Chapter Two
Penelope
A single lamp beside the massive bed cast a warm glow.
Beyond that, the large room remained shrouded in shadows.
Moving closer to the windows, Penelope reached behind the heavy, velvet drapes to see that all of the windows were indeed closed.
Puzzled by the source of the noise and why a lamp had been left burning within the room, Penelope frowned, her teeth tugging at her lower lip.
One of the maids might have inadvertently left it behind, but Penelope did not see that as a possibility.
Although limited in number due to the townhome’s vacant status, the staff were highly dedicated to their duties.
“Damnation…and bollocks…”
The muttered curse startled Penelope. In a panic, she instinctively concealed herself from view by hiding behind the heavy drapes.
Pressing back against the floor-to-ceiling bank of windows, the chill of the rain-splattered glass panes seeped through the flimsy robe and gown she wore.
Immediately, her teeth began to chatter, and she pulled the garment closer around her body.
Of course, there was little doubt who that husky male voice belonged to.
What was illogical was the reason behind his presence in the house at this hour.
Clenching her jaw to stem the chattering of her teeth, Penelope dared a peek through the space between two of the drapery panels.
She immediately wished she’d stayed safe in her own bed.
The Earl of Camden stumbled out of the dark dressing room.
His cravat and shirt were nowhere to be seen, the fall of his breeches unbuttoned, and one of his boots was conspicuously missing.
Shuffling across the floor, he stopped once, bent over, and tried to pull the remaining shoe free of his foot.
The attempt nearly sent him headlong into a tall chest of drawers before he regained his balance.
More scandalous curses flew from his mouth as he weaved his way across the room.
His swearing made Penelope’s cheeks burn as if they were on fire, although admittedly the sight of Simon Blackthorne’s bare chest probably had more to do with the flush of heat coursing through her body.
Plopping on a bench at the foot of the bed, Simon grabbed hold of his foot and tugged at the boot. When it finally came off, he tossed it aside. It landed with a thick thump mere inches from the windows.
Penelope swallowed a squeak of alarm, her fingers clutching the soft velvet fabric of the drapery.
Closing her eyes, she held her breath…waiting for the moment Simon ripped the curtains open and found her cowering behind them.
But as the seconds ticked by and she remained undiscovered, innate curiosity got the better of her.
Simon continued with his muffled grunting and cursing, and when she dared peek at him again, Penelope’s mouth fell open in shock.
Standing straight and tall, he was stripping away the breeches, hopping on one foot, then the other as he peeled them off each leg.
Penelope watched, transfixed by the sight of his muscular thighs gleaming in the low light.
Once he tugged the garment down far enough, he kicked free of it, leaving it in a discarded heap on the wood floor.
It was impossible to look away. Penelope had never seen anything as magnificent as Simon Blackthorne standing before her as bare as the day he was born, clad only in the warm, golden glow of a single lamp.
His body was a work of art—smooth marble, carved with the precision of a master artist. Well-defined muscles and ridges, along with intriguing hollows, certainly encouraged exploration.
Her eyes drifted lower…then refused to blink.
There, at the apex of his thighs, hung an appendage of impressive proportions.
Penelope swallowed hard.
She shouldn’t look. She mustn’t. But her eyes clung to him greedily, as though starved.
She was not ignorant of the male form, although her knowledge was limited to the figures depicted in Greek mythology and the detailed carvings of ancient sculptors.
But to witness such perfection in real life…
to see a living, breathing man standing so unashamedly, his body on glorious display, was almost too much to bear.
Penelope found she could hardly breathe as she stared at this specimen of masculine beauty, her heart thumping with such force it was a wonder the entire household could not hear it.
Deep in the pit of her stomach, something clenched in shocked awareness.
When her knees wobbled, she took another deep breath to combat the sensation that she might actually faint.
Simon raked both hands through his thick dark hair, ruffling the strands until they fell in shaggy disarray around his face.
With a deep sigh, he stretched his arms above his head before shuffling toward the bedside table.
Penelope’s eyes widened until they were the size of saucers at the sight of his firm backside and the rippling muscles defining his broad shoulders and back.
She swallowed again, her fingers twitching with the desire to explore this man until every mystery of a man’s body was revealed.
Unaware of his audience, Simon picked up a nearly empty decanter and tilted it to his lips.
He took a long drag of the liquid contents, not seeming to care when it dribbled from the corners of his mouth.
He set the bottle back down, where it teetered on the edge of the table before landing on the floor with a loud clatter.
Unconcerned by the mishap, Simon flopped onto the bed. Letting out a deep sigh, he pulled his legs onto the mattress and fell back against the pillows. A low rumble came from his chest, then the sounds of soft snoring filled the room.
Penelope gripped the drapes tight, resting her forehead against them as she muttered a silent prayer of relief. What would she have done if Simon had discovered her? How on earth would she have explained her presence in his residence, never mind the explanation for being in his bedchamber?
For several long agonizing moments, she huddled there in the dark with the rain beating against the windows at her back. Was it safe to leave the room? Did she dare try?
I cannot stay here all night.
Peeking through the curtains once more, Penelope checked Simon’s location.
He lay sprawled across the bed, snoring away in what Penelope now realized was likely a drunken stupor.
Her lips tightened with disappointment. Simon Blackthorne’s reputation as a rakehell was so well known that it had become the very essence of his being.
But she’d never once over the years seen this man in such a state of disarray.
The earl was always coldly stoic and rigidly controlled.
Seeing him so obviously intoxicated was a contradiction to her perception of him.
Penelope watched him with careful scrutiny. She was well prepared to duck back behind the shelter of the drapes if Simon should so much as flinch a muscle. But other than his chest rising and falling with the rhythmic motion of his breathing, the earl did not move.
She gauged the distance to the door. She should tiptoe there in all haste and extricate herself from this dangerous situation. But even as her brain screamed that she follow that advice, she peeked at Simon and crept out from behind the draperies.
He would catch his death of cold if he remained exposed in such a manner, not to mention how traumatizing it would be for the upstairs maid to find him like this come morning. Penelope’s eyebrows knitted together in a tiny frown as she nibbled her bottom lip in consternation.
I cannot in good conscience leave him like this. I should at least pull the coverlet over his lower extremities.
Straightening her shoulder, Penelope inhaled a fortifying breath. She inched toward the bed, ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
Heat rose to her cheeks again, and despite her noble intentions, Penelope’s gaze drifted over Simon’s exposed body.
Seeing him like this…so close and so…so bare…
did strange things to her composure. He was so incredibly beautiful, his broad chest sprinkled with dark, crisp hair, a trail of it leading from his navel to groin and dusting the tops of his thighs.
Penelope’s fingers twitched with the urge to trace his skin, and she clenched her hands into fists.
Even in his slumber, Simon’s mouth was pulled into an arrogant smirk, his diamond-sharp jaw clenching as if aware of Penelope’s admiration.
He needed a shave, a dark scruff casting shadows across his cheeks.
Obviously, he had arrived without his valet in tow.
Would he attempt shaving himself in the morning?
Or would he have the audacity to go about with that rakish air of a pirate on the hunt for something… or someone…to plunder?
If he were married, his wife could attend such matters in the absence of a valet. A wry grin lifted the corners of Penelope’s mouth as she murmured to herself, “If he were married, I would not be here in his room.”
Moving with careful intent, Penelope picked up the empty decanter and set it back on the table. Then, gripping the corner of the coverlet, she gently tugged until it covered Simon’s bare feet.
He did not stir. Emboldened, she pulled the coverlet higher, almost reaching his knees before realizing the blanket was pinned by the earl’s lean hips. If she wished to finish covering him up, it required moving his body. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Penelope hesitated, unsure of her next move.
Why she cared was a mystery. She did not even like the man lying in a near comatose state before her.
He’d always been smugly condescending toward her when he noticed her at all.
While it was true he’d behaved rather strangely during her stay at his family’s country estate of Thorne Park, it was an unavoidable fact that the earl was a terrible rogue who had sworn never to marry.