Page 86 of Where the Heart Leads
Smiling encouragingly at Lord Molyneaux, who was holding forth on the new reform laws, Penelope went over her plans, and her expectations. Last night had been a good first step in learning of desire, of what hers encompassed, what fueled it, but it was plain that, however enthralling the previous night’s endeavors, she’d only scratched the surface.
In the wake of last night, a small host of questions had suggested themselves, popping into her head at odd moments through the day, distracting her. Step by step whipping her curiosity to new heights.
To gain any degree of satisfaction, she was going to have to learn more.
Without being obvious, she scanned the crowd again. And inwardly frowned. If Barnaby had decided not to attend, she would simply have to hunt him down.
She still had her cosh.
As if her mental threat had summoned him, he walked through the open doorway, Lord Nettlefold at his elbow. He paused to greet Lady Carnegie; whatever he said made her ladyship laugh. She patted his cheek, and waved him on. Nettlefold followed, intent on continuing a conversation with Barnaby.
Halting, Barnaby let Nettlefold talk to him while he scanned the room. His blue gaze swept over the various groups—until it reached her, and landed on her face.
She allowed her gaze to meet his for an instant, then she turned to respond to Lord Molyneaux. From the corner of her eye, she saw Barnaby remain where he was, turning to speak with Nettlefold.
Good. Nettlefold was one of the few present of their generation; in the past, he’d shown a diffident but definite tendency to see her presence at such events as declaring her a potentially eligibleparti. In reality she was there to keep abreast of any legislative maneuverings that might impact on the Foundling House, and also to keep in touch with past and potential donors.
She really didn’t want to spend her evening hinting Nettlefold away.
Barnaby apparently agreed with her; only after he and Nettlefold had concluded their conversation and parted did he make his way, in fits and starts via various other groups, to her side.
Eventually he arrived, and took the hand she offered him. A medley of emotions washed over her as his fingers closed on hers; relief of a sort that he was there, that she would indeed be learning more that night, welling expectation over what tonight’s lesson would encompass, and a frisson of something more acute, arising from a suprisingly clear tactile memory of his hands on her breasts, on her hips, between her thighs.
She flicked open her fan and plied it. “Good evening, sir.”
She waited while he and Lord Molyneaux exchanged greetings. Thankfully, the police force wasn’t one of Molyneaux’s interests.
Lord Carnegie, their host, came up at that moment, keen to have a word with Molyneaux. With smiles, the four parted; setting her hand on his arm, Barnaby guided Penelope to a spot closer to the wall, out of the immediate circle of the conversing groups.
He met her eyes, read the determination that burned in the dark depths. “We can’t slip away yet.”
“Of course not.” She glanced over the rest of the guests. “After dinner. You know what they’re like once the gentlemen are well primed. They won’t miss us for at least a few hours.”
“Your mother’s here?” He hadn’t sighted her.
“No. She cried off. She sometimes does.”
“So you’re here unchaperoned?” He was faintly amazed. He glanced at her, recalling. “And I know perfectly well you’re not twenty-eight.”
She shrugged, nose elevating. “Your Mostyn is an old woman—adding a few years made it easier to calm him.”
He snorted. “He was totally confounded when he learned I’d miraculously recovered enough to take you home.”
She shrugged again, signifying it mattered not at all to her. “I’m here as the administrator of the Foundling House, not as Miss Penelope Ashford. That’s why the hostesses—most of whom have known me from birth—think nothing of it if I appear without Mama.”
He raised his brows, but had to admit that having no one specifically keeping an eye on her would make it considerably easier and safer to slip away from this sort of gathering; it was far less crowded than a ball, and therefore not so easy to believe that members of the company would be lost from sight for any length of time while actually remaining in the drawing room. “After dinner then, once we return to the drawing room.”
She was right; the discussions would go on for hours, and would only grow more heated, holding the attention of the company even more avidly than now.
“You haven’t heard anything from Stokes, have you?”
His gaze on the company, he shook his head. “No—I would have sent word if I had.”
She nodded, then said, “There’s a lovely parlor on the other side of the house.” She glanced up at him. “While I have no experience from which to judge, I would imagine it to be perfect for…consideration of that subject we both wish to explore.”
His lips twitched. After a moment, he inclined his head. “Very well. But until then, behave.”
“Of course.” With a haughty glance at him, she left his side and swanned off to join Mrs. Henderson’s group.
