Читать книгу If He's Sinful - Hannah Howell - Страница 8

Ashton tensed. He was not sure what chilled him more, the subtle threat uttered in that deep, cold masculine voice, or the feel of the hard, cold metal of a pistol muzzle pressed against the side of his head. It astonished him that he had not immediately gone soft, all passion fleeing his body in a rush, but he was still achingly erect. That could prove embarrassing. There was no sign of fear upon Penelope’s sweet face. In fact, she looked an enchanting mix of delighted and annoyed.

“Artemis,” Penelope said in a gentle but firm tone, “there is no need to hold a pistol on his lordship. It is rather evident that he is not armed.”

“He looks cocked and primed to shoot to me.”

Penelope lifted her head enough to scowl briefly at the four boys gathered at the foot of the bed who laughed at Artemis’s crude jest. She was pleased to be rescued, but appalled by what the boys had risked in coming to her aid. Artemis was only sixteen, Stefan only fourteen, Darius not yet ten, Hector but newly turned nine, and Delmar barely seven. All were far too young to be wandering the dangerous streets of London at night but she could not bring herself to taint her gratitude with a scolding, or to pinch at their boyish pride. She would, however, try to remember to have a little talk with Artemis concerning the fact that Hector and Delmar understood his jest. They were too young for that knowledge. They were also too young to be seeing her tied to a bed with a naked man on top of her but there was nothing she could do about that. She frowned when she realized Lord Radmoor was no longer “cocked and primed.”

She also felt a distinct pang of disappointment. It was not just the drug that made her sorry this sordid interlude had been interrupted before she had even gotten a real kiss. Penelope was certain she would never get another chance to fulfill even one of her wishes or have even one of her dreams about Lord Ashton Radmoor come true. The feel of small hands untying her ankles pulled her free of her wandering thoughts and she lifted her head again to smile her gratitude at Delmar.

“Get off her,” Artemis ordered Lord Radmoor.

“That could prove awkward,” Penelope said, blushing as Ashton began to slowly lift his body off hers.

“I do not think we will be shocked by seeing a naked man.”

“I did not think you would be, but I am also naked, or as good as.” She blushed again when Artemis looked her over and his eyes widened.

“Lads, look away until I can get Pen decently covered,” Artemis ordered the boys.

“But what about the man?” asked Delmar as he and the other boys obeyed the command.

“I have a gun on him,” replied Artemis even as he fixed his gaze on Ashton again. “Now, my lord, remove yourself from my sister. Very slowly. Do not think that, because I am young, I will hesitate to shoot you.”

Ashton did as he was told. When he finally stood at the side of the bed, he looked across it at the one who held a pistol aimed directly at his heart. His first clear thought was to wonder how such a tall, too thin youth could possess such a deep, manly voice. Then he looked into the youth’s icy blue eyes, eyes that remained steadily fixed on him as the youth moved to untie one of his sister’s wrists. Ashton had no more doubt that there was enough strong, furious man in the boy to make him a true threat. He could also see a slight family resemblance in the youth’s face, an almost pretty face despite how his cold anger hardened his expression.

A fleeting glance at Penelope revealed her having trouble untying her other wrist, and Ashton looked back at the boy. “If you will allow it, I could assist her.”

“No tricks,” said Artemis.

“My word of honor.”

The youth nodded and Ashton quickly untied Penelope’s wrist. He moved back to stand by the side of the bed. She struggled to sit up and he frowned at her awkward movements. She acted as if she was a little drunk yet he had not smelled or tasted any spirits on her breath. Ashton studied her very closely as she fumbled with her gown in a vain attempt to achieve some semblance of modesty.

“Were you tied up for a long time?” he asked. Guilt pinched at him over the fact that he had not asked her that before and had hesitated to untie her.

“Oh, nay. I mean, no, I do not think so,” Penelope replied, beginning to experience an alarming unsteadiness in her body and her mind. “Where are my clothes? I think I must hurry and dress. That nasty potion Mrs. Cratchitt forced down my throat does not feel so very pleasant now. I think I may soon be very ill or very unconscious and very soon.”

Ashton cursed and heard the youth echo it. “I will get her clothes,” he muttered even as he looked around the room. He spotted them piled on the floor near the door and went to get them. “Put the gun away,” he told Artemis as he set Penelope’s clothes on the bed. “You will need some help getting her dressed.” He sighed when the boy hesitated. “It is a little late to worry about her modesty in front of me. I also have no desire to take a woman who has had to be drugged to share a bed with me.”

“How late?” demanded Artemis.

There were very few men Ashton knew who could have put such cold, deadly fury into two small words. “Not that late,” he replied and was relieved when the boy set his pistol aside and moved to help him dress Penelope.

“But I will be naked,” Penelope protested as her brother and Ashton started to remove the thin gown Mrs. Cratchitt had forced her to wear.

“You are as good as naked now,” muttered Artemis and then he frowned at her. “You were given some potion?”

“Mrs. Cratchitt forced it on me. It made me very calm for a while, very accepting of my fate. Now it is making me very dizzy and a little nauseous. How did you find me?”

“Paul slipped out and followed you for aways. He saw those men grab you, ran back home to us, and told me about it. I had already sensed that something was very wrong and was preparing to set out after you.”

“I was very frightened.”

“I know,” he said in a soft, gentle tone and he stroked her hair. “Between that and questioning a few boys here and there, we were able to pick up your trail. Then, well, it was as if a lantern had been lit to lead me straight to this place and this room. I did not have to roam about outside for very long before I knew exactly where you were. The potion, I suppose. It has made things uncomfortable for you?”

“Quite uncomfortable. This is a very sad place, full of ill feelings and angry spirits. Someone died in this bed,” she added, sorrow weighting her every word. “Poor Faith.”

“What are you saying?” asked Ashton, eyeing the siblings warily as he finished tugging Penelope’s dress on her increasingly limp body. He did not completely understand the meaning of their words but what little he guessed at made him very uneasy.

“Oh, you are still naked,” murmured Penelope, unable to stop herself from looking him over very thoroughly. He was so handsome, she thought and sighed.

“I can finish this unaided now,” said Artemis and he scowled at Ashton. “You can go and get yourself dressed now. Boys, watch him closely.”

Ashton moved to where his clothes had been set down. He looked at the boys who had been ordered to watch him, caught the direction of the interested gazes of the younger ones, and hurried to get dressed. He understood a young boy’s fascination with that part of a grown man’s body but he was in no mood to be the object of their study. He was embarrassed enough by how matters had turned against him.

What little he could hear of the conversation between Penelope and her brother made him inwardly shake his head. They seemed to believe they could feel things and see things others could not, could snatch emotions from the air and speak to the dead. She spoke of this specter named Faith as if the vision were not born of the potion Cratchitt had given her, which it certainly must have been. He then wondered if they were part of that group of charlatans who swindled foolish people out of money by claiming they could contact the dead or tell one what the future would bring.

That would explain their fine speech, that air of gentility, he mused. Unless one went to a gypsy at some fair, most of the charlatans of that ilk dealt with the ladies of society and were as genteel as their customers, or pretended to be. He frowned as he tied his cravat under the intense scrutiny of the boys, wondering uneasily if the game was not over yet. Were they going to try to entrap him in some way? Perhaps even try to claim honor demanded he marry the girl?

A little voice in his head whispered that it would not be such a hardship if they did and he brutally silenced it. It was his lust talking, nothing more. He could not marry just anyone, especially not some lovely woman whose bloodlines and purity were in question. He had a duty to his title and to the future of his line, as well as to his family. He had to marry a woman of the appropriate bloodlines, and one fully accepted by society. He also had to marry a woman with as large a dowry as possible to help rebuild the family fortunes. It did not please him to admit, even if only to himself, how swiftly he would toss aside the need for good bloodlines if this wide-eyed girl were wealthy. In a way, he had already done that by considering marriage to Clarissa for the barony her brother now held was very new. The family had been very minor gentry before then.

For a moment he feared he was like his father, a slave to his passions. He pulled on his boots and shook his head, fighting to dislodge that fear from his mind. One moment of madness with one woman did not make him the satyr his father had been. Ashton knew he could never treat a woman as his father had treated his mother. Nor could he ever leave his wife and children nearly destitute just to sate those unbridled passions. He had to stop fearing that he was going to become his father. That fear could easily choke all the life out of him.

What if I told you that I was the daughter of a marquis?

He tensed as he heard her say those words again in his mind. That would make her bloodlines more than acceptable. Ashton silently cursed. He was grasping at the air, at any reason he could find not to tie himself in marriage to the beautiful but cold Clarissa. Even if Penelope was what she claimed, she was not the heiress he needed. The gown she now wore proved that. It was pretty enough but not of the finest quality. Neither were the clothes the boys all wore. His curiosity was now piqued, however. Just who were these people?

“Pen, may we leave now?” asked Delmar. “There is a bad air here.”

Ashton stared at the boy. He looked a little pale and his wide blue eyes shone with fear. It was not an offensive odor the boy referred to. Ashton frowned at Penelope, who now stood by the bed, her brother’s arm around her waist to steady her. Did the whole family believe they had strange powers?

“Exactly who are you?” he asked Penelope. “All of you?”

“That is no concern of yours,” replied Artemis, tightening his grip on Penelope when she started to speak.

“You can depend upon my discretion.” Ashton grimaced and dragged a hand through his hair. “If naught else, I certainly do not wish my name connected to this debacle.”

“De—baaa—cle,” Penelope murmured. “A fine word.” She smiled and closed her eyes.

Artemis staggered when Penelope went limp and started to fall. Ashton lunged forward to grab Penelope before she hit the floor. Four young voices cried out in dismay and Ashton knew he, too, had been frightened by her sudden collapse. The relief that swept over him when she opened her eyes to stare at him was greater than he thought it should be.

“My legs failed me,” she said and frowned at the faint slurring of her words.

“The potion was obviously too strong for you,” said Ashton.

“I can take her now.” Artemis reached for Penelope.

“To where?” Ashton glanced toward the open window. “Out that way? Carrying her?” He could tell the boy wanted to say he could do it but had enough good sense to know it could prove impossible, even dangerous. “I need to find my friends to help us.”

“In this place? Do you mean to knock on every door?”

“I mean for you to go out the window, go up to the door, and ask for Sir Cornell Fincham. Tell the man at the door that the Duke of Burfoot has sent you with an urgent message for his son. They will fetch him or lead you to him. Tell Cornell I need him and the others to come to this room as quickly as they can. And as stealthily as possible.”

“Which room is this?”

“Twenty-two,” Penelope replied and rubbed her cheek against the soft velvet of Radmoor’s coat.

“And I may trust in their discretion as well, may I?” Artemis frowned. “Why should I?”

“Because they are my closest, most trusted friends and will protect my name as fiercely as they would their own.”

“They will want explanations.”

“Tell them they will get answers as soon as they join me here.” When Artemis still hesitated, Ashton added in a voice that held both command and counsel, “We shall need their help to get her out of here safely and unseen.”

Artemis nodded and, after ordering the other boys to guard Ashton and Penelope, slipped out the window. There was barely a whisper of sound as the youth descended the outside wall and Ashton had to admire the boy’s skill. He sat down on the bed to await his friends and settled a limp Penelope on his lap.

She felt right there, fit perfectly in his arms. Ashton heartily wished Clarissa fit so perfectly instead of this unknown girl. Not that he had actually embraced Clarissa yet. Worse, he found himself wondering if the hints of passion he had seen in her were born of his touch or the potion the madam had forced her to drink. It was not something that should concern him but he suspected he would be wondering about it for a long time. He also knew that he would soon question the veracity of the passion his past lovers had shown in his arms, few and far between though they were. Once a man began thinking of such things, he entered into a vicious circle of doubt.

“Is she going to die?”

Ashton looked at the small boy called Delmar. “No. She is just weakened by the potion given to her. It will loosen its grip upon her soon and she will be fine.” There remained a glint of doubt in the boy’s eyes and Ashton forced as much confidence as he could into his voice as he added, “Truly, your sister will fully recover from this.”

“She is not my sister. She is my cousin. Stefan and Artemis are her brothers. The rest of us are her cousins.”

“Ah, I had thought you all lived with her.”

“We do. She takes care of us.”

“All of you?”

“Enough, Delmar,” said a boy who looked nearly as old as Artemis. “The man does not need to know our business.”

“But, Stefan, I was just talking. I was being polite.”

“No need of that, either. The man is not a guest in our home. Recall how we found him and what he was trying to do to Pen.”

Delmar glanced at Ashton and then pressed his lips together. Ashton gave the boy a brief smile before looking at Stefan, Penelope’s other brother. “She will need to rest. The potion will flee her system but it may take hours to do so and, I believe, she will not feel well afterward. Is there someone who can care for her?”

“We will.”

Ashton was about to argue the ability of a pack of boys to care for a sick young woman when Artemis and the others slipped into the room. Brant was the first to reach his side and Ashton waited patiently while his friend studied Penelope and then looked over each of the boys. When Brant finally looked back at him and cocked one dark brow, Ashton sighed. He explained what had happened as quickly and plainly as possible.

“So Mrs. Cratchitt’s is not quite the genteel establishment it pretends to be,” Brant said and then looked at the boys again. “Do you know how and why she was taken?”

“Nay,” said Artemis and moved to braid Penelope’s hair. “She was late coming home. The ones who took her must have seen her as easy game.”

Ashton exchanged a brief look with his friends. He knew the boy was not telling the truth. The expressions his friends wore told him they shared his suspicions. Penelope had secrets and the boys were holding fast to them. It was hard for Ashton to think they were dark or dangerous secrets, but having tasted the madness of a fierce lust, he was not sure he could trust his own instincts when it came to Penelope.

“The problem now is how to get her out of here without anyone seeing her,” said Ashton. “She is incapable of walking out of here and will be for several hours yet. It is not simply to save her reputation, either. I have a strong feeling she was not brought here because Mrs. Cratchitt was on the hunt for new girls.”

“Someone is coming for me tomorrow,” Penelope said, not surprised at how weak and soft her voice was. She was clutching tightly to a thin, fraying thread of consciousness. “She did not tell me who.”

“Yet she sold you to me for the night?”

“Said she could make sure the man did not know. Someone paid for me to be brought here.” She ached to say who she suspected had done so, but kept the words back. She had no proof.

One look into her cloudy eyes told Ashton there was no sense in questioning her about that now. She was barely conscious. He looked at his friends, praying one of them had devised a plan. This was not something he really wanted or needed to get mixed up in at this time, but he could not desert the woman and certainly could not leave her at Mrs. Cratchitt’s.

“The boys can go back out the window,” Brant said. “As soon as they are on the ground, we will draw up the rope. I will tie it about your waist, Ashton, and while you hold the girl, we will lower you out the window. Cornell, you go to the carriage and wait for them. Whitney, Victor, and I will wait here while you take the boys and the lady to their home. There are a few things I wish to do before we leave this place,” he muttered and frowned at Penelope.

“We do not need help to get her home,” said Artemis.

“Do not be so proud you refuse help when it is truly needed,” Brant told the boy. “She cannot walk far, if at all, and you cannot carry her through the streets without drawing a great deal of unwanted attention to yourselves. Now, out the window with you. We do not want to have someone catch all of us in this room, do we?”

Artemis’s lips moved and Ashton suspected the youth was cursing, but he did as he was told. In but moments all the boys were gone and Brant was pulling up the rope. As Ashton prepared to take his turn, he noticed that the rope was similar to what sailors used to catch the side of another ship, the sharp tines of the grappling hook deeply embedded in the wall. He wondered how he had missed the sound of that striking the wood and digging in. Lust had obviously deafened him, he thought as he handed Penelope to Victor with an unsettling reluctance and stood still while Brant secured the rope to his waist. When Brant declared the rope secure, it took all of Ashton’s willpower to stop himself from grabbing for Penelope like some greedy child.

Shaking aside his unease over his tortured emotions, Ashton sat on the windowsill. He carefully swung his legs around until they hung outside, and then held his breath as he was slowly lowered to the ground. The way Penelope clung to his neck, her face pressed against his shoulder, told him she was still aware enough to realize what was happening around her.

When his feet touched the ground, he set Penelope on her feet. Artemis and Stefan hurried over to support her as he untied the rope around his waist, but it was clear they were having trouble keeping her upright. Once freed, Ashton waved to his friends who were still in the window and then picked Penelope up again before striding toward the carriage.

“This is a bad business,” muttered Cornell as the boys scrambled into the carriage.

All Ashton could do was nod in agreement. He set Penelope on the seat between her brothers and climbed into the carriage to sit down across from her. Cornell climbed in right behind him. It was crowded, and even as he rapped on the roof of the carriage to tell the driver to move, Delmar climbed into his lap. He would have preferred Penelope there, he thought, but put a steadying arm around the boy when the carriage began to move.

“Do you live far from here?” he asked Artemis.

“Nay,” the boy replied. “I told your man the way to go as we waited for you and Pen.”

When they pulled up in front of the house Artemis said was theirs, the tiny hope Ashton had not even realized he had been cherishing died a swift death. The area was home to mistresses, minor aristocracy with empty pockets, and those in trade who had progressed beyond living above their shops. Even if Penelope had good bloodlines and the training to be a viscount’s wife, she would have little or no dowry. He detested being so mercenary in his choice of a wife but the small horde of dependents he was responsible for required him to be so. Penelope might really be the daughter of a marquis but the man had obviously been as reckless with his riches as Ashton’s father had. Or she was not the marquis’s legitimate child.

Ignoring Artemis’s protest, Ashton lifted Penelope out of the carriage and carried her up the steps to the door. He had only just reached the top step when the door was flung open and more young boys appeared, surrounding him. Penelope was taken from him before he could utter one protest. The boys all thanked him for his aid and hurried a staggering Penelope inside, slamming the door in his face.

Ashton considered banging on the door but shrugged aside the urge. He had to put the woman out of his mind. On the morrow he would be facing Lord Hutton-Moore, taking that first formal step toward marrying the beautiful, cold Clarissa. He noticed a placard by the door that read WHERLOCKE WARREN and frowned. An odd name for a house, even for one bought for a mistress, he mused as he turned away.

Once back in the carriage and on his way to Mrs. Cratchitt’s to gather up his friends, Ashton decided he wanted to go home. He needed quiet, needed time to think and strengthen his resolve to do what he had to do for his family. He needed time alone to push all thought and memory of a woman who stirred his blood as none had ever done before right out of his mind.