Anabelle Bryant - The Midnight Rake

Phin couldn’t ever recall seeing his mother move so quickly. He stared into the space she once occupied as a scoff of skepticism escaped. He turned though, not foolish enough to waste the time he could prod Penelope for answers and taking her elbow, escorted her to the carriage. Her hand held tightly to his as he offered her up the steps and an invigorating rebellion caused him to hold hers in the same fashion.

Once seated, amusement and curiosity banished all thoughts of Maman. His eyes trailed after Penelope’s gloved fingers as they stroked the velvet squabs with reverent care. His carriage was fine, there was no doubt, and the unabashed awe she showed in its luxury urged he silently commend himself for the purchase solely because it pleased her. Entranced by her beguiling expression he did not acknowledge the unsettling silence. Then, almost as if they simultaneously found awareness, her gaze caught his and they spoke together. He nodded with a chuckle, to indicate she should continue.

“I don’t know how to thank you.” Her voice sounded light and breathy, a seductive entreaty in the near darkness.

“There is nothing for which to thank me.” He smiled again. “My mother and I are happy to provide you with an avenue to resolve your problem. It is the duty of any upstanding gentleman within the ton .” He almost choked on the latter portion of his statement. While those words rang true of Harold, they certainly did not apply to Con. Before he’d married Isabelle, Constantine enjoyed beautiful women thoroughly and might have considered keeping Penelope for himself. Good thing Con had found security and long-lasting love. A rare marriage, indeed. He dismissed the thought.

“You look beautiful this evening.” He turned to glance out the window. He wasn’t one to quote poetic. Somehow the words spoke themselves.

“Thank you.” She played with her purse strings. “You don’t recognize the Rosebery name?”

Her delicate brows drew together as if she wished him to know something he did not.

“Should I? You mentioned your father was a baron with holdings in the Cotswolds. I am afraid I never made his acquaintance.” He couldn’t know she meant because of scandal, instead the silence stretched on before she spoke again.

“Have you met Lady Elizabeth Bretton? In our correspondence she mentioned becoming enmeshed in London society. Do you think she exaggerated?”

The humor in her voice allowed his smile freedom.

“She may view her entrée in such a manner. I, for one, cannot recall having an introduction, although I’m not one to linger with the debutantes. The name sounds vaguely familiar. Were my sister here we could solve the problem. Julia memorizes the social register.” He glanced out the window at the passing coaches. Myriad stars winked overhead. Such a clear night. A rarity for London.

For several breaths they heard nothing but the sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels.

And then, “I met a friend of yours today at the modiste shop. Lady Alexandra Ravensdale. She spoke of you with fondness.”

Excitement punctuated the retelling and he turned his head in surprise. “Did she? Her husband, the Duke of Wharncliffe, and I are great friends. I have known Devlin for nearly my entire life.”

“Alexandra helped me select this gown.” Her eyes flittered to her silk skirt before rising to hold his gaze. “It is the loveliest dress I’ve ever worn.”

The honest excitement in her voice entranced him. Lord, his sister possessed dozens of gowns and complained regularly she had nothing to wear.

He attempted to occupy himself with examining the carriage interior, his eyes hungrily returning to Penelope nevertheless. She should feel special this evening. Each time he glanced in her direction it became more difficult for him to tear his eyes away. She looked exquisite, as tempting and delicate as a French dessert, draped in smooth silky frosting with the promise of a warm, sweet center. The thought of indulging caused his mouth to water, his fingertips to itch with the desire to glide over every curve of the shimmering fabric caressing her delectable body. He swallowed nervously and readjusted himself on the seat.

“Her Grace is so beautiful.” She sounded a little in awe with the statement.

Good lord, so are you. Breathtaking, actually.

“Devlin and Lexi married a short time ago. They are well matched and genuinely happy.” Phin smiled at the remembrance. What were the odds of finding someone to cherish? One hundred? Two thousand? One million to one?

“They seem exorbitantly so. It’s easy to see she holds his heart.”

Who holds yours, Penny?

“Yes, their story is an interesting one. Mayhap there will be a day when we’re kept indoors by the weather or have run out of things to say and I can retell it to you.” His voice dropped to a low tone as if he shared a secret or did not know what to expect in her reply.

“I am sure I would enjoy hearing it. You make it sound very intriguing.”

Oh no, it is you who remains intriguing. A beautiful little mystery.

He studied her profile with intense interest. The picture he’d drawn with his words hinted at a long, satisfying relationship and he could not fathom why he’d suggested such a thing, most especially while he knew the circumstances surrounding her visit. Nevertheless an exhilarating thrill shot through him at the anticipation of a future with Penelope present. That is, until he solved her problem and said his farewells.

“I would like that.” She smiled and he returned it with one of his own.

Chapter Six

Penelope was becoming adept at keeping secrets. When she’d arrived to the city with its expensive avenues and properties, she harbored heartfelt gratitude for Lady Fenhurst. Less than a week ago, her life was at its bleakest. Now the last few days had transformed into a fairytale from a humble country cottage to a lavish London townhouse. And she was on her way to a function of the haut ton. The tumultuous series of events spun through her head with unbridled excitement.

Still the true impetus of her exhilaration sat across from her. She appreciated the perfection found in Phineas this evening, waiting across the drawing room unbelievably handsome in his formal attire. She liked him well enough in a linen shirt on the picnic blanket. She never expected him to exceed her wildest imaginings by appearing heart-stoppingly handsome in a cutaway tail coat and cravat.

He’d smiled at her when she’d come through the doorway, a devastatingly rakish smile, and his hair caught a warm gloss from the firelight. She would always remember his image and the invigorating rush of her heartbeat in that moment.

Now, ensconced in comfortable silence within the carriage, her pulse thrummed in her ears begging her to produce a scrap of clever conversation. But did it even matter? Phineas belonged to a highly respected family favored by the good ton . Why would he give her a second thought? Likely every flirtatious debutante in London offered him their adoration.

She stole another glance beneath lowered lashes. His wavy brown hair was combed away from his face to lend him a boyish look, while broad, strong shoulders filled his navy blue waistcoat marking him all man. Penelope averted her eyes to where a perfectly folded cravat brushed his chin. He had the nicest cleft there. If only she could reach across and touch the indentation, feel the roughened dip of skin, appreciate the strength of such a sturdy attractive chin. It somehow made her feel safe. Could a facial feature do that? His amber eyes glistened in the lantern light whenever he turned to speak. She blinked hard to stifle her preoccupation, then recited a silent litany of self-admonishment to quiet the bevy of butterflies come to life in her stomach.