A Penny's Worth of Affection novel Chapter 11

"The ball was quite interesting," Jane murmured, her voice sounding awkward and unsure. "I had no idea there were that many people living here in Millcote. Such a crush."

"Yes, indeed," Penny replied, wishing the girl had kept silent. "But I dare say a few guests came from outside Millcote as well."

Jane cocked her head to one side, the elegant coif atop her head giving a graceful arch to her neck. She seemed to study Penny in the dim light, for what purpose Penny could not fathom. "You are quite correct,

Miss Inglewood. I believe the Earl brought along a few guests from London. Isn't that right, Your Grace?"

Phillip turned from his study of the window and looked at Jane, a mocking smile playing upon his lips. "Why do you need to seek my opinion on such trivial matters?" he said, his voice devoid of humour despite the smile. "I could tell you, my lady, that everyone here simply wishes to be left to their own thoughts. You would do well, madam, to refrain from idle chit chat."

Jane's face flamed in embarrassment, and she ducked her head, murmuring something that sounded like an apology. Penny felt pity for the poor girl but dared not interfere, for she had enough of his scathing words to last an evening.

Mercifully, the journey was over quickly. The carriage pulled up at the front doors, and Philip jumped down to assist the women. As she alighted, her injured leg cramped up, causing her to lose her balance. She cried out, her arms flailing to grasp the closest solid object, which happened to be Philip's arm. She felt his other arm slip around her waist, steadying her before she fell flat on her face.

Lucy cried out in alarm. "Penny! What is it?"

Winded, Penny could only cling to Newbridge even as pain lanced up and down her leg. He murmured something and lifted her easily into his arms, then carried her into the house.

"I–I am quite alright, Your Grace. Please put me down," Penny pleaded, her senses bombarded by the scent of his aftershave, something earthy and warm. She could feel his strength as he held her as though she weighed nothing. He followed Lucy into the parlour, while Jane hovered uncertainly.

He ignored her protests but set her down gently on the couch, an inscrutable expression on his face. Lucy knelt beside her anxiously, and Penny hastened to assure everyone she was fine. The pains had subsided to a dull throbbing ache, nothing a hot bath wouldn't take care of.

"Perhaps some tea will help?" Jane suggested to Lucy, who nodded and hurried off to make a fresh pot. Penny was left alone with Newbridge, who hadn't moved from his position in front of the couch.

"I find myself in your debt once again," she murmured softly, smoothing her skirts nervously.

"Does it always bother you like this?"

"I have no idea, Lucy. Never mind. We will try to finish the tea and cakes on our own."

***

Philip tugged off his cravat with a curse, his mood foul. This was what happened when he tried to be helpful-have it thrown back in his face. He should have left the two women to walk home, but instead, had given in to Jane's pleas to offer a lift-something that went against his very nature. He cursed once more as he thought of the unbidden wave of desire that had washed over him when he held Penelope Inglewood in his arms. She had looked so vulnerable he had been quite overcome with an inexplicable urge to kiss her freckled nose, or better yet that soft, full inviting mouth, carry her to bed and...

"Bloody hell!" he growled, shaking his head as though to rid him of the image. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of it, and her scent swamped him, stirring up something in him. The woman was a menace, a small but annoying menace. No woman had ever stirred his blood or invaded his thoughts the way Penelope Inglewood managed to do, and he despised the effect she had on him. He would get her out of his system, find a willing woman, and purge himself of this wretched desire.

Finally undressed, he crossed to the window and gazed out at the clear night sky, the cold breeze hitting his bare flesh, causing goosebumps. Cursed with the inability to sleep at night, he had often spent many a night losing himself in drink till the early hours of the morning, when he would finally doze off for an hour before he was awake again. His mistress had called him the Devil's Spawn because of that.

That night, he needed something other than spirits, he decided, moving away from the window, crossing to his wardrobe. He dressed in sporting breeches and a light shirt, donning the special pair of shoes he had made for such a purpose and quietly made his way outside. He took a few breaths of the night air then set off on a gruelling run.