XXII
HARRY had faced several challenging situations in his life (he'd stared down the barrel of a gun just a few weeks before) but he had never found himself in a predicament quite like this.
In a way, it was a relief. It would be easier for her to resent him than to confront what was between them. If she refused to speak about Lady Holt with him again, he could excuse himself out of taking his former lover's advice. Even though Melody had claimed to cherish their affair, he wasn't sure he could take the same chance with Penelope. However, the relief Harry felt was superseded by the way his chest stung when he looked into her eyes. He had wounded her deeply. He reckoned that the jealousy he bore for her and Lord Vatterly could not compare to feelings ignited over what looked like the rekindling of a lost love. The longer dinner wore on, the more determined Harry grew to explain his story. He told himself that he'd take the first opportunity after supper was finished, but Miss Redwood was quick to leave the table. She did not even stop to bid her suitor goodbye.
Finally, Berkeley's two uninvited visitors sensed their time had come to a close. They gave their goodbyes shortly after dinner had finished. They all retired to the drawing room after the Holts and Vatterly had gone.
"Are you going to tell us who that woman was, or are we going to have to beg you?" Percy asked.
Harry ignored him. "Charlotte, would you mind telling me where my housekeeper's rooms are?"
"I would be the worst hostess in the world if I let you go to her door at this hour," Charlotte replied. "Besides, I cannot betray her trust."
"Please, Charlotte. It's important."
She merely raised a brow. "Might this have anything to do with Lord Holt's wife?"
"She'll tell you where Penelope's door is if you tell us what happened between you and Lady Holt," Percy interjected.
"I will do no such thing," Charlotte said. After a pause, she added, "But I might be inclined to pass along a message if you do."
Harry pursed his lips. "I have to wonder when all of you decided to stop treating me like your friend."
"We are your friends," Zachary said. "Which is why we value honesty."
Harry shook his head. "Telling you about her would be a breach of my word. And anyway, I can't understand why all of you are so hungry for details. At any rate, I'm sure you can guess."
"I find it very hard to believe that you would cavort with a married woman," Emma said. Pause. "Unless she was unmarried when you met her."
"No comment."
His friends prodded him for information, but Harry would not be swayed. All he wanted to do was explain himself to Miss Redwood. True to her word, Charlotte refused to give up where his housekeeper resided. When Harry sent up a servant with a message, she did not come down. It wasn't surprising, but it didn't prevent Harry from feeling disappointed. When they all retired for the evening, Harry couldn't shake his restlessness. In an attempt to stifle it, he left his bedroom and went to the terrace.
And there she was.
Miss Redwood leaned against the balcony, face toward the night sky, as her nightgown billowed in the breeze. Harry wasted no time closing the distance between them.
"Miss Redwood."
She spun around as soon as he addressed her: "I should go back to bed," she said coldly. "Goodnight, Lord Hawthorne."
"I met Lady Holt when I was twenty-five," Harry blurted.
Miss Redwood took a step toward the door. "I don't want to know how you met her. I don't care either."
"It lasted for a year and it ended once her parents found us out. I loved her, yes, but I don't love her anymore. What you saw today was a goodbye. It was not love."
"I don't believe you."
"I haven't seen her since the day we ended our courtship. That is the truth, Miss Redwood, I swear it."
"I saw the way you looked at her," his housekeeper said accusingly.
"You saw appreciation. Fondness, perhaps. But not love. Or passion. Or..." He stopped, wondering if he should proceed with the truth that might ruin them.
"Or?" Miss Redwood persisted.
"Or anything close to what I feel for you."
Miss Redwood laughed bitterly. "But it doesn't matter what you feel for me, does it? Or what I feel for you. According to you, we can never be together." Harry did not say anything. She'd summed up their situation quite neatly. "Well, I must retire. We have an early start tomorrow. Our weekend is over."
She moved again to leave and Harry found his hand around her wrist.
"Let me go," she snapped. He considered doing just that. He'd explained himself, and it hadn't helped any, but she believed him. Miss Redwood could retreat to her room, and he to his, and they would share an uncomfortable carriage ride in the morning. And when they arrived at Hawthorne, Harry could do everything to ignore the flicker between them. His housekeeper would remain safe, and with the right amount of time, the flame would extinguish. He could do it. Harry could survive off the memory of her skin, and their almost-kisses, and their embraces. But, to what end? He was scared of ruining her, of cowardice, of being the monster everyone accused him of being. But what good did it do to be a white knight to himself when the woman he cared for wanted the man underneath the armor? At the very least, he should give the two of them a chance.
"I'm terrified."
"Pardon?"
"You....you've become so important to me. And, I know what it's like to be hated—or think you're hated—by the woman you love. I know what it's like to ruin a woman you want a future with. I don't want the pain for you, or me."
"You've said," Miss Redwood replied flatly.
Harry swallowed. "And I also recognize that I haven't been fair. I haven't taken into consideration what you are willing to sacrifice or endure to be with me." His thumb traced a crescent on the inside of her wrist. "So, if you are sure...if you are willing...then I am willing too."
His touch was so slight, a finger against skin—and yet—he felt her melt against him. Her eyes searchingly bore into his. "Do you mean that?"
"I swear it."
"Upon what?"
"My newly earned mare from Zachary." Miss Redwood grinned. "And my faithful Cerberus. And the portrait of my mother in the Main Hall." His hands moved to her waist. He pulled her closer. "And upon my beloved mother, God rest her soul."
"That will do," Penelope whispered. She pressed a feather-light kiss against his cheek. Harry turned and connected his lips with hers, drinking in her longing and pouring out his. She hungrily lapped up his yearning with expert maneuvers of her tongue. Their kiss was as starved as it was sweet, greedy as it was giving. It was also a promise, a beginning.
She was his. And he was hers.
***
"I'M sure you're wondering why I called you here today," Diana said. She took a sip of her tea then, suspending both of them in silence. She needed a chance to observe her guest for the last time before she gave her proposal.
The Duke of Burberry stared back at her with naked curiosity, slightly tinged with irritation. She supposed he only came here because of good breeding. Diana knew it could not have been because of Violet. After Penelope had run off to Hawthorne, their friendship had dried to dust. "I am," Solomon replied.
"You had a duel with the Earl of Hawthorne a couple of weeks ago," Diana began.
"I did."
"You decided not to kill him. The rags said that at the last moment, you had a change of heart."
Solomon shifted in his seat. "That's correct."
"What scared you away?"
"Pardon?"
"You were set to avenge your honor and that of my daughter's, and when it finally came time to do so, you did not. Why?"
Solomon drew the countess into his own silence. His eyes narrowed into slits. "What is this?" Diana did not reply. "Why did you invite me here? What do you want from me?"
"You're being rather rude, Solomon. I know your mother raised you better than that."
"Your daughter has broken her engagement with me, and there is no hope we shall ever get married," Solomon continued. "And your line of questioning—forgive me Lady Redwood—is rather confusing. Admonishing, even. And, you'll forgive my frankness, but between your daughter and me I am not the one who needs a dressing-down."
"You're hurt and angry," Diana said patiently. "With my daughter and with the Earl. That is understandable. I just need to know if there is enough honor within you to do what is right."
"I won't go back to that dreadful castle and try and win her back if that's what you mean," Solomon said nastily. "She's made her bed. And after everything Penelope has done—"
"---I'm not asking you to win her back," Diana interrupted. "The last time I was there, I enlisted the eyes of one of his housemaids. I told her to report to me if the Earl behaved violently against my daughter."
Solomon's expression sobered. "You don't mean..."
"I do." Diana's voice faltered. She could not say more than that, if she did, she would fall apart beyond repair. "That man...he must be taken care of. If Penelope stays in that place any longer I might lose her forever."
"A woman?" Solomon muttered. "I never thought...I thought at least he would have the decency to stay away from those who cannot strike him back. That bastard."
"I know that in these given circumstances you probably care very little about my daughter. I do not blame you. However, she was once the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. I plead with you...I beseech you...please help her."
"By taking care of the Earl?"
"Yes."
"And when you say taken care of..."
Diana's fist clenched. "I want him gone for good."
A/N: Dun dun dun.... I always loved the idea of juxtaposing Penelope and Harry's first kiss with Diana persuading Solomon to be her hit man so I hope you loved it too. Sorry if this was a little short. Also—do you like Solomon? I liked him when I started writing him, but I don't know about now.