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  "More than prepared," Lucas answered, thinking of his skills with the ladies, and of all the charms at his disposal that he used regularly to get them to do whatever he wanted. ' 'My darling Penelope won't know what hit her."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lucas perched on the top of the wall, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, but he saw no guards roaming the fancy garden. He had to stifle a laugh at how complacent—and foolish—Westmoreland was. From the duke's lofty view of the world, it had probably never occurred to him that Lucas might return intent on doing something as diabolical as stealing Westmoreland' s most prized possession right from under his very nose.

  Lucas's bold act, committed in the duke's own library, went so contrary to what a common English person would dare against a peer of the realm that the duke could never comprehend what a foreigner of Lucas's background and determination might do. The duke's inability to judge Lucas's resolve was exactly what Lucas was counting on, and why he felt so confident that his scheme would succeed.

  He gazed about for several minutes. Once he was convinced there'd be no surprises, he slid to the ground and, quiet as a snake, worked his way around a hedge until he was standing a few feet from the bench where he and Lady Penelope had met.

  At first he couldn't locate her, and he suffered an instant of panic that perhaps he'd misjudged the woman and she'd

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  changed her mind about their assignation. Then his eyes settled on her. She was sitting quietly, dressed in black clothing and wrapped in her sable cloak. Moonlight reflected off her in silvery waves, and he realized that she didn't look like a proper gentlewoman at all, but one who was waiting for her secret lover to appear.

  His heart skipped a beat. The situation was proceeding much better than he could have hoped.

  She'd worn her hair down, and it was loosely restrained with a dark-colored ribbon. Like a shimmering waterfall, it flowed down her back until the curled ends brushed against her hips and nearly touched the seat of the bench whenever she shifted.

  There was probably an innocent explanation for why she'd styled it in such a fashion—perhaps her maid was abed and not able to offer assistance—but he couldn't suppress the thrill he received upon considering that she'd done it just for him, that she'd wanted him to see her in a state of dishabille, which meant she already fancied him much more than she ought. Such a circumstance would certainly make his job easier.

  Still, as he stood silently watching her, it gradually occurred to him that, given their predicament, he was too excited by the sight of her provocative locks. He was becoming fixated on her for extremely male, utterly base purposes, the likes of which weren't appropriate and wouldn't do at all. Now was not the time to be intrigued by her comeliness. It was imperative that he regard her as an object, a person to be manipulated in order to bring about the fortuitous completion of his plans. In no way, shape, or form should he consider her a woman.

  Nevertheless, he couldn't alter the direction of his eyes or the direction of his thoughts. The long strands of her hair were smooth and radiant, and he wanted to find out how it would feel to run his hands through the heavy mass. If he pulled her close and rubbed it across his cheek, he imagined it would be soft and luxurious.

  Scandalously his fingers tingled at the idea of touching her. So alluring was the prospect that he caught himself wishing

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  he could abandon his carefully drafted scheme. Obviously he was reasoning with a part of his anatomy much lower than his brain, because at that moment he would have given anything for the opportunity of an uninhibited rendezvous where they could discover just how close two people could grow in a very short time.

  Dismayed by his carnal fantasies, he shook off the unwanted temptation and acknowledged it for what it was: His masculine senses always came to full alert whenever a beautiful woman crossed his path. He had a second instinct for ferreting them out—the prettier, the better—so he chose to recognize this initial enchantment for what it was and to move on.

  Penelope Westmoreland was a mark. Yes, a lovely one, pleasing to the eye and the spirit, but a mark nonetheless. And he had every intention of keeping her as one and nothing more.

  Not wanting to scare her, he moved from the shadows and onto the walkway. "Hello, my pretty Penny," he said, remaining still and letting her adjust to the idea that it was he and no other.

  "Hello," she said, smiling and rising to face him.

  "I'm sorry I'm late," he offered.

  "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

  "I wouldn't have missed this for the world," he declared, but his words carried an interpretation entirely different from what she heard.

  He took one step toward her, then another, until they balanced toe to toe and there were only a few inches separating them. Her skirts swirled around his calves and feet, the bottoms brushing his boots. To her credit, she didn't shy away to put distance between them. If anything, she welcomed his nearness, behavior he wouldn't have conceived possible given the short, odd nature of their acquaintance.

  She was calm and self-assured, and he noticed to his chagrin that there was an abundance of sexual energy flowing between them. It was so strong that he was surprised he couldn't see

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  shooting sparks. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up as though he were outdoors in a lightning storm.

  As a man who was vastly accomplished with women, he knew this sensation for what it was: a hot, wild, physical attraction that meant he desired her. From his past sensual adventures, he'd come to realize that it was beyond his control, a potent, magnetic allure that caused him to react to a certain female as he never would with another.

  She gave off an invisible signal, and his senses were instantly and carefully attuned to her, almost as though he were an animal searching his herd for the finest female of the bunch. He was aware of everything about her: The manner in which she moved. The amount of space her body occupied. The warm temperature of her skin. The shiver that passed across her shoulders at his approach.

  Mostly he was conscious of her scent. It tickled his nostrils and set his muscles to quivering. An earthy, lusty odor unlike any he'd ever experienced, it was a kind of chemical emanation that only he could distinguish and appreciate. If he'd been blindfolded in a room of a hundred women, he could have picked her out by that distinctive scent alone. They were made for mating, her body calling to his like a beacon in the dark. Down to the tips of his toes he felt ready and able, in a thoroughly male fashion, to indulge her in whatever stimulating exploit her untried flesh might crave.

  Of all the luck!

  Why had this happened now, when he needed all his faculties concentrating on the task at hand? And why hadn't he perceived it the previous evening? If he had, he might have decided on another course of action. As it was, the enterprise had been set in motion, and there was no turning back. Lady Penelope had a part to play in the resolution, just as he had one himself.

  Having neither the time nor the inclination to become involved with the ducal prize standing before him, he vowed he would fight this sexual enticement till his last breath. Too much was at stake to risk it by dallying, but he was near enough

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  so that he might have run a finger across her full bottom Up. The moon took that instant to shine down ferociously, haloing her in golden light, her superb face perfectly outlined, and he felt a hitch in his breathing.

  Gad, but he'd forgotten how magnificent she was!

  Very likely she was the most ravishing creature he'd ever laid eyes upon, and he had to bite back a groan. Despite his firm determination, how was he going to manage to keep from sampling just a taste of the delights she offered?

  "I'm so glad you're here," she said, tentatively reaching out and resting her open palm against the center of his chest. Before he knew what he was about, he snatched it up, raised it to his lips, and placed a lingering kiss on the
back. Her skin was as soft and silky as he'd imagined it would be.

  "So am I," he said gently. Gazing into those blue eyes, he experienced a flash of absolute alarm. He was in deep. And he was in trouble.

  ******************

  As a distant clock had chimed midnight, Penny had been sitting on the bench for nearly an hour, terribly frightened that Mr. Pendleton might arrive early and she would miss him. At the stroke of twelve she'd made the decision that she would tarry all night if need be, and she didn't know what she might have done if he hadn't come.

  In some ways she felt she had been waiting for him her entire life, although she didn't comprehend why. After all, they'd spoken only a handful of words, and had passed only a few precious minutes in each other's company. Yet, with a certainty she'd never possessed about any other topic, she sensed that they shared a destiny.

  For some reason she felt connected to him as she never had been with another. She could tell him things, important things; she could share her worries and fears and he would listen and understand. And help.

  She knew his positive characteristics, though she hadn't any

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  reason to do so. He was brave and strong and kind, a true and loyal friend to those he deemed worthy. Never would he let her down, disappoint her, or leave her in time of need.

  While she had to admit it was entirely possible that dire necessity had caused her to conjure this remarkable image, she didn't think so. There was something about his calm, collected demeanor that made her hope he would turn out to be the answer to her prayers, a dream fulfilled, a wish granted, a problem solved.

  "Let's sit, shall we?" he said, motioning toward the bench.

  "I'd like that very much," she replied, eager and elated when he laced his fingers through hers and kept them there. She'd never held hands with a man before, and it was extremely fulfilling. They sat side by side, touching pleasantly from shoulder to thigh, and a shiver ran down her spine and prickled the skin on the backs of her arms.

  Once they were comfortable, he shifted slightly, turning toward her and dazzling her anew with the full force of his attention. No doubt about it, her memories of his beautiful face hadn't been distorted by events. He was every bit as handsome as she recalled.

  "I have a confession to make," he said.

  "What's that?" she asked, smiling, liking the timbre of his voice, his heat warming the air around her.

  "I thought about you all day."

  "Really?" she asked, thrilled at the news. "How very sweet. Then, I have a confession as well."

  "What might that be?"

  "I was thinking about you, too."

  "All day?" he asked.

  "Well... there may have been a few seconds here or there when I lapsed." He chuckled, and the resonance made little butterflies dance in her stomach. "Truly, I'm embarrassed to say that you crossed my mind nearly every minute."

  "I'm glad."

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  "I've always been such a levelheaded person. I don't have any idea what's come over me."

  / do, Lucas thought to himself. She was encountering the definite affinity that existed between them. There was neither rhyme nor reason behind it, but the sensations it caused were real. Luckily he was practiced in the loving arts, recognized the impulses she stirred, and knew how to control them, but he pitied her. In her naivete she would feel confused and out of sorts and never understand why.

  “How are you?'' he asked, deftly changing the subject before they had a chance to delve into it. "I trust you weren't overly upset by what happened last evening."

  "No," she admitted.

  "Did you meet with your fiancé today?"

  "No," she said again. "I had no appointments scheduled with him, nor would I have kept one if it had already been arranged. I had always suspected that the man was a swine. Now I'm certain of it. He'll get no forgiveness from me for his disgusting behavior."

  With her back stiffened, her head tilted just so, she appeared assured, tough, unbending, not at all like the spoiled, immature girl he heard talked about on the streets of London. He almost felt sorry for the drunkard to whom she was engaged. She looked every inch the daughter of the Duke of Roswell, and her bumbling betrothed had no clue what he was up against. He had met his match and hadn't even realized it.

  "May I ask you an intimate question?" he inquired. "Please let me know if you don't wish to answer."

  "It's all right. You can ask me anything," she said. Usually her engagement foibles were painful to discuss, but they wouldn't be with him. He would understand her anguish and despair, and his empathy would make the telling easier.

  "How did you come to be affianced to such a disgusting man?"

  "It's a long story."

  "He just seems so . .. so . .." Lucas was surprised to feel

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  himself tremble. Picturing her with the inebriated sot was disquieting.

  "It's difficult to believe, I know. I'd always thought I would marry someone—" She caught herself before blurting out someone just like you, and she was glad she hadn't given him such a startling glimpse into her heart.

  As a girl who had spent her life being coddled, pampered, and assured through word and deed that anything she desired was hers for the asking, she'd grown up expecting to marry the most wonderful man in the world. She had anticipated that he would be exactly like Lucas Pendleton, that they would wed for duty but live for love, and they would enjoy the kind of idyllic marriage of which other women could only jealously dream.

  She paused, sighed, then continued.' 'I thought I would marry someone closer in age. In temperament. But my chosen fiancé had to be of sufficient rank, and there are so few men who my father deems suitable."

  Lucas frowned. As an American, it was difficult to fathom all the attention these British paid to their elite positions in the order of society. "Is rank all that matters to him, then?"

  "There are other considerations, I suppose." She mulled it over, then added, "Increased wealth, certainly. The property to be exchanged during the contracts. Plus, Father has several bills before Parliament that interest him. Edward is an earl and will be a powerful ally in accomplishing his goals."

  Lucas wanted to shake his fist in the air. Her value to the duke had to be immense and was growing by the moment. Carefully he said, "Still, even with all that to be gained, I can't imagine a father marrying his only daughter off to such a scoundrel."

  Penelope had too much pride to admit what the duke had told her—that after all her betrothment debacles, Edward was the only man who'd have her—so instead, she said what she wished to be true. “I think my father is as surprised as anyone in learning what Edward is really like. Especially with his

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  drinking, and .. . well ... his temper. Before Father entered into the arrangement, they were casual acquaintances who had not socialized extensively. Now that the wedding is approaching, we're all forced to spend more time in his company, and it's been quite ..."

  She hesitated, searching for the appropriate word to describe how awful he actually was, but there didn't seem to be one that was vivid enough. Swallowing, she shivered away a wave of disgust at the way in which Edward occasionally looked at her, and finished with "... quite dreadful."

  Suddenly her burden seemed too heavy. Tears flooded to her eyes, although she was too proud to ever allow Mr. Pendleton to see them fall a second time, and she pressed the tips of her ringers below her eyelids, needing the extra pressure to hold them inside. "Oh, what am I going to do?" she asked aloud, not really expecting an answer but needing to give voice to her constant worry. "The wedding is in three months."

  Lucas couldn't believe how stirred he was by her declaration. He had every intention of being unmoved by her plight and, unconcerned for her welfare. To carry out his strategy, he had to be unaffected by her personal problems, but to his consternation, it was impossible to remain impassive. Just as he was attracted to her
physically, he was attracted to her emotionally as well.

  He hardly knew her, yet for some bizarre reason he felt better in her company. From the moment they'd sat down on the bench, he'd felt superb. More relaxed. More content. Her presence worked magic on his frazzled nerves and simmering impatience. He enjoyed holding her hand, sitting close, and watching the changes that passed over her face as they discussed one ardent topic after the next. If he spent much time with her, he would turn into an awkward, lovesick fool who did nothing but moon after her like an inexperienced boy.

  Horrid as it sounded, he was going to have to help her. He'd seen and heard Edward in action, and he couldn't imagine abandoning her to the dreadful man and his deviant habits.

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  That's simply the kind of man Lucas was and always had been. So, despite how he proposed to use her in accomplishing his goals with the duke, in the end he would see her free and unharmed.

  Quietly he made the vow to himself: No matter what, he wouldn't forsake her to her father's machinations.

  "Have you thought about what you might do as an alternative?" he asked. "There must be somewhere you could go. Somewhere you could stay."

  "No," she said, shaking her head. "There's no place. There's no one who would come to my aid. They're all too afraid of Father and the power he holds."

  Lucas nodded. No one would dare cross the duke on behalf of his daughter. "Perhaps you could go off on your own. Do you have any funds?"

  "No. Not a farthing to my name," she admitted. "I had given some thought to having my maid pawn some of my jewelry, but many of the pieces are quite valuable, and I was afraid that someone would take notice and my attempts would be discovered. I really don't know what my father might do if he thought I was planning to run away."

  She shuddered, but not from the cold, and Lucas couldn't prevent himself from reaching for her. He enfolded her in the circle of his arms, and she came willingly, nestling close and stretching out, and he wasn't surprised to find that she fit perfectly.