Page 15 of Midnight Rendezvous (Sins & Sensibilities #4)

CHAPTER 15

P enny sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers tightly clasped in her lap as she listened to the muted hum of voices downstairs. Her mother's light laughter mingled with the heavier timbre of her father's, and soon after, the sound of the front door closing and the rumble of the carriage wheels told her the coast was finally clear.

They had gone to the Ellertons' ball, and her brother had gone to White's. She had claimed fatigue. And now she waited only for the last of the household to settle before she dared to slip away into the night. Penny could have passed for a young man dressed in a dark gentleman's coat, breeches that hugged her legs, and a crisp shirt buttoned up to her throat. Her hair was tightly coiled and hidden beneath a curled crop wig, and a cravat sat stiffly at her throat. A cane rested against the side of her dresser, part of the illusion.

It had only been three days since the fight, since she had ridden home with him, weeping and furious...and then dropped to her knees and given him her mouth in a moment of desperate tenderness and maddening need. Penny's fingers lifted to her lips. Even now, she could still feel the weight of him on her tongue, the taste of him, the way his hand had buried itself in her hair, and the torn sound of her name from his lips.

She had seen the pain in his eyes, the brokenness he thought no one could witness. And in that moment, all she had wanted was to give him something—anything—that would remind him he was wanted and that he was not alone.

"Silly," she whispered.

And now...now she was sneaking out again, dressed like this, ready to go to him because the wretched man had not sent a single note. No word. No hint that he was even alive.

He had told her clearly— no attachment . They would not be lovers. Not even friends. A bow, a curtsy, polite smiles from across a ballroom floor. She understood but could not adhere to it. Not yet. Not while her heart still beat to the rhythm of his voice.

"I'll only check on him," she muttered fiercely. "See that he is healing properly. Then I will be sensible. Respectful of his wishes."

She stood, reached for her cloak, and turned toward the door. Her foot had barely touched the landing when a shadow rose up the stairs.

They both gasped.

" Penny ?"

Henrietta's voice was a sharp whisper of disbelief. She clutched a book to her chest, blinking at her sister as if she were an apparition. "Why are you dressed like...like a highwayman?"

Penny groaned.

Grabbing Henrietta by the wrist, she yanked her down the stairs, steering them into the music room and quietly shutting the doors.

"Do not swoon," she warned, just as Henrietta's hand flung dramatically to her forehead, and she sank into the nearest chaise like a dying heroine from a gothic novel.

"I am not swooning," Henrietta said, though her tone was outrageously theatrical. "I'm merely stunned, speechless."

"You're speaking," Penny replied drily. "So clearly, you'll survive."

Henrietta sat up straight, eyes wide. "Are you sneaking out? At night ?"

"I am."

"Where are you going? No, wait, don't tell me. You're going to a gaming hell. Or God above, you've joined a troupe of traveling actors—"

"I'm going to see a friend," Penny cut in, firm and quiet.

Henrietta stared at her. "Is it him ?"

Penny didn't answer.

"Oh, my word , it is ," Henrietta whispered. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"I'm not having this conversation with you," Penny said, buttoning her cloak. "You'll wake the whole household."

"But what if something happens to you? What if you're seen? What if—"

"Nothing will happen," Penny said. She felt a strange mix of aching vulnerability and fierce resolve. "I'll be back before the sun rises. No one will know I've gone."

Henrietta opened her mouth again, but something in Penny's expression silenced her.

"Will you tell?" Penny asked softly now. "If I asked you not to?"

Henrietta looked at her for a long moment, then shook her head.

"I won't," Henrietta whispered. "But please come back before Mama and Papa return!"

"I swear."

Penny smiled, pressed her hand briefly to her sister's cheek, then hurried into the night, heart pounding with anticipation and a trace of guilt. Once again, she borrowed Thomas's horse from the mews, swinging easily into the saddle. The chill in the air kissed her cheeks as she rode through the quiet streets of Mayfair. Her pulse beat a little faster with each hoofbeat that brought her closer to him.

When she reached Alexander's townhouse, she noted at once the unsettling stillness. The windows glowed faintly with light, but no shadows moved within. It was early yet, too early for him to be abed. Dismounting, she tethered the horse to the gate and approached the door, lifting the brass knocker with far more confidence than she felt. She was dressed as a lad—no one would question a young man seeking entry.

The door opened. The butler, tall and composed as ever, lifted one brow. "Lady Penelope?"

She blinked. "I... I..."

The faintest hint of amusement curved his lips. "His lordship informed me I might expect you, my lady."

She stared, stunned. "He did?"

There was no judgment in the man's expression, no alarm or curiosity, merely patient observation as though noblewomen in disguise visited at odd hours regularly. Penny cleared her throat and tried for composure. "Is Lord Bainbridge at home?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady."

Her heart sank. "He is out ? After that brutal fight? That wretched, reckless—" She gasped and pressed a hand to her chest. "Must he worry my heart so? Does he think himself immortal?"

The butler now looked mildly bemused. "I believe he mentioned going to his club."

"To White's ?" she asked, already turning toward the gate.

He hesitated, then said delicately, "I cannot say for certain, my lady."

She mounted swiftly. As she rode away, Penny chewed on her lower lip. Surely he hadn't gone back to fighting. Not so soon. His ribs had been bruised, his knuckles raw. Perhaps he truly was at White's, sipping brandy and reading the Times .

Or Aphrodite , whispered a treacherous voice in her mind. She stiffened in the saddle. It was foolish to follow that thread. Foolish to chase after him, to keep pushing against the boundaries he had so clearly drawn. And yet...she turned her horse in the direction of the pleasure palace, ignoring the small, sensible voice that shouted for her to go home.

Several minutes later, Penny slipped through the grand double doors of Aphrodite. At once, the scent of incense, amber, and something darker—desire itself—curled around her like an invisible caress. The low murmur of voices and the sultry pulse of string music teased at her senses. The very air shimmered with sin, thick with laughter, gasps, and the heady perfume of pleasure.

Silken draperies in hues of midnight and wine hung from vaulted ceilings, casting shadows on the polished floors. Velvet lounges cradled lovers in scandalous poses. A bare-chested man reclined on a divan, his head thrown back in ecstasy as a masked woman knelt between his thighs, her mouth working with aching devotion. Another couple danced slowly, their bodies pressed flush, the woman's gown in a suggestive heap around her hips.

Penny tore her gaze away and moved forward, lifting her chin with as much composure as she could muster. She was not here for this world. She was here for him .

A hush fell as she stepped through the arched entrance of a card room, where the ton's gentlemen and daring ladies wagered coin and reputation over roulette and whist. Penny hovered by the edge, watching their fluid movements, how desire and danger seemed to flavor even innocent bets. She turned to go and collided with a broad chest. "Oh!" she gasped, stumbling back.

A gloved hand steadied her, and she looked up into the too-knowing green eyes of the Marquess of Raine.

His gaze showed a spark of recognition as he took in her disguised form. His lips curved faintly.

"Your lord," he said teasingly, "is out on the terrace. Fourth door."

Penny flushed scarlet. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice low.

"Of course." He gave her a gallant bow, his smirk deepening. "If you're going to sneak into dens of vice for love, you might consider less revealing trousers next time."

She huffed and marched away, her boots soundless against the thick Aubusson rugs. Weaving through the crowd, she passed a dais where a masked man thrust languidly into a flushed woman while a ring of onlookers applauded softly, wineglasses gleaming in hand. Penny's stomach twisted—not in judgment, but in astonishment. She had never imagined there were people in the world who sought such public decadence.

She reached the fourth terrace door and slipped outside. The night air cooled her flushed cheeks. Alexander sat in a wrought iron chair, legs stretched before him, a half-empty glass cradled loosely in his hand. His face was tipped toward the starless sky, eyes distant, the set of his jaw bleak.

Penny's heart twisted painfully. She took a step forward.

His gaze flicked to her, and a slow, unsurprised smile touched his lips. "I am not surprised to see you, Penny."

She said nothing, only crossed to the chair opposite his and sat. The scent of brandy clung to the air between them. She reached for his glass, ignoring his amused brow, took a tentative sip—and immediately spluttered.

Alexander chuckled, low and warm. "Careful."

Coughing, she wiped her lips and gave him a glower before draining the rest in one determined swallow. His gaze lingered on her mouth, but he said nothing.

For a long moment, they sat in silence. Then she asked, barely above a whisper, "Are you healed?"

He stared at the sky again. "Not your concern."

Her scowl returned full force, but when she glanced sideways, he was watching her, a smile ghosting across his lips. She hated how much she loved that look.

A shadow passed across the threshold.

"My lord," a man said, bowing, "your decision?"

Alexander didn't move. "I'm still thinking."

The man bowed again and retreated into the dark. Penny blinked, heart thudding. She had seen that face before—at the bare-knuckle fights. Her breath caught. "He was at the ring."

"Yes."

"What does he want?"

"Another match," he said flatly. "Next week."

Penny reeled. "But you're not healed!"

He took another drink. "Apparently, I'm now being whispered about in very enthusiastic circles. They're calling me the Bare-Knuckle King."

He said it without pride—only a faint trace of irony.

Her chest ached. "Will you do it?"

Alexander didn't answer.

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. "Is it the purse?"

His silence was answer enough. Her throat tightened when she recalled a conversation from a year ago with the Marquess of Ambrose.

He fears you will wed another before he succeeds.

A lump rose behind her tongue. "Are you close?" she whispered. "To pulling your estates out of debt?"

He stared at her, long and steady. "I will be solvent by next year."

Too long. The words echoed in her bones, a mournful truth. Penny pressed her fingers to her mouth, her lips still tingling from the drink. She didn't know how long she sat there, but the night deepened, and all around them, laughter and moans rose like incense from the bowels of Aphrodite.

Penny shifted closer. "Have you tried gambling?"

Alexander turned to her, brow arching in wry amusement. "Gambling?"

"Yes," she murmured, eyes fixed on the flickering shadows cast by the lanterns. "I heard my brother speaking with Papa a fortnight ago...apparently Lord Jensen lost an estate in Scotland and five thousand pounds in a single night of cards."

Alexander gave a low laugh. "That sounds about right. But no, Penny...gambling is far more dangerous than fighting."

She blinked. "Truly? You think risking coin is more dangerous than breaking your ribs?"

"I'm a terrible gambler," he said dryly. "Always have been. And I'd never wager something my family depends on. I could lose everything in a single hand."

Her voice broke slightly as she whispered, "But you would risk yourself ?"

Their eyes met, the air between them growing taut.

"You'd risk your life for the same cause?" she pressed, voice thick with emotion. "If you die, Alexander, what then? Your family would lose far more than a roof or coin. They would lose you . And that pain would destroy them."

His breath caught, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Their gazes remained locked—hers pleading, his unreadable. Then he looked away, and so did she, her throat closing up.

"I..." She hesitated, then lifted her chin. "I'm an excellent gambler, you know."

That drew another surprised smile from him. "Is that so?"

"Yes. Thomas taught me. Father used to scold him soundly for letting me play, but I was far too quick with numbers and strategies."

"Have you ever actually gambled in society?"

"No," she admitted, her lips quirking. "But I'd love to try. Shall we?"

"You are hell-bent on foolhardy. Where is your damn sense of fear?"

Penny frowned. "Why should I be afraid? I'm with you."

Alexander went utterly still for a moment, then a slow, disbelieving smile curved his lips. He rose from his chair, extending a hand. "Very well. Let me escort this reckless lad to the gambling rooms."

She grinned and slipped her arm through his, warmth spiraling from the contact. "Aren't you worried someone will see you holding hands with a man?"

Alexander smirked. "There are plenty of men here who hold hands...and much more."

Penny faltered mid-step. "What?" she said, blinking rapidly.

His smile was almost gentle. "There are lovers of all kinds here, Penny. That's part of what makes Aphrodite so...liberated."

A small breath escaped her lips as she absorbed this, her gaze flitting around at the shadowed figures, the indulgent laughter, the loosened morals wrapped in silk and champagne. She had lived all her life in the drawing rooms and salons of proper society, never imagining that desire could look so varied...so raw...so beautiful and strange.

"I didn't know," she said quietly. "I didn't know people...of the same sex could be...in love."

Alexander glanced down at her, his expression unreadable. "There's a great deal the world hides from well-bred young ladies."

Penny swallowed, her thoughts tangled.

"Come," he said, gently drawing her forward. "Let's see if your luck holds at the tables."

As they stepped through the threshold and into the gilded chaos of the gambling salon, Penny felt everything about her was changing—one touch, one glance, one risk at a time.