on her knees. She watched her long fingers play at the binding.

“Are you going on a holiday? Is that the reason for this journey?”

Just like Julian to explain nothing. “I have a visit to make, and Mr. Hampton is escorting me.”

“Ah. I see. Odd to be taking different names, then, but it isn’t for me to say.” Her fingers stroked and smoothed some more. “Will you and I be sharing a chamber at the inns?”

“I expect so.”

“Will Mr. Hampton be staying at the inns as well?”

“I think that will be necessary. You do not need to
worry. If Jacob is following you, you will not be without protection.”

“I protect myself, my lady. However, having Mr. Hampton nearby may be useful. I sleep very soundly. After a journey it would take a cannon to wake me. Should there be any trouble, it is good to know that Mr. Hampton will be right next door. If anyone were to enter our chamber during the night, I would be completely unaware of it.”

Pen realized what Catherine was insinuating. “I am very sure that there will be no entering or leaving during the night.”

“Yes, madame. However, should there be, I will certainly sleep right through it. I thought you should know how deeply I sleep.” She bent and fished beneath the seat. “Let me get you another blanket, madame. You are looking pale.”

It became obvious to Julian that Catherine Langton had concluded several things about her new position.

First, she thought that her presence had been arranged to provide the pretense of respectability to what was in actuality a lovers’ tryst.

Second, she had decided that she had no interest in interfering with that tryst.

She possessed an admirable talent for making herself scarce. She arrived late for meals and departed early, so that he and Pen could have time alone. She went down to the carriage before her mistress, and found excuses to leave Pen’s chamber at regular intervals in the evening.

Had Julian in fact been conducting an affair with Catherine’s lady, he would have been delighted.

Since he wished that he was even though he wasn’t, he welcomed the privacy with Penelope anyway.

The third evening, they dined in Pen’s room at an inn in York. As soon as she completed her meal, Catherine excused herself.

“I think I will get some air, if that is acceptable to you, madame.”

“It is raining, Catherine.”

“I do not mind a bit of rain. I have my cloak and will stay under the eaves. I feel the need to take a turn after riding in a carriage all day.”

She left the chamber. Julian wondered if she would be carrying her pistol with her.

He looked through the flickering candles at Pen’s perfect skin and soft red lips and sweet expression. The urge to reach over and caress her velvet cheek almost triumphed over his better sense.

He loved the gentle softness in her face and body, and the greater one in her heart. The latter had led her to befriend young women in need of a protective wing before, and he could see how she was warming to Catherine now. Pen might never use a gun, but she could be selfless in defending those she cared about.

“I was too quick to judge Catherine. You were correct, and she is a pleasant companion, Mr. Hampton. You chose well.”

“I said that you were not to address me formally again. Considering what transpired at the cottage, it would be absurd to take that up again.”

She blushed prettily. The candlelight heightened the rosy glow. It also reflected tiny sparks in her eyes that revealed the real reason she had tried to be formal. As her
lids lowered, her glance darted around the chamber in awareness that this was her bedroom.

She nervously fingered the handle of the fork near her hand.

He knew he should leave, or say something to put her at ease.

Memories of her body, of her breasts firm and soft under his lips and her hips rising to his caress, had invaded his mind, however. The light from fire and candles, the bed hidden behind its drapes, the mutual memories of what had been—it all created a mood that he had no interest in dispelling.

“Approaching Mrs. Levanham for help was very clever, too. Did she know you were aiding me?”

“I did not say that the lady requiring a companion was the Countess of Glasbury, but I think she assumed as much. After all, I made her acquaintance when you sent her to me for advice on the law.”

“If I had known you were visiting her, I would have given you my essay to deliver. I was going to post it from Billericay, and will do so tomorrow before we leave York.”

“I would prefer you did not, Pen. It can wait until we are finished with this journey.”

“I can see no reason to delay.”

Julian looked at her left arm. She still favored it a little. “When you spoke with Glasbury yesterday, did he say anything about that pamphlet?”

“He mentioned it.”

“I assume he is displeased.”

“Very displeased. I told him I would publish it anyway. He said it was one reason he would make me return, along
with the need for an heir, but I do not think this is about either of those things. Not really.”

“What do you think it is about?”

Her expression became thoughtful. “I spoke of his estates in Jamaica, and how the new law had taken away his slaves. Something frightening entered his eyes when I said that. An angry, resentful spark.”

“The law will have economic consequences. Even with the compensation granted by Parliament, it will cost him dearly.”

“I do not think it was the financial effects he reacted to. He liked owning slaves, Julian. He loved owning the rights to human beings and having them subjugated to him. He tried to recreate that world here in England, and after I left he visited Jamaica from time to time so he could enjoy that power again for a while. Now, with the new law, that is over. Legally, he can never know it again.”

Except with me.
The chamber seemed to whisper the words. He practically heard her thinking the final sentence that she did not speak.

She was right. Glasbury could know something very close to those godlike rights with a wife or children.

All men could, but most did not exploit the power.

She rose and paced away to the window. She glanced through the curtains, as she so often did when Glasbury was discussed.

“Until yesterday, I had not really understood what drove him. I had not comprehended just how wicked he is. I should have, however. In two days we will be facing the evidence that should have enlightened me.”

“I sense that you are unsettled about seeing Cleo, Pen.”

She tilted her head this way and that, peering through
the darkening world, her breath making little fogs on the windowpane. “It is making me remember, that is all. Not that one ever really forgets.”

Her voice was bland but her eyes looked haunted.

She was remembering right now.

He got up and went over to her. He did not want her remembering, ever.

He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing the gesture to be reassuring and not possessive. He wanted to embrace her, however. He wanted to hold her and banish her worries. He wanted to make love to her. He had been thinking about little else for three days.

“I will speak with Cleo alone, Pen. You do not have to see her at all.”

She glanced back at him. He could see her wavering, tempted.

She shook her head. “I was responsible for her. I should have understood sooner. If I am going to stir up the past, I should not shirk from witnessing what it does and what it means to her. I will not know otherwise whether she has the courage to stand beside me if the need arises.”

She appeared so troubled and sad. He instinctively reacted and caressed down her arms in an impulse to— what? Comfort? Seduce?

Her body flexed in awareness, then did not move. A lovely flush colored the elegant nape mere inches from his mouth. He waited for a sign, any sign at all, that said she would welcome more. He was indifferent to whether it should or should not be, and so hungry for her that the reasons did not matter.

She did not move. She did not shrug off his hold. Her beautiful neck mesmerized him. He was convincing himself
that a seduction would not be dishonorable, when a small commotion interrupted him.

Outside the door a feminine voice called for hot water. Shoes stomped on wood amidst loud muttering about bitter cold, drenching rain, and muddy streets.

Catherine had returned and was ensuring they heard her arrival.

Pen jumped out of his hands, and hurried to the other side of the chamber.

chapter
12

W
ill Mr. Hampton be wanting to depart at once?”

Typical of her somewhat nettlesome efficiency, Catherine was busy planning the morning down to the last minute while she and Pen ate breakfast at the table in the chamber they shared.

“I have not spoken to Mr. Hampton since he left us last evening, so I do not know what he intends.”

After the awkwardness that had greeted Catherine’s return last night, Pen felt some obligation to clarify that she and Julian
were not
having an affair, nor intending to start one.

“Mr. Hampton spoke of a short journey today. Are we near your destination?”

Pen had suffered a restless night and unsettled morning. Her conversation with Julian last evening had provoked reactions that she could not sort out. A wrenching sadness shadowed all the confusion, and not only because of Cleo.

His touch, his closeness, the overwhelming manner in
which her spirit had hoped he would embrace her—her need for comfort and distraction was luring her to abuse their friendship most ignobly.

Catherine’s reference to the journey’s conclusion made her agitation rumble. “We should arrive today. We will stay a day or two. After that, I do not know where I am going.”
Perhaps to America. You can come, too. Even Julian will approve if you are there blazing a path for me through the wilderness.

They prepared for their journey, only to discover that Catherine’s cloak was still heavy with damp from last night’s walk in the rain.

“Take my blue one and I will use the brown one,” Penelope said. She bent to flip through the garments folded into her smaller trunk.

Catherine smoothed her palm over the superfine bright sapphire wool. “This is a very lovely cloak.”

“My brother gave it to me.” Not Mr. Hampton, and not the earl, Pen wanted to add. Never the earl. His allowance had not even paid for her house in London without additional help from Laclere. Help that could ill be afforded when she first walked out.

The cloak had been a gift, but there had been other garments less obviously given. After Laclere married and his fortunes improved, his wife Bianca made a habit of inviting Pen to join her on visits to modistes. The bills for Pen’s own dresses went to Laclere along with Biancas, with no accounting ever expected.

I have not been in want, but it has not been easy. I have had to humble myself. I have been reduced to taking charity, no matter what other pretty name it is given.

She was being stupid and she knew it. There was no
competition with Catherine on who had been more miserable. Catherine would win that hands down just because of her daughter. But she wanted to disabuse this self-possessed young woman of any notion that just because a woman was a countess she paid no price at all, and lived in luxury and committed adultery with impunity and attended the best parties in her jewels and silks.

Catherine’s presence became intrusive and annoying. For one thing, Pen noticed that the blue cloak looked stunning on her. It made her appear fresh and lovely and brought out peaches in her cheeks.

Julian already thought Catherine was admirably independent. If he saw her now, he would also realize she was gorgeous.

“The other cloak is not here. Please go and ask the servants to bring my large trunk from the carriage.”

As Catherine left, her blue eyes glanced to the wall adjoining Julian’s chamber.

The glance did not seem conspiratorial on Pen’s behalf this time. Pen pictured the man in that chamber the way Catherine saw him, handsome and dark and cool and masterful. If he kissed this young woman the way he had kissed the Countess of Glasbury, he could probably have whatever he wanted. Catherine would ask only for protection in return.

Pen fussed with the mess she had made in her small trunk, fretting all the while with a simmering unhappiness. She did not know its reason, but it was making her sour and nasty this morning.

“Will you be ready to depart within the hour?”

She looked toward the doorway, and the question. Julian stood there. Yes, handsome and dark and cool and—

“Did Catherine leave my door open?” she asked.

“It appears that she did.”

“Well, please close it. And go away. I am not fit company for anyone today.”

“Why?”

“I do not know why, Julian. I just wish my other trunk would arrive. I want to take a turn in the fresh air. Perhaps then I will feel better.” She slammed the lid down on her trunk. “When will we see Cleo?”