Something Reckless (7 page)

“And how many of those societies ultimately fell?” Penelope continued to stare at the items, her fists clenched along the cool glass top of the case. “These things, these images and the dissipation they represent may not be new, but they were dangerous then. Even as they are dangerous now.”

“Dangerous?” Jeremy repeated, surprised by her use of the word.

It could easily seem as though she meant dangerous to Society, dangerous to those who surrendered to their baser drives, but there was something in her tone and a sadness to her expression that made him think her statement was more a personal one than a broad reference.

He leaned down. “Penelope, what happened to you?”

Her fingers curled against the glass before she spun around, her face pale. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but Jeremy saw powerful and dark emotions in the blue depths regardless. There was raw pain reflected there.

And for the first time, he actually cared about that pain.

“Someone I cared for—” she gasped out a breath, as if the mere act of speaking the words hurt her, “—was seduced in order to protect me.”

Jeremy drew back a fraction. That was the one confession he hadn’t expected. Who could she mean?

He caught his breath. Her sister. Lady Miranda Rothschild had been the subject of many whispers after her now husband, Ethan Hamon, the Earl of Rothschild, threw himself at her feet at a ball…wait, it had been Penelope’s engagement ball, hadn’t he heard that?

Could Rothschild have seduced Miranda? Jeremy wouldn’t put it past him. The two men had run in similar circles for many years, though Ethan had left all that behind once he married. Many of Jeremy’s friends had said the Earl’s wife had ruined him, though the man seemed happy enough whenever Jeremy saw him.

He searched Penelope’s face. There was more to her pain than something from her sister’s past. By all accounts, Miranda was now happy, and she certainly wanted for nothing. Rothschild showered her with gifts on a regular basis, to the point that even the women placed wagers on what magnificent bauble the beautiful Lady Rothschild would be given next.

No, Penelope’s pain went much deeper. It was personal. Caused by something that had no happy ending.

“But what happened to
you
?” Jeremy pressed, his fingers itching to cover her hand. But he wouldn’t allow himself that. He wouldn’t touch her, mostly because he feared once he did, it wouldn’t end with mere comfort.

And if he gave her more than comfort, it would ruin his plans.

Penelope finally lifted her gaze to his. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and her bottom lip quivered just slightly.

“H-he-” she began, then cut herself off.

She backed away from him three long steps, shaking her head. “No. I never should have said anything. I apologize for my lack of decorum. I want to go home now. I will be attending the Trimble ball tonight, and there is much for me to do.”

Jeremy could have pursued her, but he stayed put, partly because he felt that pushing her would only hurt his cause. And partly because being so close to her was disconcerting.

“Very well. I will escort you home.”

He motioned for the door, and Penelope stood at least two feet away from him as they made their way to the hall.

“Will you be there?” she asked, her voice full of forced lightness.

“At the Trimble ball?” he asked.

She nodded.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He had been invited to the ball, of course, and had intended to be present. But now he wasn’t sure that was the right course of action.

Penelope was ripe for the taking, but not by him. No, she couldn’t think it was Jeremy Vaughn, Duke of Kilgrath, who seduced her into surrendering her senses.

She needed the anonymous stranger who had already weakened her with his shocking words. And Jeremy was more than willing to play that role.

“I’m afraid I’m unable to attend,” he lied. “But perhaps we could speak tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Penelope said as he helped her into his carriage. “I would be happy to see you tomorrow.”

And as Jeremy climbed up and took his seat across from her, he couldn’t help but smile. Whether she knew it or not, Penelope would see him. And he would see her.

All of her.

And perhaps by the time the night ended, he would have completed his duty to his friends and purged himself of the strange draw that this pretty little miss had on him.

Penelope looked at herself in the mirror, watching as Fiona brushed her hair in long, even strokes. It felt like she was looking at a stranger, for she had no idea who she had become in just a fortnight.

Since her husband’s death, since she started talking about the Upper Ten Thousand and their vices, she had begun to see herself in a particular light. She was Lady Penelope Norman, a woman who spoke her mind, who didn’t care what others thought of her. She had accepted that her unpopular opinions would likely preclude her from another marriage. And her moral code would keep her from having her baser desires fulfilled by a man’s touch again.

She’d believed she had accepted all those consequences.

But the more time she spent with Jeremy Vaughn, the more she realized her acceptance was nothing more than a pretty lie.
She might have been able to
ignore
her darkest, most secret and sinful desires, but in truth, she hadn’t cut them away. They still lurked there, making her ache, making her weak.

Between Jeremy’s erotic influence and the secret author who left no detail to the imagination of what he would do to her wet body, she was dangerously close to the edge.

“Are you quite all right, Penelope?” Fiona asked, her voice cutting through Penelope’s thoughts. “You are so very pale.”

Penelope focused on the other woman in the mirror image. “Your life before,” she said softly, blushing when Fiona winced ever so slightly. “Your life with Wharton, do you ever miss it?”

Fiona placed the brush on the dressing table with a clatter. “Wharton…did things to me that I will never forget,” she said softly. “And never forgive.”

Penelope nodded. The look on Fiona’s pale face reminded her of everything she believed in. And she stiffened her spine. She
could
fight her desires, she could battle her weakness. Tomorrow, when she saw Jeremy, she would tell him she no longer desired to meet with him. That she had seen enough. If he was truly changed, her denial would be enough for him.

And if he wasn’t, she would no longer be his fool.

The door to her chamber opened, and a footman stepped inside. “My lady, a missive for you has just arrived.”

Penelope spun around to look at the servant. Even from across the room, she could tell who the letter was from. Her secret admirer. Her tempting vice.

This was the first test to her newfound resolve.

“Bring it here,” she said, rising to her feet with a stern frown.

The young man delivered the letter. As he left the room, she stared at it. At the familiar handwriting. At the blank, round seal of wax on the back. Even before she read it, her body weakened, her breasts felt heavy. Her legs shook.

Her fingers clenched around the paper, wrinkling it as she stepped toward the fire silently.

“What are you doing?” Fiona asked, drawing in a harsh breath.

“I am burning it,” Penelope said through clenched teeth as she held the pages out to the flames. The heat warmed her shaking hand, but she couldn’t release the letter, as she knew she should. She stared at it, the orange glow of the fire turning the ecru a strange yellow.

“Penelope?” Fiona whispered.

Biting back a sob, Penelope yanked the letter back. She couldn’t do it. She was too curious about what the mysterious man would say next. If she burned the letter, she knew full well that it would haunt her.

“Damn,” she whispered beneath her breath as she broke the seal with enough violence that the sheet beneath tore. Holding the ends together, she read the message.

Penelope
,
you must know how seeing you without being able to touch you is a torment. I will be at the Trimble ball tonight. I will wait for you in the first parlor in the west wing of the estate. Come to me at midnight. Please.

“What does he say this time?” Fiona asked, stepping forward.

Penelope clutched the letter to her chest. Since Fiona saw the contents of the first letter, Penelope hadn’t allowed her maid to
read the others. But she had no illusions that the former courtesan wasn’t utterly aware of the kind of sinful things the mystery author was writing in every letter that had followed.

“He wants to meet me. Tonight. At the Trimble ball,” Penelope admitted, her breath short as she crumpled the pages.

Fiona smiled, her bright eyes sparkling. “How exciting!”

Penelope stared. Dear God, she agreed. It
was
excitement that swelled her chest and made her wet and needy.

She shook her head. “No!” she snapped, angry at herself, as much as Fiona. “It is not exciting. It is utterly inappropriate and foolish and outrageous!”

Fiona drew back at her shrewish tone. “I-I apologize, my lady,” she whispered. “I did not mean to offend.”

Penelope dipped her chin in shame. It wasn’t her right to take her problems out on Fiona. That made her no better than Wharton.

“No, I apologize. The last few weeks have been
trying
. And this newest development only causes more confusion.”

Her servant smiled as if she understood Penelope’s feelings. “What will you do?”

Penelope considered the question. “Part of me wishes to hide here, avoid the party altogether like a coward.”

Fiona stepped forward with a shake of her head. “You, a coward? No, you are the strongest woman I have ever known.”

Penelope blushed with pleasure at the compliment. She wasn’t sure she deserved such glowing praise when her mind was so weak.

“Thank you. But whether I am strong or a coward cannot dictate this decision. I am expected at the gathering by Lady Trimble herself. She is influential. I cannot cry off.”

With a sigh, Penelope began to pace. “I suppose I could simply ignore the letter, as if I’d never received it. Then this man will wait for me in vain, and that will be the end of it.”

The idea of which gave her an unwanted sense of dismay that she crushed down deep inside her.

“But what if he doesn’t simply wait?” Fiona asked.

Penelope tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve spent many years around men who are bold and sensual like the one who is writing to you,” the former courtesan explained. “He might not just wait for you and then fade into the crowd when you ignore his summons. He might approach you in front of all in attendence.”

Penelope swallowed hard. Dear God, she hadn’t thought of that possibility. If a man approached her in public, demanding to know why she hadn’t kept a secret rendezvous with him in the private area of her hosts’ home, the scandal could be quite vicious. There were those who would gladly capitalize on any mark against her character.

“That is true.” She paced the room twice, picturing every hideous scenario that could result in such a thing. Finally, she looked at Fiona. “I suppose I have no choice but to meet with him. I can tell him, without question, that I do not wish to receive his correspondence any longer. Perhaps that will end this madness.”

The other woman stepped forward, placing a hand on Penelope’s forearm with an expression of concern. “Are you certain he won’t…hurt you?”

Penelope placed her own hand over the other woman’s with a smile. Of course Fiona would fear for her physical safety after everything she had been through in her own tragic life. But Pe
nelope didn’t worry for her bodily safety. The way the stranger wrote to her wasn’t threatening or crude. It was simply bold and erotic.

Her fears were more grounded in her own lack of control, rather than his. But perhaps, once she saw the man she had built up so fully in her mind, she would no longer desire him. Perhaps he would have bad teeth and padded calves and she would find him repugnant.

“He won’t hurt me,” she promised. “I won’t let him hurt me.”

And all she could hope was that she wouldn’t end up hurting herself when she came face-to-face with the man whose words had haunted her.

Jeremy stood in the long shadows that filled the darkened, empty expanse of Lord Trimble’s parlor. It was a family parlor, not a public one, far away from the buzzing crowds that flowed in the sparkling ballroom just a few twists in the halls away.

Although he hadn’t seen her, he knew Penelope was there. His driver had informed him of her arrival as he waited in an unmarked carriage outside. Jeremy had slipped in through a side door and was now waiting for her.

Waiting for the inevitable.

He thrilled at the thought. In just…he glanced at his pocket watch…just ten minutes, he would be with her. She wouldn’t be able to see him in the dark room, but he would finally touch her. Seduce her.

He hadn’t felt so needy since…actually, he couldn’t truly remember the last time. Raised the eldest son of a powerful Duke, Jeremy had grown accustomed to having what he wanted, when
he wanted it. Whether it was blunt or horses or women, he could count on one hand the times he’d been refused.

It was rather boring, truth be told. There was no challenge in simply snapping his fingers and having a woman fall at his feet.

Penelope was a challenge. Pursuing her had been hard work, and tonight he would receive the benefit of that labor. It was an infinitely satisfying thought, and his cock hardened.

The click of the door latch being turned brought him from his reverie and focused his attention. He stared as the barrier slowly swung open, and a gloved hand curled around the edge.

Penelope
.

She stepped inside. The moonlight washed down from the window in a long column that illuminated the doorway perfectly. In the misty glow, Jeremy could see every detail of Penelope’s form and face, but she could not see him in the shadows.

And look, he did. She was wearing a pale green gown with a fashionably low neckline and short, puffed sleeves. A darker wrap was draped around her forearms, the tassels brushing the curve of her hip as she moved farther into the room.

“Hello?” she said, her voice hoarse and weak. She pursed her lips and repeated it, this time with more conviction.

Jeremy continued to stare, watching her full lips form the word in fascination. Her face was almost as pale as the weak moonlight, her eyes wide and filled with emotion she wasn’t practiced enough to hide. She was afraid. She was anxious.

She was needy. Desire was sparkling in her gaze, along with those other emotions.

Her face fell when there was no answer from the room within. She looked down with a blush before she began to go.

Jeremy shook off his unexpected reaction to her appearance and whispered, “Penelope.”

He was careful to keep his voice low, disguised by its level and a slight roughness that he forced.

She jumped at the sound of her name and spun back, stumbling out of the shard of moonlight to join him in the almost complete darkness.

“What—?” she began.

He didn’t allow her to finish. Stepping forward, he caught her hand. She jolted at the touch, but didn’t stop him when he tugged her forward and pulled her into his arms. He wrapped himself around her, pulling her flush to his chest, her hips to his hips, her legs to his own. God, she felt good. An unexpected heaven that entered his seductive hell.

“Please,” she whimpered, but the intent of her plea was anything but clear. He didn’t know if she was saying please touch her or please don’t.

But it seemed she didn’t know, either. She at once bunched her fists against his chest to push him away and subtly arched her hips against his to bring them even closer. With a little chuckle of pleasure, Jeremy took advantage of her confusion by dipping his head down and pressing his lips to hers.

For a brief moment, she was completely still, her hands fisted against his chest, her mouth pursed beneath his own. But then she let out a little moan and clutched at his coat. Her lips parted, inviting him in and when he took the invitation, her wet tongue greeted him with hot and hungry fever.

Jeremy crushed her closer, forgoing technique for raw passion. He sucked her tongue, he stroked his hands down her spine, he
cupped her backside to lift her up against his aching cock. He rocked into her as he backed her, step by step to the wall across the darkened room.

When her back flattened to the hard surface, Penelope moaned again and lifted her hips to his in a mute entreaty.

All the waiting had been worth this. Her surrender was sweet. True surrender, not a put on play like courtesans or even widows did. Jeremy had truly conquered Penelope, overcome her resolve, buckled the strength of her resistance. Every time she made a little sound of pleasure, it made his cock ache all the more.

Until he was almost mad with the wanting.

Moving his mouth from hers, he dragged his lips down her chin, over the curve of her throat. He slipped a hand beneath the neckline of her pretty gown and felt the beaded tip of her breast already straining toward his fingers. He rolled the bud between his thumb and forefinger as he dropped his mouth lower, over the silken fabric of her gown, lower to her stomach. He dropped to his knees as he glided his mouth even farther, blowing hot breath against the juncture of her thighs and reveling in the way her hips surged to meet his mouth while she let out a cry of pleasure.

He didn’t speak, didn’t ask as he shoved the layers of silky gown up, up until he revealed the delicate cotton chemise beneath. He pushed that away, too, and found the split in her satin drawers. He worked a finger inside, stroking the tip of his index finger along the wet, sweet slit hidden within.

“Oh God,” she groaned, her fingernails raking against the expensive wallpaper behind her.

He added a second finger, spreading and teasing her slippery folds, opening her until he could scent her desire, until it coated
his fingers with the proof that she had been aching for him as much as he had ached for her. Even if she didn’t know who he was.

Penelope fought for purchase against the slippery wall. Everything was happening too quickly. She’d had every intention to end this madness. To demand her mysterious admirer cease his unwanted correspondence. Instead, she found herself half naked, his fingers now plunging into her wet channel and dragging out sensations unlike any she’d ever felt before, even with the furtive touch of her own hands.