A Winter Wedding Page 20

  “That is not where the laces are,” she chastised. “Besides, you could hurt yourself.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You’ll see,” she answered grimly.

  He was taking too many liberties. He went back to his work and untied the laces, which had been tucked deftly into the petticoat. The lacy petticoat was the next to go carefully over her head. To his disappointment, more petticoats presented themselves, though with the removal of each layer her clothing became more sheer, revealing more and more of her shape underneath.

  “One more thing,” she said without looking at him. “Somewhere on the side there are pins. Could you help me find them?”

  “Pins?” He looked carefully and found two straight pins, one on each side, which smoothed the bodice. “I never knew young ladies went around so armed. Do you not ever stick yourself by mistake?”

  “Not if it’s done correctly. The remaining petticoats lace in front. I can do the rest myself.” She was dismissing him.

  He remained planted to the floor. Somewhere in his mind, the rational English gentleman was wishing her a pleasant good night and leaving her to retire to his own bedchamber alone. He knew that was the right answer, but somehow the rogue within him refused to leave the room. He was alone with Penelope Rose, who was in a delightful state of undress. When would such an opportunity come again?

  He realized the question was more than rhetorical. He wanted it to happen again. And again.

  “Are you leaving?” she asked, her voice husky, her eyes glimmering in the candlelight.

  “Do you wish me to leave?”

  “No.”

  One word changed everything. “What do you wish?” Now his voice was raspy.

  Penelope removed the pins from her hair, letting her brown locks fall free. James sucked in his breath. In the candlelight, with her brown hair falling in waves down to her waist, she was nothing like the well-disciplined Penelope of the day. This Penelope was a free, wild, beautiful creature. The desire to touch her was more powerful than he could deny, and he stepped to her, threading his fingers through her thick, silky hair.

  “You are lovely,” he murmured and pulled her close and kissed her before one or the other of them could talk themselves out of it. She was warm and the taste of her surged through him. He felt like a man waking up from a long sleep. The dreary sophistication of London society was stripped away, and he was truly, wonderfully alive. He deepened the kiss and she responded with a fervor that only sparked his desire with more passion than he had ever experienced before.

  He walked her to the bed without breaking their kiss. Now he had a new plan to trap her into marriage. If he bedded her, she would be forced to marry him. It was a satisfactory conclusion and so he continued, pushing her gently down onto the bed. He flung off his robe and covered her, wearing nothing more than his nightshirt.

  She squirmed beneath him in a manner that raised his interest significantly, almost painfully. He settled into kissing as she ran her hands up and down his back, and then grabbed his backside. All conscious thought stopped, and he kissed down her neck to the hollow of her throat and down farther to her chest. He lingered with his face in her full bosom. This is where he belonged, where he wanted to stay. He slowly slid a hand under her thin petticoat and worked up her leg to her thigh.

  “No, no, we cannot.” Penelope gasped, but her arms remained firmly around his neck, pulling him down on top of her.

  “I assure you we certainly can,” said Marchford with his mouth full.

  “If we do this, you might feel some small obligation to marry me.”

  “When we do this, I shall feel an absolute obligation to marry you.”

  “No!” Penelope released him and pushed him away. “I shall not be accused of trapping you into marriage.”

  He was too much of a gentleman not to stand back up and allow her to scramble up beside him. “My dear girl, I am trapping you into marriage,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Do not gammon me. You had no intention to marry me. You simply asked because we got caught.” She was breathless and adorable.

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that reason is not good enough for marriage nor lends itself to any sort of affection on your part.”

  “Penelope, I fear my true feelings for you must be patently obvious.” He gestured down to the tent he was making with his nightshirt.

  “Mere lust.” She waved a hand to dismiss it.

  He was displeased his show of manly prowess was rejected in such an offhand manner. “I have desired women before you, but I have never offered marriage. This is no mere lust.”

  Penelope’s chin wobbled. “What is it then?” Her voice was thick with emotion.

  It was a legitimate question, but one he was not prepared to answer. He decided to evade. “We will be married.”

  Penelope shook her head. “You must tell me why.”

  “Because we work well together. Because we share an attraction neither of us can deny. You are a sensible girl and are able to tolerate my grandmother. These are all good reasons. I should think I do not pose an unworthy partner for you. My station and situation in life should make you very comfortable.”

  Penelope gave him a small smile with wet eyes. “Yes, but you see your situation in life would make me very uncomfortable. It would be different if there was…” She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Forgive me, but your offer is not good enough. Good night, Your Grace.”

  “Not good enough?” He grabbed his robe and wrapped it around himself to have some dignity. It was intolerable to be rejected by a woman while he was standing at attention for her.

  “You have offered everything any girl would want, except what I want,” she said in utter vagueness.

  “And what is that?”

  “I have already told you.”

  “I cannot recall,” he lied.

  “Love.”

  The word hung heavy and dropped to the pit of his stomach like a stone. He knew what she was going to say, but somehow hoped she would request something he was better able to provide.

  “I want to be loved. I want to be adored. Anything less than that is a poor bargain.” Her lips trembled, but her chin rose.

  His tongue grew heavy in his mouth. He had never told anyone he loved them, just as the words had never been spoken to him. Was that true? He paused in thought. Not his grandmother certainly, not his mother either. No, he knew nothing of that particular malady, so how could he offer it with any authenticity?

  “I hold you in high regard.” It was the best he could offer.

  One eyebrow rose.

  “I have great esteem for you.”

  “But you do not love me.”

  “Dammit, Penelope, you are asking more of me than I have to give.”

  She walked to the door and opened it. She was a slight woman, especially in her disrobed state, but she was firm in her determination.

  The walk back to his chamber was a long one, despite being a relatively short distance down the hall. What had happened? How dare she ask more of him than he was prepared to give? If she would not accept him as he was, so be it. It would be her loss.

  The grief accompanying these musings was pushed beneath the rising confidence that whispered to him that he could change her mind. She was not immune to his charms, such as they were. He smiled to himself. He could persuade her. He could trap her. He was not proud of such tactics, but he quickly brushed that concern aside. He wanted to marry Penelope Rose without giving anything of himself away. Surely that was not too much to ask.

  Tomorrow he would pay a visit to Doctors’ Commons for a special license, and then, whenever he could contrive to entrap her, he would marry Penelope before she knew what was good for her. The game was on.

  Twenty-six

  Penelope had difficulty sleeping, knowing tha
t just down the hall was the object of her powerful lust. How she had the strength to send him away she did not know. She needed to hold out for a declaration of affection, but she still wished to taste the delectable treats Marchford offered.

  What irony that she had initially suggested they share a bed as a way to grab back some control for her life, and now she felt more out of control than ever. If ye find yerself cut off from the vine, ye best drop the saw. Grandma Moira’s words floated back to her. It was true. She wanted to blame James, but she was as much a part of this as he. And tonight was her fault entirely.

  She did want to marry the man, but she knew with certainty, however, that a marriage based on obligation and fleeting lust would end in misery for both of them. She would never be happy loving a man who could not love her in return. And what would happen when he pursued other interests? The prospect of being married to him while he carried on with a mistress was simply too horrible to contemplate.

  After a restless night, she greeted the pale dawn with resignation. It would never work between her and the duke; she needed to let it go. She dressed modestly and glowered at the maid until Abigail performed her duty in silence. It was two days before the wedding of Antonia and Lord Langley, and there was much to be done. Pen would focus on her work and ignore handsome distractions.

  On her way to the morning room, Pen became aware something was dreadfully wrong. A loud honking sound, a strange rustling, and a loud crash were coming from the usually peaceful morning room. Penelope opened the door slowly, with some trepidation.

  “What on earth?”

  “Geese!” cried Marchford. “I wish you a very happy sixth day of Christmas.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” asked Penelope, utterly aghast. Six large, white geese were running afoul in the sitting room. Some were standing on the furniture; others were walking about, pecking at things. One was pulling at the drapes; another was doing something untoward on the rug.

  “Six geese a laying,” explained James, with a mischievous grin. “I have got that right, haven’t I? It is six geese today. I know how much you enjoy the Christmas holiday so…” He gestured at the rampaging geese.

  “James Arthur Lockton!” cried the dowager as she followed the sounds of commotion. “What have you done, boy?”

  “I am attempting romance,” said James without apology, even when one bird flapped its wings and a china figurine went flying, crashing onto the floor.

  “This is not romantic, you fool!” cried his grandmother. “Langley! Peters! Help!”

  “I tried to explain to Miss Rose that I am not romantic, but she insisted. This is my poor best, I fear.” He surveyed the chaos before him with laughing eyes. “Oh look, mistletoe!” He grabbed Penelope and planted a breathtaking kiss on her lips.

  Penelope’s treacherous body sank into him. “You are horrible,” accused Pen in a shaky voice when he finally let her free. “Utterly reprehensible,” she added, trying not to laugh.

  The commotion brought another member of the Marchford household, Miles the Peruvian Jungle Cat, who looked at the birds as vile interlopers into his domain. He joined the fray with a hiss and a meow, chasing the birds into a heated frenzy. Geese flew, drapes fell, tables toppled. Lord Langley and Peters rushed in to help, adding to the crazed, honking disaster.

  “I did warn you,” said Marchford with a hint of a smile, not offering to help in the least.

  “Bad show, very bad show!” condemned Langley, holding one goose by a leg and the other by the neck.

  “Get them!” shrieked the dowager. “Get them all out!”

  “Yes, dear!” replied Langley, shooting Marchford another glare.

  “You are a horrible man,” said Penelope, feeling obligated to rush into the fray.

  “Just wait,” Marchford called after her with a wicked grin. “Tomorrow is swans and then come the cows!”

  ***

  It took some time to get the geese out of the house and even longer to get the feathers out of her hair. And all the while she cursed Marchford, even as she was secretly touched that he would risk the ire of his grandmother to garner her affection.

  That afternoon, Penelope was called to join Antonia and Langley to discuss wedding plans when she passed the door of Marchford’s study.

  “Miss Rose, a word if you please,” the Duke of Marchford called out to her. He was sitting much as he usually did, at his desk, his head bent over his work.

  She stopped and took a deep breath. Even the sound of his voice could set her heart to pounding. Wary, she walked to the door but did not enter. “Your grandmother has sworn to never speak to you again.”

  He looked up with a grin. “Truly? Should have filled the house with birds years ago.”

  “You are incorrigible.”

  “Naturally. Come in, please, and shut the door.”

  She did as was requested, wondering if there had been some new information in their investigations. “Do you have new information?”

  “Indeed.” He stood absently as she moved forward to take a chair. They both sat down. “First, I would like to update you on information regarding the case. I have learned that Lord Felton is actually working with the Foreign Office to import wine with secret messages on the bottle label. Unfortunately, this system has been compromised by the fact that we saw someone trying to intercept these messages.”

  “Interesting,” said Penelope, greatly relieved to be speaking of catching spies and not anything else. “But why would the spymaster send one of the secret message decanters to Lord Felton’s home?”

  “Particularly when the man does not entertain,” added Marchford. “Yes, there is some explaining to do.”

  “So what is our next move?”

  “Sprot is talking with Felton. Also, at least one set of the special decanters remains at large in society. We need to find them, so I would appreciate your eyes and ears anytime you go out.”

  “Yes, of course. You have my full support.”

  “I am very glad to hear it. Especially since you will probably not like the next thing I must say to you.” Marchford stood and strolled back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. In a blue, tailored coat, tight breeches, and Hessian boots, he was a stunning image.

  “I have been giving some thought to our situation,” Marchford continued. “The facts as I see them are this. First, I have made a public proposal, which you publicly accepted. Second, you have privately declined such an offer for reasons of your own.”

  “I do believe I made my reasons clear,” interrupted Penelope.

  Marchford held up a hand to stop her. “Please hold all questions and comments to the end.” He cleared his throat and continued to pace. “Third, society has made false accusations against you, which would only be confirmed if the engagement were broken, because it would be assumed I had been the one to walk away.”

  Penelope opened her mouth to express outrage at this assumption, but Marchford again held up a hand and she fell silent. Though it angered her, she had to admit he was most likely correct. The disillusionment of the engagement would only be seen as the duke coming to his senses. Who would believe she refused him?

  “Fourth, between us there exists a mutual attraction neither can deny. Thus, in looking at the situation logically, soberly, I have decided there is only one course of action I can pursue.” He stopped and gazed at her, his sage eyes gleaming.

  “Which is?” prompted Penelope.

  “I must trap you into marriage.”

  Penelope sat in stunned silence. “What?” It was all she could manage.

  “I am going to trap you into marriage,” he repeated.

  “Wait, what?” She stood up, then sat back down. “I thought you already did that.”

  “Yes, a lesser woman would consider herself trapped by a public acceptance. You, however, are a hardened case and require more con
vincing. I believe that only the threat of bearing a child out of wedlock would induce you to accept my hand in marriage.”

  Penelope’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t help herself. “What are you suggesting?”

  “As a friend, I thought it only fair to give you warning that I plan to seduce you to my bed…or wherever I can get you alone.” He gave her a self-confident smile.

  Her body turned traitor, her heart pounding, her hands sweating. Despite everything, there was a part of her that wished to offer herself to him that very moment. Infuriating man! “So you are telling me that you plan to force me—”

  “Oh no. Not force. I am a gentleman, after all.”

  “You claim to be a gentleman, but then say you are going to seduce me into accepting your marriage proposal?”

  Marchford looked up at the ceiling, considering her argument. “Yes, I suppose that is not exactly a gentlemanly action.” His eyes pierced hers once again. “More the actions of a duke. I am giving you fair warning, that you must concede.”

  Penelope panicked and stood up, placing the chair between her and him. “I wish you would let me be.”

  “Do you?” He walked closer, and she backed up to the wall. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. “I have acquired a special license so we will be wed as soon as you have been sufficiently convinced.”

  “You did not get a license.” She was in disbelief.

  “Special license,” he corrected. “Returned from Doctors’ Commons this morning.”

  She wished to tell him to back away, but she did not—could not. The desire to kiss him was overpowering. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder. He trapped her, putting his hands on the wall on either side of her. She did not care to get away and instead tilted her head up to him.

  His kiss was surprisingly soft, patient. She put another hand on his shoulder and pressed closer to him, her hand moving to the back of his neck. He increased the pressure as well, deepening the kiss. Colors swirled before her closed eyes, and she lost herself in the moment of the kiss, leaning on him for support as her legs gave way. He increased the intensity, pressing forward with his hips, showing her exactly what was on his mind.