Page 32 of One Night of Temptation
Tom held up a hand and shook his head. “You don’t need to explain anything to me. I’m not your judge. You’ve always exemplified what it is to be a brilliant clergyman.” Tom’s tone held a firm note of admiration. “I have no idea of what behavior you speak, and I don’t need to. I don’t think less of you for being human. In fact, sometimes I’ve wondered.” He flashed a quick smile. “I’m off for breakfast.” He dashed off into the morning chapel, leaving Hugh alone to contemplate his misbehavior.
While Hugh appreciated Tom’s support, it didn’t ease his self-recrimination. He should have resisted temptation. But refusing Pen had been impossible. It wasn’t because she was an alluring woman who’d demonstrated her attraction to him or that he hadn’t been with a woman in more than three years. Well, maybe it was a little those things. Mostly, overwhelmingly, it was his admiration of her spirit and courage, and his growing affection for her warmth and wit. Though they’d just met, he felt as if he’d known her far longer, or perhaps it was that he was supposed to know her. Yes, the entire affair had the aura of destiny, something he wasn’t sure he believed in.
Until now.
The door to the small chamber opened, and Pen stood at the threshold. She was completely dressed, though her gown was somewhat creased at this point. She’d repinned her braid atop her head and smoothed the hair so that she looked ready for the day.
She stepped into the vestry and glanced around. “Where’s Tom?”
“I sent him to fetch breakfast. He’ll be back shortly. Then he’ll run to get my gig so I can take you home.”
Her expression changed, and if he had to describe it, he would have said she looked ill. “I wish I wasn’t going home today. I know it’s not possible, but I would stay longer if I could.”
He felt a pang of disappointment because he wished she could too.
She moved toward him slowly, and his body thrummed the closer she got. “I enjoyed last night—and this morning.” She stopped just a couple of feet away. Her gaze didn’t waver as she looked at him, and her meaning was clear: she had no regrets.
He didn’t either, he realized. If he had to choose between experiencing the few sweet moments when he’d tangled with her in the bed and not, he would choose the former every time.
“I did as well,” he said slowly. “Though it’s perhaps best Tom arrived when he did.”
She arched a dark, elegant brow. “I’m not sure I agree, but I do understand. It has been a very eventful night. In some ways, I feel as if I’ve been gone a week instead of just one night.”
Hugh chuckled. “That’s quite understandable. I certainly feel as though I’ve known you longer than one night.”
Her gaze heated. “I feel the same about you.” Though her response was soft, it carried a weight that settled in his bones.
The moment was heavy, but where could it go? He would return her to Mayfair shortly, and she might then be on her way to Lancashire. “Perhaps you’ll write to me from Lancashire,” he said.
A flash of surprise darted over her features. “I may do that.”
The urge to continue where they’d left off spiked through him. As a distraction and to put distance between them, he moved to the hearth. “Where in Mayfair do you live?”
“Grosvenor Street.”
He knew that was an excellent address, but then her father was a marquess. He was presumably very wealthy in addition to being powerful. Hugh felt a moment’s unease as he thought of the lie they were going to perpetrate. He was a part of it now. If he’d returned her home yesterday afternoon, he could claim innocence and good intention. Now, however, he was an accomplice.
Only if they learned the truth.
Tom returned, entering the vestry with his arms full of bread and a bowl of porridge, which he set on the table situated against one wall. Then he started toward the small chamber where Hugh and Pen had slept. “I’ll fetch a knife to slice the bread.”
“Mrs. Dilley’s porridge is the best in St. Giles,” Hugh said.
Penelope went to the table and sat down. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
“No, you enjoy it. I’ll be fine with some bread and honey.”
“Hugh, can you give me a hand?” Tom called from the other room.
Puzzled as to why he’d need help with a knife, Hugh went to join him. “It’s in the cupboard,” he said as he crossed the threshold.
Except Tom already had the knife in hand. Whispering, he said, “There was a Runner asking about a young woman with dark hair wearing a yellow dress.”
Hugh wasn’t surprised. “We need to get her home. Can you hurry to fetch the gig?”
Tom handed him the knife. “Back in a trice.”
It wouldn’t be a trice, more like a half hour, if not closer to an hour before he returned.
