Her gaze flew to Marcus, and the fury and disgust on his face made her throat close. Her stomach churned sickly. She couldn’t get words out, incoherent pleas dashing against her skull like waves against a rocky shore.
You must believe me… it’s not how it looks… no, no, no…
“Come, Blackwood, let’s leave them. It’s as I said.” Cora Ashley placed a hand on Marcus’ sleeve, her smile victorious. “She’s not worth the scandal to your name.”
Marcus shoved her off. The next instant, he was prowling over to Penny. Yanking off his jacket, he placed it gently on her shoulders.
He cupped her jaw. “What happened, darling?”
Flames smoldered in his eyes, but his touch and voice were gentle. His rage wasn’t at her.It wasn’t at her.Relief dissolved the starch in her knees, and she would have fallen had he not caught her around the waist, steadying her against his solid strength.
“The punch,” she managed. “I think… it was drugged. The next thing I knew, I woke up here.”
Hell-fire leapt in his eyes. “Can you stand on your own?” he bit out.
She nodded.
He spun to face the footman, who, obviously sensing the direction the wind was blowing, had scrambled to his feet. He held his hands out in front of him as he backed away.
“Now look here, my lord. It wasn’t my fault. Your wife wanted it—”
Marcus’ fist flew out, connecting with a loud crack.
“My nose! You’ve broken my bleeding nose—” The footman groaned, doubling over from the punch to his ribs.
“I’m going to kill you, you bastard,” Marcus snarled.
The footman tried to fight back. His attempts were as ineffectual as a cat batting its paws at a lion—and an enraged king of the jungle at that. Stumbling back from another of Marcus’ powerful blows, he gasped, “It wasn’t my fault. It was Lady Ashley’s. Promised me a hundred quid, she did, to drug the punch. To set this all up.”
Anger swept through Penny, clearing away some of her wooziness. She’d guessed as much, but hearing confirmation of Cora’s vile plot made her hands curl at her sides. Cora’s cheeks were as pallid as her dress, her eyes darting, and, without a word, she dashed out of the gallery.
Marcus had the servant by the neck, pinning him to the wall. “What drug was used?”
“Just a sleeping draught,” the bastard gasped. “The mistress uses it herself, said it wouldn’t harm the lady. Just put double the dose, she said, and bring her up to the gallery and make it look like a tryst. Nothing happened, I swear. I was just following orders—”
Marcus’ fist plowed into the footman’s jaw, and, with a feeble moan, the latter slid down the wall, crumpled and unconscious.
Marcus strode over to Penny. The battle light hadn’t left his eyes, and she knew the effort it cost him to gentle his voice as he said, “Let’s get you dressed and out of here.”
She nodded, and he helped her into her gown, straightening her coiffure.
“Ready?” he said.
“Yes. Marcus?”
“Yes, love?”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He touched her cheek, self-recrimination darkening his eyes. “Don’t thank me. It’s my fault. I should have protected you—I just never guessed that Cora Ashley would be capable of such deviousness.”
Cora’s maliciousness didn’t surprise Penny at all… but she decided to let it go.
For now.
“Thank you for rescuing me anyway,” she said softly. “Most of all, thank you for trusting me.”
Some of the brooding left his gaze. Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he touched the ruby necklace at her throat.
