The Midnight Rake. Anabelle Bryant

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СКАЧАТЬ mouth at the gravity in which Jenkins relayed the news. “It won’t be so terrible, I promise you.” He spoke the placating words in hope of setting the man at ease then paused as two maids rushed past, piles of freshly folded linen in their arms. His eyes followed them as they hurried up the far staircase. “Our home will not be turned topsy-turvy so easily.”

      When the older servant made no reply, Phin repeated his vow. “You will see. I will not allow it.”

      Determined to discover what his mother was about, he set a brisk pace across the hall, his eyes noting every detail of his home remained in order. Velvet curtains were drawn allowing daylight in, the tiles gleamed with fresh polish, and not a speck of dust could be found on the disciplined carvings of the satinwood furnishings. He rounded the corner of the corridor nearest the drawing room, only to pull up abruptly, unable to stop as he collided with a stranger who exited the same room. Their bodies bumped together with enough force to momentarily stun him. As he retreated, his chin brushed the hair swept across the lady’s forehead, his entire body confused by the unexpected collision and the instantaneous reaction of each of his senses.

      She smelled like vanilla, sweet and tempting, and his stomach may have growled at the observation. One thing remained certain, the accidental caress against her person more than convinced him this stranger in his house felt warm and wonderfully soft in all the right places. He recovered manners with a shake of his head, and moved aside with reluctance.

      Sunlight streamed through the drawing room windows and washed over the lady motionless in the doorway. By damn, her eyes were unusual, flecks of gold dancing in startling green. With effort he forced out a coherent string of words.

      “Pardon me.” His gaze followed hers as it dipped to the floor where a pair of ivory gloves lay on the cerulean carpet. “If I may?”

      His voice held a note of confusion he could not explain. Bending at the waist, part purposeful bow, he lifted the gloves with care. The silk appeared worn, and he noted the top glove was missing two of its four pearl buttons.

      “Thank you, my lord.”

      Her small hand snatched the gloves from his grasp before he could consider them further, her fingertips sweeping against his palm in a smooth, silky caress, so delicate he wondered if he’d imagined it. But no, the sudden shot of awareness that jarred his heartbeat proved it occurred.

      “I am Phineas Betcham, Viscount Fenhurst. This is my home. And you are…?”

      A flash of surprise flickered in her deep green eyes and a smile made a fleeting appearance before the lady caught her bottom lip in indecision. Again, a peculiar feeling rushed through him. Perhaps the long carriage ride and the heat of the day had affected his stomach after all.

      “My name is Penelope Rosebery. I’m a guest of the Countess.”

      Her voice, melodic and calming, banished all thoughts of the intrusive parrot, inviting him to consider her fine features. Her bonnet fell backwards, the yellow ribbon circling her neck as if she’d just made entrance to the house. The delicate hat lay underneath a single long braid, the color of fresh baked scones. Her eyes, a mossy shade he’d never seen previously, sparkled, crystalline and intriguing; and her nose, pert and quick turned, was spattered with a handful of freckles likely gained by not wearing the bonnet. Were her cheeks flushed from their near collision or the circumstances of the situation? He could not know. All in all she presented a fetching picture; an utterly refreshing surprise during an inordinately difficult day.

      Despite his curious silence, Miss Rosebery flashed a brilliant smile and Phin returned it in kind, a warm feeling replacing all others, more akin to the streaming light reflected through the windows.

      “Please forgive my confusion. It would appear I’m the last one to be made aware of your visit; but then I’ve been out of house on a fishing trip,” he muttered, his mind busy contemplating how her name certainly fit, loveliness and sweetness combined.

      “Of course.”

      Her gaze fell on him as she replied and an unexpected flicker of emotion inspired his chest. He disliked the disturbance and dismissed it with a deep exhale. They might have remained stalled were they not interrupted by his mother, her enthusiastic exclamation as startling as the parrot’s incessant squawking earlier.

      “Phineas! Très bien. At last, you’re home. Your father extended his travels to include Egypt. I daresay I’ve no idea when he’ll return and I’ve been so lonely. I want to hear every detail of your trip to Brighton. Has your sister’s countenance improved? Her heartache keeps me awake at night.”

      Phineas grimaced as his mother embraced him; her histrionic outpouring as exaggerated as her tight hold.

      “I’m happy to see you as well, Maman. I hope you’re not as terribly desolate as you wish me to believe.” He knew well her tendency to lean on the melodramatic.

      With the same vigor the Countess affected in every area of her life, she inclined her head toward Penelope, an affectionate smile sliding into place.

      “Have you met our guest? Miss Rosebery will be staying with us here in London.”

      Before he could respond, his mother turned to the young lady and continued as if he took no part in the conversation.

      “Your sister is settled upstairs. Aubry seemed so tired from the carriage ride, I advised her to take a nap. I’m sure she’ll feel refreshed once she rests a spell. In the meantime I’ve instructed Cook to prepare a picnic. After traveling for hours confined to the stuffy coach I’d like nothing more than a light repast in the garden. Will you join me?”

      “Excuse me, Maman.” Phineas steeled his patience and interrupted his mother’s rapid planning. If he did not exert some control over the situation, he’d find his afternoon and evening arranged without a say as was his mother’s tendency.

      “Mais oui. Of course you will join us. It would be impolite for you not to welcome our new houseguests. Besides, you must be hungry from your travels. How delightful we all arrived at the same time. We’ll picnic in one hour.”

      Her forthright directive brought him up quicker than a wasp sting. It would do little to object as propriety dictated he be present no matter he desired a quiet meal and a night’s rest. At least the outing would present an opportunity to uncover the reason for Miss Rosebery’s visit and her sudden relationship with Maman. He had no desire for complicated company, most especially female guests, yet despite his misgivings, serving as reluctant escort was the gentlemanly thing to do.

      He excused himself and retreated down the hall to his chambers. As he climbed the stairs, his fingers worked the knot of his cravat. Perhaps he could get a bit of peace before joining the ladies in the garden. Removing the linen from around his neck, he pushed it into his trouser pocket, his fingers brushing against the coin there. Lucky penny indeed.

Chapter Two

      Penelope drew the brush to the ends of her hair and satisfied with her effort, replaced it beside the comb on the vanity. She’d released the maid who had shown at the door, deeming it unnecessary to have someone arrange her hair when she’d become adept at the task. Considering the turns her life experienced of late, she marveled at her good fortune. Lady Fenhurst’s actions spoke of an innate kindness and Penelope knew she would never be able to repay her debt of gratitude.

      She rose from the vanity and walked to the lace-draped window СКАЧАТЬ