The Lady Who Came in from the Cold(32)
“The problem, Marcus,”—never a good thing when she said his name in that tone—“is that I have no intention of gracing that trollop’s house with my presence.”
Understanding pierced his playful mood. With remorse, he said quietly, “I acted like a fool, but you do know that I have no interest whatsoever in Cora Ashley, don’t you, love?”
“Of course I know that.” The indignant fire in Penny’s eyes eased the knot in his chest. Pacing back and forth alongside the bed, she said, “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“No bitch in heat is going to wriggle her rump at you and try to take what is mine.”
He choked back a laugh. “Er, pardon me?”
“You heard me. She’s like a farmyard beast after you to rut her.” Penny narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you laughing at me?”
He was trying not to. Ever since the revelations at the cottage, Penny seemed freer, more confident, more… herself. Previously hidden facets of her caught the light, sparkling brilliantly. Although he didn’t want his wife to suffer unnecessarily, he couldn’t help but find her feminine jealousy rather delightful—especially since it made her breasts surge against her neckline and her eyes blaze with violet flames. An intriguing image flitted through his head, one evoked by Penny’s discussion of farmyard mating rituals.
As a result, he was no longer getting hard—he was fully there.
“No,” he said contritely. “But your description was rather… colorful.”
Penny sniffed. “It’s the truth.”
“Be that as it may, you may want to consider Mama’s advice.”
“What?” his wife said in outrage.
“You and I both know nothing happened, but if we don’t go to the Ashleys’ party, it will only fuel the gossip. The best way to deal with this is head on. We put in an appearance, and we leave. Once everyone sees that there’s no friction between us and the Ashleys and thus no cause for drama, the rumors will die. End of story.”
He could see that his reasoning hit home… even if she didn’t like it. Huffing out a breath, she said, “You’re assuming a lot.”
He raised a brow. “In what regard?”
“In the regard that I’ll be able to hold myself back from using my garotte on bloody Cora Ashley,” Penny groused. “We’ll see about friction then.”
Chuckling, he snagged her hand and pulled her onto the bed so that she was sprawled atop him. “Don’t pack your garotte in your reticule that night,” he advised, “and you’ll do fine.”
“Oh, all right.” Just as it always did, her storm passed. The fire in her eyes was replaced by a different sort altogether. A wicked, sensual spark that made his blood run hot. “Darling, do you have something in your pocket,” she purred, “or are you just very happy to see me?”
“All that talk of rutting may have put ideas in my mind,” he murmured, running his hands through the wild raven silk of her hair.
“Oh? Any ideas you’d care to share?”
“Why don’t I show you instead?” he said.
Crushing her mouth to his, he set about doing just that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was small of her, Penny knew, but as she and Marcus waited in the long receiving line, she took in the ballroom with a touch of smugness. Cora Ashley’s blood might be bluer than Penny’s, but the former wouldn’t know taste if it knocked her over and dragged her down the street. Penny could tell the countess had poured a small fortune into the night’s endeavor and, with all that blunt, managed to create an ambience that was both overblown and unwelcoming.
One couldn’t walk two steps without a suspended sprig of mistletoe smacking one in the forehead. The orchestra was three times as large as it needed to be, its volume so deafening that guests were shouting at each other to be heard. The buffet table was piled high with fussy, greasy bits that appealed to neither eye nor stomach. Yet in Penny’s opinion, out of all of this, it was the champagne fountain that truly took the cake.
Even from a distance, she could see the towering gold monstrosity. It stood some twelve feet high, frothing forth champagne tinted what (she guessed) was supposed to be a jolly, seasonal shade, but there was no denying what it actually looked like: blood. To Penny, the thing was as grotesque as it was impractical. Every now and again, a cry erupted from some unsuspecting guest when the fountain belched and doused them with a gory spray of red.
As Penny and Marcus approached their hostess in the receiving line, however, her eyes narrowed. Whatever one could say about Cora Ashley’s party throwing skills, she clearly had a masterful eye when it came to fashion. The demure, ruffled white creation looked simple but must have cost a pretty penny, the skirts floating elegantly around her slender figure. With her pale blond hair and blue eyes, she looked every inch an angel.
In comparison, Penny had chosen a bold gown of crimson velvet that clung lovingly to her curves. Her ruby necklace was her main accessory, and she wore it with pride as she faced her nemesis.
“How good of you both to come,” Cora said in a breathy voice, her eyes fixed on Marcus.
“Thank you, my lady. Lord Ashley.” Marcus inclined his head politely at their host and hostess, his face expressionless. “My wife didn’t want to miss it.”
The Earl of Ashley, a short, balding fellow who smelled as if he’d bathed in brandy, gave them an indifferent greeting and continued flirting with a young matron. His bloodshot eyes glued to her low-cut décolletage, he waddled off with her, abandoning his receiving duties altogether.
“Heavens!” Cora gave a little shriek.
The pressure in Penny’s veins shot up as the blonde threw herself against Marcus’ chest.
“A spider,” Cora gasped. “It just ran over my slipper.”
With clear distaste, Marcus set her aside. “I don’t see a spider.”
“If there’s an insect lurking about,” Penny said, her jaw clenching, “I’ll gladly squash it.”
Patting her skirts into place, Cora recovered herself and aimed a saccharine smile at Penny. “Oh, but I wouldn’t want you to ruin your slipper, my dear Lady Blackwood. Or your striking ensemble. May I mention how very festive you look?” The subtle emphasis on the word festive implied a far less flattering adjective. “I couldn’t pull off such a gown, and I daresay not many ladies could.”
“Well, I couldn’t pull off yours,” Penny said, just as sweetly. “White is such a virtuous shade. I fear it makes one’s true colors shine through.”
Splotches formed on Cora’s cheeks.
Marcus’ arm tightened around Penny’s waist. “Come, darling, let’s not hold up the line. I’ll get you some champagne.”
He dragged her away.
“I wasn’t finished,” Penny said under her breath.
“You’re finished.”
“She had the gall to insult my dress—you heard that, didn’t you?”
“I heard it.”
“And there was no bleeding spider,” Penny fumed.
“I know.” His jaw tautened, and he turned a brooding gaze to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize what her true character was before. And even sorrier to put you through this.”
She tipped her head to one side. Grinned as the realization hit her. “Are you admitting that you were wrong about Cora Ashley and I was right?”
“Yes.” He sounded disgruntled.
“Well, then. Maybe coming tonight was worth it after all.”
A reluctant smile tugged on his lips. “You’re incorrigible, do you know that?”
“You love it about me,” she said confidently.
“Since I love everything about you, you have the right of it yet again. On that note, since we are here for the duration, would you care to dance?”
“I would.” She gave him a cheeky look. “And while we waltz, you may continue to whisper sweet nothings in my ear of how I’m always right.”
He laughed. “Anything you want, my Penny. Anything you want.”
Penny reflected that the ball wasn’t half as bad as she’d thought it would be. Cora Ashley had been unmasked at last. Penny got to waltz with Marcus twice, and if the passionate way he’d whirled her across the dance floor didn’t quell the rumors of their estrangement, then Society could go hang itself. Finally, the Kent ladies had showed up at the ball, and Penny was now enjoying a splendid chat with them.
All in all, it was turning out to be a fine evening. She snuck a glance at Marcus; he was standing across the ballroom, conversing with an inarguably masculine and virile group that included Viscount Carlisle and some other cronies. Call her biased, but she had no eyes for anyone but her husband. God, but she loved Marcus in formal evening wear. She looked forward to tearing it off him after the party, piece by tailored piece.
“You look like the cat that got the canary. Or, in this case, her husband.”
She returned her attention back to her circle, which included Emma, Thea, and Marianne Kent. The latter was giving her a knowing smile.
Penny didn’t bother to hide her satisfaction. “Yes.”
“You seem like newlyweds. It’s very romantic,” Thea said with a sigh.