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A look of unexpected frustration crossed Harry’s face, but then he smiled again. “Of course. I need hardly worry that you’d believe any of Pennington’s fairy tales. ”
Pennington failed to look offended, probably because he hadn’t heard Harry’s deprecating comment. “In fact I need to talk to you,” Pennington said, his speech slightly slurred. “It’s important. ”
Harry’s affability had vanished, a singular occurrence. Benedick didn’t remember when he’d seen Harry less than amused by life.
“’Bout my plague-y sister,” Pennington continued.
Did he imagine the lessening of tension surrounding him? But why would Harry be tense? He couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to be involved with the Heavenly Host. As far as he knew, Harry, for all his talk, didn’t particularly like women, and he was far too good-humored to be involved in such a furtive, ugly affair.
Normally he’d fob Pennington off with some excuse. The last thing he wanted to do was be pressured into making an offer for Dorothea. For someone who had seemed so promising a month ago she’d devolved into his idea of hell on earth. He’d take Melisande first.
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No, he wouldn’t, he reminded himself. At least Dorothea would leave him alone. Melisande would cling to whomever she ended up with. She would hover and suggest and scream bloody murder if he strayed. She would love him, and the very thought filled him with complete horror.
He gave his version of an affable smile, and Pennington missed the cold glint in his eye. “What may I do for you, Pennington?”
“It’s m’sister, don’t you know,” Pennington said, straining to be affable. “She wanted me to chat you up, give you a little hint. She asked me to invite you to our country place this weekend, and I told her I was busy but she wouldn’t hear of it. ”
“And are you busy, Mr. Pennington?”
If anything he looked even more strained. Pennington might not be very nice, but he was far from bright, either. “I am, Lord Rohan. So you see, I can’t possibly invite you. But Dorothea wouldn’t hear of it. She’s not getting any younger, of course, and she’s got the personality of a viper. ” He suddenly realized how that might sound to a prospective suitor, and immediately attempted to regain lost ground. “A pet viper,” he said hastily. “A very nice tame one. And only to her brother, of course. Sisters are the very devil. ”
Benedick thought back to his own younger sister, married to the monster. If Miranda insisted on staying with someone so completely unsuitable she might at least have had the grace to be miserable about it, instead of ridiculously, breathlessly happy.
No, he didn’t want his sister miserable. He just didn’t want her with the Scorpion. But that was the least of his worries right now. “They are, indeed,” he said politely.
“But you’ll come the following week, won’t you? You’re the closest she’s come to an offer in years. Men seem just about ready to come up to scratch when she frightens them off. You don’t strike me as a man who frightens easily. ”
If he offered for Dorothea this would be another idiot he’d have to rescue from the machinations of the Host, he thought, annoyed. And possibly his old friend Harry, as well. Three of them, as well as Melisande’s virginal trollop. He may as well do his best to bring down the entire organization—it would be easier than picking and choosing.
Author: Anne Stuart
“I’m afraid your sister has read too much into my attentions,” he said quite formally. “While I hold her in great esteem I was not, in fact, contemplating making her an offer. ”
Pennington bowed, taking his refusal politely. “I told her that,” he drawled. “Told her you were too smart not to see through her. ”
“But I’m interested in this weekend, Pennington,” he went on smoothly. “I haven’t heard of any particular social event being held. Have I somehow been deemed unworthy of an invitation? I confess I’m not sure how I could have offended. ” An arrant lie. He very often offended people, and while he regretted it, he wasn’t sure there was much he could do about it. One thing he could say for Melisande Carstairs—she was remarkably difficult to offend.
“Oh, no, nothing of the sort,” Pennington said, assessing him. “It’s…well, you know, these things are all hush-hush, secret society mumbo jumbo and all that. A bunch of us have revived a…er…fraternal organization, and we’re holding a little gathering this weekend. You’re welcome to join us. ” The invitation was automatic, and then memory darkened Pennington’s countenance. “Except, of course, that it is a secret society, and we don’t let anyone in who hasn’t been thoroughly vetted. ”
Benedick gave him his slow, cynical smile. “Are you telling me I wouldn’t pass the standards of this secret organization? I believe my family has been the making of it. ”
For a moment Pennington lost his cool composure. “I could ask, of course. Can’t see the harm in it myself, but you never can tell. Some of the members are downright ridiculous. But then, it’s supposed to be a special gathering. Some dashed pagan holiday or suchlike. Can’t pay attention to that sort of thing. Best wait till the next time. I can bring up your name at the meeting and see if anyone has any objections. ”
He could just imagine what his brother would say. “Indeed. Enjoy yourself then, Pennington. And give my regards to your sister. ”
“Won’t do that… She’ll simply berate me again. Told her she should concentrate on old Skeffington. He’s got just as much blunt as you do, but he hasn’t got a title, and he’s sixty if he’s a day. Stands to reason she’d prefer you. Though I have to say the thought of my sister in bed with anyone is enough to send shivers down my back. ”
“Pray, don’t think of it,” Benedick pleaded, a little horrified himself. “I look forward to hearing of her engagement. ”
If Harry had seemed slightly odd earlier in the evening, he was all affability and silly stories during their card game with Elsmere and several others. He lost a great deal, but then, Harry had always had a tendency to play too deep and lose too much. At the end of the night Benedick had yet to wrest an invitation to the weekend’s festivities, no matter how many broad and subtle hints he dropped, no matter how decadent he tried to appear. There was no choice for it; he was simply going to have to show up. He wondered if he could still find the old monk’s robes that hung in his parents’ wardrobe. He never knew quite why, and when he’d asked his mother she’d blushed, a singular occurrence, and his father had changed the subject. He’d decided he’d rather not know.
Melisande had left by the time he emerged from the card room, and he felt a moment’s guilt, coupled with disappointment. He should have at least made certain she had an escort home. Clearly she’d taken care of it herself, and he should be relieved. He wasn’t. He’d been looking forward to sparring with her. To telling her he wasn’t going to touch her. Right before he did.
It was after two when he let himself into his house. The servants were all in bed. For once even Richmond wasn’t hovering. He took a candle and started up the stairs, his mind in turmoil. By the time he reached his rooms on the second floor he was yawning. His bedroom door was ajar, with faint light spilling out, and he closed it behind him, setting the candle down to unfasten his neckcloth.
And then froze as he realized he wasn’t alone.
