Chapter 11 #2
For a moment she stared down at the empty pouch still clutched in her hand, and thought of Will as he’d been on the night she brought him to her bed.
Tears threatened, but Penelope squeezed her eyes closed, refusing to let them fall.
She’d had her Christmas miracle—an unforgettable night with the man she loved—but now it was Twelfth Night, and her miracle was over.
She heard the sound of carriage wheels then, rumbling over the cobbles. She opened her eyes, crossed to her window and looked out to find a luxurious traveling coach waiting below.
Lord Snedley had said they were to remain in London for a time, so why had he sent a traveling coach to fetch her?
She frowned down at it, trying to make out the crest on the door, but it was too dark.
Still, it must be Lord Snedley’s, mustn’t it?
It wasn’t as if crested coaches were a common sight in this neighborhood.
Penelope grabbed her case just as there was a knock on the door. She hurried forward, expecting to find one of Lord Snedley’s servants on the other side. When she saw who was there instead her heart shot into her throat, stealing her breath.
Will burst through the door. He was panting, his face flushed with distress. “Is Snedley here? If that lecher has laid even one fingertip on you, I swear I’ll—”
“No, you won’t.” Penelope’s voice was quiet, but it silenced Will at once. “It’s no business of yours what I do. You have no reason to be here, Lord Archer. You need to leave at once.”
She moved to the door and held it open, but Will raised both hands in protest. “Wait. I do have a reason. Please, Penelope. I—I just want to talk to you. Let me stay for a moment.”
Penelope couldn’t imagine what he had to say to her. Hadn’t it all been said? But she backed away from the door, because in that strange, frozen moment, she couldn’t think what else to do.
Will closed the door, but then he seemed to be struggling with what to stay. He stood before her, twisting the brim of his hat between his hands. “I can’t eat, Penelope. I can’t sleep. I can’t even think.”
She tried to steel herself against the misery darkening his eyes, but her foolish heart insisted on battering at her ribs, as if it thought it could get free of her chest and leap into his arms.
But one couldn’t trust one’s heart, could one? That absurd organ may not yet have learned to be wary, but the rest of her had. “What are you doing here, Lord Archer? I’m on my way out.”
He stepped forward, his face dark with anguish. “No. You can’t go with Snedley. I can’t…I won’t let you. Please, Penelope. The other day, at Cliff’s Edge, I never should have…I know you never would have…I made a terrible mistake.”
The thought of Lord Snedley touching her made Penelope’s flesh prickle with disgust, but with Snedley at least she’d know who and what she was. It was easier to give up than it was to keep hoping—easier to stop fighting and accept her fate.
No hope, but also no heartbreak.
She raised her chin, her features carefully blank. “That’s unfortunate, my lord, but I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
He flinched at this cold reply, but his lips pulled into a determined line. He took another step forward, until he was so close the folds of his coat brushed her skirts. “It’s everything to do with you. I came here to take you back to Cliff’s Edge. I can’t bear to be there without you.”
Penelope’s nose started tingling, a sure sign she was seconds away from bursting into a flood of tears. She didn’t want him to see them—couldn’t let him see them—so she whirled around, giving him her back. “For how long, Will? Another night? A week? Until you tire of me?”
“Is that what you think?” He came up behind her and his hands closed around her upper arms. “That I want to make you my whore?”
Penelope blinked up at him. He was gazing down at her, his blue eyes dark with regret. “I—I don’t…”
He touched his fingers to her chin to keep her from looking away. “Did you think I’d take you to my bed on a whim and then let you go without a second thought?”
“No. I just thought…”
I’m not a lady, only an actress.
I have nothing to offer you.
I’m not the lady you want.
She pulled away, unable to meet those glittering blue eyes. “I’m sorry you’re lonely, my lord, but I daresay Lady Lavinia would agree to—”
He caught her arm and spun her around to face him, his blue eyes flashing as he gazed down at her.
“I don’t want Lady Lavinia. I never did.
I want you, Penelope. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you on stage.
Your hair drives me mad. I dream about your lips parting for me, opening for my kisses.
Your smile, your laugh, and this sweet, sweet face…
” He brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You’re all I can think about. All I’ve ever wanted.”
Penelope knees were shaking under her skirts. Oh, how she wanted to believe him! But even as his words made her heart thunder with joy, the rest of her was already peering around the corner, dreading the next disaster.
The tears she’d tried to hide were falling down her cheeks now, but she raised her chin and met his gaze. “No, Will. I’m not everything you’ve ever wanted. I’m not a lady. How long do you suppose it will be before you start resenting me for it? Halfway through Lady Madeline’s failed season, or—”
He jerked her hard against his chest. “You are a lady. You’re my lady, Penelope. My one true love.”
My one true love….
He gazed down at her, his blue eyes soft.
“The last night of the play, you looked at me when you spoke of your one true love. You looked right into my eyes when you promised to stay with your one true love forever. Were you just reciting your lines, Penelope? Were you acting, or were you making that promise to me?”
Penelope’s breath caught at the tenderness on his face. “Those words were for you, Will, and I meant every one of them.”
“Then I’m holding you to your promise. Come back to Cliff’s Edge with me. I want to marry you, Penelope. I want you to be my wife.”
Will’s voice broke on the last word, and Penelope let out a soft sob and buried her face against his chest. His words, the sincerity of them, the love plainly woven into every syllable, undid her.
He pressed his lips against her hair with a desperate moan.
“I know you’re afraid. I know I hurt you, and I swear I’ll spend every minute of the rest of my life to gain your trust back.
Please, Penelope. I love you so much, sweetheart.
Can you…” He held her gently away from him so he could look into her eyes.
“Do you think you could ever love me? Maybe not now, but once I’ve proven myself to—”
She pressed her fingertips to his lips. “I do love you, Will. I’ll marry you, and I’ll stay with you always.”
A low groan tore from Will’s throat, and then he was kissing her and murmuring promises against her lips. He told her he’d missed her, and that he’d never let her go again. He told her he loved her—that his heart was forever hers.
Penelope wrapped her arms around his neck, believing every word.
It was midnight, on Twelfth Night. Not a single star was visible in London’s night sky.
Christmas was over, but their miracle had just begun.