The Historical Collection

Chapter Four

After that miserable encounter with her aunt, Penny could not have dreamed her day could grow any worse. But here worse came, in the form of Mr. Gabriel Duke, walking across the green directly toward her, right in the middle of Marigold’s daily constitutional.

The Duke of Ruin, they said. Penny didn’t know if the man lived up to his scandal-sheet moniker, but he was certainly the Duke of Ruining Her Afternoon.

“Lady Penelope.” He inclined his head in the grudging suggestion of a bow.

Penny needed a few moments before she could look him in the eye. She took in his appearance from the ground up. His fine attire said “gentleman.” The remainder of his appearance subtracted “gentle” and simply said “man.” Though he must have shaved between last night and this afternoon, stubbly whiskers ranged up his throat and over his sharply cut jaw.

“Well?”

Drat. He must have asked her a question, and she’d been wandering so deep in the dark forest of his whiskers, she hadn’t heard it.

She resolved to ignore his effect on her. Her resolution lasted approximately nine seconds.

When he spoke again, his voice was deliciously deep and intimate. “We need to have a chat.”

She cringed. She’d been afraid he would say that. ”Can’t we agree to forget last night ever happened?”

“I’m afraid it was rather unforgettable.”

With that, she could not argue. “I’m sorry about the parrot. And the trespassing. And the breaking and entering.”

“I’m not here to talk about the parrot. Right now, my concern is the goat.”

“Why would you care about Marigold?”

“Let me begin with this: I’m different from most men of your acquaintance.”

She nearly laughed aloud. What an understatement.

Penny wasn’t unused to men, but there was a difference between friendly acquaintance and a close-range confrontation with sheer masculine physicality. It felt like someone had taken a mallet to a gong of femininity hidden deep in her belly, and now the vibrations traveled through her bones, summoning an ancient, primal force.

Penny could think of only one name for it: lust.

It made no sense. She’d always been a romantic. She cheered on her friends’ unlikely matches. She believed in destiny, soul mates, love at first sight.

Penny didn’t want any of those things from Gabriel Duke. She wanted to tear off his clothes and look at him—all of him—the way she had last night. It had been too dark in the room, and she hadn’t found the courage to stare. When would she see a man so very big, wearing so very little, again?

Never, that was when.

The thought made her irritable and sulky.

Good Lord, Penny. He’s a person. Not merely a collection of muscles with an intriguing distribution of hair.

“Unlike most gentlemen, I did not inherit a fortune,” he continued. “I built one. I did that by acquiring things that are undervalued, and then selling them for more than I paid. Hence, a profit. Do you follow me?”

“If you’re asking whether I comprehend basic mathematics, then yes. I follow you.”

“Good.” He looked in the direction of the house that so inconveniently abutted hers. “When the Wendlebys could not pay their debts, I acquired their property. Now I mean to sell it at a profit.”

“And therefore you’ve undertaken several months of improvements.”

“The improvements to the house will add to its value, but the property’s main selling point is right here.”

“You mean the square?”

“I mean you.”

His words took her by surprise. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Do you have any idea how much a social-climbing family would pay to take up residence next door to a lady?”

“No.”

“Well, I do. And it’s an outrageous figure. They envision themselves rubbing elbows with the elite, climbing the rungs of society, living in elegance and luxury. If they gaze out the drawing-room window and see their aristocratic neighbor playing goatherdess on the green like some absurd imitation of Marie Antoinette? It ruins the effect.”

“People run their dogs on the green all the time.”

“Dogs are pets.”

“Marigold is a pet, too. And she needs to browse. She can’t subsist on alfalfa alone. She’s prone to bloating.”

“Bloating?” he echoed, incredulous.

“She has sensitive digestion.”

“That doesn’t look like bloating to me.” He tilted his head and regarded Marigold’s swollen underbelly. “That looks like breeding.”

Penny stepped back, offended. “She is not breeding. It’s impossible. There are no bucks for miles.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“Yes, I’m certain. No one keeps goats in the middle of Mayf—” She bit her tongue before she made his argument for him. “I’m telling you, it’s impossible. If she’s not in the mews or the back garden, I keep her on a short lead.”

His eyebrow quirked with derision. “Spoken like the guardian of many a ruined young female in this neighborhood, I’d wager.”

“I beg your pardon. Marigold is not that kind of goat.”

“Whatever you say. I don’t care about the creature’s virtue. I just want her removed from the square.”

“I told you, she needs to browse. Her diet requires shrubs and fresh grasses. Hay and corn are well enough for Angus, but—”

“Hold a moment. Angus?”

“Angus is a Highland steer. I rescued him when he was a calf, but he’s three years old now. Grown and healthy as anything.”

He blinked at her. “You have a fully grown bull—”

“A steer.”

“—living in your back garden.”

“Don’t be silly. Angus lives in the mews. The otter is in the back garden.”

“An otter?” He grumbled something that sounded like Holy immaculate mother of goats. “This is ridiculous.”

“Mr. Duke, the variety of pets I keep may be unusual, but an attachment to animals isn’t. Have you never had a pet of your own?”

“No.”

“Don’t you like animals?”

“Certainly, I like animals. Roasted animals. Fried animals. Minced-and-baked-in-a-pie animals.” He gestured expansively. “I like all kinds of animals.”

Oh, this man was impossible.

No, Penny corrected. The man was not impossible. Even the most untamed, ill-mannered creatures could be won over with a bit of patience. She’d made pets of worse beasts than Gabriel Duke.

She simply wasn’t up to the effort this afternoon, that’s all.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t have time to compromise. They have to go. All of them. The goat, the cow, the otter, the parrot, that hedgehog, and whatever else you have in your rafters. I need them all gone.”

“What a coincidence you should say that.”

Ever since her aunt had left, Penny had been turning it over and over in her mind. She would have to find the animals new homes. Either she did so quickly and succeeded in convincing her aunt, or else she would be forced to leave Bloom Square—in which case, there would be no taking her pets with her. Bradford would never take them to Cumberland. If she defied her brother’s wishes, one of Penny’s friends would surely welcome her to stay with them—but she couldn’t ask them to take in a few dozen animals, too.

One way or another, she would have to bid them farewell. And if she wanted any hope of remaining in Bloom Square, she must not only find her pets new homes, but undo a decade of social seclusion. In three weeks.

It all seemed hopeless.

“As it happens, Mr. Duke, you are going to get your wish. The animals will be gone within the month, one way or another.”

“Good.”

“In fact, it’s entirely possible that I’ll be gone, too.”

“Wait.” His eyebrows converged in a frown. “What did you say?”

“My brother is demanding I go home to the ancestral estate in Cumberland. He’s coming to collect me in three weeks. That means I’ll be leaving Bloom Square, too. Unless I work a miracle.”

He swore under his breath. “This is unacceptable.”

“I’m not happy about it, either, but I’m afraid neither of us has much say in the matter. I must be going.” She gathered Marigold’s lead. “Come along, sweeting.”

He cut off her path. “The miracle.”

“What?”

“You said you’ll be leaving unless you work a miracle. Tell me about the miracle.”

“I don’t know why you should care.”

“Oh, I care,” he said. “I care a great deal. What ever this ‘miracle’ is, I will work it.”

“You couldn’t possibly.”

“I can, and I will.”

Heavens. His dark, intense stare nailed her slippers to the gravel path. Her heart pounded in her chest. And then he spoke the gruff, possessive words Penny had started to doubt she’d ever hear.

“I need you, Lady Penelope Campion. I’m not letting you go.”

Chapter Five

When he made this firm declaration, Gabe had not been expecting Lady Penelope’s reaction. First she looked surprised, and then she looked—

She looked hopeful?

“You …” Her cheeks flushed pink. “You need me?”

He would need to tread carefully here. She was sheltered, naïve. And she did not want to be a spinster. So much was clear from simply staring into her china-blue eyes. She’d been saving that soft, blushing sweetness for years, waiting to lavish it on the right man.

Gabe was not, and never would be, the right man. Not for her, not for anyone. If Her Ladyship had formed any notions otherwise, she was a fool.

“I need you,” he clarified, “to continue residing in Bloom Square if I’m to sell the house at a handsome profit. Which I fully intend to do.”

She blinked several times in succession. “Yes, of course. I knew that. It’s kind of you to offer your help, that’s all.”

Kind?

What an innocent she was. If she could glimpse the ugliness in his past, the ruthless hunger that consumed his mind, the blackness of his heart, she would learn the enormity of her mistake. But he’d never allow anyone near the yawning, empty pit of his soul. Posted warnings were the best he could offer. For her own sake, she had better heed them.

“Listen to me,” he said sternly. “My motives are never kind. Neither are they generous or charitable or good. They’re money-driven and entirely selfish. You’d do well to remember that.”

So would he.

“So,” he said, “what are the terms of this miracle you’ve mentioned?”

“My aunt has promised she’ll try to change my brother’s mind about taking me home to the country—but only if I meet her conditions.”

“And those would be … ?”

“A new, fashionable wardrobe, to begin.”

“Well, that’s not even a challenge. Certainly nothing approaching a miracle.”

“It’s the easy part, yes. My dear friend Emma was a seamstress before she married. I know she’d help.” She took a deep breath. “But there’s more. I also have to begin moving in society again.”

He shook his head. “Do we have different definitions of the word ‘miracle’? Because that doesn’t sound difficult, either.”

“You don’t understand. I haven’t socialized within the ton in almost a decade. By now, they’ve forgotten I even exist. Yet somehow I’m meant to make my grand reentrance. She wants to see me in the society column.”

Gabe was forced to admit that sounded a touch more complicated than the first condition, and it certainly wasn’t something well-suited to his own talents. He wouldn’t be caught dead at a ball, and despite his many mentions in the papers, none was in the society column.

Nevertheless, the task was well within the realm of possibility. There were several lords and gentlemen in his debt he could press for invitations, if it came to that.

“You mentioned a third thing your aunt’s demanding.”

“The same thing you’re demanding. Be rid of the animals.” She gave the goat a fond scratch behind the ear. “It will break my heart, but I have no choice. I must find them new homes.”

“Done.”

“Done?”

He shrugged. “As good as done, anyway. I’ll find them homes. All of them.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that. It’ll take a week, at the most.”

“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “My pets came to me wounded, abandoned, untamed. They’re the animals no one else wanted. It won’t be an easy task finding them safe, loving homes, with people who’ll treat them as part of the family.”

Part of the family? She lived in a fantasy land. Even if such “safe, loving” homes existed in the real world, Gabe wouldn’t know how to recognize them. Fortunately, he wasn’t above a falsehood or two.

“Not to worry. Leave it to me. I’ll find them excellent homes.”

She scanned him with narrowed, doubting eyes. “Forgive me, Mr. Duke, but I’m not at all convinced you’re qualified to take on this sort of—”

Her all-too-perceptive statement was interrupted by a flurry of barking. This would not have been remarkable, had said barking not been emanating from the pavement in front of her house.

She turned toward the noise. “Oh, no. Not again.”

Again? Barking pavement was a regular occurrence outside her house? Of course it was.

“Hold this.” She pressed the goat’s leash into Gabe’s hand, and then left the two of them standing there while she ran toward the noise.

As he looked on, utterly baffled, Lady Penelope Campion—daughter of an earl—knelt on the ground and shouted into the small, round iron plate embedded in the pavement. The coal hole.

“Bixby? Bixby, is that you?”

From below, a dog whined in response.

She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the hole in the iron plate. “Don’t worry, darling. Be brave and hold tightly. I’m coming for you straightaway.”

Lady Penelope picked herself up from the pavement, hiked her skirts with both hands, and disappeared into her house.

After a moment’s internal debate, Gabe followed. The scene had piqued his curiosity, to say the least. Not to mention, his alternative seemed to be milling about the square tending the goat.

The hell he would.

“Come along, you,” he grumbled.

He pulled the goat up the stairs and through the door Lady Penelope had just bashed open.

As he entered, the infernal parrot squawked at him from an adjacent room. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Gabe closed the front door behind him and loosed the goat to make a meal of something unfortunate. Hopefully the bird.

“I’m coming, Bixby!” Lady Penelope called in the distance.

Gabe followed the sound down the corridor and then down a flight of stairs. He emerged into the kitchen. There were no servants to be seen, and a kettle looked to be boiling dry on the hob. A jumble of felines curled by the fireplace.

“I’m here, Bixby! Just hold on a little longer.”

A heavy door at one end of the kitchen stood ajar. Gabe crossed to it and nudged it open further.

Nothing but darkness.

A darkness that scurried.

After blinking a few times, he could discern that this was the coal store, and it sat directly beneath the iron plate she’d been shouting through a few moments ago. A small mountain of coal rose at a steep angle, leading from the ground to the coal chute at the top.

And there—somewhere in the darkness at the top of the heap—was Bixby, presumably. The dog emitted a feeble whine.

“Nearly there.” Lady Penelope attempted to scale the mountain, scrambling up the heap on hands and knees, pushing aside loose chunks of coal as she went.

Gabe shook his arms free of his coat and flung it aside. “What the devil has he done?”

“He’s stuck. It’s happened before. He finds a rat, and then he chases it into the store and up to the chute, and then his cart gets stuck on the coal hole hook, and—”

Yes, the cart. So this was the rolling dog.

“His back legs are lamed, and—” She scrambled higher, dislodging yet more coal. “There’s no time to explain. I have to unhook him, or he could slip and hang himself.”

Gabe yanked open his cuffs and pushed his sleeves to his elbows. “I’ll do it.”

“I’m almost—” She lost her footing and slid back to the ground, losing all her progress.

He reached for a shovel propped against the wall. “Stand aside.”

At last, she relented, backing away from the mountain of coal. Gabe climbed as far as the ceiling would allow and dug into the coal, lifting a shovelful of sooty lumps from the top and heaving them to the cellar floor.

Once he found a rhythm, he made quick work of it, jabbing the spade into the coal heap again and again, employing not only the force of his arms, but his back and legs, as well. His muscles retained the memory of what he’d tried to forget. Shoveling coal was nothing he hadn’t done before. Just something he’d sworn to never do again.

While Gabe worked, she called out encouragement from below. Not to him, of course. To the dog.

“Just a bit longer, Bixby!”

The dog’s whines grew mournful.

Gabe could nearly reach him now. He tossed the shovel aside and cleared more coal from beneath the chute. When he’d created enough space, he flattened himself on his belly and wriggled over the coal, using his elbows to drag himself forward until he’d reached the spot beneath the chute.

There he was, the little mongrel. Scarcely bigger than a rat himself. He was caught on the iron hook of the coal hole plate, hung up by a bit of leather strap and struggling against the dead weight of his stumpy hind legs and cart.

“Easy, there. Easy.” Gabe stretched his hand up the chute, twisting for the best angle. Couldn’t quite reach. Even if he could, he had no idea what he was reaching for. How did this cart fit together? Was there a buckle or button he’d need to undo in order to free the dog? If so, it was hopeless. He didn’t have enough light or space to complete any maneuver requiring dexterity.

“Very well, dog. You’ll have to do your part.” Gabe turned onto his side and reached up into the chute again, this time fumbling blind. When his fingertips brushed against fur, he lifted the dog’s weight in his palm and pushed upward, straining his shoulder nearly out of its socket, hoping he’d give Bixby enough slack to wriggle free.

“Come on, you little bastard,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ve destroyed a full suit of clothing on your account, and I’m not handing your mistress a dead dog at the end of it.”

Thank God. It worked.

Gabe knew the moment Bixby was free, because the dog slid down the chute and landed on his face. With a scrabble of sharp little claws, he fled to his mistress. By the time Gabe disengaged the abandoned cart from the hook and made his way down, he found her seated on the kitchen floor, cooing over the soot-covered dog in her arms.

“Bixby.” The pup licked at her neck and face. “You are a naughty, naughty, naughty boy, and I love you so very much.”

Gabe cleared his throat. “Cart’s broken.”

“My friend Nicola will mend it.”

He set the mangled contraption to the side and shut the door to the coal store.

The moment he turned around, Lady Penelope flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Gabe winced, pulling free of her embrace.

“You’ve hurt your shoulder.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not out of joint, I hope?” She prodded his shoulder, undeterred by his grimace. “When we were children, my brother Timothy dislocated his shoulder when he fell out of a tree. Even after it healed, he could pop it in and out of joint whenever he pleased. He used to do it just to make me scream.”

“It’s not out of joint. Let it alone.”

Ignoring his protests, she pushed him toward a kitchen stool and made him sit. After unknotting his cravat with bossy motions, she circled to stand behind him and slid her hand inside the collar of his shirt.

Holy God.

“You’ve a cramp in your muscle.” She stroked her fingertips along his shoulder until she found the source of his pain. He sucked a breath through his teeth. “Oh, dear. That does hurt, doesn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it bloody well hurt. He flinched from her touch.

She shushed him. “Be still. It won’t release until you’ve calmed.”

“Your Ladyship, you are anything but calming.”

“You’re not particularly cuddly yourself,” she said. “Luckily, I have some experience soothing prickly beasts.” She pressed her fingers against the knot of muscle, kneading gently. “That’s it,” she whispered. “Just breathe.”

Her fingers weaved through his hair, stroking it back from his brow. He was painfully aware of his soot-smeared, perspiring state. It made him feel like a starving boy again, dressed in rags and covered in dirt, salivating over food on the hob and discarded crusts on the gin house tables. He’d worked so hard, come so far to leave that childhood behind.

Resentment rose in his chest, pumping his heart at a furious pace. Red anger clouded his vision and his pulse filled his ears.

Gabe shrugged off her hands and pushed to his feet. He needed to leave before he vented his emotions in her direction. She might be part of this elite, privileged world he despised, but she hadn’t chosen it. No more than he’d chosen to be born in the gutter.

She circled back, standing before him. “There now. Better?”

He gave a reluctant nod.

“Can you move your arm in all directions?”

He rolled his shoulder to prove it. “Yes.”

“What about your grip?”

“My grip is strong.”

“Perhaps I should wrap the arm in a sling.”

“I do not need a sling.”

“Wait here. I’ll dash upstairs to fetch some linen and—”

“For the love of God, woman. My shoulder is fine.” He took her by the waist and lifted her straight off the floor, until they were eye to eye. “There. Believe me now?”

She nodded, wide-eyed.

“Good.”

In his hands, she was delicate, breakable. Her hair was a golden treasure he should never, ever touch. And oh, how he hungered for those soft, pink lips.

The familiar voice echoed in his ears.

Don’t touch, boy. She’s not for the likes of you.

Put. Her. Down.

But before Gabe could lower those beribboned pink slippers to the floor, she captured his sooty, sweaty face in her hands—

And kissed him on the lips.