Part 7 (1/2)
Penelope reverently placed the bonnet into the hands of the attentive shopkeeper. She glanced toward the large gla.s.s window and considered the time they'd spent in the millinery because she could get lost for hours amongst the ribbons and plumes, but doubted the men wanted to wait long in the carriage. Pleased by the prospect of their planned afternoon, she didn't wish anything to spoil the day and a ripple of excitement played a smile across her lips.
Phin's broad shoulders and hard musculature took up a fair share of room beside her on the coach seat, but she would never complain. He smelled divine and whenever the carriage jostled over a rut, she had the inordinate delight of pressing against him, however brief.
”Penny, come look at the selection of Aigrettes in this basket.” Lexi's cheerful voice rose above the murmur of feminine conversation throughout the store. ”These feathered headdresses are the cleverest I've ever seen.”
Making her way toward Lexi, Penelope caught sight of a man hurrying past the front window. Her pulse skittered with recognition. Was that Simon on the outside walk? Could it possibly be?
”Oh, I must go.” She rushed around Lexi and out the door nearly colliding with a tall stack of bandboxes piled near the entrance. Her pulse drummed an anxious beat as she threw a frantic glance to the right searching the crowd before gathering her skirts in her hands and setting her feet into motion.
She struggled her way through the shoppers, but it proved a wasted effort, no matter how hard she pushed against the tide. Three blocks later, she paused to catch her breath. The crowded city streets overflowed with obstacles prohibiting her from following a clear path and her pet.i.te stature further disabled the search. A sorrowful sigh of resignation escaped and the heartsick feeling of disappointment replaced her earlier elation.
Without warning, steely bands encircled her upper arms and dragged her backward, s.n.a.t.c.hing her from the crowd. Unable to catch her breath, she struggled to disentangle herself and also keep her footing amidst the jostling shoppers, but she proved no match for the strength of her captor. A feeling of panic washed over her as the broad press of a man's form anch.o.r.ed against her body. Then Phineas' voice, angered, yet welcomed, met her left ear.
”Wait! Hold there. Where are you going?”
A definite note of urgency strained his words, and something else, something unidentifiable but meaningful, sent a s.h.i.+ver of apprehension rippling through her from top to toes. The clamoring of the surrounding crowd, thundering chaos of horse hooves, and loud street vendors hawking their wares overwhelmed her, and she sagged against the support of his warm, broad chest. She was safe. Without objection, she allowed him to steer her into a nearby alleyway.
At first she thought all would be fine and they would stroll back to continue their outing, however as soon as she turned and eyed Phin's face, any thought of a simple resolution fled with the same expedience as the hammering beat of her heart. He appeared furious and a deep well of dread settled in her stomach. By the firm set of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils, sharp words would soon erupt. He'd released her from his hold, but the sparks in his stare held her immobile.
”Whatsoever can you be thinking?”
Penelope swallowed, her tongue thick, as she attempted to formulate a suitable reply. Even though he'd asked the question, he allowed her no recourse and his words overflowed to fill the scant s.p.a.ce between them.
”Do you have any idea how much danger you could have caused yourself running through the streets w.i.l.l.y-nilly after what I have no idea? You might have become lost, gotten trampled or dragged into a dark corner where no one would hear your cries for help. Look around you.” He threw one arm out to the side, his action slicing the air in reverberation of his words. ”Any cutthroat or rum-touch would be mad not to be tempted by such a pretty little package wandering the city streets alone.”
Penelope blinked hard to disperse her tears. She'd never been one to buckle when faced with adversity and she would not begin now. She needed to explain. Straightening her shoulders and releasing a shaky breath, she gathered her courage and ignored how her hands trembled.
”I appreciate your concern, but it is full daylight and we are standing in the middle of Bond Street. I am fine. Everything is fine.” She brushed her hands down the front of her day gown, putting her skirts to rights and dismissing the discussion. If he'd expected her to express more complacency, he was mistaken. His harsh admonishment caused her to bristle more than lavish him with grat.i.tude. It wasn't as though she could fully explain.
”Everything is not fine. If everything was fine I wouldn't be...” He pushed his fingers through his hair before releasing a forced breath. When he spoke again, his voice sounded low and controlled. ”Crimes occur in London during the day hours all the time.”
The steely seriousness of his clipped sentence deflated any further reb.u.t.tal. She took a small step. ”I would never have caused all of this concern were it not important.”
A discernible hesitation pierced the air. When he finally answered, his voice was no more than a raspy whisper, although a flash of wild anger lived in his eyes. ”Nothing is more important than your safety, Penelope.”
She wavered on the brink of her reply. ”I'm sorry. You're right. My actions were foolish.” She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath to erase the tremble from her voice as the reality of what she'd done and how angry he remained, settled. When she dared glance in Phin's direction, his eyes had softened and he no longer looked like he might enjoy wringing her neck.
She pushed on, anxious to fill the uncomfortable silence. ”I acted without thinking. I thought I saw someone...” The tentative words dissolved on a self-deprecating note. Phineas gave a snort of disapproval. When he made no other reply, she placed her hand on his arm. ”Thank you for rescuing me from danger. I did not intend to cause you concern.”
Her eyes searched his face, a mask of equivocation, but then his muscles relaxed beneath her touch, his forearm solid and strong, as protective as his grip when he'd heroically retrieved her from the possibility of harm.
”I accept your apology.” His words held no revealing emotion. ”I reacted as any gentleman would. Now I suppose we should find Devlin and Lexi. I'm sure they are worried over your venturesome actions and anxious to see you return.”
He placed his ungloved hand over hers and the heat of his possessive caress flooded from that one point of contact throughout every corner of her body, settling in her soul. He'd worried over her safety; the fleeting condition a dire yearning in her heart. Then he must care, shouldn't he?
Silent seconds ticked by before he lifted her fingers in his, sliding her hand to his elbow so they could proceed down the walkway. The street bustled with activity, carts rolled past, horses snorted, harnesses jangled, but they walked in silence until they reached the carriage. When one step remained, he leaned in and whispered a silky warning meant for her ears alone. His words, a mere breath at her temple, told her everything he hadn't said minutes before.
”Don't ever scare me like that again, Penelope Rosebery.”
He gave her hand a tight squeeze and offered her up into the carriage, calling out to Devlin and Lexi as if nothing had transpired.
”Phin, third time at the club this week? What has you sparring with such aggressive vigor?” Harry's voice rang across Jackson's Saloon, although a ruckus existed in every corner as men trained to improve their boxing technique. ”We'd all but given up on you.” He stepped past a series of sand bags, dodging their intermittent sway and the muscular men who pummeled the canvas into motion, to move closer to where Phineas practiced in an elevated ring.
Phineas flicked a quick glance to Harold before he dodged and avoided an oncoming blow. He answered the parry with a counterpunch combination that had his sparring partner scampering a hasty retreat. Everyone at Jackson's knew Phin's left hook to be lethal. He'd honed the move to be wickedly fast, precise and effective. But today's practice was about more than endurance. Sparring would burn off the frustration keeping him on edge.
His desire for Penelope gnawed at him from the inside out and while his mind consistently delivered the message she was not his for the taking, his body had an agenda all its own. No matter she ignited his anger, when he caught hold of her on Bond Street and pulled her hard against him, his first thought had been to turn her around and kiss her soundly, so sweet did she feel against him. The haunting thought fueled his vexation. He needed no complications in his life. He threw a powerful jab as if to punctuate his silent conclusions.
”Anxious to get back into routine. That's all. You can't blame a man for wanting to stay fit.”
A year ago, he'd punished himself and taken a long break from boxing for altogether different reasons, but found despite the power of repentant emotion attached to the sport, the need for release proved more significant. He'd exorcised his pain in the ring even when he was fighting himself, conquering past regret, the loss and pain of grief. No matter how boxing linked to his transgressions, he needed it, to obliterate his anger and feel the pain. He liked the pain. Now Penelope instigated the same driving force.
He delivered a sharp right and then realizing the lamb's wool wrap on his fist had unraveled, signaled for a break. He walked to the corner where Harold and Con waited, dropped his gloves, and took a sip of water. ”Haven't you something clever or sarcastic to add to Harry's a.s.sessment?” He flicked his eyes to Con as he retied the strings.
”No.” Con scanned the room with disinterest. ”I'm here for conversation only. You know I never engage in this sport. If Harry hadn't the sudden thought to stop at seeing your gig, we would be well on our way to Tatts by now instead of sequestered in this dank arena of masculine superciliousness.”
Phineas knew, as they all did, of Con's dislike of boxing and how it had nothing to do with his exceedingly good looks or his favor within the ton. With consideration for their friend's privacy no one asked why his aversion to boxing caused him to walk out of the club at times without a by-your-leave.
Con continued as an afterthought. ”I do recall you mentioned your mother disfavored this habit. I suppose we all a.s.sumed you'd given up boxing permanently.”
Phin released a disgusted sigh. ”I shudder to think my closest friends expect me to do whatever whenever my mother wishes.”
His friends remained unusually silent.
Devlin entered the Bond Street boxing school and joined the other two men as they stood outside the ring. ”Well this is a bit of a chance. All four of us in one place at one time. Doesn't often happen anymore, does it?” Devlin slued his eyes to Phineas in the ring.
”You are always at home with Lexi and the baby.” Phin hoped his feigned accusatory tone disguised the fact he missed time spent at Kenley Manor.
Con interjected, his casual remark implying only partial interest. ”You cannot criticize. You leave every social event before the eleventh hour.”
It was Devlin's turn and ripe for the witty banter he eyed Con. ”And you cannot complain. You are rarely in London, always off on a jaunt to discover a higher quality of grape for your champagne vintner. When you do remain in London, you are holed up in Mayfair with Isabelle by your side, politely ignoring a mountain of social invitations and calling cards.”
”What of me then? I am almost always in London.” Harold looked to his friends with expectant chagrin.
Phineas knew Harold to be one of the most affable gentlemen of the ton. ”You, Harry, are the anchor. You remain our one constant in this ever-changing city.”
Pleased with the description, Harold cheered up readily and the four men turned to discussing current events. Con held the floor as they listened with interest.
”You're not going to like what I've discovered of Ridley's past. His connection to anyone with aristocratic lineage is reaching at best, fict.i.tious at its worst. He lies without hesitation, possesses little wealth and was almost arrested last year at Bartholomew Fair.”
”What gentleman of good standing would frequent such a low form of entertainment?” Harold's objection pierced their conversation.
”It gets better. Ridley failed to leave the traveling peep-show. After he paid his penny price, he wanted more than his coin ent.i.tled him.” Con's voice reflected distaste.
Phineas gripped the ropes and pa.s.sed through, jumping from the ring. ”Something odious about Ridley troubles me and it has little to do with the Trumpington grey.”
Devlin scoffed. ”As well it shouldn't. Your poor behavior kept you daydreaming when you should have been bidding on the horse.”