Page 8 of One Night of Temptation
“You’re in the first room here. It’s the larger of the two.” He gestured toward a door to their left and then to the next door along the corridor. “Mine is just there.”
She moved onto the landing so Mr. Tarleton could pass. He pushed her door open and held it so she could precede him inside.
“Is there a key?” she asked as she went in.
He followed her and closed the door. “There’s a lock. You will be quite secure.”
The room was smaller than her bedchamber at her father’s town house on Grosvenor Street, but it felt surprisingly cozy with a neatly made bed, a square table with two matching chairs in front of the window to the right, and a small hearth on the wall opposite the door. The cushioned chair angled beside it was probably what gave her the sense of comfort. It reminded her of her grandmother’s favorite chair at the dower house.
He removed his hat and placed it on a hook beside the door. “Now, tell me the rest of your plan.”
“You’re staying?”
“For now. We still have things to discuss. Besides, it will be better to pass the time together, won’t it?”
She couldn’t deny that. “If you’re satisfied that it won’t affect your reputation?”
“Quite.” He indicated she should sit at the table.
Penelope considered whether she should remove her hat and gloves. She certainly didn’t want to wear them the rest of the day. Decisively, she pulled off her gloves and set them on top of a battered dresser in the corner. Then she untied the ribbon beneath her chin and removed her bonnet.
He held out his hand. “I’ll take that.”
She gave him the bonnet, and their bare hands briefly touched. With each physical connection—on the street, downstairs, and now here—she felt even more drawn to him. She’d worked so hard to put up a wall between herself and pretty much everyone else and she wanted to tear it down, to allow someone to reallyseeher. Just for tonight.
He hung her hat beside his on a second hook. “Presumably your parents are worried about you and are doing whatever they can to comb the area in search of you.”
She sat down at the table and waited for him to sit across from her. “Worried is perhaps not the most accurate description of how my parents likely feel. You’ve met my mother. Does she seem the type to worry about anything save what gown she should wear or which jewelry would accent her costume best?”
His brow creased. “I couldn’t say. I would expect a mother to be concerned about her child.”
Oneshouldexpect that, but Penelope didn’t. The Marchioness of Bramber would only care about her missing daughter because of how it would impact her. She would not like being the center of negative gossip.
“My mother was kindhearted,” he said softly, drawing her from thoughts of her own mother, who was decidedly not kind—hearted or otherwise. “I remember her laugh. It was warm and bright, like a perfect summer day—the kind you never want to end. She died when I was eight.”
She heard the warmth he spoke of in his voice. The admiration. The love. “It sounds as though you miss her.” Penelope couldn’t imagine missing her parents. She was so very happy to be away from them.
“Somewhat. She’s been gone a long time now. I miss that she wasn’t able to watch us all grow up.”
That had to be the loveliest sentiment she’d ever heard. “You’ve a way with words, but then you are a rector. Perhaps I should come listen to one of your sermons.”
He gave her a wry half smile. “You ladies always say that, but none of you ever do.”
“I beg your pardon, butI’venever said that.”
“I don’t suppose you have.” He studied her a moment. “I’m trying to think if you ever spoke at all on the occasions you visited my church. I recall meeting you, but I can scarcely remember that event either, other than your face and your name.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
She shrugged. “I like to be inconspicuous.”
“How…odd. Most ladies like you prefer to be the center of attention.”
“I am not most ladies.”
He gave her a brief appraisal. “No, you are not. I can’t think of one who would choose to ruin herself.”
