And stopped.
The love match might be a farce, Michael might be in it for his own mysterious purposes, but Penelope had a reason. She’d had a reason from the beginning. Her sisters had lived in the shadow of her ruin for too long. She would shade them no longer.
He was already speaking, silver-tongued. “With the advent of this article, you’ll be needing protection from the droves of suitors who will almost certainly come swarming.”
“You must join us!” Olivia said, and Penelope resisted the urge to scream at the way that her sisters played right into his hands.
His gaze flickered to her, and she willed him to refuse, to remember what she had said abovestairs. “I’m afraid I cannot.”
She should have been pleased, but up was too often down when it came to her husband, and instead, she found herself so pleasantly surprised that he had honored her request that she was wishing that he had agreed to join them.
Which was ridiculous, of course.
Men were vexing indeed.
And her husband, more than most.
“Oh, do,” Olivia pressed, “it would be lovely to come to know our new brother.”
Pippa chimed in. “Indeed. You married so quickly . . . we never had a chance to properly reacquaint ourselves.”
Penelope’s gaze shot to her sister. Something was off. Pippa knew. She had to.
He shook his head again. “I’m sorry, ladies, but I haven’t any skates.”
“We’ve extra skates in the coach,” Olivia said. “Now you’ve no reason not to come.”
Penelope was instantly suspicious. “Why would you have extra skates in the coach?”
Olivia smiled, bright and beautiful. “One never knows when one might meet someone with whom one wants to skate.”
Penelope turned surprised eyes on Michael, who appeared to be having difficulty holding back a smile. She raised a brow as he said, “An excellent adage. It seems I have no choice but to play chaperone.”
“You may not make the best chaperone, Bourne,” Penelope said through her teeth. “What with you being such a rogue.”
He winked at her. Actually winked at her! Who was this man?
“Ah, but who better than a rogue undergoing reformation to identify the same? And I confess, I would like the chance to skate with my wife again. It’s been too long.”
Lie.
He didn’t remember skating with her. He’d virtually admitted it earlier, upstairs.
She did not think she could suffer an outing with all of them, with him constantly touching her, asking after her well-being, teasing her, tempting her.
Not after last night, when she’d been so strong. When she’d been so sure of herself.
Of what she wanted.
Suddenly, by day, this kinder, gentler Michael did not seem so resistible.
And that was a very bad thing indeed.
Chapter Fifteen
Dear M—
By now you’ve heard the news, even from wherever you are. I’m ruined. The duke did everything he could to save me from embarrassment, but this is London, and such an effort is, of course, futile. He married again within a week—in a love match, no less. Mother is (no surprise) beside herself, keening and wailing like a chorus of mourners.
Is it wrong that I feel as though something of a weight has been lifted? Probably.
I wish you were here. You would know what to say.
Unsigned
Dolby House, November 1823
Letter unsent
Penelope sat on a wooden bench, looking out toward the frozen Serpentine, where half of London appeared to teem. The winter’s uncommon cold had resulted in the thickest ice in nearly a decade, leaving the little lake packed to the gills with people eager to spend their afternoon ice-skating.
There was no escaping the watchful eyes of the ton.
Once their skating party had alighted from the carriage and crested the hill that sloped gently down to the Serpentine Lake, they took turns sitting to attach the wood-and-steel blades to the soles of their walking boots. Penelope waited as long as possible to take her seat and strap on her blades, keenly aware of the fact that ice-skating with Michael would be a challenge, as he would likely take the opportunity to show all of London how very much in love they were.
For the hundredth time, Penelope cursed the ridiculous farce and watched her sisters make their way down the hill, hand in hand, reminding her of the greater purpose of her frustration.
Her distraction made it difficult to slide the ice blades onto her feet, and after her third try, Michael tossed his own blades to the side and crouched before her, taking one of her feet by the ankle before she realized his intentions. She yanked her foot back, sending him tipping backward to catch himself on his hands in the snow and drawing the attention of a nearby cluster of young women. “What do you think you are doing?” she whispered, leaning forward, not wanting to cause any more of a scene.
He looked up at her, all handsome angles and falsely innocent eyes, and said, simply, “Helping you with your skate.”