“What is Anthony planning? What is going on, Thomas?”
Thomas eyed her doubtfully. “It’s not just Anthony that has me concerned.”
“Then who?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you...which I won’t, and don’t ask, because I have good reason not to say.”
“For heaven’s sake, Thomas! What are you talking about?”
“Penelope, please.” He caught her. “Youmustmarry me.”
“Do you honestly think I would?” She put her hands on her hips. “Even if I wanted to, you are having an affair with that woman—Madame LaVoie.”
Lord Thomas blushed. “She told you.”
“Yes,” she replied. “And she was gracious enough to tell me you prefer a firm hand.”
Thomas’s blush deepened. “You mustn’t think I had any true feeling for her. I don’t think anyone could.”
“Then why did you court her?”
Thomas remained silent.
“I don’t have time for this,” Penelope brushed passed him. “I know more than you think I know, andIhave a plan.”
“Wait. Please, wait.” Thomas caught up to her in the hall. He lowered his voice. “I’ll confirm it if it will make you trust me—Idohappen to prefer a lady with a firm hand—not that it’s anyone’s business but my own. Marry me, Lady Chev.”
“No,” she said. And then more gently, “And not because of your preferences, either. I just—” she glanced up the stairs.
“You aren’t considering marry Anthony, are you? Isthatyour plan?”
“Thomas,I don’t want to marry either of you any more than either of you want to marry me.”
“But Idowant to marry you—if only for convenience. Perhaps we’d rub along well enough. I would leave you to your interests.” He swallowed. “And you could leave me to mine. If you marry me—they can’t touch Pensteague.”
They?
“I’m not completely foolish, Thomas. And who do you mean by they?”
Thomas’s shoulders slumped. “You’re not foolish at all. You just have no idea what you are up against.”
“I would know if you told me!”
Thomas shook his head no. “They made me swear.”
“They again? Who comprises thisthey?”
Thomas did not answer.
“Why were you and the widow arguing, then? Can you tell me at least that much?”
Tomas glanced up. “Youreallydon’t want to know. It’s part of why I cannot tell you everything. You’ve grieved enough. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Fear painted a wispy-thin line down Penelope’s spine.
“Tell me, Thomas.”
He lowered his head and folded his hands behind his back. “She told me she’d known Cheverley—and that she’d often taken joy from hisla verge.”
