Page 9 of One Night of Temptation
“Well, now you know one,” Penelope said.
“To return to your question, I doubt my parents will be worried. They will, however, be angry.”
He looked aghast. “They won’t be concerned that you’re in danger?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. Mostly it will be an inconvenience because my disappearance interrupts my father’s intent to betroth me to—to betroth me.” For some reason, she didn’t want to tell him whom she was supposed to marry. Findon was horrid, and since she wasn’t going to marry him, there was no need to speak or even think of him.
“I don’t know your father at all, but I can’t believe he won’t search for you. I think we must assume he will.”
“How will he possibly find me?”
“It depends on what he knows. Will the ransom note give him any clues? Presumably he has to deliver money somewhere, and I wouldn’t put it past Maisie and Joseph to require the payment be made in St. Giles.”
Penelope hadn’t thought to ask for such details and was now cursing herself. Although it likely wouldn’t have mattered since Maisie had apparently not intended to follow their plan at all. “Wouldn’t it be foolish of them to have the ransom delivered to where I’m actually located?”
“We can’t assume they’re shrewd criminals.” His sardonic tone made her laugh softly. “You have a lovely laugh.”
Heat climbed her neck and bloomed in her cheeks. “Thank you.” That was maybe the nicest compliment she’d ever received. It had nothing to do with how she looked or what she was wearing.
He stood, and his height relative to the ceiling made the room feel suddenly smaller, which made her feel even more aware of his presence. Of his masculinity and the unseemliness of their association. “I need to send word to my staff so they don’t thinkI’vegone missing.”
“What will you tell them?” she asked.
“That I’m ensconced at the Craven Cock with a marquess’s daughter.” He chuckled. “My apologies. I don’t mean to make light of your situation. I will tell them I’ve a matter in the rookery that requires my attention overnight.”
“They won’t find that odd?”
“No. It happens from time to time.”
She imagined the things a rector might need to do. “Do you tend the sick?”
“Sometimes. On occasion, a new mother asks for my presence when her babe comes into the world. More often, I’m asked to sit with someone as they pass into the next.”
Penelope had never seen a dead person. “How many have you…guided?”
“Too many to count. I daresay I didn’t guide them.” His mouth stretched in a brief, somewhat sad smile. “That’s not my job. I give comfort, primarily to the living.”
“You sound as if you might be very busy.”
“I am.” His tone held a warm satisfaction. He seemed to enjoy his work.
“Is that unusual? The vicar in Bramber hardly does anything. His curate, however, runs around as if his feet are on fire.”
“That is, unfortunately, an all too common situation. My curate would say he runs around in the same manner.” Mr. Tarleton flashed a broad smile, and Penelope nearly forgot what they were talking about.
Pulling herself together lest she melt into a puddle, she said, “Yes, I recall him—not you—dashing about to help organize the donations we brought.”
“That would be Tom. He’s only been with me a little over a year, but I don’t know how I would manage without him. In fact, I’ll need to send a note to him too—to let him know I won’t be at the church tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t wish to keep you from your church.”
He rested his hand on the back of the chair he’d vacated. “You aren’t. A large part of my job—and truly the most important—is tending to my parishioners.”
“I am not one of your parishioners.” But she suddenly wanted to be.
“That doesn’t matter to me.” He lifted his shoulder the barest amount. “I will always take care of those who ask.”
She bit back a smile. “I didn’t ask.”
