Page 15 of One Night of Temptation
“Iwin again!” Penelope laughed with glee.
Mr. Tarleton gathered up the cards and began to shuffle them. “You’re sure you’ve never played before?”
She shook her head. “My parents say card games are not appropriate for young ladies and that I can play when I am wed.” At least that was the rule her mother repeated, likely to justify her own penchant for cards while denying Penelope. “What other games do you know?”
He blew out a breath. “Dozens. We played cards quite often in my house. In truth, my family can be ruthless.”
That sounded wonderful. “I hope you’ll teach me another.”
“Certainly. I think our dinner will be arriving shortly.” He set the cards to the side atop the ones he’d had to remove from the deck in order to play piquet. “Why are card games not appropriate for young ladies?”
“Because it won’t help me gain a husband.”
“What are you allowed to do?”
“Dance, play the pianoforte, embroider, paint, and ride.” She thought for a moment. “Yes, I think that’s everything. Oh, and shop. I’m allowed to shop, but only with my mother, and she dictates every purchase, so I don’t count it as an activity that I enjoy.”
“Do you enjoy the others?” he asked with rapt interest.
She loved talking to him. He listened with such curiosity and warmth—she’d never realized having someonelistencould be so enlivening. “I like to paint and embroider. I suppose I like to ride.”
“You suppose?”
“I’m never allowed to go very fast, so it’s not as fun as I think it could be. Do you ride?”
“Not often anymore now that I live here.”
“You’re too busy,” she said. “What do you do for amusement? Or do you not have any time for that?”
“Most of my amusement comes from spending time with my parishioners. Sometimes we have card parties at the church. My primary enjoyment comes from when I visit people in their homes. They invite me for dinner, or I join them for a special event.”
“Like a wedding breakfast? I presume you perform many marriages.”
“I do,” he said, smiling. “I admit it’s one of the best parts of the job. No one is so happy as on their wedding day.”
An image of Penelope’s wedding day burst into her mind. Her skin grew cold and clammy, and her muscles clenched. That day was on the horizon. Or it would have been if she hadn’t arranged to disappear.
His expression darkened. “What’s wrong?”
He’d learned to read her too well. She reached to take a drink of brandy, but her glass was empty. “Nothing.” She flattened her hand on the table.
“I don’t believe you, but I won’t press you either. Clearly, it has something to do with a wedding.” He paused for a moment, studying her. “Are you thinking of the man to whom you were to be betrothed?”
Her insides somersaulted and twisted, and she feared she might toss up the brandy, bread, and cheese. That wedding day image returned, and the leering, wrinkled face of the Earl of Findon grew in her mind until she closed her eyes in an effort to blot him out.
“Yes.” The whispered word slipped from her lips unbidden. And yet saying it eased the burden. Findon’s face disappeared.
Warmth encompassed her hand as his palm covered the back of hers. She opened her eyes, not to look at him, but to look at their hands touching. She couldn’t even see hers beneath his. Once again, his protection comforted her, and she reveled in it.
“You don’t have to tell me about him. It’s clear you don’t want to marry him and that the thought of doing so causes you great distress.” Now, she moved her gaze to his. The empathy in their depths nearly undid her. “I’m sorry.”
She should withdraw her hand but couldn’t bring herself to do so. “Thank you. I won’t have to marry him. Not after this.”
“He’ll cry off?”
She expected him to. Findon had made it clear he wanted a young, untouched bride. Spending a night lost in St. Giles would surely deter him.
The heat of the rector’s hand seeped into hers, giving her strength. And perhaps courage. “I believe so, yes. He won’t want a soiled bride.”
