A Penny's Worth of Affection novel Chapter 72

Decisions

He was a fool. An utter and complete fool for taking advantage of her innocent desire the way he had last night, Phillip thought savagely as he dug his heels into his horse's flanks, urging the steed to go even faster up the winding hillside. One would think a man his age and level of experience with the opposite sex would have developed a measure of finesse when it came to handling a woman he wanted. But like an imbecile, he'd botched the whole thing by kissing her and frightening her off.

He still wasn't altogether certain why he had so completely abandoned his normal restraint. But something inside him had snapped when Penny had levelled those enchanting green eyes at him, or perhaps it was the way her breasts had heaved with the exertion of struggling in his arms. Whatever it was, his reason had deserted him, and he'd finally allowed himself to admit he wanted Penelope Inglewood more than he had ever desired any woman. He'd confessed his desire hoping to frighten her into silence, but instead, she had calmly turned the tables on him.

He'd been a fool; no doubt about it. He should never have compromised her, not when she was convinced he only sought to make her miserable. Heaven only knew what she was thinking right this moment. No doubt condemning him to the depths of hell. He should have apologized immediately, he thought with a grimace, but had allowed himself to be cut off by her plea.

The horse reached the hilltop, and Phillip pulled the steed to a halt and dismounted, absently rubbing the animal's neck as he waited for Henry to catch up. The view of London from here would have been breath-taking to the casual observer, but the duke paid no attention to the scenery, his thoughts entirely filled by a small, green-eyed woman.

The silence was shattered by the sound of hoof beats, and Phillip turned to watch Henry's mount come up the hill at a more sedate pace. "Are you trying to kill your horse?" the latter demanded as soon as he drew astride Phillip. He dismounted and yanked off his riding gloves, scowling at his friend. "You have been like a bear with a sore head all morning. What happened with Penny last night? She refused to speak to anyone and has shut herself in her bed chamber. What did you do?"

Phillip turned away, rubbing at the rough stubble on his jaw. He had spent the entire night in restless thoughts, his mind replaying the scene in the carriage over and over again till he thought he would go mad with need. Even thinking about the little moans and cries she'd uttered when he'd touched her made him hard with desire. It had hit him then that Penelope Inglewood had hidden passions, and God knew he wanted to know just how much passion boiled beneath that calm exterior she always portrayed.

Henry prodded him with a finger, and Phillip shook himself back to reality to find Henry glaring at him in anger. "You bastard!" Henry hissed, balling up his fists in preparation to deliver a blow. "Why did she leave with you in the middle of the performance? Have you no thought to propriety, for God's sake! I swear to God, if you have despoiled her-"

"Her virtue is very much intact," Phillip cut in, his eyes narrowed at the challenge in his friend's stance. "I simply offered her a ride home because she was in pain."

***

A knock on the door roused Penny from her thoughts. She pushed back the covers and sat up, squinting in the dim light that filtered through the drawn curtains. "Come in," she called out, wincing as her head began its monstrous throbbing once more, and fumbled for the bottle of laudanum on the nightstand.

The door opened, and Lady Westbrooke peeked in, her expression concerned when she saw how dim the room was. "Are you feeling better, my dear?"

Penny smiled wanly at her friend, grateful for the distraction even though her mind still reeled from last week's encounter with Phillip. Once more, she silently questioned how she had allowed herself to let go of sanity. He had touched her there in her most secret spot, and she had let him, had even panted and moaned like a wanton woman in the throes of passion, delighted in his expert touch. She cringed as she wondered how many other women he had seduced. No doubt she was simply one more foolish maiden who had been drawn like a moth to a flame. What a fool she had been to hope his words had been true, that those passionate words carried a hint of real affection and not pure, unadulterated lust.