Love in the Time of Scandal (3 page)

“Olivia!”

Her friend was scanning the room and didn’t seem to have noticed her approach; she jumped at Penelope’s exclamation. “Oh,” she said in a constricted voice. “You startled me.”

She blinked. “I can see that. Whom were you expecting, an ogre?”

For a moment Olivia’s face froze, as if she had in fact been on guard, but then she smiled ruefully. With a shake of her head, she turned her back to the room and squeezed Penelope’s hand. “Forgive me; I was woolgathering. Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Well enough.” Penelope peered closely at her. “What’s wrong? You looked worried.”

Olivia waved one hand. “It was nothing. How kind of you to leave your friends and join me.”

Penelope barely kept back her snort. “I don’t know how I could have stayed. You’ll never guess who Miss Lockwood’s new suitor is.”

“Who?”

“Lord Atherton,” whispered Penelope, after a cautious glance backward. She’d already let her temper get the better of her once tonight, and wouldn’t put it past him to overhear every slighting word she spoke about him.

Olivia looked surprised. “Atherton? The gentleman who courted—?”

“The same,” said Penelope grimly. “And my sister felt so cruel to turn him down! I shall have to write to her at once and assure her that, far from suffering a malaise, he’s found a younger, sillier girl to marry.”

“Now, Pen, you don’t know that. He may be deeply attached to her.”

She couldn’t stop the snort this time. “She is certainly attached to him. He’s the perfect man, in her telling. I don’t know how I could have held my composure if I’d known who she was talking about. He sits and listens to her practice the pianoforte—can you imagine?”

“Perhaps he enjoys it.” Penelope widened her eyes in patent disbelief. “Perhaps he’s so smitten with her, he would be content just to sit and gaze at her,” Olivia added. “It could happen.”

“Huh.” Penelope made a face. Just the thought of Lord Atherton sitting and staring at her was enough to make her skin prickle.

“Well, it’s Miss Lockwood’s cross to bear,” said Olivia practically.

“But if he marries her, I’ll have to see him from time to time.” Frances might be young and naïve, but she was endearing all the same, and Penelope did like her.

Olivia laughed and tucked Penelope’s arm through hers. “Perhaps she’ll become disenchanted and change her mind about him.”

She caught sight of Lord Atherton, leading Frances about the floor in a quadrille. Frances was fairly radiating adoration as she gazed up at him. It took Penelope some effort to quell the urge to run over and warn Frances not to fall for his very handsome smile, or athletic figure, or disgustingly perfect face. “For her sake as well as mine,” she grumbled, “I hope so.”

Chapter 2

B
enedict Lennox had never thought he was one to take things for granted, but he was quickly revising that opinion.

It was a very rude surprise that Frances Lockwood was friends with Penelope Weston. Partly that was because he didn’t know much about Miss Lockwood yet, but partly because what he did know indicated that she was utterly unlike Penelope. Miss Lockwood was anxious to please, listening to his every word as if it had the gravity of Scripture. Miss Weston also seemed to regard his words as biblical, but rather more as she might view the hissings of the serpent in Eden. Miss Lockwood liked the simpler pleasures of life, such as playing her pianoforte and dancing. Miss Weston craved excitement and adventure, and nothing daunted her, as Benedict had seen all too well; there was something wild and unconventional about her. Seeing them together was like seeing Hestia stand shoulder to shoulder with Aphrodite.

He tried not to think of another way they were different. Miss Lockwood was round-faced and pretty in a girlish way, while Miss Weston seemed to blaze with an internal heat that rendered her mesmerizing. Miss Lockwood’s looks were perfect for a wife: pleasant to look at but not distracting. Miss Weston’s future husband, whoever the poor blighter was, would need a strong stomach to be able to endure the way other men watched her.

Benedict banished all those thoughts. He needed to keep his wits about him tonight as he struggled to decide how seriously he wished to pursue Miss Lockwood. After two weeks of companionship, he ought to have a sense of the girl and how she felt about him. He’d already had one marriage proposal rejected—by Miss Weston’s sister, of all people—and he didn’t plan to suffer that humiliation again.

“You look lovely this evening,” he told Miss Lockwood, leading her out for a quadrille. Miss Weston had disappeared into the crowd, although if pressed, Benedict would have wagered a large sum that she was still watching. His skin seemed to prickle, as if he could feel her searing blue gaze on him.

“Thank you, sir.” Miss Lockwood blushed, although her smile was delighted.

Benedict started to relax. This was a girl with no artifice or vendetta. He needed to stop thinking of Penelope Weston and direct his attention to the girl he was considering marrying. “Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Oh yes, especially now that you’re here.” She modestly averted her eyes, but he could hear the eager happiness in her voice.

He leaned his head down to hers as the musicians began to play. “Then I apologize for not arriving sooner, if my presence has added to your pleasure.”

She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes as they made their opening courtesies. It gave him a twinge of something that was half satisfaction, half unease, as if he’d won something without even trying for it. Which was absurd. Miss Lockwood was an heiress; she had her pick of gentlemen, and he was not her only suitor. If she chose him, it would be because she wanted him. And he was hardly some worthless scoundrel with nothing to offer a woman. Unfortunately many of his advantages were related to his father—the wealth, the title, the estates he would someday hold—but Benedict knew he was a handsome fellow with a pleasing manner. He’d never had any trouble winning a woman when he set his mind on her . . . with the notable exception of Abigail Weston, much to her sister Penelope’s fiendish delight.

No. He was not going to think of that frustrating female again. The dance brought him back to Miss Lockwood and he smiled anew.

“Have you known Miss Weston for a very long time?” she asked.

Silently Benedict cursed. “Not at all.”

“I’ve only known her a few weeks, but I find her very amusing and clever.” She glanced up at him curiously. “What do you think of her?”

I try not to
, he thought. “She’s all you say, as well as loyal and devoted to her family.”

Miss Lockwood nodded as though relieved. “She is, isn’t she? I had no idea what to do or how to act at balls, but she was so kind to me. Why, I would have made a silly fool of myself if not for her!”

Benedict took a deep breath to calm the spike of apprehension this inspired. In his experience, Penelope Weston’s interference was not a good thing. “I’m sure you wouldn’t have. You’re a very sensible young lady.”

She glowed at his words. “You’re so kind to say so.” She lowered her voice. “One gentleman who called on me was not as gallant; he implied Miss Weston would be a bad influence on me. But I learned later that he was desperately in debt and had a mistress as well, so his motives were far from honorable.”

“How did you learn such a thing?” Benedict asked, although he had an idea.

Miss Lockwood gave the answer he expected. “Miss Weston told me! And when I asked Miss Drummond, she confirmed it was true.”

The dance parted them again, and Benedict went through the steps while his thoughts ran down some grim lines.

Obviously Penelope Weston had significant influence over Miss Lockwood. That was unfortunate for a number of reasons, the foremost being that Penelope despised him. He could tolerate that—she had a knack for getting under his skin, too—but he couldn’t let her spoil his budding courtship of Frances Lockwood. What business was it of hers whom Miss Lockwood married? The girl deserved to make up her own mind without being swayed by Penelope’s sharp tongue.

This called for a preemptive strike. He escorted Miss Lockwood to her mother’s side when the dance ended and exchanged more pleasantries with Mrs. Lockwood. With any luck, Miss Lockwood would pay more heed to her mother than to her friend, for it was clear to see Mrs. Lockwood approved mightily of him. After securing an invitation to call on them the following day, Benedict drew Miss Lockwood aside.

“Would you be distressed if I asked your friend to dance?”

She blinked, a trace of alarm returning to her expression. “You wish to dance with Miss Weston?”

“Only because she’s your friend,” he replied, stressing the last two words and giving her a small, private smile. “I wish to be on good terms with your friends, my dear.”

Miss Lockwood almost trembled with delight. “Oh,” she breathed. “Yes, of course. Miss Weston did say it was important for—”

“Yes?” he prompted when she gasped and fell silent.

The girl wet her lips as if confiding a secret. “She advised me to look askance on any gentleman who didn’t care for my friends, or of whom my friends disapproved. Her opinion is that no one man is worth giving up my friends. Do—do you disagree, my lord?”

“Not at all.” It
was
sound advice. He just had to make certain it worked to his benefit in this instance. “But I wouldn’t wish you to wonder at my asking her.”

She gave him a look of devotion, and some of Benedict’s tension eased. “You are a true gentleman, sir.”

He brought her hand to his lips and took his leave, telling himself he was, and would be, a gentleman. He bore Penelope no ill will. Once upon a time, they’d even seemed to share a joie de vivre, when she dared him to prove Hampton Court was haunted and they laughed together in dusty corridors about ghostly legends. The memory quickened his step; when Penelope was in a good humor, she had a sly wit and a laugh that made men stop and listen. All he had to do was rekindle enough of that good feeling between them so she wouldn’t try to turn Miss Lockwood against him.

It took him a few moments to locate her. Unlike Miss Lockwood, who was always watching the dancers as if she couldn’t wait to be one of their number, Penelope had retreated to a corner. Benedict made his way through the crowd without hurrying, giving her plenty of time to note his approach. He could tell the exact moment she did. She raised her chin, leveled a cool glare at him, and deliberately turned her shoulder to him.

Damn. This would take some effort—and for some reason he felt an unwonted thrill at the prospect.

He summoned his most charming smile as he drew near. “Miss Weston.”

She faced him the way Queen Elizabeth must have faced the Earl of Essex before sending him to the block. “Lord Atherton. What an unexpected pleasure.” She glanced at the woman beside her. “May I present to you my friend Mrs. Townsend? Mrs. Townsend, this is Lord Atherton, whose father has a very beautiful property in Richmond near ours.”

“It is a pleasure, Mrs. Townsend.” He bowed.

“How do you do, sir?” Mrs. Townsend curtsied, shooting a fleeting, curious glance at Penelope.

For some reason he suspected that they had been speaking of him, and he had the sudden desire to charm Mrs. Townsend mercilessly, just to see what Penelope would do. He checked the impulse—he wanted to win her over, not antagonize her further—and kept his easy smile in place. “We didn’t have a chance to speak earlier. Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Weston?”

“How kind of you to ask, my lord. Are you certain Miss Lockwood can spare you?” she asked, somewhat archly.

“Miss Lockwood encouraged me,” he replied.

Penelope raised one brow. “Did she? Well then, how could I possibly refuse?” With a vaguely ominous smile, she gave him her hand. “Shall we?”

They joined the dance figures forming on the floor. Unlike the other couples, many of whom spoke to each other or at least exchanged a glance, Penelope gazed straight ahead as if no one stood beside her.

“I hope your family is well,” he said, thinking to start cordially.

“Yes,” she said. “They are all very well.” Finally she looked at him, an almost sly glance through her eyelashes. “My sister especially.”

Benedict absorbed the hit without a flinch. He’d expected it. “I am delighted to hear that. I always wished her well.”

“She’s married now, you know,” she went on. “It was a lovely wedding, small and private. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so in love as my new brother-in-law.”

He clenched his jaw but kept his expression composed. “Vane was due for some good fortune and happiness. I’m glad to hear he’s found it.”

Penelope smiled that dangerous smile again as the music began. “He most certainly has.”

They turned and made the courtesy to the couples on either side of them, then faced each other and did the same. The next several steps separated them, but when she took his hand and they turned, Penelope’s eyes shone in a way that put him on guard. When the dance moved on to the other couples, he discovered why.

“Have you known Miss Lockwood long, sir?”

“A few weeks. She’s a charming young lady.”

“She is,” agreed Penelope warmly. “I’m very fond of her; she’s like a younger sister to me.”

Benedict took that as a warning. “She’s fortunate to have secured your friendship.”

Her eyebrows went up. “She considers herself more fortunate to have attracted
your
notice.”

“I can hardly comment on that.”

“No? You never seemed one to ignore your own advantages, my lord.”

Fortunately the dance sent her away from him, before his temper could slip from his grasp and cause him to say something rash. She seemed to know it, though, for she sent him a simmering glance as she moved around the other dancers. He could barely control his impatience for her to be back at his side. Such a comment could not go unanswered.

“Are you accusing me of misrepresenting myself?” he asked as soon as she took his hand for the next turn.

She tipped her head as if pondering it. “I don’t know. How highly
do
you think of yourself?” He looked at her incredulously, and she smiled, with a tiny shake of her head. “Never mind that. Tell me instead what you love best about dear Miss Lockwood.”

For a moment he didn’t reply. He couldn’t. All thoughts of Miss Lockwood, his potential bride, had been driven out of his head by the infuriating woman at his side, with her gleaming blue eyes and secretive smile that always rattled his equilibrium. He scrambled to control his thoughts and say something sensible. “Her warm and kind spirit.”

Penelope nodded. “Of course. She’s inclined to see the best in people, even when it’s not warranted.”

By only the thinnest of margins did Benedict not ask if that explained her fondness for Penelope. She was trying to provoke him. He should have been prepared for that. Her delight in needling him had been amusing at first, but he was growing tired of it—and unlike before, when he had brushed it aside, there was something very real at stake this time. If she decided to poison Miss Lockwood against him, he wasn’t sure he could tolerate it with good grace.

“That is surely the mark of a true lady,” he said softly, “to be the sort of woman everyone admires and likes.”

The barb struck home, he could see it in her eyes. For the briefest moment they darkened as if in hurt, but then the sparkle was back—and this time they glittered like the finest sapphires. “Indeed! What a revelation, sir. I have always thought gentlemen were far more interested in a woman’s other attributes.”

Without thinking his gaze dropped. Penelope wasn’t as slender as Miss Lockwood, and she had been skipping about in the dance. Her bosom rose and fell against her exquisitely cut bodice of blue silk in a very tempting display. Her skin was flushed a perfect pale peach, and her locket had nestled right between the swells of her breasts. Benedict had meant to set her back on her heels, and instead found himself almost mesmerized. “One must consider every part of a woman.”

“Some parts more closely than others, I see,” she shot back furiously as she turned away in the dance.

He cursed inside his head as they performed the next several steps. What about this woman always caught him wrong-footed? Benedict barely remembered going through the rest of the dance. It felt as though little jolts of lightning coursed along his nerves, his every sense as sharp as a razor and focused solely on Penelope Weston. From the smoldering look she gave him, he wasn’t the only one who felt the tension. Before he knew it, the music was ending and she was beside him again. He offered his arm to escort her from the floor, and she took it with a hand that trembled.

He didn’t think it was upset. He had a feeling it was fury. To be honest, the same feeling had a strong grip on him. The temptation to pull her into a quiet room and have a proper blazing row was overwhelming. For a moment his steps strayed unconsciously toward the door before he caught himself.