No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(26)

There was a pause as the words sank in, and Penelope’s eyes went wide. “Surely you don’t expect me to school you!”

“Just on a few critical issues,” Pippa said urgently.

“For example?”

“Well, tongues, for one.”

Penelope put her hands over her ears. “No more! I don’t want to think of Olivia and Tottenham doing . . .” She trailed off.

Pippa wanted to shake her. “Doing what?”

“Doing any of it!”

“But don’t you see? How can I be prepared for all this if I don’t understand it? Bulls in Coldharbor are not enough!”

Penelope gave a little laugh. “Bulls in Coldharbor?”

Pippa went red. “I’ve seen . . .”

“You think it’s like that?”

“Well, I wouldn’t if someone would tell me . . . I mean, are men’s . . . are their . . .” She waved a hand in a specific direction. “Are they so large?”

Penelope clapped a hand over her mouth to stem her laughter, and Pippa found herself growing irritated. “I am happy I’m giving you such a laugh.”

Penny shook her head. “I’m—” She giggled again, and Pippa cut her a look. “I’m sorry! It’s just . . . no. No. They have little in common with the bull in Coldharbor.” There was a pause. “And thank God for that.”

“Is it . . . frightening?”

And, like that, Penelope’s gaze filled with doe-eyed sentimentality. “Not at all,” she whispered, all treacle, and while the honest answer was comforting, Pippa nevertheless resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“And, like that, I’ve lost you.”

Penelope smiled. “You’re curious, Pippa. I understand. But it will all become clear.”

Pippa did not like the idea of relying on the promise of clarity. She wanted it now.

Damn Mr. Cross and his idiot wager.

Damn herself for taking it.

Penelope was still speaking, voice all soft and saccharine. “And if you’re lucky, you shall discover . . .” She sighed. “Well, you shall enjoy it quite a bit, I hope.” She shook her head, coming out of her dream, and laughed again. “Stop thinking about bulls.”

Pippa scowled. “How was I to know?”

“You’ve a library full of anatomy texts!” Penny whispered.

“Well, I question the scale of the illustrations in several of those texts!” Pippa whispered back.

Penny started to say something and thought better of it, changing tack. “Conversations with you always take the strangest turns. Dangerous ones. We should go downstairs.”

Sisters were useless. Pippa would be better off talking to one of the prostitutes.

The prostitutes.

She adjusted her spectacles. “Back to the ladies, Penny. Are they prostitutes?”

Penny sighed and looked to the ceiling. “Not in so many words.”

“It is only one word,” Pippa pointed out.

“Well, suffice to say, they come with the gentlemen, but they are certainly not ladies.”

Fascinating.

Pippa wondered if Mr. Cross associated with the ladies in question. She wondered if they lay with him on that strange, small pallet in his cluttered, curious office. At the thought, something flared heavy and full in her chest. She considered the feeling, not quite nausea, not quite breathlessness.

Not quite pleasant.

Before she could assess the sensation further, Penelope continued. “At any rate, no matter what is happening at the club this evening, Bourne is decidedly not consorting with prostitutes.”

Pippa couldn’t imagine her brother-in-law doing anything of the sort. Indeed, she couldn’t imagine her brother-in-law doing much but dote on his wife these days. Theirs was a curious relationship—one of the rare marriages built on something more than a sound match.

In fact, most rational people would agree that there was absolutely nothing about Penelope and Bourne that would make for a sound match.

And somehow, they’d made just that.

Another curiosity.

Some might call it love, no doubt. And perhaps it was, but Pippa had never given much credence to the sentiment—with so few love matches in society, they were rather like mythological figures. Minotaurs. Or unicorns. Or Pegasuses.

Pegasii?

Neither, presumably, as there was only one Pegasus, but, as with love matches, one never knew.

“Pippa?” Penelope prodded.

Pippa snapped back to the conversation. What had they been discussing? Bourne. “Well, I don’t know why he would come,” Pippa pointed out. “No one expects him to stand on ceremony for society.”

“I expect him to do so,” Penelope said simply, as if that were all that mattered.

And apparently, it was. “Really, Penny. Leave the poor man alone.”

“Poor man,” Penny scoffed. “Bourne gets everything he wants, whenever he wants it.”

“It’s not as though he doesn’t pay a price,” Pippa retorted. “He must love you fiercely if he is coming. If I could avoid tonight, I would.”

“You are doing an excellent job of it as it is, and you cannot avoid tonight.”

Penny was right, of course. Half of London was below, and at least one of them was waiting for her to show her face.