A Mystery/Suspense Collection: Sweet
Stories to satisfy your romantic cravings
Presented by Victory Tales Press
Authors:
Miss Mae, Gerald Costlow,
Cheryl Pierson, and Anne Patrick
Smashwords Edition
A Mystery/Suspense Collection: Sweet
Presented by Victory Tales Press
Copyright © 2011 by Rebecca J. Vickery
Cover Art Copyright © 2011 by Laura Shinn
Featuring Male Cover Model: Jason Aaron Baca
Edited and Produced by Rebecca J. Vickery
Design Consultation by Laura Shinn
Other Titles from Victory Tales Press
A Summer Collection Anthology
Bloodmaiden: a Fantasy Anthology
A Halloween Collection Anthology: Sweet
A Halloween Collection Anthology: Stimulating
A Christmas Collection: Sweet
A Christmas Collection: Sensual
A Christmas Collection: Stimulating
A Christmas Collection: Spicy
A Valentine Collection: Sweet
Smashwords Licensing Notes
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
This anthology is a work of fiction.
Though some actual towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the various authors included. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person past, present, or future are coincidental.
Dedication
To all those who dare to ask: who, why, what, where, when, and how...
For these are the true fans of mystery and suspense in all its forms.
Victory Tales Press
presents
A Mystery/Suspense Collection: Sweet
Four stories to stir your heart and satisfy your craving for romance.
Miss Penelope's Letters by Miss Mae
A Distant Call by Gerald Costlow
The Last of her Kind by Cheryl Pierson
Dangerous Deception by Anne Patrick
Miss Penelope's Letters by Miss Mae
"All safe now, Miss Penelope." His husky voice murmured the words almost like a caress.
"Who are you?" She grasped the edge of the cape that swung across his shoulder. "Why did you send for me? What—?"
Before she could ask any more questions, he cut in with, "I must go. Until next time, my sweet."
"No!" A spurt of anger drowned her fear and confusion. "There won't be a next time!"
His mouth covered hers in a hard, thorough kiss. "You'll come." Heels kicking the stallion, the man's broad shouldered form rode off into the night.
A Distant Call by Gerald Costlow
The Appalachian Mountains hold mysteries galore for the unwary and the full moon increases the danger. Jessie Corman is new to the area, a preacher determined to start a church.
Then he meets a beautiful young woman who catches fish with her bare hands and offers him a job and home-cooking. Jessie is soon warned about witches and the call which leads the hearer into the woods to disappear forever.
Anna May Sherritt and her granny know all about the call and how folks disappear. Can Anna save Jessie and solve the disappearances or is she part of the problem?
The Last of Her Kind by Cheryl Pierson
An old Victrola is the cherished possession of Cassie's grandmother. Her father also seems oddly attached to the antique phonograph, but her new stepmother detests it and wants it gone. Grandmother is sick, probably dying, and Cassie will be the only one left in the house who sees through Trish as Cassie's brothers no longer live with them.
Then Cassie discovers a secret, a wonderful, yet frightening, secret. Will her new knowledge save her family or destroy it?
Dangerous Deception by Anne Patrick
Journalist Gwen Jacobs thrived on dangerous assignments. That is until her ambition led to the massacre of an entire African village. Now, a year later, she’s been offered a chance at redemption and the opportunity to expose the men behind the slaughter.
Unaware of the secrets she carries, or the danger they could bring if exposed, philanthropist Jack Peterson and his small group of humanitarians welcome Gwen on their journey of hope with the understanding she will tell the world of the atrocities taking place amidst a civil war.
But when Gwen’s deception is uncovered and a rebel commander learns who she is, not only is Gwen’s life on the line, she may lose the only man she’s ever really loved.
Miss Penelope's Letters
by
Miss Mae
Chapter One
The clang of steel striking steel reverberated in Penelope's ears. Spine pressed against the rough wood of the building's entrance alcove, she strove to peer past the left shoulder of the man who blocked her view. Illumination from the corner gas lamp cast flickering shadows on the contorted faces of the three men who lunged and parried their swords at her protector. He blocked each thrust, moving with an almost effortless agility. The tip of his blade flashed like silver lightning as he appeared to tease the attackers by slashing off the length of one's beard, slicing coat buttons off another's jacket and spearing the other's hat.
"Fight fair, damn ye!" With a hurried exploratory feel of his newly trimmed whiskers, the burly sailor waved his sword and charged.
"Like this?" Blade catching blade, in one expert move, the man relieved the sailor of his sword to send it flying over his head. Then, with a deliberate swish, he struck the metal at the fellow's exposed wrist. Blood streamed from the wound and splattered like raindrops to pool in a crimson puddle on the cobble-stoned street.
" 'oly 'ell!" His comrades hesitated, giving a wary glance toward their injured partner. Swiftly, Penelope's defender planted a booted foot squarely in the middle of one man's chest, giving him a hard shove at the same time that he effectively shredded the other's shirt front to nothing more than flimsy ribbons.
Mouths gaping, the three staggered back. Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, the man acted quickly. Seizing Penelope's wrist, he whirled to his right. The two bolted down the shadowy alleyway, dodging past a couple of frightened cats and jumping nimbly over the prostrate form of a snoring vagrant.
Penelope struggled in her long skirts to keep pace. Lungs burning from their need of air, she gulped down a fast breath and dared a peek behind. The sailors pursued, the thud of their heavy footfalls echoing in the night air.
A yank on Penelope's arm directed her to follow around the corner of a tall structure. Panting as she raced beside the man's lengthening strides, she gasped, "We shan't lose them!"
White teeth gleamed in the moonlight as a devilish grin was tossed across his shoulder. "Have faith." He released a sharp whistle, the high note threatening to pierce Penelope's eardrum. Hoof beats clattered on a nearby street. An instant later, a midnight stallion trotted up before them, and with one fluid movement, the man leaped into the saddle. Before Penelope could utter a word, he leaned down, grasped her about the waist, and lifted her bodily off the ground. She barely had time to clench the horse's mane before the animal dashed off at breakneck speed.
With no idea of their intended destination, Penelope tried in vain to make sense of her surroundings. But the darkness of the night, and the zigzagged flight through a labyrinth of streets and alleys served only to confuse her already bewildered mind. She knew nothing to do except to pray she stayed atop the powerfully galloping beast.
The man's arms tightened around her as he pulled on the reins. Obediently, the horse slowed its wild ride, coming to stop before a pair of iron gates that Penelope's dulled senses vaguely recognized.
She slid to the ground and teetered off balance. Leaning from the saddle, the man clutched her elbow to help steady her. Blue eyes crinkled as they watched her from behind their covering mask.
"All safe now, Miss Penelope." His husky voice murmured the words almost like a caress.
"Who are you?" She grasped the edge of the cape that swung across his shoulder. "Why did you send for me? What—?"
Before she could ask any more questions, he cut in with, "I must go. Until next time, my sweet."
"No!" A spurt of anger drowned her fear and confusion. "There won't be a next time!"
His mouth covered hers in a hard, thorough kiss. "You'll come." Heels kicking the stallion, the man's broad shouldered form rode off into the night.
* * * * *
"Your letter, Miss." Hoskins' gravelly voice broke through Penelope's reverie. With a slight shake of her head, she concentrated on clearing her thoughts. Staring at the paper that lay on the silver tray that Hoskins extended, Penelope hesitated, then her chin lifted with determination.
"Thank you, Hoskins." She grasped the letter and tucked it promptly in her skirt pocket.
He bowed his head and discreetly padded down the opposite hallway. Penelope walked to the library door and gave a light knock. At the sound of, "Enter!" she twisted the knob and then paused in the room's threshold.
"You asked for me, sir?"
From where he sat behind a desk cluttered with papers, Lord Wellington looked up. Blue eyes surveyed her. "Miss Penelope, yes. Do come in. I have an errand."
"Yes, sir?" She came to stand before his desk expectantly.
He rose to his feet. Fishing through the papers, he extracted one and handed the sealed sheet to her. "I must go out. Two men are on their way. Give them this when they arrive."
"Of course." She raised her brows in a question. "And their names would be-?"
"A Mister Owens, and Sherwood." Lord Wellington jerked a cloak and hat from off an opposite chair. "Offer my apologies, but explain that I couldn't wait as an unavoidable matter has arisen."
"I'm sure they'll understand."
"That letter is vital." His expression turned earnest. "I'm depending on you, Penelope."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Thank you, sir."
With a farewell nod, he hastened from the room. Penelope slipped the letter in her pocket, her fingers touching another parchment.
His!
Quickly, she withdrew both pieces of paper, her gaze magnetized toward the red wax seal bearing the imprint of a rose. Heat swarmed her cheeks as once more, since that night a week ago, memory returned of the masked man's sensuous lips pressed so ardently against hers.
The rogue! How dare he act as though he believed he could ravish me!
Flinging the letter in the fireplace, she watched the flames lap greedily at its edges. The wax melted, the rose seal smearing like a thin trail of blood. Without warning, the image of how the stranger courageously fought the three sailors leaped before her mind's eye.
"Oh! Bother!" Desperate now to save the letter, she reached into the fire with her bare fingers. "Ouch!" Drawing back, she sucked at the burn. Blocking her mind to the pain throbbing along her thumb, she grasped the poker and thrust it in the fire. The paper dropped to the bricked hearth. Quickly, Penelope stomped on the flames, snuffing them to mere curling wisps of gray smoke.
Gently, she peeled the letter open. Ink, smeared and blotted, all but obliterated the writing. The only words she could decipher were:
'…eight o'clock tonight at Harbor Docks…'
She glanced at the wall clock. That's only a half hour away. Can I make it on time? But as she stood to her feet, she remembered with a start, I must perform Lord Wellington's errand!
Torn with indecision, she paced before the fireplace. Conflicting thoughts scurried through her mind. Lord Wellington stated how much he trusts me…Why should I traipse off on a stranger's whim…Those two men are important to Lord Wellington…I went to meet him last week when I should've ignored his request…He is my employer…What could he possibly want with me…It is my duty to deliver this message for his lordship…The conceit of him to believe I'll come at a moment's notice…
A sharp rap came on the door, interrupting her musings. Hoskins stuck his head around the corner to peer at her.
"Pardon me, Miss, but a Mrs. Ashbury and Miss Charlotte to see you."
"Who? Oh." Recognizing the names of the mother and daughter who attended religious services with her, Penelope gave a brisk nod. "Thank you. Please have Eliza to prepare a pot of tea."
Hoskins led the couple inside, then gave a courteous bow before he excused himself. Rotund Mrs. Ashbury swept forward, hands outstretched.
"Forgive us for coming so late in the evening, dear." She beamed a warm smile, her heavy bosom rising and falling with each breath. "But we decided to chance it."
"You need not apologize." Penelope waved the ladies to a small couch, all the while maintaining an anxious eye on the clock. "I'm afraid you've missed Lord Wellington. He had a prior appointment."
"We came to see you." Miss Charlotte clasped her gloved hands in her lap, her golden ringlets bobbing. She wore a secretive smile. "The vicar approves of our idea."
"The vicar?" Penelope frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."
Mrs. Ashbury shared a sly look with her daughter. "Surely you will recall the benefit that the Ladies' Society is sponsoring?"
Penelope hesitated. "A dance, isn't it?"
"A ball." Charlotte's azure eyes sparkled with excitement. "The proceeds will help those underprivileged members of our congregation."
"But this year, we seek to make it extra special." Mrs. Ashbury leaned forward, her pudgy mouth parted in eager anticipation. "We'd like you to sing for us."
"What?" Penelope shot to her feet. "H-how, w-why-?" Too shocked to form a coherent word, she sputtered like a mindless idiot.
"Now, don't look so astonished," the older woman pooh-ed away her protests. "The way you carry the tunes at services is almost heavenly."
Penelope found enough of her tongue to retort, "Singing with others at services is an entirely different matter than going solo, ma'am. Before you discussed this with the vicar, I should have been consulted."
"Don't disappoint us." Charlotte's eyes filled with tears. "Your talent would guarantee a larger crowd."
"She won't disappoint us." Mrs. Ashbury's mouth set in a firm line. "Miss Penelope, you've been granted a delightful gift. Surely you know you must use it for good."
Hoskins' sudden return prevented Penelope from snapping out a remark she knew she might later regret. He pushed a tea trolley before him, stopped next to Penelope, and reported, "Two men have arrived to see his lordship."
"Good. I'm expecting them." Grateful for the diversion, she straightened her shoulders in a no-nonsense air, and addressed both the ladies. "Excuse me, but I must tend to these gentlemen during his lordship's absence."
Mrs. Ashbury gave an audible huff, but rose to take her leave. At the threshold, she turned back to say, "We'll be in touch to set up rehearsal times." The door shut loudly on her exiting back.
Penelope closed her eyes in exasperation, then popped them open to view the clock. Twenty minutes! Will I make it?
Hoskins led two men inside the room. They halted when they saw her, blinking in surprise.
"Hello." With a quick curtsey, she greeted the strangers with a welcoming smile. "I'm Miss Sinclair, Lord Wellington's housekeeper. He's asked me to relay his most profound apologies, but a matter came up that required his urgent attention." She gestured toward the hot tea. "May I offer a cup?"
"Er…no, thank you." The older, stout man raised his hat and swept a courteous bow. "Lewis Owens at your service. May I present my friend, Nicholas Sherwood." He indicated the younger man beside him.
"Good evening, Miss Sinclair." A hint of amusement sparkled in Nicholas' sapphire blue eyes. He removed his hat, revealing a thick cap of glossy black waves. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Penelope wondered why her pulse should hammer at sight of his dimpled smile. Clearing her throat, she glanced away and fumbled in her pocket to extend Lord Wellington's letter. "I am to give this to you."
Mr. Owens fairly jerked the item from her grasp. While he broke open the seal and turned aside to scan the paper's contents, Nicholas Sherwood moved closer to Penelope. His gaze ran over her face. "Have we met before?"
Disconcerted at his nearness, Penelope stepped back. "I don't believe so, sir."
"Are you certain?" he murmured.
Before she could answer, Mr. Owens swore aloud. "Damnation! Come, Sherwood." Clenching the letter in one shaking fist, he whirled to leave the room.
Nicholas gave him a curious look. "A problem?"
"Yes!" With no farewell courtesy offered to Penelope, Owens stalked out into the hallway.
Nicholas gave Penelope a swift bow. "Forgive us, Miss. A sort of emergency seems to have arisen. We must take our leave."
"Certainly." Puzzled at Owens' reaction to whatever he read in her employer's missive, she nonetheless did nothing to prevent their departure. She waited till the sound of their hurried footfalls disappeared down the corridor, then she fled to the cloak room and snatched a shawl off a wall hook.
"Hoskins," she called, wrapping the shawl about her shoulders and running toward the main door. "I must go out. I'll return shortly."
Without waiting for his reply, she darted into the night. Skirting around several loiterers who conversed in subdued tones beneath the glow of the corner street lamp, she headed in the direction of the pier. A sudden shout from behind sent her leaping to the middle of the walkway. Reined by a loudly cursing driver, a horse-drawn trap sped past. Penelope caught her breath, the near miss giving her reflective pause.
Am I mad? Why should I risk my life to meet this man?
Before she could change her mind and proceed back to the safety of Lord Wellington's residence, a strong tug came on her arm. Gasping, she whirled to encounter the dark stare of a large, stocky fellow. The felt hat he wore slouched low on his brow, as though he sought to shield his face.
Penelope opened her mouth to scream, but he silenced her with, "Have no fear, Miss. I'm to take ye to 'im." He slunk toward the shadows, pulling her with him. But Penelope twisted to free herself.
"Unhand me," she demanded, unable to keep her voice from trembling. "Or so help me, I'll—"
"Nay," he cut in. "He sent me to fetch ye so ye not get lost like last time."
"Last time?" Despite her fright, Penelope eyed him warily. How could he know of the 'last time'?
"Aye." The man spoke low as though suspicious that eavesdropping ears lurked in the bushes. "Ye took a wrong turn, an' ended up wit' them drunk sailors." He appeared to accept her hesitation as proof that she trusted him. Backing toward a high fence, he urged, "We should hurry."
Penelope balked when she saw he led her toward an open buggy. "I'm not going with you!"
"I won't hurt ye." Impatience growled in his deep tones. " 'e's the one that wants to see ye."
"Answer me this." Yanking her arm from the man's grasp, Penelope stood and boldly challenged him with, "If you truly know about 'last time', then you can tell me what happened with those sailors."
"If I do," he said, "then ye agree to go?"
She hadn't considered he'd counter with that. Realizing she stepped into a trap of her own making, she swallowed hard. "Yes."
" 'e found ye jest in time. Them sailors meant no good, an' they put up a fight. 'e got ye out of there an' brung ye to Wellington's 'ome."
A wave of faintness washed over Penelope. "Were you watching the whole thing?"
"Nay." As if insulted, his mouth curled in distaste. " 'e told me 'cause 'e not want a repeat tonight."
"I see." Penelope knew nothing else to say.
He offered his hand. "Up wit' ye now."
Reluctant, but knowing she had no choice since she gave her word, Penelope allowed his assistance. When he climbed in beside her, he reached in his coat pocket and withdrew a small item. Penelope stared in disbelief.
"A blindfold?"
"It needs to be done, Miss." He gave an apologetic cough. "Safer iffen ye not know where 'e be."
Penelope grew cold with the dreadful expectation of what she might be about to let herself in for. Spine ruler straight, she sat still and allowed the stranger to knot the cloth behind her head. Hoping to keep the apprehension from her voice, she asked, "Do you have a name?"
It took a moment for him to answer. She wondered if the question caught him by surprise. "Rufus," he said.
"Rufus, what is his name? All you're calling him is 'he'."
Seat leather squeaked, and Penelope felt the buggy sway, indicating Rufus leaned forward. She heard the snap of the reins, and she clenched the seat edge as the horse started forward, his hooves clattering at a fast trot down the cobble-stoned street.
"If 'e," Rufus told her, "wants ye to know who 'e be, 'e'll tell ye."
Chapter Two
She stumbled across a threshold, and Rufus pulled her to a stop. Penelope turned her head toward the right, the direction from where instant heat warmed her and the distinctive crackle of burning flames told her she stood before a fireplace.
"Any trouble?" His voice spoke from the vicinity to her left. Nerves unsteady, Penelope didn't move, waiting.
"Oy were careful," answered Rufus.
"Guard the entry," he said. The touch of soft leather closed around Penelope's wrist, and she recognized the feel of a gloved hand. "I'll let you know when she's to be driven back."
"Aye." The shuffling tread of Rufus' booted footfalls fell silent after the whispered creak of a shutting door.
Aware that only she and her mysterious letter writer now occupied the room, Penelope raised her chin. "May I remove the blindfold?" Deliberately, she laced the question with heavy sarcasm.
"Certainly, dear lady." Humor deepened his masculine tone, and for some reason, Penelope's mouth went peculiarly dry. "Shall I help?" He must have leaned nearer for an abrupt scent of shaving soap tantalized her nostrils. Instinctively, she stepped back.
"I can do it." She cursed herself that her voice sounded so breathless. Fingers trembling, she untied the cloth and whipped it off. Quickly, she blinked, adjusting her vision to the dim light glowing from the small lantern sitting atop a wooden table. Other than the table and one chair, she saw no other furnishings.
"I knew you'd come."
The arrogant remark snapped Penelope's attention straight to him, but the sight she beheld muffled her ready retort. Last week she'd glimpsed him in the shadows. Now nothing hid her view.
The man towered a head taller than her. Strong jaw line and rugged cheeks clean of whiskers, he hid the bridge of his nose, forehead, and cap of hair behind the makeshift mask of a black scarf knotted at the nape of his neck. Squared shoulders strained at the material of his black shirt that tucked into the waistband of dark trousers. At his left hip a sheathed sword hung almost to the top of his knee-length boots. Arms covered with black gloves that stretched to the elbows, he crossed them over his chest, releasing a satisfied chuckle.
"Your perusal puts me quite to the blush, ma'am."
With a start, Penelope realized she stared longer than she'd intended. She cleared her throat, then had to clear it again before she could utter a sound.
"What is your name?"
He raised a finger to his pursed lips, as if considering an answer. The movement rustled the flowing cape that swung to the middle of his calves. "Must I have one?"
"Of course you must!" Angered at his deliberate nonchalance, she glared straight into his blue eyes. "I'm not a child. I'll thank you not to treat me like one."
Her remark appeared to strike a chord. Instantly, his demeanor changed to careful seriousness. With a contrite bow, he said, "Forgive me, Miss Penelope. I concur your point. Except," his gloved hand made a questioning gesture in the air, "I cannot divulge my real identity."
"Then I shall call Rufus to drive me back to Lord Wellington's." Twisting on her heel, she marched towards the doorway.
Swiftly, he came around to block her exit. "Don't you understand? The least that you know serves only to protect you."
"Know what?" she demanded, steeling her spine against the strange allure of those masked eyes. "All I know, sir, is that this is twice you've summoned me with a most odd request. But I have no idea who I'm meeting, or why."
He gave a nod. "You find the whole situation confusing, and I agree it must seem so. Very well. Let's decide on a name." He shrugged a shoulder. "What of 'Soldier'?"
At the look that Penelope gave him, he went on in explanation, "It would be a good disguise. If you should say the word aloud in wrong company, no one will suspect what you mean."
"So 'Soldier' is nothing more than a code word." Penelope sighed. "I don't care for riddles, sir." She walked back to the fireplace, then tilted her head, listening. "Was that a noise?" She turned to face him. "Is someone else here?"
"There is a connecting room." He came to stand beside her. "Before I show you, I should prepare you. Will you allow me?"
Prepare her for what? Perplexed, yet unable to deny a growing curiosity, Penelope replied with a firm, "Continue."
He waved toward the chair. "Would you like to sit?"
"I'll stand."
As if weighing his words, he waited a moment, then said, "You weren't chosen at random. I especially selected you. And that came after having watched you the past couple of months."
"Oh." Too startled to say more, she merely blinked, wondering at the moments he'd spied upon her.
"I needed to feel confident your character was what I sought, and-" his gaze held hers "-that you were totally trustworthy."
Not at all complimented by his proffered praise, she told him, "Surely you could have discovered my traits through a proper introduction. I see no need for such clandestine activity."
He stretched an arm along the length of the mantel and stared into the dancing flames. Shadows played across his profile, highlighting a muscle that twitched along his jaw line. "A gentleman can hardly speak to a lady of the matters that I will present to you."
She'd heard enough. Drawing herself up, Penelope stated, "I may only be Lord Wellington's housekeeper, and not a lady according to title, but if your conversation can't take place in the light of day, I in no way intend to listen in the dark of night."
With one large stride, he moved in front of her. "You will stay," his voice brooked no argument, "until we are finished, ma'am."
Penelope hesitated, unable to drop her gaze from the intimidating expression of his unflinching blue eyes. She smoothed down her skirts with moist palms. "Very well. Proceed."
Nostrils flaring, he exhaled audibly. "I concede you can be insufferable, but it's my wish that we learn to cooperate amicably."
"For what purpose?"
As if she asked the question he'd hoped to hear, he replied, "For our fight against evil."
She arched a mocking brow. "That sounds melodramatic."
"I assure you, I'm entirely sincere." Whirling, he crossed to a door semi-hidden in the shadows. He beckoned a finger. "Peek in here."
Rather suspicious that he might shove her in the room and lock her inside, she approached warily. Rising on tiptoes, she peered past his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes in an effort to discern the shapes barely silhouetted by the feeble light of the lantern.
"Is that-" she gasped with realization "-children?"
"Lower your voice." He shut the door noiselessly. "They're sleeping."
Mind racing to make sense of the whole bizarre evening, she paid no heed when he cupped her elbow and led her back to the fireplace. Then she spun around to confront him. "Why are you keeping children?"
"I'm trying to save their lives."
She searched his face, unable to read his inscrutable expression. "How? And how does this involve me?"
"Some of them need medical aid."
"I'm not a physician."
"But you are the daughter of one, and you attended by your father's side since you were a young girl. Correct?"
It unnerved her how much this stranger truly did know about her life. "That hardly qualifies me," she protested. "If they need attention, then bring in a certified doctor."
"And you do know that a reputable doctor will feel it his responsibility to report what he finds to the authorities?"
"If you have nothing to hide—"
He snorted and turned on his heel to pace before the table. "Of course I have something to hide. The children."
Penelope ran a hand down her face. "Sir, I am completely bewildered."
He paused in his pacing to glance at the doorway. Penelope, too, stilled. On silent feet, he moved to the barrier and pressed his ear against the wood. After a moment, he stepped away, and spoke in a quiet voice, "We should hurry. I'll enlighten you as best that I'm able."
The difference in his bearing, and the urgency of his tone convinced Penelope that whatever the reason could be that he had her brought here, it was one of extreme importance. She nodded. "Please do."
"First, allow me to begin by apologizing for the way all this has come to pass. Under normal circumstances, I would have made my intentions known to you."
"I believe you." She raised her head and gave him a level look. "What is the purpose that you're hiding these children?"
His gaze held hers. "There are evil and wicked men in this world, Penelope. They don't hesitate to make merchandise of anything they can get their hands on."
Uneasiness slithered up her backbone as to what he might be about to reveal. "And that means what," she asked slowly, "in this case?"
"We live in a society that holds little regard for children. I'm sure I've no need to remind you of the factories they're forced to work in, or of how many must try to survive living in a gutter."
Images of children, half-starved and bodies bruised, sprang to her mind's eye. Her stomach churned at recalling the memories she would carry to her grave. "I am aware," she told him.
"And I," he returned to pace before the table, "know of the charitable hours you and your father have contributed at various orphanages. Believe me, Penelope, nothing would please me more than to have him at my side. Yet, if it were discovered he were helping me, he could lose his practice – or even worse."
Penelope dared not dwell on his unspoken implication. Instead, she asked, "You've removed these children from abusive orphanages?"
"No." He swung on his heel to give her a straightforward look. "I stole them off a smuggler's ship."
She gasped. "Who would smuggle children?"
His lips hardened in a cold, but fiercely determined line. "When I find that answer, he shall then face Her Majesty's courts."
Penelope wrinkled her brow, unable to fathom through the cloud of confusion. "But I still don't understand. There are hundreds of children in the orphanages. Why bother to smuggle in more?"
"That is the crux of this whole situation." He hesitated only briefly before plunging in with, "The children are sold to particular buyers. They demand young boys, and of the Negro race."
"Oh." She swallowed with an effort. "They're sold as slaves to work…where?" From the expression on his face, Penelope feared to hear his answer.
He directed his gaze toward a spot above her head. "In brothels."
She looked away, a cold tremor of comprehension chilling to the very ends of her fingertips. Voice blunt, he stated, "They aren't used to carry bathwater for the women, Penelope."
Sheltered though her girlhood had been, when Penelope entered her father's working world, she'd become introduced to the darker, more evil side of humanity. "I know."
If her admission surprised him, he gave no indication. "I share your disgust and outrage," he said. "That's why I've committed myself to discovering who is the despicable leader responsible for this heinous business."
"Can't you," Penelope inhaled audibly, "alert the authorities and have them to—?"
"And make him aware that we're on to him?" Soldier didn't allow her to finish her question. Coming to stand beside her, he looked deep into her eyes. "I have a network of fighters. Together, through our surreptitious efforts, we are close to learning a name. Only when I have solid evidence to guarantee that this vermin shall hang, then I will contact the appropriate office."
"Those poor children." Penelope gave a faint shake of her head. "How did you uncover this – this – operation?"
He flicked a dismissive hand. "That's unimportant. What I need from you is an answer. Can I count on you availing your medical knowledge to these suffering boys?"
"I – I would need supplies, bandages, linens—"
"Make a list, you'll have everything you require." He stepped closer. "And have no fear as to your safety. I'll protect you with my own life."
Heat warmed her cheeks, her heart thudding at the earnestness in his husky whisper. "I don't doubt that at all, sir."
He took her hand in his gloved one. Penelope felt strength, and a certain tenderness, radiate through her arm, race to her shoulder, and come to flutter like a captured butterfly at the base of her throat. Through the mask, his blue eyes watched her. "Will you join me?"
She caught her breath, not able to do anything but give a mute nod.
"Then-" he raised her hand and planted a soft kiss on her exposed flesh, "-welcome to my army."
Chapter Three
"How does that feel?" Penelope smiled at the upturned face that silently watched her. Reading fear and bewilderment in the depths of the youth's ebony eyes, she winced inwardly. Masking her own emotions as best she could, she gently pulled the tattered shirt cuff down the length of his freshly bandaged arm. "You are a very good patient. Now, what shall I call you? Tell me your name."
"Nay." A thin, brown spotted hand touched her shoulder. Penelope looked up and encountered the compassion, yet firm, gaze of the wizened woman she'd met only an hour before. "Ye not be needin' to know that."
"I see." Penelope stuffed a length of clean gauze back inside her black bag. "Their names must kept be secret, I suppose. Is the same true of yours?" Snapping the bag close, she faced her companion. "Shall I always address you as 'ma'am'?"
" 'e wishes ye not to know more than wot is safe, but-" the gray head gave an understanding nod, "tis hard fer ye, surely. Aye. Ye may call me Mrs. Smith."
"Thank you." With a tired sigh, Penelope rose to her feet. "And I appreciate your aid. You have a calming effect on them." Making sure to keep her voice low, she sent a musing gaze to the dozen boys. Huddled protectively together atop the stained and dirtied straw mattress, they kept silent as though sheer terror froze their tongues. After what they've endured, who can blame them?
"They need to know a kind soul." Tears formed at the corners of Mrs. Smith's pale grey eyes. "It ain't much wot Oy do. Oy wish we could save 'em all."
Before Penelope could answer, commotion erupted from the other side of the door. A shouted curse, a loud thud as though something heavy crashed to the floor, and then the stomp of hurried footsteps headed in their direction. She and Mrs. Smith shared a startled, apprehensive glance. With a speed that belied her age, the older woman sprang toward the barrier, pressing her shoulder against the thick wood. Fingers trembled as she fumbled at the iron lock. The knob jiggled, the door was flung wide, and Rufus' large frame filled the entrance.
" 'ide 'em!" he hissed, gesturing at the boys who shrank from the force of his command. "Be quick!" Twisting on his heel, he disappeared into the other room.
"What is it?" Penelope whispered, unnerved at the bedlam growing to an ear-splitting roar.
"In 'ere. 'urry!" Mrs. Smith whirled toward the corner wall and a small section opened to reveal a hidden closet. Without needing to be directed, the children scampered on bare feet to crouch inside the tight space. Voice low and insistent, she called to Penelope, "Miss!"
Snatching up her medical bag, Penelope squeezed inside just as the wall clicked shut behind her. Cloaked by suffocating darkness, she dared not move as the noise, now muted, rattled the floorboards so hard that the spot where she stood trembled. She swallowed with realization. We've been discovered.
The safety of Soldier and Rufus leaped to the forefront of her mind. How can two men with swords possibly hold off an attack? The others may have pistols! Should I try to help? Maybe if I—?
But the whimpering of one of the boys stalled her from attempting any dire action. Stretching an exploratory arm, she sought and found the shivering youth. She clenched his cold hand in a hoped for reassuring grip.
Seconds dragged. Breathing became ragged. A bead of perspiration trickled down the side of Penelope's cheek and past her earlobe. She strained to decipher the sounds that penetrated their enclosure. Is it quieting? I don't hear… Then she started as an alarming thought struck her. Why is it so still out there?
Hoping the ominous silence didn't signify the reality of her worst fears, she tensed in expectation. Just when she thought she could no longer withstand the waiting, the wall abruptly opened. Through the weak light flickering off a candle he held aloft, Rufus instructed, "Swiftly now. We's best move 'em."
"You're injured!"
"Nay." Rufus raised a wrist, blocking Penelope as she reached to wipe away the stream of blood flowing from a gash across his forehead. He gave a weary nod behind him. "In there wit' ye."
A mental image of Soldier, lying on the floor beaten and bleeding, rose before her mind's eye. Clutching the medical bag to her chest, she hastened toward the front room. But at the threshold, she swung back. "What of the children?"
"Me an' her knows wot to do." Rufus held open a side door through which Mrs. Smith ushered the boys. "Oy'll be back fer ye." And with those parting words, he disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Penelope hastened to find Soldier. He stood in the middle of the room with his back towards her. Righting the knocked over table, he then turned to face her. Anger flitted through his blue eyes.
"Why have you remained? You should've left with Rufus."
"He told me to come here." In a flash she understood why. "You're hurt, aren't you?"
"It's nothing." But she didn't miss how he moved his left arm to conceal it beneath his cape.
"Let me tend to it." She came forward, already snapping her bag open.
He seized her wrist and jerked her away before she could touch him. "You will follow Rufus to safety."
"No." Standing her ground, she returned his stubborn look. "Not until I feel confident that your wound is not critical."
"I'm on my feet, woman. What more proof do you need?"
"To see the injury with my own eyes."
Soldier's nostrils flared. Abruptly releasing her, he stalked to the door. After throwing the lock bar securely in place, he returned to stand before her, his stance rigid.
"You're a stubborn woman, aren't you?"
"So Papa has told me often." Deliberately, she tormented him with a wickedly innocent smile. Setting a chair beside the table, she gestured that he should sit, but he didn't move except to hold his arm out for her inspection.
"Let's do this and get it over. You'll find it's nothing but a scratch."
After peeling away the torn fabric of his shirt and examining the deep slash, she released a relieved sigh. Considering how horrific she imagined the fight must have been, she thought it a miracle that he suffered nothing more serious. "Nothing too drastic, though you're losing blood. It needs to be stitched."
"What?" He frowned in impatience. "There's no time for that."
"We'll take the time."
"Damn it, Penelope, listen to me." Frustration and worry deepened his voice to a low growl. "They know our location. One escaped. Even now he might be leading more of his cohorts back here."
"If you will stop resisting me, I can sew this up in as little as five minutes." Raising her chin in challenge, she demanded, "Am I the attending physician, or am I not? At the moment, you are my patient and I will not leave you."
"Penelope—" His breath hissed an unmistakable warning.
But Penelope chose to ignore it. "You're wasting precious seconds." Again, she drew out the chair. "Sit next to the lamp so I will have ample light."
With an exasperated huff, he landed in the seat with a heavy thump. Immediately, Penelope got to work. Kneeling beside him, she cut away the ragged pieces of his sleeve and cleaned the affected skin with a dab of alcohol. While she threaded her needle, she asked, "Did they have pistols?"
"Yes. Why?"
"I heard no shots."
"Rufus and I relieved them of them. They were forced to fight like the men they aren't."
"Cowards with knives, you mean."
"How do you know that?"
"Your wound is indicative of a thicker blade than a sword."
A note of admiration sounded in his grunt, but he made no remark.
"Why do you choose a sword as your weapon?"
"For what it represents. It's an instrument of justice, slashing through evil so that truth may conquer."
"Oh?" She paused in mid-stitch, startled that his words should strike a chord deep within her. That's so—poetic. With a quick shake of her head to help clear her thoughts, she asked the question to which she dreaded to learn the answer. "How do you think they found us?"
"I don't know, and that's what concerns me."
"How many were there?"
"Six."
Her head snapped up. "You said only one escaped. Where…" She looked about the empty room.
Voice cold and flat, he told her, "Rufus loaded their bodies onto a wagon outside."
"I see." A shudder chilled her spine at envisioning the macabre sight.
As if he sensed her discomfort, he then went on in a more moderate tone, "When I'm assured that all of you are out of harm's way, I'll give them a proper burial."
"That's more than they'd do for you," she acknowledged with a grim smile. "So where did Rufus take the children?"
"To a safe house."
"But I thought this was one."
"No longer. I'll not use it after tonight." He shifted in his seat to turn his head and watch as she skillfully sewed his flesh together. "Fortunately, I have a network of havens available."
"I applaud your army. They're very courageous and dedicated."
His blue eyes behind the mask held hers. With an effort, she tore her gaze away and concentrated on the task before her, biting her lip when the needle slipped and stabbed her thumb.
Clumsy! She scolded herself. Stay focused.
But she found that no easy thing to do, especially as Soldier's free hand touched the side of her face, caressing her cheek with a gentle brush of his gloved forefinger. He traced a line down the curve of her chin and up to the corner of her lips. "You," his husky whisper barely sounded over the erratic beat of her pulse drumming in her ears, "are the truly brave one."
"Nonsense. I—" She cleared her throat with an effort. "I've not put my life on the line like you and Rufus."
He leaned back in the chair, his expression one of careful seriousness. "Will you relate to me how you secured your position at Lord Wellington's home?"
"Since you are familiar with all our backgrounds, surely you know the answer." Dimly, she wondered why her scalp should prickle with disappointment at his sudden change of conversation.
"Perhaps I wish to ascertain that I've been given the facts accurately."
She stilled in her work to give him a level look. "Don't you trust me?"
"Absolutely." He didn't appear the least perturbed by her question. "But I must be positive that my sources have reported the whole truth."
Oh. Yes, that's true. Whoever has betrayed him has cast suspicion on all of us. A burst of hot vengeance flared in her veins. I hope the vermin swings from the gallows!
"You're right, of course." Knotting the thread at the end of the incision, she snipped off the extra length with one precise cut of the scissors. "Very well. Here's my narrative. As you're no doubt aware I'm merely a temporary help. Hannah Temperance has been Lord Wellington's housekeeper for many years. When she took a nasty fall a couple of months ago, it resulted in a broken leg. It's healing nicely, though, and she should soon return to her duties full time."
"And how did it come about that you stepped in for her?"
"She's Father's patient. She asked his lordship for his permission to recommend me."
"Tell me, how do you…" he made a vague gesture with his hand, "feel about this fellow?"
The question came as such a surprise that she sat back on her heels, blinking in wonderment. Soldier stared straight ahead, almost as if he dared not to look her way.
"Why, I—" Fumbling for words, Penelope sought how to answer. Then the reason for her sudden awkwardness splashed over her like a shock of cold water. The blue eyes! Can it be? He and Lord Wellington? The one and same?
Bowing her head, she rummaged in her medicine bag for the roll of gauze. "I— um…" Hastily, she wet her lips with a nervous tongue. "I find him quite respectable."
"Hmm." Soldier uttered a non-committal grunt.
Careful to keep her gaze averted, Penelope bound his arm with the linen. "He is a good employer, never demanding, and—and anyway…" In a rush, she hurried with, "I want to know how and where you first saw me."
"Eh?" Giving her his full attention, he turned his head and she glimpsed a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, I believe that shall be my secret, Penelope."
She hesitated, and then took the plunge. "You told me you've watched my activities for a couple of months. That's how long I've worked for Lord Wellington."
"Which means what?" he murmured, the smile easing into a taunting grin. Then he straightened, pointing his gaze over the top of her head toward the direction of the back room. "Rufus. Good. You've returned."
His air now one of no-nonsense, Soldier sprang to his feet in one energetic leap. "Is the way clear? All is well?"
"Aye." Rufus panted heavily as if he'd run a great distance. "Ye may go wit' me now, miss," he said to Penelope.
"Certainly." Yet, she wavered, reluctant to leave Soldier's side. What if the attacker should return, as he said? Accompanied with more of his comrades?
"The Z route should be best tonight," Soldier instructed Rufus, cupping Penelope's elbow and nudging her forward. "We'll rendezvous within the hour."
"Soldier—" Heart in her throat, Penelope whirled about to tell him… What? She didn't know. All she was aware of was the cold fist of apprehension that trembled beneath her breast.
But he didn't hear. The open door stood silent and empty, a testament to just how stealthily the man could melt into the shadows.
Chapter Four
"Lord Wellington? What is it?" Not bothering to knock, Penelope sped into the study, alarmed at the cry of outrage she overheard in the hallway.
He slammed the door to a wall safe, then spun toward the room's one open window. Fury washed across his features. "Where is Hoskins?" he demanded.
"He's right outside. A moment." She rushed to fetch the butler, and Hoskins entered, his pace wary and hesitant.
"Have you gone down on the job, man?" Wellington hurled the accusation. "I've had a theft!"
Penelope gasped. "What was stolen, sir? Shall I alert the authorities?"
"What?" He shook his head as if her words caught him off guard. "Why should you do that?"
"To catch the thief," she answered, wondering at his question.
"Oh. No." Frowning, he raked a hand through his thick hair and gave her a tight, brief smile. Tone more subdued, he said, "It's not that important. I'm simply missing a parcel of personal keepsakes. What's infuriating me is the idea that my privacy has been invaded." To Hoskins, he said, "Send a carriage for Sirs Owens and Sherwood. Tell them they are to arrive at once."
"Yes, sir." Hoskins scurried toward the doorway, then stepped aside as Mrs. Ashbury, accompanied by Charlotte, crossed the threshold.
"Lord Wellington, how delightful to see you, sir." Mrs. Ashbury advanced, an overwhelming scent of perfume trailing like an invisible shroud.
Wellington tensed, his eyes narrowing. Penelope knew a moment of indecision. The women's unexpected arrival did nothing to enhance his lordship's mood. Should she intervene?
But whatever conflict might have battled within him, good breeding won out. Lord Wellington bowed a welcome. "Mrs. Ashbury. Miss Charlotte." He waved the ladies to a couch. "What a pleasant surprise. May I call for tea?" He gave a nod to Penelope. "If you will, Miss Penelope."
"Oh, no. Don't bother." Mrs. Ashbury flicked open her fan and fluttered it vigorously over the general area of her ample bosom. She sent a secret smile Penelope's way. "Truth is, sir, it's Miss Sinclair herself we wish to borrow."
"You know she's to sing at our ball?" Charlotte giggled as though the whole idea caused her endless amusement.
"I'm sorry," Wellington answered. "Am I forgetting something? What ball is that?"
"Sir!" With an offended snap of her fan Mrs. Ashbury used it like an accusing finger to point straight at Wellington. "You're aware of the Ladies Society's yearly ball. Miss Penelope will grace the guests with her lovely voice."
"No!" Penelope stared, momentarily immobile. How dare the woman to state as though the matter were settled! "I agreed to do nothing of the kind."
"But the vicar assured us," Charlotte's lips curled in a childish pout, "that we could count on you."
"Tut, tut." Mrs. Ashbury brushed off Penelope's refusal with the shrug of a well-fleshed shoulder. "Of course you shall perform. Now. We're here to drive you to rehearsal."
Penelope flung an irritated glance at Lord Wellington. "I'm sorry, sir, that this incident is presented before you. If you'll excuse the ladies and I, we can retire to—"
His upraised hand silenced her attempt at seeking a somewhat dignified exit. Humor hinted in the smile he fought against.
"I wasn't aware that you sang, Miss Penelope."
Pursing her lips, she dropped her gaze to the floor. "Only at worship services and I fail to see how the vicar could have been so mistaken as to—to any talent he believes I may possess."
"The dear lady is to be praised for her modesty." Though her words evidenced a complimentary attitude, Mrs. Ashbury's expression bore the opposite. She rose to her feet with a determined rustle of her silken skirts. "Let us be on way. The carriage is waiting."
"Ma'am." Voice firm and unyielding, Penelope made no move to follow. "I was not consulted in this matter. I will go to the vicar and excuse myself."
"Well!" Head held high in what she obviously considered an affront to her authority, Mrs. Ashbury opened her mouth in ready exchange for a battle of wills.
But before any heated words could blaze off her tongue, Lord Wellington intervened with, "If I may ask, what is it that you find disagreeable about the affair?"
Penelope hesitated, then decided a candid approach would be best. "Imagine, sir, if you were in such a situation. Would you enjoy a room full of strangers staring at you? I can guarantee you'd miss more than a score of notes."
"Oh, piffle." Mrs. Ashbury snorted in annoyance. "You needn't worry about anything like that."
"I wonder." Brow creased in thought, Wellington tapped fingertips on the top of his desk while he sent a calculating glance toward the window. "Mrs. Ashbury, I can empathize with Miss Penelope's anxiety. Perhaps?" Face brightening, he turned to her with an almost boyish eagerness. "Couldn't she be in disguise?"
"Whatever for?" The woman spread her gloved palms in confusion.
"If the guests don't realize the identity of the singer, she can then feel more relaxed. Her performance would be excellent."
"Do you mean she should wear a costume?" Charlotte squealed in glee and exclaimed to her mother, "What a grand idea! We'll have a masquerade ball!"
"What do you say?" Lord Wellington asked Penelope. "Are you willing to wear a mask?"
She started. Did he just wink at me?
Catching Charlotte's enthusiasm, Mrs. Ashbury rounded her powdered cheeks in a chipmunk-like grin. "I say, I do fancy that. Brilliant, sir." She gave a playful tap of her fan to Lord Wellington's arm. He flinched, moving a discreet distance from her reach.
"Don't you agree, Miss Penelope?" Mrs. Ashbury rounded on her, a brow tilted in challenge as though she expected Penelope to rebut the majority's consensus.
"That would be," Penelope released a slow breath, "more acceptable."
"Fine. Since that's settled, let's be on our way." Mrs. Ashbury curtsied farewell to Lord Wellington, and with Charlotte in tow, headed for the door.
Penelope watched after them. Hastily, she moved closer to Lord Wellington. Voice hushed, so as not to be overheard, she inquired, "Sir, will you attend the ball?"
"Need you ask?" He leaned across the desk, dropping his height face level with hers. "Miss Penelope, I'd not miss the opportunity to hear your singing voice." Lazy gaze coming to rest in the vicinity of her parted lips, he murmured, "And never fear. Even dressed in disguise, I'll make certain that you can recognize me."
* * * * *
Mrs. Ashbury applauded in approval. "Beautiful! Oh, my dear. The vicar is correct. You do have the voice of an angel."
Penelope exhaled, pleased that she'd hit all of the song's high notes with perfect pitch. She handed the piece of sheet music to the pianist while she bestowed a smile to Mrs. Ashbury. Despite her moments of disgruntlement with the woman, she couldn't deny the depth of heartfelt pleasure that her praise elicited.
"Thank you," she said sincerely.
"I'm so envious." Charlotte's moan ended with a small sigh. "If I sang like you, I could snatch hundreds of beaus."
"Your day is coming, dear." Mrs. Ashbury gave a maternal pat to Charlotte's arm, then turned and beamed at the man who made his way slowly from the rear of the building. "Vicar Whitney," she called, "did you arrive in time to hear our glorious Miss Penelope?"
"Delighted to say that I did." The aged man leaned on a supporting cane as he hobbled up the aisle between the empty pews. "What a joy you are to listen to, my dear," he said when he reached Penelope's side.
"Your words are kind, sir." A bit embarrassed by the enraptured attention of her small audience, she sought to change the topic off herself. "Has Mrs. Ashbury informed you that the event is now to become a masquerade ball?"
The woman gave a vigorous nod. "That is quite correct, Vicar. What costume shall you wear?"
"Mother," Charlotte protested. "All our identities are to be secret. What's the point of being in disguise otherwise?"
"Well." The vicar chuckled. "I might be present as a man of the cloth." He gestured at the white collar he wore. "Will that do, you think?"
The two ladies giggled behind their hands. "That will do splendidly, of course." Mrs. Ashbury sniffed and regained her composure. "But you still must wear a mask, you know."
"Then I shall." He gave a stiff bow in acquiescence.
"Come along, Miss Penelope." Mrs. Ashbury touched her elbow. "Let's return you to Lord Wellington."
"May I have a moment with our songbird?" Vicar Whitney smiled at Penelope. "If it's not an intrusion."
"Of course not." She turned aside with him and stepped a small distance from the waiting women.
"I found this on a table in the vestibule addressed to you." He slipped an object into her hand and Penelope's pulse throbbed at sight of the familiar rose seal.
"Thank you. Excuse me, please." Quickly, she sought a private corner and opened the letter with trembling fingers. She gasped, blinked, and then read the words again, more slowly.
You sing with the sweetness of a nightingale.
Lovely lady, I do believe I adore you.
Whirling on her heel, she sent a searching gaze down the length of the building. He was here? She opened her mouth to question the vicar, but then promptly shut it. No. He wouldn't have seen anything, not with the way Soldier can slip in and out like an unobserved spider.
Once more she read the brief note, lingering her gaze on the words, 'I adore you'. A smile touched her lips and she pressed the parchment to her breast. I shall keep this pinned close to my heart.
Chapter Five
She entered the warmth of Lord Wellington's front hall and the package on the table immediately caught her eye. A rose seal! After a furtive glance that assured her no one lurked nearby, she grabbed the parcel and broke it open.
"Oh!" Her breath caught, and she took a moment to enjoy the beauty of the fragrant red rose. Delicately, so as to not disturb the flower's stem, she extracted the paper that lay beneath.
Soldier's identifiable strong script contained only one sentence:
Wear this for me at the ball.
"Wear what, Miss Sinclair?"
Penelope swiveled around, almost dropping the box to the floor. Lord Wellington, along with the Sirs Owens and Sherwood, stood before her.
"I—" Swiftly, she plunged her hand in her pocket to hide the note. "I was merely muttering to myself." Forcing a bright smile, she executed a sharp curtsey. "How are you, gentlemen?"
"What's this?" Young Mr. Sherwood reached to remove the box from her grasp. He raised the crimson-petaled flower to just below his nostrils, looking at her with inquisitive eyes. "You must have an admirer."
"Does every pretty woman turn your head, you fool?" With a growl of irritation, Owens clapped his hat on his head and shrugged into his overcoat. "Try to keep some sense about you."
"True." Nostrils flaring in annoyance, Lord Wellington plucked the rose from Sherwood's fingers and returned it to Penelope. "In any case, Miss Sinclair is too intelligent to play along with your nonsense."