Hugh narrowed his eyes at her but did not comment on her smart mouth.
“Why don’t you think he’s spent the money already? Why do you think he is still in possession of it?” Hugh could see in her eyes that she was already working the details out. “He wears clothing that is shabby and fraying. He has nowhere to go, as he has most likely pleaded with you to stay on, and he doesn’t appear to own much of anything. Furthermore… He no longer has unfettered access to this house. The man no longer has free run of… Of the master suite! Hugh, that’s it! It must be in your suite, or most assuredly Periwinkle would have taken everything and gone off on his own!”
Hugh jumped up. Of course! Since he’d arrived, he had spent a great deal of time in his suite. And Periwinkle had never been far away. “That’s got to be it!”
Penelope sprung to her feet as well but just as Hugh turned to head for the door he heard a thud.
What in the world? Where had she gone? “Penelope?” And then he saw her lying on the floor. The old girl had fainted!
Penelope Crone.
Fainted!
Impossible.
What was the matter with her?
Hugh knelt on the floor beside her and patted her cheek gently. “Penelope? Penelope?”
Her lashes fluttered but she did not answer.
“Pen?
And then she opened her eyes. Having such close proximity to her, as she lay on the floor, Hugh had to admit to himself that she truly did have incredible eyes.
Dancing across the bridge of her nose was a smidgen of freckles. Just below her rebellious little nose, her lips were pink and plump.
“Hugh?”
He was still kneeling over her. “You are unwell. Penelope, you need to tell me what’s wrong!”
For a full three seconds, he thought she would ’fess up to whatever was going on with her. But then she raised her hands up and pushed him away. “I’m perfectly fine, Hugh Chesterton. Why would you think that just because I…? Well, because I slipped, yes, I fell, you think that something is wrong?” But her eyes were hiding something. “Now help me up. We need to find that money in your chamber before Periwinkle lays siege to it!
Reluctantly, Hugh helped her to her feet. Shewaspale. Much paler than her normal pale self. And her hands were cold and clammy. She swayed slightly once she was on her feet again, but Hugh refused to mention it. If she needed his help than she was goddamn well going to have to ask him for it. And if she didn’t want his help, then so be it. Once he was certain she wouldn’t collapse on him again, he dropped her hands and turned for the door.
They’d been in the study for nearly four hours. He hoped Periwinkle hadn’t been so brazen as to enter the master suite while he was in the house. Not bothering to see if Penelope was able to keep up with him, Hugh dashed up the stairs, two steps at a time, and rushed toward his chamber.
* * *
Still in the study, Penelope waited for Hugh to disappear before sitting back down in the chair she’d just occupied. But that wasn’t good enough. She laid her head down on the desk and rested her cheek against the cool, smooth wood.
Shehadfainted.
In all her life, growing up and then spending nearly a decade in cloyingly warm ballrooms, Penelope had never once succumbed to such a ridiculous malady. In fact, she speculated that most of the girls she’d seen faint had actually feigned it. Which allowed her little, if any, empathy for the swooning debutante in question.
Except for Abigail, her cousin, who Penelope knew for certain did not fake it when she fainted. Because when Abigail went down, she did so like a ton of bricks. She had also, on occasion, clobbered her head on something before hitting the ground. And once Abigail was on the ground, she normally lay there for several minutes, eventually either drooling or snoring softly.
Nobody was idiot enough to pretend the type of fainting Abigail experienced.
Penelope was pretty certain that she’d only lost consciousness for a few seconds—just enough time for Hugh to rush around the desk and crouch over her. When she’d opened her eyes, his face had been inches away from her own. For the briefest of moments, she’d imagined she’d gone back in time and been on the Duke of Cortland’s settee. The memory of willingly giving her innocence away to a drunken buffoon, all too vivid. Thank God she’d come to her wits before saying anything too revealing…
Nothing was going as planned.
An apparently naïve part of her had believed Hugh remembered everything. She had hoped that he had merely fled Summer’s Park out of shame and guilt for what he’d done. That upon seeing her, he would fall down onto one knee and propose marriage.
Another part of her characterized by the most ridiculous feminine vanity—of which she’d believed herself rid of long ago—had felt insulted and hurt that he did not remember what they’d done. It wasn’t every day a woman lost her maidenhead, for heaven’s sake!
Was she truly that forgettable?
