Page 7 of One Night of Temptation
“And will it?” he asked. “I told you—I’ve no experience in such matters.” He clasped his hands around his tankard. “Actually, I have two sisters, and if they’d disappeared overnight, their marriageability would probably have suffered. I expect yours would be destroyed.”
“That is the hope,” she said cheerfully.
His gaze flickered with surprise. “Truly? You wish to never marry?”
“I would have liked to marry, but I want to choose my own husband. Is that so terrible?”
“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t want to be forced into a marriage.”
“You aren’t married, then?”
He shook his head. “Much to the bishop’s chagrin. We tread a fine line in this occupation. We can’t really afford to take a wife until established in a living, and then we’re expected to wed as soon as possible.”
“Yet you remain unwed.” It wasn’t a question, but it came out sounding like one. Probably because she was curious.
“I haven’t found a woman I want to marry yet.” He stared at her across the table, and she felt that same urge to see his bare hand again. Or to press herself into his side again. Anything to increase the intimacy that had sparked between them when he’d rescued her.
Oh, she was being absurd! There was no intimacy. She’d found herself in a terrible situation, and he’d saved her.Of courseshe would be drawn to him, which she most definitely was.
Mr. Tarleton’s gaze shifted to somewhere behind Penelope. “Those two men keep looking in our direction. More precisely, at you. I don’t like it.” He returned his focus to her. “You just need to stay away for one night? Then you’ll return home?”
She nodded. “That was the plan, yes.”
“Then you’ll stay here at the Craven Cock. I’d take you to my house, but a rector shouldn’t take an unmarried lady home, even if she’s trying to ruin herself.”
“Blast,” Penelope said as she exhaled a breath. “I have no wish to blight your reputation.”
He smiled. “I can’t imagine you would. I could take you to my church, which means walking through St. Giles in broad daylight, but I don’t think that’s a good idea in case someone is looking for you. Though, I’m not sure anyone would dare come into St. Giles.” He fixed his gaze on hers. “Isanyone looking for you?”
She imagined Mrs. Hall along with the footman and coachman would be searching for her, but not here. “Probably, but they wouldn’t know to look in St. Giles. I was at the British Museum with my chaperone and was able to sneak away.”
His auburn brows arched. “How enterprising of you. I think it’s best if we stay here. I’ll get two rooms for propriety’s sake. I’ll make sure to be right next door.” He took a quick drink of ale then stood. “I’ll go speak with the innkeeper—don’t worry, my eyes will be on you the entire time.”
“Thank you.” She watched him walk to the bar, and, true to his word, he kept looking back at her. Once he reached his destination, he angled his body toward her while he talked with the man behind the bar.
She had no desire to ruin Mr. Tarleton’s reputation. It was one thing to make herself unmarriageable and another to discredit a rector in his parish. Perhaps she should just go home. If Maisie had sent the note to theTimesas planned, Penelope’s ruination was already in motion. But what if Maisie hadn’t sent it? She’d already reneged on their plan. Penelope couldn’t count on anything. She could only hope.
Bitter or not, Penelope took a long drink of ale to calm her nerves. She tried not to wince again and failed. That was enough of that. Leaving the mug on the table, she stood just as Mr. Tarleton returned.
His plucked his hat from the chair and set it atop his head. “I’ve secured two rooms.”
The worry she’d worked to quell rose again. “I wonder if I should go home after all.”
His brow pulled into a knot. “That isn’t your plan.”
“No, but this wasn’t my plan either. I don’t want to cause trouble for you.”
“This isn’t trouble. I explained to the innkeeper that you are a widowed friend of my family passing through London and that you can’t stay at my house because it’s being refurbished.”
“Is that true about your house?”
He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “No, but Con, he’s the owner of the Craven Cock, doesn’t know that.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we?”
As she moved forward, his hand grazed her lower back. His touch coupled with his verbal invitation sent a shiver down her spine. Was it fear? Anticipation? Something she couldn’t define?
Something she should ignore.
She moved toward the stairs quickly, as much to evade his touch and the sensation it evoked as to remove herself from the common room and prying eyes. The wood creaked beneath her feet as they ascended. Instinctively, she reached for the railing, but it wobbled beneath her fingertips. She withdrew her hand and continued up to the landing, where light from a street-facing window illuminated the stairwell.
