“That is something to discuss with your husband, my lady,” Marcus said coldly.
“But I want to talk to you. Please, Marcus, if we could just go somewhere private—”
“I would not dishonor my wife in such a way,” he said in cutting accents. “If you need someone to talk to, find a friend. Now where did you see Penny?”
“Penny.” Lady Ashley’s mouth formed a thin line. “She’s all you care about?”
Finally, the woman was catching on.
“Yes,” he affirmed. “She is.”
“She’s not good enough for you, you know. She never was, even though she stole you from me.” Before he could fully digest her vain assumption that he’d ever been hers in the first place, she went on, “You don’t have to hide your pain with me, Marcus. I know something’s amiss in your marriage, and I’m here to—”
“Because this is your party, I will overlook your insult to my wife this one time. Do it again,” he said in glacial tones, “and I won’t be so forgiving. Now for the last bloody time, have you seen Penny?”
Lady Ashley’s demure mien slipped, and he had a glimpse of something hard and oddly menacing beneath. “In that case, I do believe I saw her go upstairs,” she said in a brittle voice. “She was headed for the private gallery.”
“Why the hell would she go there?” he said.
“I haven’t the faintest. Typically I close that part of the house to guests, but sometimes they take advantage,”—she let out a tinny, tinkling laugh—“of my hospitality.”
“Which way?” he said shortly.
“I’ll show you.”
He had no desire to be in his hostess’ company, but if she got him to Penny quicker, then so be it.
“Lead the way,” he said.
~~~
Penny blinked groggily. Blurred colors and shapes bobbed across her vision. She tried to sit up, but dizziness made her slump backward, her head hitting something hard and strangely warm.
“There, now,” a male voice said. “Just lie there and relax. This’ll be over soon.”
What will be over… ? Who is that… What the… blooming hell… ?
Her eyelids felt as heavy as lead, but she forced them open. Held them that way until the room settled. A gallery… door at the far end. Gilt-framed portraits that she didn’t recognize. She was in the middle of the room… reclined? With dawning horror, she registered the hairy arm around her corseted waist and farther down, her bared legs, cherry silk garters cinched around her thighs and white stockings on her legs. Her velvet dress was slung over the end of the couch.
Buffle-headed and panicked, she started to struggle, but the arm kept her trapped.
A second later, the door opened.
“I do believe I saw her go in here…oh dear.”
Penny’s heart stopped as she saw Marcus standing there, Cora Ashley clinging to his arm.
“I think we’ve interrupted a rendezvous,” Cora saidsotto voce.
“Marcus,” Penny said hoarsely.
The reality of her situation blazed through her, and despite her woozy state, she renewed her struggle. This time, the arm let her go, and she stumbled to her feet, her bare knee bumping painfully against the coffee table. She stared in shock at the man who’d been keeping her captive on the couch: the footman, his hair disorderly, chest bare, the fall of his trousers hanging open.
He looked like a lover caught in the act of a sexual escapade.
And she looked no better.
The situation was damning; her history made it more so.
