Chapter Three #2
“That would assume Johnathan would need to leave London for Derbyshire.” She snorted with apparent derision, and that errant sound yanked him out of his wandering thoughts.
“His mistress has too much hold on him, has her claws into him. He’s nearly dead but doesn’t know it.
Frankly, I don’t think he’s been truly alive since he came home from the war. ”
Apt description. A grin pulled at one corner of his mouth.
“That’s about the truth of it. I’ve said time out of hand the woman’s not good for him, but he has his reasons for persisting with her, I suppose.
” It wasn’t because the earl loved her, of that Cornelius was certain.
As for the war part, well… The less she knew was probably for the better. “Does that bother you about him?”
“No. I’m old enough to know that’s how men are in the beau monde.” Her shrug lifted her delicate shoulders. “Weymouth was too old for mistresses, at least in a sexual way, but I knew he had one merely as a companion, to talk about things he had in common with where he didn’t with me.”
That admission was surprising, since Cornelius hadn’t spoken to her in years. Perhaps it had weighed heavily on her for the same period of time. Did she have no one in her life she felt close to or could talk with?
“The two of you weren’t able to overcome the age difference between you?”
“We did not, and eventually, trying to do so, along with everything else, became a chore. So we let things go.” For a brief two seconds, she caught her lower lip between her teeth before letting it go.
He nodded. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss all the same.” It was odd, being here with her like this, chatting politely as if they didn’t share a history together.
“Thank you.”
“No doubt mourning was long and arduous for you.” He didn’t know all that much about her marriage, only that her parents had arranged it.
“To be honest, I’m glad it’s over. My mother expects that I should continue being broken about his passing, but there was much my family didn’t know about my marriage.
I’d like to keep it that way.” Then she frowned.
“Is that all you came into the shop to say? I’d rather not speak of my deceased husband. ”
Interest shivered through him to crash into surprise. When had she grown into such a forthright, tart-mouthed woman? “What do you wish to talk about, then?”
“I wanted to go lock up the shop and go home, but your presence here has turned those plans to rubbish. Mr. Chandler had other matters to attend to today, so I volunteered to look after the shop myself.” A ghost of a grin curved her lips.
“Eventually, I would enjoy having a bookshop of my own, where I can do what I want within it.”
“Such as?”
“Keep the sort of books I adore reading on the shelves. Perhaps offer a tea and chat once a quarter for other like-minded ladies.” She shrugged. “I’m sure there are other things as well, but it matters not now.”
“Why?” His eyebrows soared. When last he’d known her, she was a mild little miss with a lovely temperament and blushing cheeks and lowered lashes, but now, she was a woman grown who apparently knew her own mind, a woman who had much to say…
a woman who wanted to own her own business. It was impressive.
“Why not? I’ve spent enough years of my life beholden to a man without anything to show for it. Now I’d like to have something of my own that no one can take away from me.”
“Fair enough.” Which only put more questions about her in front of him.
“What would you be doing once home? Nursing a cup of tea with a book in a comfortable chair?” With each word, he came closer to the high wooden counter, and once there, he rested a hand on the polished top.
“Or perhaps you have a lover waiting for you in your warm bed?”
“Have a care, Major. That is hardly appropriate,” she warned, in a voice filled with outrage as a blush went through her cheeks. “But no, I don’t have man in my life just now, lover or otherwise.”
“That’s disappointing.”
She frowned, but there were questions in her eyes. “Why?”
What the devil was he doing flirting with her? It was beyond foolish, but he couldn’t help himself. Those lips were wasted on frowns. “A woman like you should be well-kissed, and as often as she wills it.”
“Ah.” Surprise shone in Penelope’s eyes, and she roved her gaze about his face. “Coming from you, I suppose I should take that as a compliment. Aren’t you one of London’s most confirmed rogues?”
Is that what she thought of him? And why shouldn’t she? He’d long ago perfected that particular image. “No. It is merely an observation from what I’m seeing from you as a grown woman who has life experience behind her.”
Surprisingly, she drifted to the edge of the counter on her side with her face a mere six inches from his.
“How can you say that, since you and I haven’t been in each other’s company for far too many years?
” Curiosity filled those blue-gray eyes, and brought him right back to that night when he’d compromised her before shipping out with the military.
The faint scent of lilac drifted to his nose, a decided reminder of the summers he’d spent with her and Johnathan at their father’s country estate when there were nearly no rules and freedom was at his fingertips.
Daring much, he brushed a gloved fingertip along her cheek, and when she didn’t shy away, he cupped the whole of her cheek.
“Any woman worth her salt should always have someone in her life that won’t hesitate to kiss her as she should be kissed, or how she demands it, regardless of the scandal.”
Her eyelids flickered, then her gaze dropped briefly to his mouth. “It’s an interesting theory, of course, but a man would need to do something quite impressive in order for me to take notice of him, kisses notwithstanding.”
Was that a challenge?
Wanting to find out merely for his own peace of mind, Cornelius moved his hand from her cheek to around her nape, tugged her closer, and then fit his lips to hers.
Indeed, they were as soft as he’d remembered.
Seconds later, he pulled back. Would she slap his face for his audacity?
When she didn’t, but instead, peered into his eyes and gave him an almost imperceptible nod, with a soft growl, he fit his lips to hers with more pressure.
As he moved over them, she rested the fingers of one hand on his forearm, curled them into the sleeve of his greatcoat, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.
Yes, this woman needed kissing, and badly. Had Weymouth not done it enough, or had he been exceptionally bad at it?
Just when he was about to come around the counter, Penelope—or rather, Lady Weymouth—wrenched away with a few fingers to her lips as she stared at him with wide eyes. “I, um…” She shook her head. “You should go. If my brother finds out…”
“Birchfield? Why would he?” he asked with a frown, as an effort to hide how that one almost-chaste kiss had affected him.
She shrugged. “Johnathan oftentimes drives over to escort me home, especially on his way either to or from the Lords.”
“Ah.” In an abstract part of his brain, he wanted to continue kissing Penelope merely to anger his best friend, but he refrained. “And he’s to collect you tonight?”
She nodded. “Most likely.”
“Thank you for the warning.” There was a certain heat and longing in her eyes he couldn’t ignore, but also couldn’t puzzle out. Since she didn’t encourage another embrace, he didn’t push.
Yet that kiss, designed to tease and perhaps annoy her, had made him take a second, harder look at her, and he was ever more curious about the woman she’d grown into.
“Well, goodnight, Lady Weymouth. Have a lovely evening.” Then he left the shop with much on his mind.