“You spoke with my mother?” Penelope asked the earl.
He nodded. “She wasn’t thrilled that you were leaving, of course. Said you were committed to dance with half of the eligible gentlemen in attendance.” And then he flashed a grin. Lord Hawthorne used to be a brooding mysterious rake. The change marriage had brought about in him was surprising.
Penelope glanced down at the dance card tied to her wrist with a thin silk ribbon. The only dance she was wishing for was the very last one. It had been a waltz, and she was to have partnered Hugh.
* * *
Hugh’s own townhouse was not far from the Helmers’ so he had walked over earlier. Oh, yes, and he’d then escorted Mrs. Merriman and her niece.
Striding along the sidewalk, he contemplated that it was probably for the best that he let down Mrs. Merriman and Miss Radcliffe now, rather than later. They would both be disappointed when he did not appear to partner Louisa for their second dance. More than disappointed… but he’d not feel overly guilt-ridden.
Their expectations had risen too high, too quickly. Admittedly, he’d given them both cause. He’d taken the young lady out for a drive through the park on more than one occasion within the last two weeks and singled her out at other balls and a few garden parties. But tonight, even before seeing Penelope, he’d begun feeling stifled by her possessiveness.
The lady had become bold, and perhaps she was entitled to be, what with such an enormous dowry. It would have come in handy, of course, but Hugh had never been a man motivated by the pursuit of great wealth. His weaknesses had always been women and spirits. He’d laugh at the thought, but as of late, he’d begun to recognize an unseemly pattern in his life.
And tonight… Hell, he’d nearly fallen victim to a very unexpected siren. Sober, no less.
Penelope Crone.
What in the world had come over him?
He dabbed at the tip of his nose and winced. He supposed it hadnotbeen an amusing joke to play on a lady when he’d only moments before had his mouth upon her breast.
At the thought of her plump, creamy exposed bosom, he had to mentally distract himself so as to not reawaken certain parts of his anatomy.
What baffled him the most was that he’d actually been on the cusp of proposing.
Proposing!
To Penelope Crone!
Ever since he’d left Cortland’s estate, it was as though a spell had been cast upon him. Because, yes, it was when he’d first left for Land’s End that those visions and fantasies began plaguing his quieter moments.
Perhaps something had been triggered in his mind upon seeing Cortland ecstatic beyond belief with his duchess and son. And Penelope had been the only other single lady in residence at the time.
Yes, that must be it. The sense of guilt that had been planted after his father’s death for not setting up his nursery and assuring the title had finally blossomed.
And then Penelope kept showing up.
Yes, that was it.
He had rather enjoyed kissing her senseless. By God, he’d never expected to see the day when Penelope Crone couldn’t form a rational sentence.
The question was, did he want to take the necessary steps in order to take Penelope’s passion to its culmination?
He swallowed hard. He’d damn near made the commitment already.
What would her answer have been? As long as he’d known her, she’d adamantly professed her distaste of a society marriage.
Excepting, of course, to the Viscount Darlington. Of whom he’d not dissembled with her regarding the fact that all and sunder had been aware of it.
Was she really no longer interested in Rome Spencer? Darlington was heir to an earldom, the title of viscount being a mere courtesy one. He was highly respectable and, Hugh supposed, passably handsome.
Hugh had not appreciated the way Darlington held her on the dance floor. It wasn’t that the man had done anything inappropriate, it was more the way he’d stared at her. The viscount had looked as though he was there to stake a claim.
Was Hugh willing to claim her first?
Chapter 12
