That had been a surprise. She hadnt imagined that he cared so much about marrying her. In truth, she hadnt imagined he cared at all.
But then, hed expected her to say yes without hesitation. Despite the fact that Penelope Thorne was wrong for him on every count.
Except perhaps one.
The fact that shed love him until she died.
Chapter One
Calais, France, January 1828
Through the bleak hours between midnight and dawn, the candles burned low in the shabby room high in the dilapidated inn. Wind rattled the ill-fitting windowpanes and carried the creaking of boats at their moorings and the reek of salt and rotting fish. The man lying in the narrow bed gasped for every breath.
Camden Rothermere, Duke of Sedgemoor, leaned forward to plump the thin pillows in a futile attempt to offer his dying friend some relief. When Cam sank into his wooden chair beside the bed, Peter Thornes eyes opened.
Although he and Peter hadnt been close in years, Cam knew about his friends numerous reverses. The Thornes were famously rackety, and a son and heir who gambled away his fortune was hardly the worst of it.
Cam had arrived in Calais a few hours ago and rushed straight here to find the doctor in attendance. Hed cornered the man before he left. The harassed French medico had been blunt about his patients prospects.
Cam had arrived in Calais a few hours ago and rushed straight here to find the doctor in attendance. Hed cornered the man before he left. The harassed French medico had been blunt about his patients prospects.
At first, Peter had drifted close to unconsciousness, but the eyes focusing on Cam now were clear and aware. Eyes sunk in dark hollows in a face that carried no spare flesh. It was like staring into a skull.
You came.
The words were hoarse, slow in emerging, and ended in a fit of coughing. Swiftly Cam fetched some water in a chipped cup. After a sip, the sick man collapsed exhausted against the hard mattress.
Of course I came. Anguish and outrage gripped Cam. Peter had been a companion in childhood games, a participant in university hijinks. He was only thirty-five, the same age as Cam, too bloody young to die.
Wasnt sure you would, Peter gasped before succumbing to another coughing fit.
Cam offered more water. Weve always been friends.
From boyhood. The response was a papery whisper. Although youll wish me to the devil tonight.
Never.
Dont speak too soon. He closed his eyes and Cam wondered whether he slept. The doctor had said that the end would come tonight. Looking into Peters bloodless features, Cam couldnt doubt that conclusion.
Grief stabbed his gut, made his hand shake. He placed the cup on the crowded nightstand before he spilled the water. He wasnt a religious man, but he found himself murmuring a prayer for a swift end to his friends sufferings.
I need your help.
Cam started to hear Peter speak. Spidery hands plucked fretfully at the threadbare covers drawn high on this cold night. If Cam thought it would do an ounce of good, hed shift his friend to the best inn in town. But even without the doctors warning, he saw that Peters time was measured in hours, perhaps even minutes. Relocating him would be cruel rather than kind.
Its Pen.
The moment hed received Peters summons, Cam had harbored a sinking feeling that it might be. Your sister?
Of course my damned sister. Another coughing attack rewarded Peters irritable response.
Cam slid his arm behind Peters back to support him while he caught his breath. The doctor left laudanum.
Peter coughed until Cam thought surely he must suffocate. The cloth pressed to his mouth came away bloody. Rage at a fate that turned a once-vital young man into a barely breathing skeleton clutched at Cams gut.
When Peter could speak again, it was in a whisper. Cam leaned close to hear.
I dont want to sleep. He winced as he drew a breath. Cam saw that every second was excruciating. Ill have rest enough soon.
Staring into his friends face, Cam recognized the futility of a comforting lie. They both knew that Peter wouldnt see the dawn.
Pens in trouble. Peter fumbled after Cams hand, gripping with surprising strength. His clasp was icy, as though the grave already encroached into this room.
Cams expression hardened. He hadnt seen Pen in nine years, since his proposal. The only proposal hed ever made, as it had turned out. If the chit was in trouble, she probably deserved to be. Im sure that shes been in tight spots before.
Penelope Thorne had never had the chance to make a splash in London society. Instead, shed joined her eccentric aunt on the Continent and stayed there. She hadnt returned to England even after her parents death in a carriage accident five years ago. Cam gathered shed been somewhere in Greece at the time.
He hesitated to admit that her refusal had undermined his confidence to such an extent that he only now seriously contemplated marriage again. He needed a wife to help restore his familys reputation, which was even more appalling than the Thornes, and at last hed found the perfect candidate. His recently chosen bride was as dissimilar to his hoydenish childhood playmate as possible.
Thank God.
By all reports, Pen had become rather odd. There had been nasty rumors from Sicily about her sharing a shady Contis bed, and of a liaison with a Greek rebel. Goya had emerged from seclusion to paint her both clothed and naked in imitation of his famous majas. Not to mention her weeks sojourn in the Sultans harem in Constantinople.
Shed published four volumes of travel reminiscences, books Cam had read over and over, although hed face the stake before confessing that publicly. A man would rather be flayed than claim a taste for feminine literature.
Peters hand tightened. The desperation in his old friends face was unmistakable. Unfortunately. Lady Bradford died last October. Pens gone from disaster to disaster since. Shes on her way north to Paris to meet me, but shes a woman alone on a dangerous journey.
Serves the hellcat right, Cam wanted to say, then wondered at his spite. He was accounted an equable fellow. The last time hed lost his temper was when Pen had refused him. If shed lost her chaperone, however inadequate, Pen should easily find alternative protection. And he meant that in the Biblical sense.
Peter, I Cam began, not sure how to respond. He guessed that his friend meant to charge him with rescuing Pen from her irresponsibility. Although, hell, after a lifetime of friendship, how could he say no?
As if reading Cams reluctance, Peter spoke quickly. Or perhaps he knew that he had too few breaths remaining to waste any. His urgency seemed to suppress his cough so he managed complete sentences. In her last letter, she was in Rome and running out of money. That was a month ago. God knows whats befallen since.
But what can I do?
Find her. Bring her back to England. Make sure shes safe. Peter regarded Cam like his last hope. Which made it damned difficult to deny him. Elias will have his hands full inheriting and Harrys not up to the job, even if I could get him away from the fleshpots.
Peter forestalled Cams suggestion that another Thorne brother could undertake this task. Cam rose to pace the tiny room. Confound it, Peter. Ive no authority over Pen. She wont pay a speck of attention to me.
She will. Shes always liked you.
Not last time theyd met. I cant kidnap her.
Shaking, Peter shoved himself higher against the pillows. His black eyes, so like his sisters, burned in his ashen face as if all the life concentrated in that blazing stare. If you have to, you must. I wont have my sister bouncing all over Europe, called a whore by ignorant pigs who should know better.
Bloody hell.
His stare unwavering, Peter clawed at the blankets. He gulped for air and gray tinged his skin now that brief vitality faded. Theres no man I trust more than you. If youve ever considered me a friend, if youve ever cherished a moments affection for my sister, bring Pen home.
A moments fondness for his sister? Aye, there was the rub. Until shed treated him like an insolent lackey, hed been fond of Penelope Thorne.
Pausing by the window, he stared into the stormy night. An endless forest of masts ranged against the turbulent sky. It was a night for making deals with the devil. Except in this case, Cam would wager good money that the devil was the woman at the end of the wild goose chase.
He caught his reflection in the glass. He looked like he always did. Calm. Controlled. Cold. The habit of hiding his feelings had become second nature. But he was sorrowing and resentfuland that resentment focused on one troublesome woman. Behind him, hazy in the glass, he saw Peter watching him, suffering stoically through his last hours.
How could Cam refuse? Futile as the quest was. Pen would go her own way, whatever her dying brother asked, whatever pressure her childhood friend placed upon her.
Cam leveled his shoulders. Duty had guided him since hed been old enough to understand the snide whispers about his mothers affair with her brother-in-law. Duty insisted that he accept this task, however unwillingly. Slowly he faced his friend. Of course Ill do it, Peter.
And was rewarded by an easing in Peters painful tension and a hint of the formerly brilliant smile. The Thornes were a famously handsome family and fleetingly, Cam glimpsed his rakish old companion. God bless you, Cam.
God help him, more like.
Chapter Two
Val dAosta, Italy, February 1828
During nine years of travel, Penelope Thorne had been in more tight spots than she cared to remember. None quite so restricted as this one in the rundown common room of a flea-ridden hostelry high in the Italian Alps.
Battling to steady her hand, she raised her pistol and pretended that facing down a pack of miscreants was an everyday occurrence. Instinct insisted that betraying her fear would only invite rape and robberyperhaps murder.
A dozen men leered at her. All desperate. All drunk. All drawing courage from their cohorts belligerence.
The first man who moves gets a bullet, she said in fluent Italian.
Unfortunately the denizens of this godforsaken village spoke some outlandish dialect. Their speech bore little resemblance to the melodious Tuscan that shed learned in Florences salons.