The Midnight Rake. Anabelle BryantЧитать онлайн книгу.
everything comprising the natural simplicity of his life was pushed to the side for the matters at hand.
Now, dressed in formal attire for the Pimbles’ masquerade, he awaited Penelope’s entrance, as did Maman. Aubry would be staying home of course, not having had her proper come out.
Approaching footsteps turned all attention toward the door. Jenkins cleared his throat and then a shadowy figure skirted past the staid butler. Phin had managed fleeting glimpses of Penelope since his abrupt decision to stay out of her path, but no one could deny she was present now.
Once his eyes skimmed over her slim silhouette the floor fell away. Gone was the faded day gown and mousy straw bonnet, her hair unbraided, her repose no longer reticent. Instead, a grand beauty waited inside the doorframe. The room grew silent and time stretched until Mon Ami, the offensive bird, released an intrusive squawk. Penelope startled, recovered just as quickly, and smothered a bemused smile. Phineas told his feet to move but Maman passed him on her way across the room.
“Jolie mademoiselle, you look lovely from head to toe.” She clasped Penelope’s hands and pulled her forward. “I shall be proud to introduce you to everyone this evening. You will do nicely.”
Wasting not another breath listening to his mother’s chatter, Phineas locked Penelope’s gloved hands in his, his heartbeat kicking up speed with the motion. Maman could not have been more correct. Penelope looked breathtaking, as delicious as a treacle dream. She dropped into a deep curtsy and the action allowed him an enticing glimpse of the creamy skin framed by her bodice.
“Phineas,” Maman called with a delighted trill.
What a magnificent transformation. Oh, Penelope had appeared lovely in the gardens, in the sunlight as beautiful as a wildflower, but this evening in a modern gold-colored gown of fine velvet, she looked as exquisite as any debuted female of the ton.
No. She looked better. Desire quickened his blood.
“Phineas!”
She possessed a freshness that could not be feigned. He pressed a lingering kiss to her gloved fingers, all the while his eyes drank in her green gaze, wishing to memorize every detail of her appearance.
“Phineas.” Penelope tugged her hand. “Your mother is calling you.”
She leaned in with a conspiring whisper and Phineas caught the light scent of vanilla. He stalled for a breath before releasing her glove, his heart thudding a heavy beat and then he smiled, thankful for the verbal nudge.
“Where have we heard the Rosebery name before? Penelope, did your father remain active in society?” Lady Fenhurst motioned toward the overstuffed chairs.
Phineas walked to the fireplace to attend to the flames all the while willing his body to co-operate. “I can’t say, Maman.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Penelope grin at his use of the familiarity. Should he be embarrassed? It was foolish in the extreme to put such acute interest in someone’s impression that the typical be overthought. Still an unwelcome heat warmed the back of his neck. He turned to focus on the discussion in the room.
His mother’s voluble conversation flew from her faster than a hummingbird’s wings, the different societal events they would attend together, the opportunity to mix with the oldest members of the ton all in a combination of mostly English, a little French and the occasional squawk of an overfed parrot.
How twisted and ironic, and a little too complicated, having Penelope in house while she sought the man for whom she had tender feelings. Everyone referred to Phin’s resplendent virtues as a prime example of the self-possessed gentleman, yet the perception evoked a wry smile. While he did not make a show of his habits and preferred his relationships kept private cloaked by the night hours, he was a man with masculine needs and urges. Something about his new houseguest ignited all the wrong desires.
His eyes sought Penelope. By damn, if she wasn’t completely fetching. Candlelight reflected off the wayward curls resting against her shoulders to highlight their silky appeal. His fingers twitched with restlessness, interrupted by the clock chiming nine. They walked to the hall in wait of the carriage, his mother and Penelope engrossed in animated conversation.
Without warning Maman drew up sharply, halting everyone in step.
“Mon dieu, I forgot the letter I promised Lady Pimble. She depends upon receiving the correspondence this evening.” Overwrought with the realization, Maman pursued the stairs.
“At her own masquerade?” Impatience marred Phin’s words, then catching himself, he amended his tone. “It is no matter if we arrive a few minutes late. We’ll wait for you in the foyer. There’s sure to be a crush at the receiving line. It will not signify if we’re at the beginning or end.” He forced a tight smile before glancing in Penelope’s direction. His expression eased as he noticed the genuine pleasure reflected in her eyes.
“No, I would never cause a delay because of my forgetfulness.” Maman continued with insistence. “You must proceed. I will have Jenkins summon the footmen to ready another carriage.”
She moved across the hall to the far staircase as Phin argued the point. He already fought a troublesome desire to pay closer attention to Penelope. No good could come from being sequestered in a dimly lit carriage for thirty minutes.
“That is unnecessary.” He objected, full-knowing there was no way to win the argument against Maman’s determination. This trait of her personality had amplified as the years passed. Her mind was made and there would be no unmaking it.
“I cannot recall where I left the letter. It will take time for me to locate it. I’ll follow as soon as I have it safely tucked inside my reticule.” She patted her purse as if he needed the visual aid and bid them goodbye with a quick flick of her wrist, her back turned as she scurried for the stairs.
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