Wild Pen Carrington (2 page)

The woman gave her a somewhat condescending look as she started to dry the tankards before her. She regarded the figure that Pen presented to her in a speculative manner, swinging her hips as she tapped one foot.

“A message?” She asked Pen.

Pen’s mind went blank for a moment, then her quick wits came back to her. “A message! Quite—no, it is a very important message that I am to deliver to my employer personally.”

Pen started moving towards the doors that obviously led to the private rooms. “Don’t worry,” she hastened to add as the woman made as if to follow her. “I will find them myself.”

Pen most certainly did not need any further directions to be able to discern that her target must be the next room, as a muffled conversation was clearly audible, albeit through the closed door.

One raised voice in particular alerted Pen to this fact, and it was voice Pen had no difficulty at all in identifying. It was Hugo. And he was angry.

“Damn your eyes, man. And damn you to hell! Can you not see that you cannot play with people in such a fast and loose manner without running the risk that they will leave or punish you? I was perfectly entitled to take Miss DeLacey under my protection. She was most distressed and in real fear that you were about to drop her for some opera singer you had been recently seen escorting down the walks of Vauxhall, Arden!”

“Marianne DeLacey is no newcomer to this game, Burrows, whatever her simpering affectations. She is a woman of the world, our world, and she knows the score when a protector loses interest.”

“This woman may well be a
demi-rep,
but she is an articulate, intelligent creature with very real concerns about her immediate future and means of support. It was Miss DeLacey’s understanding that your liaison was at an end, and she was most appreciative of the terms that I made.”

“Of that I have no doubt!” was the snapped reply, in a voice that was most definitely not Hugo’s. ”Miss Marianne DeLacey is a skilled negotiator, that much you will become well aware of in the future.

“No, the problem that I have with this entire episode is that you have felt entitled to take something of value that was mine, Burrows.”

The voice dropped slightly and acquired an ominously smooth quality that meant Pen had to really strain her ears to hear the next sentence.

“And, as you know, Burrows, nobody simply takes what is mine. And if they do, there are always consequences.”

Hugo Burrows laughed nervously. “What are you trying to say?”

Pen was suddenly aware of a note of uncertainty in her old friend’s voice—and she could not be surprised.

The underlying threat of violence in the newcomer’s softly spoken words was quite distinct.

Pen felt her heartbeat start to race and her feet fidget. She could not believe that the subject of their argument appeared to be Hugo’s mistress, a member of the demi-mondaine, and there she was thinking Hugo had been indulging in an affair with her friend, the Countess Griaznova!
Hugo Burrows is a faithless womaniser.

Pen should have been totally ignorant of such things as a gently bred young lady, but it was a fact of life that being Wild Pen Carrington had exposed her to plenty of behaviour that would far outdo that of poor Hugo, who, Pen knew for a fact, was certainly no monk. The Countess could attest to that.

“What I am saying to you, Mr Burrows”—Hugo’s name was made to sound more like an insult—“is that I should damn well call you out for this.”

Pen did not think twice. With the timing and resolve worthy of a military strategist, she opened the door and marched into the private parlour.

* * * *

The scene before Pen’s eyes as she walked into the small parlour seemed to still, momentarily, into a picture worthy of Mr Rowlandson’s satirical eye.

The two adversaries stood facing one another, virtually toe to toe in the middle of the room, frozen mid argument, each one clearly reluctant to give the other the advantage of breaking eye contact, as Pen looked at them.

“What do you want?” The Abrupt Gentleman finally swung about to stare at Pen with a steely gaze, his face, to say the least, was forbidding.

Pen stared at him for what seemed like an age before she managed to utter anything. “Er…”

Then, it seemed, Hugo noticed her presence.

“Good Lord, Pen, what are you doing here?” he burst out, his face flushing a most inglorious shade of red before he snapped his lips shut with an audible smack.

Pen glared at him in what she hoped was a particularly quelling way, all her instincts telling her that at this precise moment in time the Abrupt Gentlemen should know nothing of her business.

“I was coming to tell you,
sir
,” she announced clearly, with a very firm emphasis on her mode of address, “as
instructed
, that the blacks are now rested sufficiently to resume your journey at your convenience.”

“Ah.” Hugo’s colour remained high as he studied Pen’s face, obviously searching for an appropriate response. But for once the usually loquacious Hugo Burrows seemed totally at a loss for words. “Ah yes…the horses.”

Pen pressed her lips together, almost willing the unfortunate Hugo to spit out something sensible, but was forced instead to watch as he seemed to struggle for words like a fish struggles helpless on the riverbank.

A slight noise made Pen turn sharply to regard Hugo’s adversary, who appeared to be in the process of removing his beaver hat and stripping the very fine York tan driving gloves from his hands.

The man simply stared right back at her.

* * * *

Lord Julian St John Arden, otherwise known as Viscount Arden, had been watching this exchange with an interested gaze as the scene played out.

The entrance of Burrows’ tiger had provided a welcome diversion from the increasingly boring topic of Miss Marianne DeLacey and her defection from his well-financed protection. If he were to be brutally honest, boring was a more than suitable adjective to describe every aspect of his relationship with Miss DeLacey lately. Had Hugo Burrows not happened along somewhat conveniently to relieve him of his particularly fragrant and capricious burden, he may well have had to talk terms with his mistress.

Viscount Arden’s eclectic tastes were already drawing him in other directions in an effort to find satisfaction.

Burrows’ tiger had not deceived him for one moment. As soon as he had pulled into the yard at the Red Lion he had known that the favour asked of him by Sebastian Carrington was almost in hand. On seeing the lone figure sitting on top of the curricle, it became swiftly apparent that he had found Mrs Penelope Carrington before Sebastian. And now the infamous Pen Carrington stood before him with her delightful derriere squeezed most improperly into a pair of the worst-fitting breeches he thought he had ever seen.

His cock swelled against the fall of his own breeches at the thought of what lay beneath the coarse cloth, as each line and dip of the promise there was clearly defined to his experienced eye.

Arden sighed long and hard. He was bored, and looking for an entertaining way to punish Burrows that would liven up his day a little. Calling him out would be too much trouble and was really not worth it. There would be no challenge. No, there were other, far more entertaining ways to teach people like Hugo Burrows a lesson. In that, Arden was something of a master.

“Er yes…best maybe to have the horses put to,” Hugo croaked at Pen. He moved his gaze anxiously in Arden’s direction, obviously aware at some very basic level that the Viscount Arden had not finished with him yet.

“Now?” Pen asked.

“Yes,” Hugo rasped out at her.

Pen made towards the door with no second bidding necessary, but as quick as a flash her way was blocked by Arden . He was so close to her that Pen’s nose almost touched his body.

He could smell horses and the vague hint of cigar smoke in her hair. Probably from the tap.

Arden raised his hand and he rested it, feather-light, against Pen’s chest.

“Not so fast, Burrows. You think I have finished?”

Pen froze and kept her eyes firmly down, as befitted her station, although Arden could tell her natural reaction was to do something quite different. As a result she obviously had to stare hard at a spot on the floor in an effort not to betray herself.

“What more is there to say?” Burrows seemed to force the words out from between clenched teeth. “The lady has made her decision, and I for one intend to stand by it.”

“Admirable, but all it usually takes is one threat of revenge, Burrows, and your loquacious defence of your position always seems to vanish in a sad puff of smoke like a conjuring trick,” Arden taunted him cruelly. “What kind of adversary are you going to be this time? How long will it be before you run away?”

“No adversary of yours, Arden.” Burrows clearly sought to placate him slightly, but it was a faint attempt, delivered with the air of one already damned. He seemed to know that Arden would inevitably exact his revenge, on some level, in some way.

Hugo then cast an anxious glance towards Pen, who was standing as if she had been turned to stone.

The moment Pen Carrington had burst through the parlour doors, and had apparently distracted him from challenging Burrows to a duel, Lord Arden had expected her to descend into hysterics. He had no idea how much of the ongoing argument she would have heard, but he knew that the timing of her arrival was such that Pen must have at least heard his threat to call Hugo Burrows out. Arden watched as Hugo inserted a nervous finger into what was starting to look like an over-tight collar. In Arden’s experience, women did not hear a challenge like the one he had just issued without failing to exploit it fully with a fit of the vapours. It looked like Hugo Burrows might be in agreement with him.

“Let the lad out, Arden. I’ll have my horses put to.”

Lord Arden’s eyes narrowed slightly once more as, yet again, Burrows looked nervously at the young tiger then swallowed convulsively.

“No, Burrows,” he replied silkily. “Not until I feel I have this settled to my satisfaction. Not yet.” Arden’ continued to rest his hand on Pen’s jacketed chest, his fingers able to sense the heat of her body even as they laid on the rough material of her coat. He had positioned himself so she could not step back and get round him or move to the side without making a lot of fuss, for he had placed his body very effectively to block any move towards the door.

As the Viscount Arden watched Hugo’s head snap up, his face angry, Arden swept his hand lazily across what was undoubtedly one brutally bound nipple, to rest fully on Pen’s flattened right breast.

Pen seemed frozen to the spot with shock as he touched her. Arden was aware of a bolt of unexpected desire, which dulled to an aroused ache in his groin as he stared briefly at her bowed head before turning his attention once more to Hugo.

“Have you heard there is to be a prize fight at Horsham Fields?” Arden kept his tone deliberately mild. “I have it on good authority that the Great Pretender is all set to see off yet another challenger before taking on the champion himself. But that is by the by.”

Hugo shook his head briefly, his face still red. “No, I…I had not.”

“As I said, no matter. All that matters is the end of the fight. At that point, you and I are going to race to the Greyhound, in Croydon.”

“We are?” Hugo croaked, seemingly unable to pull his gaze away from the sight of Arden’s fingers on Pen’s chest.

“Indeed. A wager. Your rig, the one I saw in the yard, plus your prize blacks, versus my rig and lead pair of chestnuts. Each with a groom, or tiger, on board. It’s thirty odd miles, a decent enough distance to cover in five hours or so.”

“Have I any choice?” Hugo asked him.

“No,” was the uncompromising reply.

“I didn’t think I had.”

“Do you not wish to know the details of the wager?” Arden asked him coolly.

“I am sure the terms will be anything other than generous, Arden.”

“Oh, I do not know. You win, and I will consider the business regarding Miss DeLacey at an end. I will consider our matter of honour resolved, and so that will be the end of it.”

Hugo’s expression lightened imperceptibly

“And if I lose?”

“Ah, yes. If you lose, you lose your entire rig. Horses, carriage and tiger. You can find something else to tool Marianne DeLacey about in.”

It would also be a clear declaration of his failure to prevail over Arden once word of this affair got out.

Pen’s body stiffened once more and she shook her head slightly as if in disbelief at what she had heard.

Arden watched as Pen swayed towards him as she cast a sideways glance at Burrows. 

“My tiger?” Hugo’s puzzlement gave way to a clearly dawning horror. “No, surely you don’t mean…the
whole
rig? My match blacks? Tiger! Now, Arden, look here…”

“That’s the deal, Burrows. I could always, of course, succumb to the great urge I’ve got to simply challenge you to a duel and have done with it. You know you have far better odds to survive a race with me than a duel, and you never know…you may even win the race. I have heard you described as something of a horseman.”

Hugo made a strangled sound before he turned to meet Arden’s gaze.

“Come on, Arden. Be reasonable. My tiger is simply my employee. I do not own him to be able to gamble him in a wager.”

“Then the tiger will have a new employer. It will be a new opportunity. You seem to show precious little reticence when offering my
employees
new opportunities, Burrows,” Arden replied crisply.

With these words he removed his hand from Pen’s chest and started to pull on his driving gloves.

“I feel my spirits lift already.” Arden took in a deep breath and regarded Hugo with a raised eyebrow. “It must be something to do with a sense of natural law asserting itself. It is so bad for me to labour under a cloud of injustice for any length of time. So do make a real effort to be in Horsham for our meeting, Mr Burrows.” He smiled briefly before adding, softly, “Please do not require me to come and find you.” Arden looked straight at Pen and gave her a predatory smile. “Because make no mistake…I will.”