Five

“Twenty minutes,” John grumbled, stomping impatiently up the stone carved steps leading to the door of Lord Landon’s townhouse. Twenty minutes for a polite call and to offer up a few pretty words. No one would be reading the bans or sampling linens after twenty minutes.

From behind the bay window three women pointed and stared, no doubt chattering on about how best to snare him in marriage.

Damn it all to Hell.

He’d better make it fifteen minutes.

Grudgingly John glared at the brass knocker, mentally reviewing the events which had landed him here. Utter madness. The blasted urn wasn’t worth this level of anguish, and the worst of it was he was nervous.

Nervous!

He’d spent entirely too much time selecting a flower from the hothouse that morning; actually worrying whether the girl would like his gift. Then he’d doubted the wisdom of presenting flowers, perhaps he should have brought chocolates… Didn’t all women love chocolate?

Christ he was pathetic. Cowed by the memory of some long dead female. He had stared down scads of French soldiers on the battlefield, coordinated troops on the continent, and faced death on a score of occasions, yet… the thought of entering that house and offering a few pretty words to some young miss left him thoroughly daunted.

The trio behind the glass remained within view. Did the women really think he couldn’t see them? Though impossible to make out faces beneath the window glare, he distinctly sensed their scheming claws reaching out and wrapping around his neck.

Bloody hell. This was a mistake.

He took a healthy step back, more than ready to tell his brother to keep the urn and exactly where he could stick it.

John stopped short, dragging a steadying breath into his lungs. Pathetic indeed. Panicking over a scene in the window. He could handle women. He’d learned the hard way that the fairer sex had a way of turning men to fools with their deceitful ways. Rona didn’t deserve the hold she still had over his life.

That steeled his nerve.

Wiping his mind, he lifted the knocker and rapped steadily on the door.

After all, this wasn’t a serious courtship, merely a ruse to assuage his brother’s conscience and paint a fresh smile on some silly chit’s face.

The heavy door opened to reveal a portly butler garbed in formal livery. The middle aged man stood little more than five feet tall and John had to bend slightly at the neck to address the man.

“Good morning.” He produced a calling card. “Lord John Breckenridge to call on Lady Penelope.”

The short statured butler lifted a bushy brow, flicking an assessing gaze the length of John—no doubt recalling the lingering scandal surrounding his name.

John quashed a flash of anger and impatience. Let’s get this over with. He shifted the silver papered box carrying Penelope’s gift to the opposite hand.

The movement sparked the butler to action. “Right this way, milord.” The short man turned smartly on a heel and led John down the brightly lit hall.

“Shush! He’s coming.” Urgent feminine whispering floated down the hall. “Quickly, girls, behave naturally. Penelope, sit by the piano.”

Penelope. A flash of green silk whipped through his mind. The very chit he was meant to woo.

Within moments the butler ushered him into a pleasant parlor. The three scheming wraiths he’d glimpsed through the window took full form and decorated the room with their brightly hued frocks. Lady Landon perched delicately upon a chaise while a young blonde sat adjacent her. Positioned beside the piano—dressed in pale blue and ivory calico—was the ‘green skirt’ from the night before.

“May I present Lord John Breckenridge for Lady Penelope Hale,” the butler stated officiously.

The ladies stood in tandem, dipping into matching delicate curtsies. As introductions were made, John nodded absently to Lady Landon and her curly haired daughter before turning his full attention to Penelope. Genuine surprise rocked him at his first good look at Colton’s charity case. Not what he’d expected, and he had to hand it to his brother… Colton had excellent taste in women.

John flicked a quick, assessing glance the length of Penelope, and then allowed himself a more lingering perusal.

Nay. Colton had exquisite taste in women, for that is what Lady Penelope was. Exquisite.

Rich auburn curls swept up from slender shoulders, loosely pinned in a graceful chignon while wistful tendrils drifted down along her cheeks. Healthy pink glowed from high cheek bones that tapered into a smooth heart-shaped chin and her mouth nestled full and pouty within the palest shade of peach and rose—the perfect accent to milky skin splashed with an irresistible smattering of freckles. There was a naughty tilt to the corners of that sumptuous mouth, the sort that begged a man to brush his own lips against that sinful swirl in slow reverent kisses. Her downcast eyes prevented him from discerning the exact hue... probably blue… and John was possessed of the sudden urge to march across the room, tip that dainty chin with his forefinger and discover the color of her eyes.

Imagine. John Breckenridge. The most jaded man in all Britain struck dumb and speechless by the sight of a woman.

Utterly ridiculous.

He knew better. Though she was without doubt the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—not a classic beauty by any stretch, she had far too many freckles for that, but her coloring radiated warmth.

John cocked his head, contemplating. Was her reluctance to glance up at him genuine shyness? Or practiced cunning meant to lure men in?  Likely the later.

As if on cue Lady Penelope lifted her gaze to his and—

Dear God.

John nearly stumbled back a step.

Those eyes…

So vibrant and green. Haunting. Achingly lovely. With the thickest fringe of red lashes. Straight from a dream, to be true. She had the irresistible, bewitching beauty that smart men ran from and all other fools fell into. Naught but trouble stemmed from a woman this beautiful.

“I am honored by your visit, my lord,” she murmured, her voice soft and without any hint of coyness. She sounded shy. Shy and genuine. And warm.

His fickle heart dropped a fraction. If he was interested in finding a wife—which he most definitely was not—Lady Penelope was well beyond his grasp. This was the sort of girl who set her cap to marry a duke, and succeeded. Before he could dwell on the twinge of disappointment at the back of his mind, heated footfalls from the corridor drew his attention.

“Laura?” A man’s voice called from further down the hall. “Have you seen my letter opener?”

John turned to find George Harris, Earl of Landon, whisking into the room from the front hall, a packet of correspondence clutched in his hand. A pair of spectacles slipped studiously down his long nose while his gray brow furrowed as though deeply concerned about something.

Lady Landon crossed to her husband. “The one with an elephant carved into the handle?”

“I can’t seem to find it anywhere,” he mumbled distractedly, staring down at the letters in his hand. “Would have sworn I left it on my desk.”

“I’ll help you look. Perhaps it is on the bookshelf.” Lady Landon spared Penelope and John a quick, scheming glance. “Come along, Marie.” The countess motioned for her daughter to follow. “Why don’t you ask Mrs. Hall to bring tea and refreshments to Penelope and our guest?”

“Of course, Mama.”

The earl glanced up abruptly as though suddenly aware of John’s presence. A kind smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Breckenridge. So good to see you in London.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Still in the army, lad?”

“I am, Sir.”

“That’s excellent!” He strode forward to pump John’s hand. “Served four years myself.”

John relaxed a fraction. The earl could have made Napoleon comfortable in a room sporting a guillotine. “With my uncle if memory serves.”

“Yes. Yes.” Lord Landon chuckled. “The stories I could tell you…” He shook his head, a wistful gleam lighting his eye. “My wife and I are hosting a dinner party tonight, you simply must stop by.”

“Really, Sir, I must decl—”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he insisted. Lord Landon flicked a glance toward Penelope and then flashed John a conspiratorial wink. “My niece will be in attendance. I’ll see to it the two of you are paired for cards.”

John cleared his throat, unsure how to respond. A variable wake of panic welled beneath his feet. So much for fifteen minutes.

Lord Landon grinned. “So we’ll see you at eight o’clock.”

“I—er…”

“Uncle, that is quite enough.” Penelope strode forward, shooing her uncle from the room. “Lord John likely has other plans and will be unable to attend tonight.”

There, she’d offered him the perfect out, and yet… John hesitated. Perhaps attending the party this evening would be enough to warrant him the urn. One miserably long day of courting as opposed to a week’s worth of short visits. The prospect had merit. He faced Lord Landon. “I will do my best to attend this evening.”

“Very good. We shall do some catching up as well.”

“Uncle,” Penelope said in a soft but firm tone. “Your letter opener?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He shoved the spectacles back up his nose and turned on a heel. “Laura! Have you found it yet?” The earl left the room, muttering on about his letter opener, and leaving John alone with Penelope.

John glanced up at her, at a total loss for words. It had been so blasted long since he’d paid court to a pretty girl he’d entirely forgotten how to go about it.

Penelope met his gaze and offered a hesitant smile. “Would you care to sit, my lord?” She gestured invitingly to the blue upholstered loveseat.

He cleared his throat. Oh, dear God those eyes. He glanced between the sofa and the door. Only thirteen minutes left.

“Lord John?” she prompted when he did not readily respond.

“Yes?” He snapped his attention back to her. “Oh, of course.” He crossed to the loveseat. Began to sit and then thought better of it. “This is for you,” he said gruffly, thrusting the silver package into her hands.

She blushed. “H-how very kind, my lord.” She perched neatly on the chair opposite him, and slid a thumb beneath the paper edge. She sucked that delectable bottom lip between her teeth as though nervous. John knew the immediate impulse to suck her lips between his own teeth. Would those sinfully plump lips taste as sweet as they looked?

Rather suddenly the rattle of paper ceased. “Lord John?” Penelope asked in a rush, disrupting the progression of his fantasy about her mouth… stroking his tongue along the crease and into that little corner swirl… “Might I trouble you with…” She dragged that lip into her mouth again, worrying it between her teeth. She shook her head. “Never mind.”

He pulled his gaze from her mouth to her eyes and quirked a questioning brow. Really he had no idea what to make of her behavior. The gift rested in her lap only half unwrapped. “Might you trouble me with a question?” he finished for her. “Of course.”

She drew a breath and hesitated before releasing it slowly. “Well,” she began, her attention shifting back to the paper surrounding the box, “it’s just that—Oh!” A little cry of delight escaped her as she finally opened the box. “It’s an Easter lily.” Her eyes lifted to his and genuine happiness sparkled within. “How beautiful and so very thoughtful.”

He shrugged. “Roses are overdone.”

Her gaze slid to a huge floral display on a table beside the window. “I couldn’t agree more.” A grin teased the tempting swirls of her lips and she leaned forward, her manner conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling. A fat curl slipped over her shoulder. “I was born on Easter Sunday, you know.” Her voice dropped, low and husky, as though disclosing a secret meant only for him. He found himself leaning in to hear it. “My mother brought me an Easter lily every year for my birthday.” A hint of moisture misted in the lower rim of her eyes.

Oh, Jesus. John shifted uncomfortably. Don’t cry.

Fortunately she blinked the wetness away as quickly as it came, and brushed her fingers over the lily’s white petals. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

John gulped. Heaven help him, but as he gazed into her smiling face, the satisfying sense he’d done something truly right and good stirred within him. Hell, he was beginning to feel warm and fuzzy in places he’d sworn never to feel warm and fuzzy in again.

She sat back suddenly, her expression sobering slightly. “Forgive me if my question is overly frank,” she began.

“I always appreciate frankness.”

“Why did you come to call on me today? Unless I’m mistaken, we’ve never met before last night.”

John leaned forward, holding her eyes with a steadfast gaze. “Let’s just say I felt… compelled.”