“Poor Penelope,” he said with mock sympathy. “Nineteen and already jaded.”
“Speaking of jaded, did you see Montague?”
“Only briefly, before he took himself off to White’s where he assuredly is now, throwing God-knows-how-much of the family fortune away on the faro tables. By the way, he did a fine job of ignoring Charlotte Trevlyn this evening. Her mother is less than pleased.”
“Papa won’t be pleased, either. You know how grouchy he’s become of late, what with his gout. I can only imagine his fury if Montague doesn’t propose to Charlotte, and soon.”
“Even though Walter is no longer heir to the estate?”
“She’s still a Trevlyn, is she not? All Papa wants is for the Trevlyns and the Linberrys to be forever united, into eternity. All dependent on Montague, of course.”
Thomas sighed. “Well, it’s Montague’s problem, not mine. I have enough else to concern me.”
Penelope regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re not your usual lighthearted self tonight. You seem distracted.”
Distracted was hardly the word for the mood he was in. “I’m leaving London tomorrow. Time I got back to my Thoroughbreds. It’s best I leave before I...”
“Before you what, Thomas?”
“Nothing.” Since that kiss in the coach, his emotions had lurched back and forth between hot desire and disgust with himself for allowing his feelings to get out of hand. Penelope was his closet confidante. No doubt she knew more about him than anyone, yet how could he explain his feelings when he hardly understood himself?
“How can you possibly leave now?” inquired Penelope. “Lady Claremont’s ball is next Friday night. Surely you’ll want to stay for one of the most important events of the Season.”
His eyebrow lifted sardonically. “I suppose everyone who counts will be there?”
“How did you guess?”
“Since when did I ever care about who counts and who doesn’t?” Feeling restless and irritable—all his own doing, of course—Thomas arose from his chair and headed for the door. “I’m off to bed.”
Penelope called after him, “It’s Evleen O’Fallon, isn’t it?”
Curse her perceptiveness. He turned as Penelope remarked, “I heard what you did today. How noble, rescuing the damsel in distress and her adorable little brother.”
“I would have done as much for a stranger.” Why was he burdened with a sister so skilled at reading his mind?
Worse, she wasn’t through.
“On-dit has it that the two of them were wandering the streets unescorted.” Penelope pursed her lips and tilted her nose in a fair imitation of Lydia Trevlyn. “Simply not done, my deah,” she mocked, and went on, “and letting herself be seen on Saint James Street where everyone knows a lady would not be caught dead.”
Thomas could not help laughing at his irreverent sister, but quickly sobered. “It’s such hypocrisy, isn’t it? The truth is, Lydia Trevlyn is not so much concerned about her family’s reputation as she is about marrying her daughters off.”
“Exactly,” said Penelope, “and she sees the Irish girl as a threat.”
“And well she might, considering Evleen O’Fallon has more beauty, brains and charm in her little finger than the Trevlyn girls possess—”
Uh-oh, now he’d done it. Judging from that sagacious little grin playing on Penelope’s lips, Thomas suddenly realized he had just revealed far more than he had intended.
“I knew it,” Penelope declared triumphantly. “After all these years, the high-and-mighty Thomas Linberry has finally fallen in love. Don’t bother to deny it. It won’t do you any good.”
That uninvited vision of Evleen and Timothy embracing again arose before his eyes. He said harshly, “I had thought Evleen O’Fallon was betrothed to that Irishman.”
“She’s not.”
“So I found out. Up to now, my feelings were of no consequence. Now I... This puts a new light on things.”
“Oh, Thomas.” Penelope slowly shook her head in sympathy. “You were using Evleen’s so-called betrothal as a defense, weren’t you? It didn’t matter how fond you grew of her, she was betrothed, and that made you feel safe, didn’t it? No action on your part was necessary.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it? Then why are you so agitated? I think you’ve fallen in love with her, and now, all of a sudden, you find she’s available and suddenly you don’t know what to do.”
Thomas neither affirmed nor denied his sister’s shrewd observations. Instead, close-mouthed, he bid his sister a hasty goodnight and retreated to his bedchamber. Now, safe from Penelope’s penetrating questions, he reflected upon her words. “Fallen in love,” she’d accused. No, that wasn’t possible. Never, in his entire untroubled, well-ordered existence, had he been so foolish as to lose his heart to a woman. Some of his friends had