IfHe’sSinful Read online

  “Is that not Lady Penelope?” asked Victor. “Just across the road with that lad who is not as sweet as he looks. Paul, that is the name.”

  Ashton looked in the direction Victor pointed, across the road and down several yards to the right. His heart gave an odd little skip when he saw her. She was dressed in a simple blue gown; her hair was in an equally simple style, the sun bringing out the bright touches of blond and red in its depths. She looked like a tender country maid on her way to market, not the sort he would usually stare at, yet he found her beauty to be a balm to his soul. He realized that he had been blindly moving down his side of the road toward her and inwardly grimaced as he slowed to a halt. He was dangerously besotted but was not sure how to cure himself of the affliction. Worse, his grinning friends were right at his heels watching him act besotted.

  A sound pulled his attention away from her as she began to cross the road. He did not need Paul’s cry to see the danger bearing down on Penelope. He looked back at her to see her start to run in his direction but he knew she would never make it, especially not trying to drag a terrified little boy. The carriage was still gaining speed. Then she saw him. Ashton began to run toward her but she suddenly stopped, caught Paul up in her arms, and threw him toward Ashton. He had no choice but to halt and catch the boy. Paul was small and light but the force of his landing caused Ashton to stumble back several steps.

  “Pe—ne—lo—pe!”

  Ashton wanted to echo the boy’s wail for he was certain he was about to see Penelope trampled by the horses heading straight for her. His friends started past him but he doubted they would be able to do anything. Even if Victor and Cornell reached the carriage they ran toward, they could never gain control of it before it had run right over Penelope. She had started running again but it was too late. Ashton pressed the crying boy’s face against his shoulder, knowing that he had done what she had wanted by stopping his rescue of her to catch the boy, but cursing the fact that he could not save her, too.

  “Jump!” he yelled but doubted he could be heard over all the others yelling and screaming.

  She was fast, he thought a little hysterically, but he did not think she would be fast enough. Then, just as he braced himself to see tragedy unfold before his eyes, she cleared the path of the horses. Ashton had only begun to breathe again when he saw her clipped by the outside edge of the wheel. It hit her hard enough to toss her up off her feet. She would have hit the ground hard if Brant had not leapt out to catch her as she came down. The force of her landing in his arms threw Brant onto his back. Ashton rushed to their side, still clutching Paul in his arms.

  “Is she hurt?” he asked Brant as his friend sat up, and fought the strange but violent urge to snatch Penelope out of his friend’s arms. “Are you hurt?”

  “I am bruised but hale,” Brant answered, “but Lady Penelope may be hurt seriously. When I fell, I heard her head hit the ground.” He looked down at the limp woman in his arms. “I fear this is not a swoon.”

  Ashton set Paul down and crouched by Brant’s side. He felt the back of Penelope’s head and softly cursed when his fingers encountered a gash. Just as he withdrew his bloodied fingers to pull out his handkerchief and press it against her wound, Victor and Cornell arrived.

  “The carriage?” Ashton asked.

  “Going too fast,” replied Victor.

  “Almost had it when he took a turn right after trying to run Lady Penelope down,” Cornell said, “but got tripped up by a crowd of angry people joining in the chase. Victor had to grab a child who was nearly trampled by the fools.”

  “Did you recognize the driver, the carriage, or see anyone inside?” asked Ashton as he gently took Penelope from Brant’s arms and then stood up.

  “A hired hack, for certain. The driver had his face obscured with a scarf but he did not think to cover the scar of a wound that nearly took his left eye. There was someone inside, for when he took the turn, there was the sound of someone being tossed about, but the windows were covered.” Cornell glanced at the crowd still lingering to watch the drama played out before them. “Victor and I could ask about. See if anyone knows or saw something useful.”

  “That might be wise. This was no accident. It was intentional.”

  Cornell nodded. “It was indeed. The carriage sped up. I believe we will find a consensus on that fact. How is she?”

  “Nothing appears broken, but she hit her head hard. I will take her to her house and summon a doctor. Meet us there.” He glanced at Brant, who had stood up but was favoring his right leg. “I think the doctor will need to look at Brant, too.”

  “Take the carriage. Victor and I will hire a hack if we need one.”

  Ashton nodded, and reassuring himself that Brant had hold of Paul and was steady enough to control the child, he strode ahead to where Cornell’s carriage waited. He gently settled Penelope on the seat, climbed in, and sat down near her head. He then eased her partly onto his lap, supporting her head and neck with his arm. Paul and Brant sat on the seat across from him. The moment Brant shut the door, the carriage began to move and Ashton wondered when the driver had been told where to take them. He was a little alarmed by how fully his attention had been taken up by Penelope and her injuries. With all the other troubles he had on his plate, he did not need to be fascinated by the stepsister of his fiancée.

  “Do you think she will die?” Paul asked, his voice unsteady and his eyes shining with barely restrained tears.

  It was difficult not to shout at the boy. Just hearing the question was enough to make Ashton’s heart pound with fear. He forced himself to be calm so that he could ease the child’s fears.

  “No. It is but a scrape upon her head.” Ashton hoped the boy was too young to know how dangerous any head wound could be. “Her breathing is steady and the bleeding has begun to ease,” he added, as much to calm himself as to take that haunted look from the child’s eyes. “She is young and strong.” The look Paul gave him told Ashton that the child, though young, was not innocent of the indiscriminate touch of death.

  “If I had done a better job of catching her,” began Brant.

  “You did well, m’lord,” said Paul. “It was a fine catch.”

  “Yes, it was,” agreed Ashton. “It is not easy to catch a body hurtling through the air. I consider it a near miracle that I caught Paul. By catching her, you slowed her fall. Her wounds would have been far worse had you not been so quick.”

  “It is my fault,” said Paul.

  “How can you believe that?” asked Ashton.

  “I did not tell her why we needed to get off the road. I did not see the why of it clear and it all happened so fast. I just knew we should not cross to the butcher’s. She thought I was fretting that she would buy mutton.”

  It had happened with a numbing swiftness, Ashton realized. It had played out before him like some slow, macabre dance, but in truth, it had all happened in a moment or two. Everyone had been moving as fast as possible. Now that he watched it all again in his mind’s eye, he realized how miraculous it was that Penelope and Paul had survived.

  Ashton was just wondering how long it would take for Clarissa to hear about what had happened when the full import of what Paul had said hit him. “What do you mean you knew? Knew what?”

  Paul blushed. “I know things, m’lord. Just that. Warnings and such but I have not gained the trick of it all yet. Pen says I have a strong gift for it to be showing itself when I am so young but that it will take me some growing before I can use it right.”

  He was opening his mouth to question the boy more, and perhaps try to dampen his pretensions, when the carriage halted before the house Penelope kept for the boys. Paul leapt from the carriage and raced into the house before he could be stopped. Brant was just steadying himself on his feet after alighting, and Ashton was lifting Penelope from the carriage, when half a dozen small boys burst from the house. Behind them strode a tall, thin young man who had the look of a Wherlocke about him. The young man waded through the
boys, murmuring something that quickly calmed them. When he reached Ashton, he placed one elegant long-fingered hand on Penelope’s forehead and then nodded.

  “I am Septimus Vaughn, a cousin and tutor to this horde of little barbarians,” he said in a voice that reached deep inside Ashton and calmed the fear he had been battling with since he had seen the carriage bearing down on Penelope. “She will be fine, but I suspect you would like to hear that from a physician.”

  Hastily introducing himself and Brant, Ashton said, “I would appreciate it if one of the boys could fetch one. Both Lady Penelope and Lord Mallam should be looked at.”

  “Olwen.” The tutor turned toward a boy with wild raven curls who looked to be about Hector’s age. “Fetch Doctor Pryne.” The moment the boy raced off, Septimus looked at Ashton again. “Follow me. We will get her settled and ready for the doctor. Lord Mallam, perhaps you could wait in the parlor. Jerome, Ezra, please see to the comfort of the gentleman.”

  The two boys, who could not be much older than Paul, led Brant away while Ashton followed the tutor. Paul, Delmar, and one other boy hurried ahead of them to open the door of Penelope’s bedchamber. A cradle tucked into a corner of the large, plain room told Ashton that Lady Penelope had been given the care of at least one of the boys while he was still an infant. He gently placed her on her surprisingly large bed and wondered what possessed her family to put such a heavy burden on her.

  He stepped to the head of the bed as Septimus eased a cloth beneath Penelope’s head. Ashton watched as the younger man delicately began to check her for any other injuries. He had to clench his hands into fists behind his back as he watched another man’s hands move over her body. It was necessary. Ashton knew that. Yet a tight, hot ball of jealousy formed in his gut. When the man looked at him with eyes the color of a calm, sunlit sea, and just as fathomless, Ashton could not shake the feeling that Septimus Vaughn could see into his soul. It was embarrassing that he had so much difficulty fighting the strange possessiveness he had when it came to Penelope. He certainly did not want anyone else seeing the inner battle he was so obviously losing.

  “Since you are lurking about, Delmar,” Septimus said, “fetch me a cloth and some water. I want to clean this blood away so that I might better see the wound.”

  “Should we not wait for the doctor?” asked Ashton as Delmar hurried to do as he was told.

  “I know Doctor Pryne quite well.” Septimus began to gently pull the hair away from Penelope’s wound. “He will appreciate the fact that all is readied for him. How did this happen?” he asked after Delmar set a bowl of water and a cloth on a small table by the bed and Septimus began to meticulously clean away the blood from her wound and her hair.

  Ashton told the man all he could remember. Paul added his own views and opinions with a surprising clarity for one so young. Each time Ashton recalled what had happened, his conviction that it was intentional, that it was an attempted murder, grew stronger.

  Septimus said nothing as he disposed of the bloodied water and rag, refilled the bowl from an ornate jug, and washed his hands. “What has Penelope gotten herself into now?” he finally asked as he returned to her bedside.

  “So, you believe this was no accident as well,” said Ashton.

  “Most definitely this was no accident. Yet why should anyone wish to kill Penelope?”

  “I think Mrs. Cratchitt is behind it,” said a deep voice that was already familiar to Ashton.

  Ashton turned to see Artemis, Stefan, and Darius standing in the doorway. He frowned as they moved closer to the bed to look at Penelope. All three boys looked like beggars, their clothes ragged and their faces dirty. They also wore the hard-eyed expressions of angry men, adding maturity to their young faces.

  “Why should that woman wish to hurt Lady Penelope?” asked Ashton.

  “Because of what she saw,” replied Darius. “Bad things have happened at that place. Very bad things.”

  “We all now know that every woman there was not willing to join that hag’s stable. My friends and I have every intention of seeing her closed down. We have already begun yet she has not acted against us.”

  “You are all lords, highborn and important,” said Artemis. “If it was but one of you, she might try to silence you, but even she knows she cannot act against five noblemen. Penelope was the one who caused you to catch that woman at her foul games so it is Penelope she wants dead. Penelope she blames for the coming loss of what was a very profitable business. But I think it is more than that.”

  “What? Did Lady Penelope see or hear something else that Mrs. Cratchitt needs to keep a secret?”

  “She saw the ghosts,” said Delmar.

  “Ghosts?” Ashton asked in disbelief. “You want me to believe Lady Penelope saw ghosts? That Cratchitt wants her dead because she saw some spirit floating about that hellhole?”

  The look every other male in the room gave him was one of resigned disappointment. Ashton thought that unfair of them even as he recalled some of the things Penelope had said that night. She had called Cratchitt’s a sad place full of ill feelings and angry spirits. She had also said that someone had died in that bed. He could still hear her say poor Faith in that soft voice weighted with sorrow. It was preposterous to think she could speak to the dead, he told himself, but that stern voice in his head did little to banish the belief that stirred to life in his mind and heart. He did not understand why even that flicker of belief existed, for he had never been a superstitious person.

  “I am sorry you doubt us, m’lord,” said Artemis, “but it is the truth. ’Tis Pen’s gift. She said something to the men who kidnapped her and they must have said something to Mrs. Cratchitt. Whether the woman believes in Pen’s gift or not, she may fear that Pen knows something. We have been trying to find out what secrets are hidden at that brothel, but have had no luck yet.”

  “Does Lady Penelope know you are spying on Cratchitt?”

  “Nay, leastwise not in the way we are, and we do not mean to tell her until we find out something worth telling.”

  “And Hector? Does he follow that rule as well?”

  “Ah, saw him, did you?”

  “Of course I did. Clarissa drags him about with her day and night. She seems to think a ridiculously dressed little boy trotting at her heels adds to her prestige.”

  “Ridiculously dressed?”

  Ashton ignored Artemis’s amused question. “What do you think he will discover?”

  “That the Steps are robbing Pen blind and were behind the kidnapping.”

  He waited for the shock over that blunt accusation to hit him, for a protest to form on his lips, but nothing happened. Ashton realized that he believed the Hutton-Moores were fully capable of such crimes. The moment he had learned how they treated Penelope, he had begun to see them more clearly and nothing he saw was good. The way they tricked him into a betrothal and held his father’s debts over his head had only hardened that opinion. That was why he was not shocked, but had started to suspect such things himself.

  Unfortunately, the suspicions of a group of boys were not enough to help him end the betrothal. Even if he could find another way to get the money he needed and pay off his father’s debts, he could not end the betrothal on suspicions alone without causing his family to suffer through a scandal. His father had caused them enough suffering. Ashton refused to add to it.

  “Why?”

  “Money and lust, m’lord,” replied Artemis.

  “Charles lusts after Lady Penelope?”

  Artemis nodded. “She does not see it but ’tis there. Did she not say she was brought to Cratchitt’s for another man who would arrive on the morrow? I would wager what little we have that that man was Charles.”

  There was no time for Ashton to ask any more questions. A man who looked to be in his forties, built strong and wide with unkempt gray hair, stomped into the room. The bag he carried told Ashton this was Doctor Pryne. With a few curt words, the doctor expelled everyone but Septimus and Ashton from the
room.

  “I saw to Lord Mallam,” the doctor said as he scrubbed his hands, immediately winning Ashton’s approval. “Bruises, scrapes, and a badly wrenched knee. Got the boys putting cold cloths on it for now. I will wrap it before I leave.” He studied the gash on Penelope’s head and lightly prodded the area around the wound. “No crack in the skull. A good thing. A few stitches needed is all.” He looked at Ashton and Septimus. “She needs to rest for at least a week. Now, get me more light here so I can stitch her head up,” he ordered and Ashton found himself moving as quickly as Septimus did to obey that command.

  Penelope moaned in pain at the first stitch. Ashton started to reach out to her, thinking to hold her head steady for the doctor, but Septimus nudged him aside. The younger man placed one hand on her forehead and another over her heart. Penelope’s face, pinched with pain, began to relax in sleep. She did not move or make another sound as the doctor tended her wound. Ashton wanted to deny that Septimus had calmed her with his touch, but he could not. He had seen it happen with his own eyes. The doctor showed no surprise or unease, either.

  Doctor Pryne looked at Septimus when he was done bandaging Penelope’s head. “Sure you will not join me in trying to keep some of the fools out there alive?”

  Septimus shook his head as he moved away from the bed. “No. I cannot. Now and then, perhaps. Every day, patient after patient? Pain and more pain? It would break me.”

  “Fair enough. A shame, though. A demmed shame.” Pryne moved to wash his hands. “She will be fine. As I said, keep her abed, at least for a few days, and make her go softly for the rest of the time until I can remove the stitches. She might be light-headed at first. Come for me if she shows any signs that she has bruised her brain. You know what to look for, lad.”

  “I do.” Septimus began to escort the doctor out of the room. “What do we owe you?”

  “Nothing. His lordship downstairs paid me handsomely. Best go and wrap his knee and let the fool put his breeches back on.”

  Ashton watched them leave and then looked at Penelope. They all believed she could see spirits. Paul believed he could foresee danger. The doctor believed Septimus had a gift that allowed him to ease the pain of injured or ill people. Rumors had persisted for generations, he mused, and then shook his head. He was a man of reason and control. He no longer thought Penelope and the boys were some family of charlatans, but he refused to believe in magical or mystical gifts. He needed proof to believe in such impossibilities and no one had shown him any.