If He's Sinful (34 page)

Delmar was a lot cleverer than she had ever guessed, Penelope realized as she listened to his very adult words. Unfortunately, that cleverness could easily get him killed right now. It was dangerous to poke at a rabid dog, and Charles was as close to one at the moment as a man could get.

“Delmar,” she whispered in warning.

“That brat begs for killing, Penelope,” said Charles as he started to drag her to the door. “You need to teach him how to treat his betters. Respect for his elders and all that, eh? I might have had a bit more for mine if the pig had not been such a fool. Showed him, though, eh? Who is the fool now, Papa?” he muttered.

She shivered at the implications of what Charles had just said. Arguments had peppered the relationship between the old baron and his heir, but she never would have thought Charles capable of killing his own father. The fact that her mother had been with the old baron at the time of his death had either been a matter of a callous disregard for innocent life or Charles had intended it to be that way.

“He drowned,” she said. “The boat sank. You cannot plan for a boat to sink. It is impossible to plan for a storm.”

“You can pay good coin to get a boat scuttled in a way that the damage is seen too late. That storm that blew up was just good luck. Meant no one looked too closely.”

Charles had killed her mother, as well as the three others who had worked on the boat, along with his father. Penelope was dazed by the confession, one that was tossed out as casually as if he had been speaking of the weather. Charles had planned for that boat to go down, not caring at all that innocents drowned along with his brutish, greedy father. The sickness she could smell on him now had not made him mad; it had only sharpened a madness that had obviously been lurking in his veins all along.

“Patricide,” she whispered.

“Hah! As if that has not been done many times. Sometimes a man gets bloody tired of waiting around for what is rightfully his.” He kicked shut the door to the parlor and locked it.

Penelope silently cursed her habit of leaving the keys in the locks of all the inner doors. She winced as she heard the boys started kicking and pounding on the door. Charles abruptly shot the door, and even through the ringing in her ears, she heard a high-pitched curse.

“Jerome!” she cried as she tried to pull free of Charles.

“We are unhurt!”

Tightening his grip on her, Charles began dragging her up the stairs. He kept his arm around her and yet another gun pointed at her head, glancing behind him every step of the way. He was either afraid that the footman would rouse and come after him, or he did not believe that a thick door was enough to keep him safe from six little boys. She began to think that all the weaponry he carried was not to fend off large footmen.

Penelope tried to drag her feet, but he simply hefted her up a little higher as he walked. “You will not get away with this.”

Charles snorted. “Could you think of nothing more clever to say, witch?”

“I am not a witch.”

“Of course you are. The whole lot of you are. Everyone knows that. It did not take me long to dig up the truth on you and that family of yours. They made a mistake when they did not burn the lot of you years ago.”

He shoved her into her bedroom so forcefully, she stumbled along for several steps and fell against the side of the bed. By the time she regained her balance and was steady on her feet again, he had slammed shut her bedroom door, locked it, and pocketed the key. No matter how desperately she wanted that key, she had no intention of getting within reach of the madman. When he staggered over to the small table where she kept the drinks to help himself to Ashton’s brandy, Penelope eyed the distance to the window. It would be a long fall but she had a better chance of surviving that than she did if she stayed in reach of Charles.

“You can cease plotting, witch.”

“I told you, I am not a witch,” she said and wondered why she was even bothering to argue with the man. About all it did was keep him from shooting her right now.

“And I say you are. The Wherlockes and the Vaughns. All witches. Told you. I searched out the truth on you. My father wanted your mother’s money, no question of that, but he also hoped she might have some useful witch’s tricks. Well, failed there, too, the old sot.” He took a deep drink of the brandy. “She was useless. Just filled the demmed garden with noisy birds.”

Penelope felt her eyes sting with tears but fought them back. She could not let her lingering grief for her mother deter her thoughts now. Yet her mother’s affinity for birds did not deserve such scorn. A woman with such a gentle gift had also deserved a happier life than she had been given. Penelope decided it was a bad time to begin to forgive her mother for her weaknesses.

“And you? Ghosts? What the bloody hell use is seeing ghosts?”

“They can tell you who killed them.”

He glared at her. “Well, that knowledge does you no good, does it. Who will listen to you? Your lover? The man who is supposed to marry my sister? She is none too happy with you for that, I can tell you.” He chuckled and took another drink. “She had her heart set on being a viscountess and I would have made sure she did not have to wait too long to be a duchess.”

“What can killing me possibly gain you, Charles? There will be plenty of witnesses to this and none of them ghosts.”

“And why should I care? I am dying, I told you, and it is all your fault.”

“Why? Because our dog bit you when you tried to kill me in the park?”

“He nearly bit my balls off! I am rotting! I could not go to a doctor, could I? Not a good one. I could not trust one of those self-righteous twats not to tell someone!” He started to tear at the buttons on his breeches. “Want to see what that cur has done to me?”

That was the very last thing she wanted to see and started to inch toward the window. Then a thumping at the door drew his attention. Somehow the boys had gotten out of the room. She was just opening her mouth to tell them to run, when a softly cursing Charles shot at her door. There was a screech and a sudden scrambling from the other side of the door.

“Boys? Are any of you hurt?” she called out, her eyes widening as Charles produced a very large knife.

“Just a scratch,” Jerome called back.

“Get out of here!”

They were brave little boys and she did feel proud of them. She was also terrified. Charles was insane. Her boys were risking far too much in their attempts to help her.

“Yes, get out of here, you little bastards,” said Charles. “I can take care of you later.”

“There is nothing to be gained from hurting any of them.” She was pleased to hear the boys hurrying down the stairs. “They have nothing that you want.”

“No? I wager they will get all your money if you die. Well, I am tired of stealing little pieces of it. I want it all and you are going to make out a will giving it all to me.”

“And you expect me to give you everything I have so that you will be rich when you kill me? You are mad.”

“I have worked too hard for this to give up now. Who knows? Once you are dead and I can freely go to a doctor, I may yet be miraculously saved.” He shrugged and started to advance on her. “I do not really care. I just do not want to see everything I tried so hard to get and might well be dying for to go to a bunch of little bastards.”

He lunged and she barely dodged him in time. Penelope leapt toward the window and was just getting it open when he grabbed her. She began to fight him. Recalling what he had said about his injury, she tried to hit him in the groin, but Charles revealed a true skill at avoiding such attacks. He had obviously done a lot of brawling.

The ease with which he had subdued her both terrified and infuriated Penelope as he dragged her toward her writing table. It did not give her much hope for escape. For a man who said he was rotting and dying, Charles had an enormous strength that she had no defense against. She could only hope that the boys got away and someone would keep them safe until Charles was made to pay for his many crimes.

“Write that will,” he demanded, pressing the knife against her throat. “Everything comes to me.”

“What about Clarissa?” she asked as she picked up her quill.

“She will be taken care of. Hellfire, with you gone, she will be marrying that fool Radmoor, eh? You can think of that while you roast in hell with the rest of your ilk.”

Writing a will might buy her some time, Penelope thought as she began to write. She was not sure what miracle might happen to get her out of this trouble, but she refused to give up hope. She was in danger and at least one of the boys had been wounded by Charles’s shot through her door. That could well alert her relatives in the city. Penelope just prayed that there were ones who could easily decipher whatever dreams, visions, or warnings they got. The very things that so often got her family condemned might be all that could save her now.

Chapter Nineteen

Ashton strolled into the conservatory to find his mother and came to such an abrupt halt he swayed. Sitting with his mother was Lady Olympia Wherlocke, Paul, and Juno. He had meant to ask his mother what all the packages were that he had seen in the hall. It pained him to refuse to let her go shopping anytime she pleased but they could not afford such things at the moment. That was not a subject he could go into right now, however.

“Ashton, dear, look who I met whilst shopping,” his mother called to him, waving him over to the seat next to her.

There was something different about his mother, Ashton thought as he moved to join her. She shone. He did not think he had seen her look so happy in years. It was going to be difficult to take that joy away but he would have to tell her that she needed to return some, if not most, of what she had just bought. For now he would let her revel in her pleasure.

He bowed to Lady Olympia, winked at Paul, and smiled at Juno. Helping himself to some tea, he took his seat next to his mother. Seeing Olympia made Ashton all too aware of how many hours he had been apart from Penelope. He was far beyond besotted, he thought with an inner smile as he sipped his tea.

“Ashton, dear.” Lady Mary grabbed him by the hand, nearly causing him to spill his tea. “I have such grand news. Paul was right. My ship was not lost. Well, not lost as in sunk, just lost. It came in yesterday!”

His mother was practically bouncing in her seat. “Your investment brought you returns?” He wished she had not already spent them, but could not bring himself to criticize.

Lady Mary grabbed up a piece of paper that had been precariously tucked beneath the tea tray. With a wide smile, she handed it to him. Ashton’s eyes widened as he read the amount of her returns. It was not enough to save them, but it was a good start.

“This is wonderful,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.

“I even got my necklace back.”

He eyed the necklace around her neck and found himself wondering how big a bite retrieving it had put in the sum he was looking at. Then he cursed himself for an ungrateful son. His mother deserved her pleasure in what she had done and definitely deserved a few pretty things. The returns her investment had brought were still a windfall for them. They did not solve his trouble with the Hutton-Moores but the money would solve most of the others.

“It is fine, sir,” said Paul, his words a little garbled as he tried to speak around a mouthful of cake.

“Paul, dear, finish what you are eating before you try to speak,” said Olympia.

Even from where he sat, Ashton could hear the sound of Paul gulping down what was in his mouth. His mother and Olympia hid smiles behind their cups of tea but their sparkling eyes gave away their silent laughter. Paul, he decided, was going to take a lot of work before he could be unleashed upon the world.

It was then that Ashton realized he wanted to help with that. It was not only Penelope who had wormed her way into his heart but also her boys. And girl, he mused with a glance at a sweet-faced Juno. Somehow, he had to get what was needed to shake free of the Hutton-Moores so that he could take on that job. Whether he did it by getting the money to pay his debt or by proving they were murderers, thieves, and kidnappers did not matter at the moment. It was going to be a big job as eight of her children were still very young but he felt no trepidation about it at all.

“It will be fine, sir,” Paul said again. “It will all be settled soon.”

Ashton was about to ask just how it would all be settled when both Olympia and Paul went dead white. “What is it? What is wrong?”

“Penelope,” they said at the same time.

“Is she hurt?”

“We have to get to her,” said Olympia as she stood up. “M’lady, may I leave the children here for a while?”

“Of course,” said Lady Mary, revealing no astonishment at this odd behavior of her guests.

“But…” Paul began to protest. “She is hurt! I need to see her!”

Olympia bent to kiss the top of the boy’s head. “You will but, brave and clever though you are, you are but a boy of five. Stay here. I will fetch you when she is safe again.”

Ashton was on his feet, his heart pounding with fear for Penelope. He realized that, at some point during his time with her, he had become a believer. Not just in Penelope, but in the others. He suspected there would be other things he ran across in her large and somewhat eccentric family that he would struggle with, but most of the doubts he had were gone. There was no doubt in his mind at the moment that both Paul and Olympia had sensed that Penelope was in danger and he ran to fetch his pistol from his study.