To Catch an Heiress
Page 60
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”
“Only a touch, I assure you.”
“Did Penelope ask after me?”
“Indeed. She has already written you a letter asking you to pay a call tomorrow afternoon.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small envelope, and gave it to her.
“Well, that is certainly a boon,” Caroline grumbled.
“I shouldn't complain, were I you. At least it means you can escape the washing room.”
Caroline stared at him, really annoyed by his smile. She stood and planted her hands on her hips.
“My, my, we're looking militant this afternoon, aren't we?”
“Don't condescend to me.”
“But it's so much fun.”
She hurled a chamber pot at him. “You can use this in your own room!”
Blake ducked and then laughed despite himself when the pot broke into pieces against the wall. “Well, I suppose one can take some comfort in the fact that it wasn't full.”
“If it had been full,” she hissed, “I would have aimed at your head.”
“Caroline, this situation isn't my fault.”
“I know, but you don't have to be so bloody jolly about it.”
“Now, you're being just a bit unreasonable.”
“I don't care.” She whipped a bar of soap at him. It stuck against the wall. “I have every right to be unreasonable.”
“Oh?” He ducked as his shaving kit sailed through the air.
She glowered at him. “For your information, in the past week, I have been, oh let's see, nearly raped, kidnapped, tied to a bedpost, forced to cough my voice into nothingness—”
“That was your own fault.”
“Not to mention the fact that I embarked upon a life of crime by breaking and entering into my former home, was nearly trapped by my odious guardian—”
“Don't forget your sprained ankle,” he supplied.
“Ooooohhhh! I could kill you!” Another bar of soap flew by his head, grazing his ear.
“Madam, you are certainly doing an able job of trying.”
“And now!” she fairly yelled. “And now, as if all of that weren't undignified enough, I am forced to live for a week in a bloody bathroom!”
Put that way, Blake pondered, it was damned funny. He bit his lip, trying to hold back his laughter. He wasn't successful.
“Stop laughing at me!” she wailed.
“Blake?”
He went utterly sober in under a second. “It's Penelope!” he whispered.
“Blake? What is all that yelling about?”
“Quick!” he hissed, shoving her back toward the side stairwell. “Hide!”
Caroline scurried away, and just in time, too, for Penelope pushed open the door to the washing room just as she closed the one to the stairwell.
“Blake?” Penelope queried for the third time. “What is all the commotion?”
“It was nothing, Penny. I—”
“What happened here?” she screeched.
Blake looked around and gulped. He'd forgotten about the mess on the floor. Chamber pot shards, his shaving kit, a towel or two…
“I…ah…” It seemed to him that it was far easier to lie for the sake of national security than it was to his older sister.
“Is that a bar of soap stuck to the wall?” Penelope asked.
“Um…yes, it appears to be.”
She pointed down. “And is this another bar of soap on the floor?”
“Er…yes, I must have been rather clumsy this morning.”
“Blake, is there something you're keeping from me?”
“There are quite a few things I keep from you,” he said with absolute honesty, trying not to think about Caroline sitting out in the stairwell, presumably laughing her bloody head off at his predicament.
“What's this on the floor?” Penelope bent down and picked up something white. “Why, it's the note I wrote to Miss Dent! What is it doing here?”
“I haven't had a chance to send it yet.” Thank God Caroline had forgotten to open it.
“Well, for heaven's sake, don't leave it here on the floor.” She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. “I say, Blake, are you feeling quite the thing?”
“Actually, no,” he replied, seizing the opportunity she'd offered him. “I've been a touch dizzy for the last hour or so. That's how I knocked over the chamber pot.”
She touched his forehead. “You don't have the fever.”
“I'm sure it's nothing a good night's sleep won't cure.”
“I suppose.” Penelope pursed her lips. “But if you're not feeling better by tomorrow I'm summoning a doctor.”
“Fine.”
“Perhaps you ought to lie down right now.”
“Yes,” he said, practically pushing her out of the bathroom. “That is an excellent idea.”
“Right, then. Here, I'll turn down your sheets.”
Blake let out a huge sigh as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He certainly wasn't happy about the latest turn of events; the last thing he wanted was his older sister fussing over him. But it was certainly preferable to her discovering Caroline amid the chamber pot shards and soap slivers.
“Mr. Ravenscroft?”
He looked up. Perriwick was standing in the doorway, balancing a silver tray laden with a veritable feast. Blake started shaking his head frantically, but it was too late. Penelope had already turned around.
“Oh, Perriwick,” she said, “what is that?”
“Food,” he blurted out, clearly confused by her presence. He glanced around.
“Only a touch, I assure you.”
“Did Penelope ask after me?”
“Indeed. She has already written you a letter asking you to pay a call tomorrow afternoon.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small envelope, and gave it to her.
“Well, that is certainly a boon,” Caroline grumbled.
“I shouldn't complain, were I you. At least it means you can escape the washing room.”
Caroline stared at him, really annoyed by his smile. She stood and planted her hands on her hips.
“My, my, we're looking militant this afternoon, aren't we?”
“Don't condescend to me.”
“But it's so much fun.”
She hurled a chamber pot at him. “You can use this in your own room!”
Blake ducked and then laughed despite himself when the pot broke into pieces against the wall. “Well, I suppose one can take some comfort in the fact that it wasn't full.”
“If it had been full,” she hissed, “I would have aimed at your head.”
“Caroline, this situation isn't my fault.”
“I know, but you don't have to be so bloody jolly about it.”
“Now, you're being just a bit unreasonable.”
“I don't care.” She whipped a bar of soap at him. It stuck against the wall. “I have every right to be unreasonable.”
“Oh?” He ducked as his shaving kit sailed through the air.
She glowered at him. “For your information, in the past week, I have been, oh let's see, nearly raped, kidnapped, tied to a bedpost, forced to cough my voice into nothingness—”
“That was your own fault.”
“Not to mention the fact that I embarked upon a life of crime by breaking and entering into my former home, was nearly trapped by my odious guardian—”
“Don't forget your sprained ankle,” he supplied.
“Ooooohhhh! I could kill you!” Another bar of soap flew by his head, grazing his ear.
“Madam, you are certainly doing an able job of trying.”
“And now!” she fairly yelled. “And now, as if all of that weren't undignified enough, I am forced to live for a week in a bloody bathroom!”
Put that way, Blake pondered, it was damned funny. He bit his lip, trying to hold back his laughter. He wasn't successful.
“Stop laughing at me!” she wailed.
“Blake?”
He went utterly sober in under a second. “It's Penelope!” he whispered.
“Blake? What is all that yelling about?”
“Quick!” he hissed, shoving her back toward the side stairwell. “Hide!”
Caroline scurried away, and just in time, too, for Penelope pushed open the door to the washing room just as she closed the one to the stairwell.
“Blake?” Penelope queried for the third time. “What is all the commotion?”
“It was nothing, Penny. I—”
“What happened here?” she screeched.
Blake looked around and gulped. He'd forgotten about the mess on the floor. Chamber pot shards, his shaving kit, a towel or two…
“I…ah…” It seemed to him that it was far easier to lie for the sake of national security than it was to his older sister.
“Is that a bar of soap stuck to the wall?” Penelope asked.
“Um…yes, it appears to be.”
She pointed down. “And is this another bar of soap on the floor?”
“Er…yes, I must have been rather clumsy this morning.”
“Blake, is there something you're keeping from me?”
“There are quite a few things I keep from you,” he said with absolute honesty, trying not to think about Caroline sitting out in the stairwell, presumably laughing her bloody head off at his predicament.
“What's this on the floor?” Penelope bent down and picked up something white. “Why, it's the note I wrote to Miss Dent! What is it doing here?”
“I haven't had a chance to send it yet.” Thank God Caroline had forgotten to open it.
“Well, for heaven's sake, don't leave it here on the floor.” She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. “I say, Blake, are you feeling quite the thing?”
“Actually, no,” he replied, seizing the opportunity she'd offered him. “I've been a touch dizzy for the last hour or so. That's how I knocked over the chamber pot.”
She touched his forehead. “You don't have the fever.”
“I'm sure it's nothing a good night's sleep won't cure.”
“I suppose.” Penelope pursed her lips. “But if you're not feeling better by tomorrow I'm summoning a doctor.”
“Fine.”
“Perhaps you ought to lie down right now.”
“Yes,” he said, practically pushing her out of the bathroom. “That is an excellent idea.”
“Right, then. Here, I'll turn down your sheets.”
Blake let out a huge sigh as he shut the bathroom door behind him. He certainly wasn't happy about the latest turn of events; the last thing he wanted was his older sister fussing over him. But it was certainly preferable to her discovering Caroline amid the chamber pot shards and soap slivers.
“Mr. Ravenscroft?”
He looked up. Perriwick was standing in the doorway, balancing a silver tray laden with a veritable feast. Blake started shaking his head frantically, but it was too late. Penelope had already turned around.
“Oh, Perriwick,” she said, “what is that?”
“Food,” he blurted out, clearly confused by her presence. He glanced around.
