Bewitched Read online

  To her left stood the kindly Colonel Holbrook—the safe choice, a man who would never break her heart—and situated directly before her was the man who’d wrecked her. And wrecked or otherwise, she could not drag her attention away from the duke. The level of excitement he elicited within her must be a sign.

  The wine rested heavily in her sweaty fingers, tempting her, and without another thought, Penelope marched forward, her gaze never wavering from Colton’s. She was a fool, but at the moment she didn’t care. At that moment she felt alive inside and she wanted to grab hold of that feeling and never let go.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.” Penelope stopped a respectful distance from Colton, dipping into a small curtsy.

  “Lady Penelope,” he murmured, shifting his gaze out over the crowd. No doubt searching for his fiancé’s prying eyes. The duke set a full wine glass identical to Penelope’s on the white clothed table beside them. “I trust you are well this evening.”

  She smiled and covertly placed the gypsy wine beside his glass. “Quite. Are you having a pleasant time?”

  “Yes.” He glanced briefly into her eyes. “I plan to join a card game in a few minutes.”

  “How nice.” Penelope nonchalantly lifted his wine glass from the table and took a delicate sip, hoping the action would prompt him to lift the other glass and drink as well.

  He didn’t.

  Not to be deterred, Penelope took another taste from the glass.

  Colton clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable.

  Frustrated, Penelope smiled sweetly and searched for something, anything, to say before he excused himself and strode away from the wine.

  “Right then,” he said in a bright voice—too bright. “It was very nice to see you this evening.” He plucked the glass from the table, tipping it to her in subtle salute. Penelope’s heart skipped a beat, maybe two. He was going to drink the gypsy potion! “If you’ll excuse me, I—”

  “Colton!” Another man’s voice boomed.

  Startled, Penelope and the duke turned in tandem. A young, dark haired man in simple but elegant black evening attire strode purposefully toward them. Penelope didn’t readily recognize the gentleman though he did bear striking resemblance to Colton.

  “I read your letter,” the stranger grumbled, stopping directly before Colton and ignoring Penelope entirely. “The answer is no. Absolutely not. I cannot believe you would have me—”

  “John,” Colton interrupted quickly, a glimmer of panic lighting his eye. “Why don’t we discuss the matter further in private.”

  “There is nothing more to discuss,” John replied, stance rigid.

  Colton, still holding the full glass of wine, shifted his attention back to Penelope. “Please forgive the rude interruption, Lady Penelope, my brother has been away from polite society entirely too long.” He glanced back to his brother. “Lord John, I don’t believe you’ve met Lady Penelope Hale.”

  John grunted in response, scarcely sparing her a sideways glance. How rude!

  “Lady Penelope, my brother, Lord John Breckenridge.”

  Penelope gave a slight bob. “My lord.” She knew very little of Colton’s younger brother other than that he was a military officer who’d recently served in India. Given his less than civil manner, she would just as soon have gone on without making his acquaintance. There was no excuse for blatant rudeness. While not quite as tall as the duke, Lord John was broader in the shoulders and much thicker—brawnier—with the scarred, calloused hands of a working man. He shared his brother’s dark hair and eyes and a similar aristocratic bone structure, but other than looks he seemed to be Colton’s exact opposite.

  Colton smiled pleasantly down at her. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Penelope, my brother and I need a moment alone.”

  “And I need a drink,” John muttered. “Give me that.” Without preamble he reached out, took the wine glass from Colton’s hand and—to Penelope’s absolute horror—drained the contents of the glass. Every… last… drop.

  “No,” she gasped.

  John’s eyes flicked to her and he lifted the glass. “Does this wine taste like cinnamon to you?”

  “Er, I…” She looked down into her own wine at a total loss. “No.”

  “Hm.” He grunted again, shrugged, and finally set the glass down on the table. Without further adieu Lord John turned on a heel and marched directly through the line of merry dancers, throwing several off step. Colton shook his head and followed, skirting the dance floor.

  Penelope stared after them. “Oh, dear God,” she muttered. “What have I done?”

  “Penny!” Marie’s urgent voice sounded directly behind her. “What happened to Colonel Holbrook?”

  Penelope gulped. “I changed my mind, but Colton didn’t drink the potion. His brother did.”

  “Oh, no.” Marie, too, stared after the departing men. “Was he amiable?”

  “Not at all.” Penelope turned to her cousin. “I’ve never met a man more unpleasant or rude in my entire life.”

  “Did he look at you?”

  “Immediately.”

  Marie pursed her lips. “We’ll talk to my maid and see if there is a way to reverse the potion.”

  “Or maybe it won’t work,” Penelope offered hopefully. It wouldn’t work. Couldn’t possibly. And yet the impending sense that disaster was about to strike refused to dissipate.

  “Good evening, Lady Penelope.”

  Sparked from the depths of her thought, Penelope glanced up to find Colonel Holbrook standing before her, a warm grin adorning his face. Internally she groaned. This was the last thing she needed. Another potential suitor. Not that John or Colton were necessarily suitors… at the moment she wasn’t entirely certain what the brothers were, but the whole situation felt terribly complicated. Penelope forced a smile. “Good evening, Colonel.”

  “Would you grant me the pleasure of this dance?”

  Complicated indeed.

  Bewitched

  Four

  “Jesus, man, I didn’t realize decorum in the military had sunk so low as to slight women.”

  John Breckenridge leaned against the dark fireplace mantel and crossed his arms, glaring across the private room at his austere elder brother. “The answer is no,” he said, ignoring Colton’s jibe and cutting straight to the point. “I am not going to court some woman you carried on with and then cast aside just because you have a guilty conscience.”

  “Come now, John, I’m not asking you to marry the girl. Just call on her a time or two, and bring her a few trinkets. Make her feel liked and special for a couple of weeks.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  Colton flashed a self-deprecating smile and ambled across the room with the assured confidence of a man who always got his way. “So I’ve been told.” A moment of silence reigned before he met John’s glare. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to get back on the horse, Johnny. It’s been five years.”

  John gritted his teeth and shoved away from the mantel. “I don’t need to be reminded.” An iron poker rested beside the cold fireplace. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and lifted it, contemplating the dulled tip. “Is all this some elaborate means of shoving a woman down my gullet?”

  “No. Though I think you could use one.” Colton paused, dropping a pointed gaze to John’s trousers. “Wouldn’t want your cock to fall off from lack of use.”

  “Shut up, Colt.” John dropped the poker before the cold hearth. “Not all of us feel the need to crow every time he takes a woman to bed. Do you need a following of unsuspecting young misses to feel like a man?”

  A dangerous gleam lit Colton’s eyes. “At least I know what to do with a willing woman. You’re so cynical a common whore wouldn’t bed you.”

  John scoffed and strode toward the door. He had no desire to swap insults with the spoiled duke. As one of the most powerful Pennyrs in Britain few told Colton no.

  “Wait.” Colton reached out, the gesture all but begging Jo
hn to stay. “I can make it worth your while.”

  “Money won’t fix all of your problems, Colt.”

  “If you pay court to Lady Penelope I will give you the Egyptian urn.”

  John ground to an immediate halt, whipping back to face his brother. “You jest.” The smooth black urn with gold inlay outlining intricate hieroglyphics flashed through John’s mind.

  “I am deadly serious. If you do this for me I will give you the urn.” A hint of desperation marked Colton’s typically unfettered appearance, piquing John’s interest.

  John folded his arms over his chest. “What the hell did you do?”

  Colton raised a hand as though waving off John’s concerns. “It’s not what you think. I’ve done nothing untoward, but…”

  “But?”

  “It’s all rather complicated and I’d rather not discuss it.” Colton raked a hand through his perfectly combed hair, mussing the dark locks, and released a beleaguered sigh. He sank into a cushioned chair and draped his arms over the wooden sides. The young duke looked, for lack of a better word, tired—rumpled and tired—which surprised John. Up until this very moment he hadn’t believed a serious bone existed in his carefree brother’s body. “You of all people should understand that.”

  John drew a long, slow breath, contemplating the situation. Something was amiss. The Egyptian urn was a prized possession in the Breckenridge family dating back generations. For Colton to relinquish the piece…

  “Fine,” John said abruptly.

  “You’ll do it? You’ll court Lady Penelope?”

  “For the urn.”

  Obvious relief washed over his brother’s perfect features. “Excellent.”

  Interest regarding Colton’s predicament and odd behavior piqued, John dropped into the chair across from his brother. “Who is this Lady Penelope? I’ll need to know a thing or two about her if I’m to play the love struck swain.” Dear God… the thought alone was enough to make him sick.

  “You just met her in the ballroom,” Colton replied.

  “Did I?” John had little patience for parties and rarely paid attention to the simpering misses in attendance. “You mean the green skirt?”

  Colton rolled his eyes. “She was wearing a green gown, yes. Is that truly all you noticed?”

  John grunted. “I wasn’t paying attention.” He’d been too vexed by his brother’s summons. Furrowing his brow, he thought back to the ballroom. For the life of him he could not remember what the girl conversing with Colton looked like.

  “You have no appreciation for the fairer sex,” Colt muttered. “We’ll have to remedy that.”

  * * *

  Sunlight streamed through the bay windows of the Landon parlor, illuminating what was undoubtedly the largest bouquet of flowers Penelope had ever seen. White roses bound with brilliant red ribbon spilled from a pretty woven basket, while little pink and blue buds splashed color throughout the arrangement.

  One… two… three…

  “There must be two dozen roses in that bunch,” Penelope murmured, more than a little overwhelmed by the display. The delicate array must have cost a small fortune. She fingered the calling card still concealed in the cream colored envelope.

  Wide-eyed Marie reached out and brushed the enticing, buttery ribbon. “Who sent them?”

  Penelope gulped, unsure whether or not she even wanted to open the card. What if Colton's unpleasant brother, Lord John, had sent this massive arrangement? Or what of Colonel Holbrook? He’d made no secret of his interest in her. Or… and here was the truly dangerous notion… what if Colton sent the flowers? Her heart pattered a beat faster.

  Steeling her courage, Penelope flipped open the tiny envelope and slipped out the card. Her gaze settled on the name and she did not know whether to feel elated or devastated.

  “Colonel Holbrook,” she read aloud. At least Lord John hadn’t sent them. She shook her head. How foolish to suspect that he might offer gifts simply because he drank the Gypsy brew.

  “It seems the Colonel intends to court you in earnest,” Marie murmured, casting Penelope a questioning glance.

  “Indeed.” Penelope chewed at her bottom lip trying to convince herself that if she could not have Colton then this is what she wanted—for a comfortable man to court her. The thought sat hollow and unconvincing in her breast.

  “Pity the colonel did not call in person,” Aunt Laura said, a calculating gleam in her eye.

  Penelope glanced back down at the elegant message scrawled across the card. “The note says he was unavoidably detained but will call later in the week.”

  “We shall invite him to my dinner party tomorrow night.” Laura tapped her finger against an end table. “I’ll see to it you and the Colonel are paired for cards. With any luck he’ll offer for you by the month’s end.”

  Engaged by March? Penelope’s spirits sank. It all seemed so fast. She straightened a bit. No. To be courted by an earnest gentleman was exactly what she needed to get her mind off Colton. After their uncomfortable encounter last night, it was painfully obvious the duke had moved on. The time had come for Penelope to do so as well.

  “It may be a good thing Colonel Holbrook didn’t call in person after all.” Marie spun from the window, green eyes sparkling. “I suspect Penelope has another caller.”

  The imposing figure of Lord John flashed through her head. “No,” Penelope blurted.

  Marie grinned like a cat served warm cream—she loved nothing more than to be right. “Yes.”

  Impossible. Penelope swiftly closed the distance to the large window and Pennyred through the glass. Oh, dear heavens. Striding down the sidewalk, garbed to the very last stitch in black, was Lord John Breckenridge.

  Five

  “Twenty minutes,” John grumbled, stomping impatiently up the stone carved steps leading to the door of Lord Landon’s townhouse. Twenty minutes for a polite call and to offer up a few pretty words. No one would be reading the bans or sampling linens after twenty minutes.

  From behind the bay window three women pointed and stared, no doubt chattering on about how best to snare him in marriage.

  Damn it all to Hell.

  He’d better make it fifteen minutes.

  Grudgingly John glared at the brass knocker, mentally reviewing the events which had landed him here. Utter madness. The blasted urn wasn’t worth this level of anguish, and the worst of it was he was nervous.

  Nervous!

  He’d spent entirely too much time selecting a flower from the hothouse that morning; actually worrying whether the girl would like his gift. Then he’d doubted the wisdom of presenting flowers, perhaps he should have brought chocolates… Didn’t all women love chocolate?

  Christ he was pathetic. Cowed by the memory of some long dead female. He had stared down scads of French soldiers on the battlefield, coordinated troops on the continent, and faced death on a score of occasions, yet… the thought of entering that house and offering a few pretty words to some young miss left him thoroughly daunted.

  The trio behind the glass remained within view. Did the women really think he couldn’t see them? Though impossible to make out faces beneath the window glare, he distinctly sensed their scheming claws reaching out and wrapping around his neck.

  Bloody hell. This was a mistake.

  He took a healthy step back, more than ready to tell his brother to keep the urn and exactly where he could stick it.

  John stopped short, dragging a steadying breath into his lungs. Pathetic indeed. Panicking over a scene in the window. He could handle women. He’d learned the hard way that the fairer sex had a way of turning men to fools with their deceitful ways. Rona didn’t deserve the hold she still had over his life.

  That steeled his nerve.

  Wiping his mind, he lifted the knocker and rapped steadily on the door.

  After all, this wasn’t a serious courtship, merely a ruse to assuage his brother’s conscience and paint a fresh smile on some silly chit’s face.

  The heavy
door opened to reveal a portly butler garbed in formal livery. The middle aged man stood little more than five feet tall and John had to bend slightly at the neck to address the man.

  “Good morning.” He produced a calling card. “Lord John Breckenridge to call on Lady Penelope.”

  The short statured butler lifted a bushy brow, flicking an assessing gaze the length of John—no doubt recalling the lingering scandal surrounding his name.

  John quashed a flash of anger and impatience. Let’s get this over with. He shifted the silver papered box carrying Penelope’s gift to the opposite hand.

  The movement sparked the butler to action. “Right this way, milord.” The short man turned smartly on a heel and led John down the brightly lit hall.

  “Shush! He’s coming.” Urgent feminine whispering floated down the hall. “Quickly, girls, behave naturally. Penelope, sit by the piano.”

  Penelope. A flash of green silk whipped through his mind. The very chit he was meant to woo.

  Within moments the butler ushered him into a pleasant parlor. The three scheming wraiths he’d glimpsed through the window took full form and decorated the room with their brightly hued frocks. Lady Landon perched delicately upon a chaise while a young blonde sat adjacent her. Positioned beside the piano—dressed in pale blue and ivory calico—was the ‘green skirt’ from the night before.

  “May I present Lord John Breckenridge for Lady Penelope Hale,” the butler stated officiously.

  The ladies stood in tandem, dipping into matching delicate curtsies. As introductions were made, John nodded absently to Lady Landon and her curly haired daughter before turning his full attention to Penelope. Genuine surprise rocked him at his first good look at Colton’s charity case. Not what he’d expected, and he had to hand it to his brother… Colton had excellent taste in women.

  John flicked a quick, assessing glance the length of Penelope, and then allowed himself a more lingering perusal.

  Nay. Colton had exquisite taste in women, for that is what Lady Penelope was. Exquisite.

  Rich auburn curls swept up from slender shoulders, loosely pinned in a graceful chignon while wistful tendrils drifted down along her cheeks. Healthy pink glowed from high cheek bones that tapered into a smooth heart-shaped chin and her mouth nestled full and pouty within the palest shade of peach and rose—the perfect accent to milky skin splashed with an irresistible smattering of freckles. There was a naughty tilt to the corners of that sumptuous mouth, the sort that begged a man to brush his own lips against that sinful swirl in slow reverent kisses. Her downcast eyes prevented him from discerning the exact hue... probably blue… and John was possessed of the sudden urge to march across the room, tip that dainty chin with his forefinger and discover the color of her eyes.