He didn’t like it. He didn’t like to see her like this.
He wished he had punched Mortimer twice, no matter the consequences to himself.
“Come,” he said abruptly, and slipped her hand once more into the crook of his elbow. He began to lead her back the way they had come, toward the entrance to the park. “We have my aunt’s carriage,” he said. “She insisted. Her house is not far. I will take you there so that you can compose yourself.”
She began to protest, but she sounded breathless and even a little scared. The Penelope he knew had not sounded like this before and it unsettled him even more. Now he was wondering if he could hunt Mortimer down and strangle him. Selina’s eyes were big too, as if she rarely saw her mistress so disturbed, and she appeared relieved to hand over the decision of what to do to Callum.
Before long, they were aboard the carriage and on their way through the streets of Mayfair.
Penelope was staring ahead, blinking furiously to stop her tears from falling, while Selina held her hand and murmured words meant to comfort her, but which seemed to be more about what an ungrateful wretch Mortimer was.
Callum and Angus exchanged a look.
Of course Penelope was upset with her brother and uncle. Mortimer’s abuse had been sickening. Did the boy even know what he was asking of her? Callum would have liked to explain it to him in detail,whilehe was strangling him. He wondered what would have happened if he had not been there to protect her. And then he wondered if Mortimer had done this before—insulted and abused her and made her cry.
Strangling was far too good for the boy.
“I shouldn’t have refused him the money,” Penelope said softly, and despite her efforts, a tear spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheek. “I thought it was for his own good, but now I can see I have destroyed whatever was left between us. He will never forgive me. I have lost my brother forever.”
“About time you refused,” Selina retorted. “He is bleeding you dry. It cannot go on. You needed to tell him. I just wish he had not taken it so badly.”
“But he is all I have,” Penelope wailed. She bit her lip, but it would not stop trembling. “And now I have no one.”
Callum could bear it no longer.
He reached forward and took her free hand in his. She looked up in surprise, as if she had forgotten he was there, and he met her eyes and held her gaze. “Listen to me, Miss Armstrong. That is not the way a brother treats his sister. I have a sister, and I would never speak like that to her—she would not allow me to even if I were foolish enough to try. Your brother needs to learn he cannot act like a spoiled child to get his own way.”
Another tear ran down her cheek.
Callum groaned. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. He ached with the desire to comfort her, but he restrained himself. He doubted she would allow it, and if he tried, it would probably only make things worse.
When they reached Aunt Jennie’s townhouse, the horrible Hocking opened the door to them. Confronted by four people, two of them Scottish barbarians, his usually immobile face didn’t seem to know what to do with itself.
“Do you have an appointment?” he said, blocking the doorway.
“Out of the way, Hocking,” Callum replied, pushing by. “Where is my aunt?”
“She has guests. My lord.” The title seemed to injure his dignity as he spoke it. “I do not advise you join her right now.” He was staring at Penelope in horror. Obviously he recognized her, and Callum might have punched him, too, if Penelope had not intervened.
“Oh no, no,” she said. “I do not want to be a spectacle.”
“Where is Aunt Jennie?” Callum asked Hocking again.
“The countess is in the drawing room.” Hocking seemed to think that was obvious.
Callum took Penelope’s hand firmly in his and led her toward the parlor, calling over his shoulder to the butler, “Tea, Hocking, and be quick about it.”
Angus chuckled once the door was closed and they were alone. “You will give that man an apoplexy.”
“An apoplexy is the least he deserves,” Callum said. He was watching Penelope. She was stripping off her gloves and then untying her bonnet, but her actions seemed stiff and automatic, her mind far away. Whatever Selina was whispering to her was ignored, as she sat down on the couch.
Making another decision, he opened the door again and shouted. “Whisky, Hocking.”
Selina looked about to burst with excitement, but she had the presence of mind to inform them that, “Miss Armstrong does not drink whisky. She prefers brandy.”
Callum nodded and shouted again. “Make that brandy, Hocking.”
Shortly afterward, Hocking arrived with a brandy decanter and a small glass upon an ornate silver tray. He set it down with elaborate care, before bowing stiffly and closing the door quietly behind him.
