There was no sign of her, however, so Blake just cursed again and let the curtain drop. It was then that he heard a loud, rather strident knock at the front door.

Blake cursed for a third time, unaccountably irritated that he'd incorrectly anticipated her behavior. He made his way to the door in long, quick strides, his brain filled to the brim with all the lectures he was going to pelt at her. By the time he was through with her, she'd never dare pull this sort of stunt again.

His hand touched the doorknob and he yanked it open, his voice an angry growl as he said, “Where the hell have you—”

His mouth fell open.

Then he blinked.

Then he snapped his mouth shut again.

“Penelope?”

Chapter 15

so-ror-i-cide (noun). The action of killing one's sister.

I feared sororicide. I truly did.

—From the personal dictionary of Caroline Trent

Penelope smiled breezily at him and strode into the hall. “It is so lovely to see you, Blake. I'm sure you're surprised.”

“Yes, yes, you could say that.”

“I would have been here earlier—”

Earlier?

“—but I had a slight carriage accident and if it weren't for dear Miss Dent here—”

Blake looked back out the door and saw Caroline.

Caroline?

“—I should have been completely stranded. Of course I had no idea we were so close to Seacrest Manor, and as I was saying, if it weren't for dear Miss Dent—”

He looked back at Caroline, who was frantically shaking her head at him.

Miss Dent?

“—who knows how long I would have remained sitting on my trunk by the side of the road, mere minutes from my destination.” Penelope paused for breath and beamed at him. “Doesn't the irony just kill you?”

“That's not the only thing,” Blake muttered.

Penelope stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “You're the same as ever, dear brother. No sense of humor.”

“I have a perfectly fine sense of humor,” he said, a touch defensively. “It's simply that I'm not used to being surprised—completely surprised I might add—by an unexpected guest. And you've dragged along Miss—” Ah, damn. What the hell had Penelope called her?

“Dent,” Caroline supplied helpfully. “Miss Dent.”

“Ah. And have we been introduced?”

His sister sent an angry look his way, which didn't surprise him in the least. A gentleman was not supposed to forget a lady, and Penelope took great stock in good manners. “Don't you recall?” she said loudly. “It was at the county dance last autumn. Miss Dent told me all about it.”

The bloody county dance? What sort of tales had Caroline been spinning about him? “Of course,” he said in a smooth voice. “I don't recall who introduced us, though. Was it your cousin?”

“No,” Caroline replied in a voice so sweet it might as well have been dripping honey, “it was my great aunt. Mrs. Mumblethorpe. Surely you remember her?”

“Ah, yes!” he said expansively, motioning for her to enter the hall. “The magnificent Mrs. Mumblethorpe. How could I have possibly forgotten? She is a singular lady. Last time we dined together she was showing off her new yodeling skills.”