A Lady's Dilemma Or The Dandy and Lady Penelope Page 6

  “Please do not take offense, Max,” Penelope said, giving his arm a squeeze. “I told her about Lady Martson inviting you to accompany her to the modiste.”

  “Actually,” Lady Anne said with a sweet smile, “I would welcome your advice, as I overheard Lady Martson’s fulsome praise of your talent for putting colors and fabrics together. My gown is the palest blue, almost silver,” she quickly added.

  “An excellent color that will complement your hair and illuminate your eyes,” Max said gallantly. “No doubt your modiste has paid particular attention to detail.” They had reached the end of the grand promenade, and Max deftly turned them back toward the supper boxes. “You plan to wear pearls?” he asked.

  Lady Anne nodded. “The same ones my mother wore for her coming out ball.”

  “Quite proper, too,” Max said. “However, might I suggest that you thread the pearls in your hair? That way you could add a pendent, a diamond or sapphire perhaps, since it’s such a special occasion.”

  Lady Anne’s face lit up with a bright smile. “What a lovely idea. What do you think, Penelope?”

  As the two young women became engrossed discussing accessories for their gowns, Max looked ahead and spotted Arnaud walking toward the back of the orchestra’s building. He wondered if the Frenchman planned to meet with his accomplice. As he considered how he might follow Arnaud in such a crush of people, he realized Penelope was trying to get his attention.

  “My lord,” she said, pulling lightly on his arm, “did you hear Lady Anne’s question?”

  He looked back and forth between the two ladies, who both seemed to expect a reply. “Do forgive my rudeness,” he said, turning them toward their supper box where both sets of parents sat. “But something has just occurred to me that I must see to right away.” Releasing their arms, he turned and quickly walked toward the orchestra building.

  Chapter 6

  Watching Max race after Pierre Arnaud, Penelope reviewed the evidence of her suspicions. Every time the Frenchman showed up, Max covertly kept his eyes on him. And when he could, Max left her to chase after Arnaud. While her ego felt bruised, she was honest enough to acknowledge that she was grateful that he was not gallivanting after another woman. And what difference would it make if he were chasing another female’s skirts? After all, she was to marry Victor, and sighed with resignation.

  “Are you ill?” Lady Anne asked.

  With a weak smile, Penelope shook her head. “’Tis nothing.”

  Anne gave her a knowing look. “I do not mean to pry. But you should know there has been talk.”

  When Lady Anne didn’t continue, Penelope prompted, “What kind of talk?”

  “Penelope, you are constantly seen with Lord Aldwyn,” Anne said, “yet you are engaged to Mr. Bynes. Is it any wonder that people question your friendship with Aldwyn?”

  Penelope laughed softly. “Anne, I promise there is nothing between Aldwyn and me.”

  “Are you declaring you have no feelings for him?” Lady Anne asked suspiciously.

  “Of course, I like him. It is just that . . . well, Aldwyn doesn’t care for me. We are simply friends and nothing more.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Anne persisted. “His eyes constantly search for you. He seeks you out at functions, always has two dances with you at balls.”

  Exasperated with Anne’s persistence, Penelope said with fervor, “I promise you, he has no interest in me, at least, not in that sense.”

  Shaking her head, Anne said, “I don’t understand?”

  Penelope linked her arm through Anne’s and pulled her toward the supper box. “It is not important, really. Oh look, poor Lydia looks positively bored sitting with my parents.”

  ~~~~~

  Rounding the building, Max saw Arnaud a few feet ahead talking with Edric Kingston, both with their backs to him. He pressed himself against the building behind a large rhododendron and inched closer to listen when Edric said, “I know for a fact that the Duke is disappointed with Max.”

  “I am not surprised,” Arnaud answered. “Lord Aldwyn acts like a buffoon. Even though he is the son of a duke, no one takes him seriously. Sad to say, he has lost his stature, er, standing in the ton because of his foolishness.”

  Through the shrubbery leaves, Max watched the two men walk further down the path and chuckled to himself dispassionately. There was some truth in what Arnaud had said, for Max had seen it in the Duke’s eyes. His father was ashamed of his transition into a fop.

  Slowly, Max edged his way from behind the rhododendron and carefully brushed the metallic sheen of the gold damask dinner jacket. Then checking the gold threads of his embroidered cream satin waistcoat, he returned to his guests in the supper box, pondering why his father seemed upset with him. The Duke knew what Max was trying to achieve. Granted, he was acting foolishly and dressing more and more dandified. But Max had not really changed. He was the same man that he’d always been. He was playing a role. Only his clothes had changed, and that was what drew the people’s attention, more so than his behavior.

  He knew the ton was extremely superficial, and he wondered about himself, if he had ever acted in such a spurious manner. He remembered some of the men he’d fought beside on the battlefield, hard working men who were devoted to their families and country. Men who may not have been as well educated, who did not come from titled families or had been born with silver spoons in their mouths. Still, they exemplified the type of man that Max strived to be, decent, honest, and trustworthy.

  Considering this, he understood that a man’s character was not determined by birth or clothes but his adherence to integrity. Surely his father recognized this, too. And if not, well, Max had talked his way into the aristocratic courts of Paris and Vienna, so finessing the Duke of Blackmoor into accepting the eccentric sartorial habits of his younger son shouldn’t prove too difficult.

  As he neared the supper box, he heard Lady Pen’s delightful laugh, and a smile replaced his frown. She’d accepted his foppish behavior without one word of censure. Studying her heart-shaped face, upturned nose, and bright smile, he felt his heart swell--and pulled up short.

  Penelope’s spirit was as beautiful as her physical person. She presented nothing false.

  “Lord Aldwyn,” Arnaud said, coming up behind him.

  Max turned and extended a leg encased in cherry red breeches and a shiny Hessian with a silver tassel. He couldn’t help waving his hand with a flourish and said, “Monsieur, I am at your service.”

  “Come, my lord, try not to call attention to yourself,” Arnaud snapped before he signaled for Max to follow him. “There is a rustic arbor about half way along the first path past the Chinese Pavilion,” Arnaud whispered, making Max lean toward him to hear as they strolled toward the back of the orchestra building. “Just before the fireworks, go there. Under the stone bench, you will find a packet. I’ll expect to receive it before the evening is over,” Arnaud finished, giving Max a baleful look.

  Max nodded. “I’ll find you at the fireworks?”

  “Très certainement,” Arnaud said.

  ~~~~~

  No doubt his guests probably thought he was a horrible host, but Max didn’t return to the supper box. Instead, he made his way down a well lighted path that led to the Chinese Pavilion. He needed to get in place before the drop-off man arrived. And if the Fates were with him, Max could nab the traitor and put an end to this whole charade.

  He came to the first path and started down, keeping close to the trees, even though the path was much narrower and not as well lit. He passed two couples, but neither showed any interest in him. Up ahead in the shadows, he saw what appeared to be the arbor and slowed his pace. A man popped out and looked both ways and, upon seeing Max, turned to go down the other end of the path.

  Reacting on instinct, Max sprinted to the arbor, quickly ducked in and thrust his hand under the stone seat. He felt a cloth package leaning against a leg and grabbed it. Tucking it into an inside pocket of his jacket, he straightene
d and hurried after the traitor.

  The path grew darker, and Max lost sight of the man. As he quickened his steps, he crossed a darkened walkway with the low canopy of tree branches forming a dark archway. Cautiously, he made his way to a wooden bench that marked a dead end. He stopped and listened. At the rustling of foliage coming from the side of the lane, he turned just as someone violently slammed into his back. Thrown off balance, he grabbed for the bench and sat down with a thud, as his assailant, a balky figure of medium height, quickly retreated toward the lighted path.

  Jumping up, Max raced after him. He easily gained on him, then grabbed the back of his jacket’s collar, yanking him to a stop. The man turned swinging and connected with Max’s jaw. Shaking off the pain and stars swirling before his eyes, Max gathered his wits. Bending slightly forward, he tucked his elbows tight to his body and pummeled his opponent’s stomach. The man backpedaled, trying to get away. But Max was going in for the kill.

  “Max!”

  Penelope! Max threw a quick glance over his shoulder and saw her slim figure hurrying toward him. Turning back to his assailant, Max saw him come up from the ground swinging a small limb that connected with the side of his head.

  “Max?” Penelope’s soft whisper jarred Max’s conscientiousness. “Max?” He felt her gloved hand tenderly brush his hair from his forehead. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared into her worried gaze. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Taking her hand, he shook his head--then groaned. His head hurt, really hurt, with a throbbing that made him see double. Holding her hand against his chest, he took a moment to gather his wits. He was sitting on the gravel path with one arm draped over a stone bench. He remembered being clobbered by a tree limb and figured he’d blacked out but had no idea for how long.

  Releasing Penelope’s hand, he slowly pulled himself up on the bench. When he leaned forward to stand, his head throbbed even more. Gingerly touching his temple, he felt the swelling and fought to keep down his dinner. Then, another thought hit him, and he patted his jacket pocket. The pouch was still there.

  “What is going on, Max?” Penelope asked, sitting beside him and laying her hand on his arm. “Who was that man?”

  “A misunderstanding,” Max said, taking a deep breath. His head was beginning to clear. Gingerly he touched his temple and winced. “How bad is it?”

  Penelope gently brushed his hair aside and peered closely at him. “There is swelling. How do you feel?”

  Despite his head, Max reveled in her closeness and, closing his eyes, breathed in her violet scent, sweet but not cloying. Rather than answer her, he just stared into her eyes which sparkled with the glow of the globe lamp behind the bench. Taking her hand in his, he turned it over and, still staring into her eyes, very deliberately placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. He heard her quick intake of breath and watched as she blinked.

  Suddenly, she snatched her hand from his and stood up. “We had better join the others,” she said, brushing the front folds of her gown.

  Unwilling to let her go, Max stood and took a step closer to her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her against his body, almost lifting her off the ground.

  “Oh,” she cried out softly. With her eyes glued on his, her hands clutched his shoulders.

  Max took a moment to breathe. His head still hurt, but with the feel of Penelope’s soft curves, her intoxicating violet scent, Max discovered he had a more pressing need to caress this beautiful young woman, to kiss her. Looking into her glorious crystal blue eyes, he bent his head down and met her sweet lips with his.

  When she didn’t push him away, he gently lowered her so that she was standing in the circle of his arms. Continuing to hold her, he pulled back to look at her. In the soft globe light, her eyes met his and her lips parted. To Max, it was an invitation. He moaned and drew her closer for another kiss. Again, she accepted it, and when he deepened the kiss, seeking entrance to her luscious, warm mouth, Penelope allowed him. Max was lost, reveling in her feel, her scent.

  But he was also surprised. It was obvious that she was an innocent. Her response was to imitate his every move. Apparently, Victor Bynes had only bestowed chaste kisses on his betrothed. Breaking the kiss, Max asked, “You’ve never kissed like that before?”

  ~~~~~

  Like plunging into freezing water, his words jarred her conscience. Penelope pulled away and put her palms up to her burning cheeks. “Oh . . . what you must think of me.”

  “I think a great deal of you, Pen,” Max whispered in her ear. “Certainly, you have no reason to be embarrassed.”

  She looked up at him. With the moonlight shining on his dark hair, his eyes were unreadable. But she remembered his strength as he’d lifted her off the ground. She’d felt his muscles ripple through his evening jacket. And the feel of his lips on hers, his tongue entering her mouth, causing warmth to settle in her stomach that truly jolted and surprised her. Good heavens, she hadn’t wanted him to stop!

  But she was engaged to Victor.

  And none of this fit with what she knew about him. “Max, I don’t understand what is happening.”

  “I beg pardon?”

  “I saw you fighting with that man, and you checked your pocket. Did he rob you?”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” he said again.

  “Why did you kiss me?” she asked, her tone demanding.

  “I’m not sure I understand.” He sounded confused.

  She shook her head, befuddled and not a little disgusted with herself. “I should never have let you.”

  “Don’t think wrongly about what we just shared together, Pen. You must know I care a great deal for you.”

  He sounded so sincere. Had he been as affected as she by the kiss? But then, what if he had? “I never should have allowed this,” she said, brushing at a tear that slid down her cheek. “I am engaged.”

  Max took a deep breath. “Maybe you should break the engagement, Pen.”

  She stared into his eyes for a long moment. But he offered nothing more, making her accept the fact that he’d been toying with her. She shook her head just as the sky lit up with firecrackers and a loud boom sounded. Glancing up, she said, “I cannot do that, Max.”

  Max released her and, taking her elbow, “Come on,” he said, then started down the path toward the Chinese Pavilion and the fireworks. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I’ll come around in the afternoon, and we’ll ride in Hyde Park. Right now, it’s important that I find Arnaud.”

  “Naturally,” Penelope mumbled, skipping a step to keep up with him.

  As they entered the Temple of Comus, a large semi-circular area, defined by a series of archways separated by columns, Penelope was not surprised when Max excused himself and sauntered over to Pierre Arnaud who was talking with Victor. When Victor saw Max approaching, he quickly turned and headed toward her. Max, she noticed, moved intimately close to Arnaud and, with their shoulders touching, bent his head to say something in the Frenchman’s ear.

  “Where have you been?” Victor asked brusquely.

  “When you left the supper box with Monsieur Arnaud,” she answered, pulling her gaze away from Max, “I had hoped to join you but could not find you along the main path.”

  “You shouldn’t have left the supper box with Aldwyn.”

  He sounded angry, but Penelope didn’t think his ire was directed toward her since his gaze was on Max’s back as he talked to the Frenchman. As she studied the two men, Max leaned toward the Frenchman, but his expression wasn’t lover-like. Rather, Max looked perturbed, troubled, and she wondered if it was because his feelings for the Frenchman weren’t returned.

  Could that have had anything to do with why he’d kissed her?

  “How is it you came back with Aldwyn?” Victor asked accusingly.

  Turning to face him, Penelope realized Victor had caught her staring at Max. “We ran into each other.”

  Victor frowned, then spat out, “I forbid you to have anything to do with tha
t--that popinjay!”

  “We are friends,” she said defiantly.

  “Friends, huh!” He drew in a deep breath before continuing in a calmer voice. “I’m telling you to see no more of Aldwyn.”

  Penelope eyed her fiancé and scowled. She ought to feel guilty. After all, she’d just accepted, even encouraged, kisses from Max. But she also remembered the real hurt she’d felt when Victor had paid Miss Myers-Smythe more attention than her in front of the whole ton at Almack’s.

  Maybe Max was right after all.

  “Is this how you will order me about after we are married, Victor?” she replied, crossing her arms angrily. “If you are unhappy, perhaps we should reconsider our engagement.”

  His frown deepened as he looked down at her. “Why should we do that?”

  Glaring at him, Penelope stood her ground. “It might be best if we had more time to know each other better.”

  Victor snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve known each other for years.”

  “Not really,” she said thoughtfully. “We saw each other at Christmas or during the summer, but only for a day or two when our families visited. Even then, you had no time for me since I was seven years younger than you and still in the schoolroom.”

  “What difference does that make? Lots of couples marry after only knowing each other for a month or two,” he said, pressing his lips together in aggravation. He glared at her before asking, “Do you still plan to see Aldwyn?”

  “We are friends, Victor,” Penelope insisted. And as far as Max was concerned, that was the truth, she mused, no matter how much her wayward thoughts might like that to change. “Besides, he spends time with me, takes me riding in the Park, and dances with me at balls,” she added accusingly.

  “I do that,” Victor shot back. Then, when she leveled a disbelieving eye on him, he frowned. “I can do that. I’ll be ‘round tomorrow.”

  Penelope tried to look contrite. “Oh, I am sorry, Victor. But I have already promised Lord Aldwyn I would ride out with him,” she said, feeling a great deal more satisfaction than she should.