Wild Pen Carrington (3 page)

Pen stared back like a trapped rabbit.

* * * *

Viscount Arden had been gone some time before either of the remaining inhabitants of the private parlour at the Red Lion, moved.

Pen knew that to be so, for as she stood watching Hugo, she could also see the modest mantel clock ticking the minutes away.

She found herself reluctant to speak, shocked by the turn of events and by Hugo’s reaction. Pen continued to regard Hugo in silence, scarcely daring to breathe.

Five minutes had fully passed before Hugo started to pace up and down the room, running his hands through his hair so that it stood on end like that of a mad man.

“Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! Damnation!” he roared.

Pen watched him curse and shout without saying a word, although she did wince slightly at the burst of noise.

“Hell… Hell and damnation. Damn!”

She had never seen Hugo as angry as this before, about anything. Suddenly, feeling incredibly tired, she sank down into one of the winged chairs by the cold, empty fireplace, staring as if mesmerised by a trace of ashes in the grate.

Pen rubbed her hands a couple of times through her scrubby hair before looking back towards Hugo as he paced like a Bedlamite, up and down.

He finally stopped and pointed directly at Pen. “You have to return to Hatchlands, now!”

“You can’t send me back. His description of what constituted your rig was quite precise. You are not going to run such a stupid risk, are you? He could call you out.”

Pen had thrown everything she had into making her words persuasive, willing them to be convincing enough to prevent her enforced return to the Carrington Estates.

Hugo pulled his hand yet again over his face and moaned quietly. “It doesn’t bear thinking about what Sebastian is going to do to me over this; but then that will not even come close to what I
know
Arden will do to me, if he gets wind of this Banbury tale.”

All Pen could do was to sit quietly and marvel at how capricious fate could be sometimes.

 “I should return you to Hatchlands now and have done with it. If Arden doesn’t end up calling me out, Seb will. Problem is, I don’t fancy my chances much against either,” Hugo rasped out. “Damn you, Pen. How do I get rid of you?”

“Not by returning me to Hatchlands. It will serve no purpose anyhow. No one can force me to remain there.” Pen heard her voice sound firm and sure, at an odd variance to her racing heart and hot hands. “At least if I am bound for Horsham, and the wager, you will not only know my location but Arden can have no complaint at your turnout at the start of the race.”

Pen felt some little triumph at the logic she felt she presented as part of her argument. “In fact, it is obviously a matter of honour that you present yourself as requested, Hugo. I do believe the alternative was that his lordship is going to come looking for you to finish this business once and for all.”

Hugo’s fist crashed down on the mantelpiece, making the little clock there jump.

“Get out of my sight, Penelope,” he snarled. ”Get out of this room and get out of my sight or I won’t be held responsible for the consequences!”

Chapter Two

Horsham Fields, West Sussex

The following day

Mrs Penelope Carrington had virtually no sleep that night, tossing and turning in the lumpy, awkward bed that was all that was to be had at the Red Lion Inn. But it was not only the lack of comforts that kept her wide awake, but the very real fear that at long last she may have just gone too far.

What on earth would Sebastian Carrington think about her latest shocking escapade?

God forbid he should ever discover the extent to which she had disobeyed him on this occasion. From wearing breeches in public -albeit in disguise!-to travelling unchaperoned in less than salubrious circumstances, she had now managed to embroil herself in a dangerous wager. That the wager should be over, of all things, a member of the demi-mondaine, would certainly result in social ostracism for Penelope Carrington should word get out about her role in it.

Losing sleep was the least I could expect. My adventure has turned into the stuff of nightmares!

How would Sebastian react? It was one thing to be naughty and misbehave in order to annoy him and provoke a reaction. But this? This was in quite another league. This had the potential to give Sebastian Carrington such a disgust of her that he would disown her altogether. As her husband’s only heir, all the money that she had brought into the Carrington family had moved into the eldest brother’s sole possession upon Mark Carrington’s death. For all her apparent independence as Mark’s widow, Pen was actually a pensioner of the Carrington family and would remain dependant on their largesse for the rest of her life.

Pen could, of course, remarry, but that was an unlikely event for one very simple reason.

She loved Sebastian.

Pen knew she had no hope of an offer from Sebastian. After Mark’s untimely death she had all but thrown herself at the man, but he had gently rebuffed her. Desperate to know what she could do to catch his attention, she had shared her woes with her good friend, Countess Griaznova.

The countess had looked very surprised, then had said, “But Penelope, you know that he prefers the company of men, do you not?”

Pen had understood that to mean that Sebastian enjoyed the company to be had in gentlemen’s clubs such as Whites and Bootles much more than social events such as balls and Almacks, but the countess had shaken her head quite vehemently. “You English girls are so naïve. Carrington prefers men, to women,
for love
. You understand, Penelope?”

In that one moment everything became clear.

Sebastian Carrington would never find it in him to love her as much as she loved him.

So she had spent her time since trying to find a lover who was as potent as Carrington, who fired her imagination quite as much as the sight of his well-formed, strong body. On the whole, the men of the ton were not to her taste, but if her wild escapade did nothing else for her, it had thrown her into the path of Viscount Julian St John Arden.

With all the knowledge of a woman rather than an untried girl, Penelope Carrington found Julian St John Arden an attractive and deeply desirable prospect. Something about Arden’s managing ways and intelligent manipulation of those about him sparked a curl of desire in her that had little to do with his status and obvious wealth. She would really like to acquaint herself with the man behind the trappings of privilege and position.

Pen didn’t want to do that at the risk of losing Sebastian altogether.

It may be too late for that
, she told herself grimly as she finally got out of bed and splashed cool water from the pitcher onto her face.

* * * *

Hugo Burrows emerged from the taproom of the Red Lion Inn appearing very much the worse for wear, although as Pen pointed out to herself with gritty optimism, he did seem sober.

His eyes were bloodshot with vivid red rims. Hugo looked unshaven, unkempt and unready for his encounter with Arden. His expression as he looked in her direction, pulling himself up onto the curricle was nothing short of insulting and his reaction to her handing him the reins was a desultory, “My God, you look as rough as I do, Pen!”

Pen kept her expression purposefully neutral and simply retired to her perch at the rear of the carriage.

That was the full extent of their interaction, as even before Pen was in her seat the curricle leapt forward, throwing Pen the rest of the way into her position, and they were off.

Hugo seemed to have no difficulty in finding the way, particularly as after a short time travelling it was apparent that an increasing volume of spectators were heading the same way for a distance of almost ten miles. Eventually it seemed as if the entire local population was bound for Horsham Fields, in every type of conveyance, from farm carts to ancient coaches. Progress was slow due to not only the amount of carriage traffic, but also the number of people on foot, unable to beg or buy a place in a wagon or coach.

The fields acting as the venue for the fight were stubble, already crowded with an excited throng of people gathered around an area in the middle on which had been built a robust ring.

Hugo was directed to a part of the ground where the carriages of the gentry were starting to line up, and he positioned his curricle close enough to keep an eye on progress in the ring, yet not so close that he was going to find himself unable to make a quick getaway at the end. There appeared to be some time to wait before the event was due to commence, and whereas Hugo seemed happy to indulge in a fit of the blue-devils, Pen was in a mood to be interested in an aspect of male life she would not be normally privileged to see, and she found plenty to interest her in the gradually thickening crowd. The company was mostly rough and unruly, but as midday approached, carriages started to outnumber almost all other modes of transport other than those on foot. The only circumstance to mar Pen’s real appreciation of the event was that she had no idea who anyone around her was, whereas the Corinthians about Hugo’s curricle certainly knew each other, and from the exchanged looks and nods in the direction of Pen’s escort, Hugo. Pen was aware that in her current company, she presented a rather shabby appearance, even for a gentleman’s tiger, for about her were several examples of extremely smartly liveried young scoundrels, glowering in a most competitive way. They eyed her suspiciously, up and down, their disapproval clear.

It suddenly dawned on Pen that Sebastian could be but a few carriages away and she would have no idea of that fact.

 “Gentlemen Jackson has arrived!”

Pen craned her neck in order to try and catch sight of the most famous teacher of boxing in England. She was familiar with the name of Gentleman Jackson from the brief time she had been with her young husband, for Mark Carrington had been a keen follower of the art of pugilism.

Jackson’s progress towards the stage started much cheering, which he accepted with a good-natured smile and a wave before he walked over to a stout man in a tilbury near to Hugo’s curricle. A couple of young bucks hailed him and there was much laughter and humour before he returned to join a group of gentlemen beside the ring, as he was in charge of most of the arrangements for the bout. Pen was so absorbed in watching him, and recalling after-dinner tales she had heard about sparring at his saloon in Old Bond Street, that she failed to notice the approach of a curricle and pair, which edged its way neatly to a place immediately beside Hugo’s own rig.

A diminutive tiger leapt from the carriage and ran forward to seize their heads.

“I heard tell someone had purchased Woking’s showy chestnuts, Percy. Now I see it was you.”

The voice was not loud, but it brought both Hugo and Pen’s heads round with a jerk and made Pen jump. It belonged to a familiar gentleman who drove a pair of blood chestnuts and wore a greatcoat with a very fashionable twelve capes.

He was addressing a red-faced man with a starched high collar and neckcloth, who coloured and said, “Arden… I might have guessed.”

As ill luck would have it, Hugo’s start had made him tighten the reins involuntarily and the blacks started to toss their heads about and move backwards. Hugo stopped them quickly, but not in time to prevent his right mudguard from grazing the other curricle’s left.

Hugo looked furious, and as if he was about to swear aloud from annoyance until he caught Arden’s eye.

“Hold hard, Burrows, the race starts at the end of the fight, man.”

Hugo flushed red and looked about him. Excited whispers rushed through the assembled throng like a breeze through trees.

“Did y’hear? Burrows and Arden—to race!” a bolder voice to the right spoke up.

“Is that true, Arden? You about to pit your blood-reds against Burrow’s blacks?”

“Indeed, Percy. I was anticipating a tedious morning’s sport, so I intend to supplement it with a little competition with Burrows.”

Pen turned in her seat slightly to regard Arden properly. It meant turning her eyes into the sun, and as a consequence, having to squint at his figure in part silhouette.

Arden sat nonchalantly, with one leg braced against the front of his curricle, the reins looped across his arm. He was relaxed, a ready smile on his face as he made conversation with his surrounding cronies. Where the firm, thin-lipped individual of the day before had gone, Pen could only guess. One thing she could easily discern was that Lord Arden had not spent the night with a brandy bottle as Hugo appeared to have done. The other thing that was very clear was the tight fit of his breeches left nothing to the imagination.

Pen averted her gaze, aware of a warm spread of desire starting to burn between her legs.

Hugo sat atop his curricle in angry silence, giving all the appearance of a very reluctant contestant indeed.

“What’s the course, Arden?” piped up another voice.

“From here, end of the fight, to The Greyhound Inn, Croydon. Carrington’s done the pretty for me and has gone up to Croydon this morning to check the winner in.”

“Trust Seb Carrington,” called a waggish voice from a few carriages away. “He’s no doubt encountered the half-decent table to be had there.”

“Aye, he’ll see the winner, all right,” declared another.

Sebastian Carrington? Sebastian? Her brother-in-law?
There at the end of the race?

Dear God!

Pen sat bolt upright on her perch and stared straight ahead. How cruel could fate be?

What would he do?

What would he say?

Her initial reaction was to jump down from Hugo’s carriage and run. Run away…but where to? She had nowhere else to go.

Another mad, sly thought crept in to insidiously whisper…
what if he should lose his temper? Maybe I could throw myself at him one last, outrageous time before he casts me off once and for all?