A Winter Wedding (18 page)

There were times in a man’s life when he needed to tread very carefully to avoid potential pitfalls, traps, and the failings that entangled weaker men. Considering the angry female before him who had just suggested sharing his bed for the night, Marchford knew this was one of those times. Standing over him, she had him at a disadvantage. He was in his bedclothes and unsure whether it would be more proper to stand and reveal himself in his night shift or allow her to remain standing.

He motioned to a chair. “Sit!”

She sat but not on the chair; she defiantly chose the bed. He resisted both the urge to scoot away from her and the rather stronger urge to grab her and pull her under the covers to join him. No, he must be strong.

“Is this some sort of test of my honorable nature, Miss Rose?”

“Penelope,” she corrected. “Now that we’ve been introduced, how about helping me out of this gown?”

Marchford weighed his options. He very much wanted to remove the gown, yet he suspected that tomorrow she would not look kindly to his taking the offer. “Penelope. I strongly suggest you return to your room. Call for the maid, and go to bed. It would be sensible.”

“Yes, perhaps. But what has being sensible ever done for me? I was determined always to do the right thing. I never allowed myself to be out of control, at least not until I met you. And you see where it has gotten me? Everyone believes I am a seductress.”

“The
ton
lives on gossip. Most people know not to believe half of it.”

“Truly? In my experience, most people believe every word.”

“Even if others believe the worst, it does not mean we should conduct ourselves with anything less than the highest level of propriety.”

“Propriety? What of the kisses? What of everything else we did? Was that proper?”

No, it wasn’t. In truth, even before she had entered his bedroom, his mind had wandered from his book to that day in the wardrobe. Yet another reason why he could not immediately rise from the bed—his interest would be immediately apparent. Her proposal had in no way lessened his firm interest.

“Penelope.” He paused. He was not sure what to say. He wanted her in his bed. More than he cared to say.

“Yes?” She waited for him expectantly. “You were trying to come up with some excuse for kissing me.”

“I have none other than the fact that I am only human and I failed in any attempt toward restraint.”

“Did you attempt restraint?”

“Yes, though clearly my resolve was not up to the challenge.”

She moved closer. “Which only leads me to wonder what a kiss with you might be like when you are not restrained.”

Marchford’s pulse jumped and beat a fast staccato rhythm. He was not unaccustomed to danger, nor even having females attempt a seduction to try to secure a proposal. Yet he never felt like his heart might burst around anyone but Penelope. Was this a test? Was she trying to trap him into declaring emotions he wished never to reveal? “Are you trying to confound me with lust to win a declaration of love?”

Penelope stood and her eyes flashed. “How dare you! How dare you accuse me of trying to entrap you into anything when you were the one to ensnare me!” She stomped to the door and Marchford was obliged to fling off the blankets and chase after her before she could reach the door.

“I apologize for my words. Forgive me. Careless thoughts.”

Penelope turned, her eyes blazing. “I am tired of having my actions be consistently seen through the lens of a poor social climber who is intent on marrying a duke and is willing to do anything to achieve her goal. Do you think for one second I would accept you as a husband now? You who has allowed my good name to be trampled? Who do you think you are? Do you truly believe I would accept a man whom I could not trust? Whom I could not respect? Who does not believe me to be his social equal?”

Marchford stepped back from her wrath. “I apologize again for any harm that has befallen your reputation as a result of my marriage proposal, though honestly I never thought I would need to beg forgiveness for making an offer. If you hold me in such obvious disgust, why offer to sharemy bed?”

Penelope flushed and began to pace. “I despise you,” she grumbled.

“You despise me so much you wish to sleep with me?”

“Yes. No. Oh, I do not know what I am about.”

“Which I am certain is my fault.”

“Yes, yes, it is. I am glad you own it.”

“Absolutely and without hesitation. I should take this moment also to apologize for the snow tomorrow and any other inconvenience, however slight, you may experience.”

“Right now my main inconvenience is that I am stuck in this gown and I would rather cut it off than face that maid again.”

“Here, I can be of assistance.” Marchford grabbed his banyan robe and wrapped it around himself, offering an arm to Penelope. “Allow me to be your abigail tonight.”

This won him a slight smile. She stopped pacing and accepted his arm.

“But first, allow me to give you something. It is after midnight, so this gift may be appropriate.” Remembering Grant’s suggestion that he enact a campaign of charm, he opened the drawer on his nightstand table and pulled out the red box from the jeweler. “Happy fifth day of Christmas.”

Penelope accepted the box but stared at it without opening it. “What is it?”

“It is a gift. Open it,” he commanded.

So she did. Even in the small light of the lantern, he could not miss how her eyes widened.

“Five gold rings, just like the rhyme.” She blinked away tears. “It is beautiful, though I do not know what I would do with five rings.”

“Choose one you like and wear it for me.” He thought it a simple answer, yet she responded with a trembling bottom lip and an impulsive embrace.

He wrapped his arms around her, delighting in how her body melted into his. He wanted her. Now. Was it too late to reconsider her offer to share his bed?

“Thank you. I do appreciate the gift,” she finally said, recovering from the unusual display of emotion.

Marchford made a mental note to buy her more jewelry. He would forgo the swans and the cows.

“I think it past time I went to bed.” Penelope smiled up at him, then down at the rings.

He grabbed his candle, and they softly padded down the corridor to her smaller bedchamber. They entered, and he put the light on the stand by her bed. She had clearly moved beyond her rash offer, so he attempted to focus on the task at hand, not the woman before him.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” apologized Penelope. “I was not thinking clearly. I cannot imagine why I said what I did.”

“I have put you into a difficult situation. I thought my declaration would reduce the gossip, but it only increased it.”

“They would gossip if you had not.”

“But it was my fault you were in the wardrobe.”

“And my fault I hurt my ankle.”

And
my
fault
I
kissed
you
. But he did not say that. He understood her anger and frustration with the situation, but he was still genuinely confused about her interest in sleeping together. Was that simply what she said when she was angry? If so, how could he raise her ire at him again? He shook his head, banishing traitorous thoughts.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose there is much blame to go around, but I think we ought to place it squarely on the shoulders of the nameless, faceless society, and benefit from the clear conscious of self-righteous bias.”

The comment earned him another weary smile from Penelope. “Yes, by all means, let us blame someone other than ourselves.”

“Good, it is settled. Let me now perform the office for which I have come, and I shall allow you to get some sleep.” He tried to keep his words light. He should not reveal how powerful an effect she was having on him. He wished now more than anything to take her to bed. He had been a fool to talk her out of it when he’d had the chance.

She slowly turned around so he could focus his attentions on her back. He stepped up gamely and attempted to undo the enclosures. Fortunately, from this position, she could not see if his hands shook. Her shoulders were rounded nicely, her back was straight as always, and although her gown was high waisted, according to the latest fashion, he could tell by the way the gown swished when she turned that she tapered into a nice little waist.

He cleared his throat and focused on the business at hand. Buttons. Millions of the tiny things.

“Good gracious, no wonder you could not do this without assistance,” commented Marchford.

“I would need detachable arms.”

“Indeed, I may be here awhile. How very tiny.” He was in no great hurry. He was enjoying this considerably too much to rush the experience. With every button, a little more of her was exposed. At first his efforts revealed the milky white skin of her back. His fingers brushed accidentally against her, convincing him of her incredibly soft skin. He then brushed his fingertips across her skin in a manner that was not at all accidental.

Next, he began to reveal the edges of the petticoats. Lace was first to show and he was delighted it was a soft pink. He would not have guessed that staid, somber Penelope wore pink, lace petticoats.

At last he had undone the tiny buttons and was unsure how to proceed. At least, he knew exactly what he wanted, but despite being supposedly affianced to the woman before him, he was unsure how to convince her to stay with him, at least in a manner that allowed him to stay aloof. Truth be told, he was far from feeling emotionally distant from Penelope Rose.

“I will need some assistance in removing this gown if you are finally finished with the buttons,” said Penelope in a matter-of-fact voice. She was trying to appear unmoved by the situation, but her shallow breathing said otherwise.

“Yes of course,” he murmured, always ready to be of assistance to a lady. His lady. He helped her gently tug off the tightly fitted sleeves and pull the gown up over her head, revealing the marvel of Penelope in a state of undress. To be sure, she remained mostly covered, but her arms were now bare and the effect undressing Penelope was having on him was undeniable.

Penelope cleared her throat. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Quite abominably I fear.”

She glared at him, but the intensity only enhanced his interest.

“This petticoat laces in the back.” She presented him once more with her back side, and he once more was left to appreciate her figure freely and without censure. He ran his hands over the petticoat and smoothed the fabric down on either side to find her natural waist—just as he suspected, a narrow waist and nice rounded curves.

“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.