Page 16 of It's a British Christmas

“Excellent. Come join me by the fireplace, and I’ll soon have a blazing fire to warm us.”

She took a step, then hesitated. “I’m not really sure which way to go.”

“Wait. I’ll come to you.”

His warm hand reached out and grasped her elbow. She drew in a sharp breath as her skin heated where he touched. After a short walk, she was relieved to reach the chair and break the contact. She took the glass of sherry from him with a shaky hand. Penrose studied her for a minute, the sharp planes of his face mimicking a drawing of the devil she’d seen as a child.

“Do you often have problems sleeping?” He settled in the chair next to her and regarded her over the rim of his brandy glass.

Now more clearly visible with the glow from the fireplace, the duke mesmerized her. He’d removed his jacket and cravat, exposing the tanned skin at his throat, wisps of dark curls peeking up from his shirt opening. A brightly colored banyan covered his white shirt and breeches. His dark hair fell over his forehead in waves, causing her fingers to twitch with the desire to smooth it back.

“Sometimes.” She sipped her sherry, already feeling lightheaded, but not, she suspected, from the wine.

He swallowed a bit of the amber liquid, closing his eyes briefly as he did. She watched, fascinated, as his throat muscles worked. Her body warmed and softened, parts of her she never thought about tingled, inducing her to shift in the seat. This was preposterous. If she didn’t leave soon, her body would slide to the floor in a puddle. She placed her glass on the table between them and stood. “I must be off to bed now.”

“Please don’t go, Miss Chambers.”

Merry hesitated, but reluctantly sat. “The two of us being here together, alone, is not proper.”

“You are correct, but who’s to know, except us?”

“That’s not the point, Your Grace. What would Miss Jennings say?”

“Ah, Miss Jennings.” He slanted Merry a look. “The perfect governess.”

She gave an unladylike snort. A glance at the duke caught him in a smile.

“It appears Miss Jennings does not quite approve of you.”

“Neither do you, Your Grace.”

His brows drew together. “Please stop with the ‘Your Grace.’ It gets burdensome after a while.”

Merry’s lips quirked. “I have the feeling you rarely find your title burdensome, Your…”

“Penrose. Why don’t you call me that instead?” When she inclined her head, he remarked, “So you believe love and marriage are compatible?” His intense gaze encompassed her as if she were a bug under glass. She felt exposed and smothered at the same time.

Nonplussed by his quick shift in conversation, she raised her chin. “Yes, I do. My parents had a love match, and I will not marry without love.”

“Foolish child.” He shook his head as he studied the brandy he swirled.

“I beg your pardon!” Merry felt the heat rise to her face.

He glanced quickly at her. “Once again I must apologize. I meant no insult.”

“Her Grace told me she and your father were in love.”

“That’s true. However, it didn’t start that way, and they were lucky love remained. Things could turn messy if a couple fell out of love. Better to marry without that expectation.” He drained the last of his brandy and set the glass aside. “To me marriage is all a business arrangement, nothing more.”

“And at four and thirty you have not been successful in securing a business arrangement for yourself?”

“Ah. Straightforward speaking. A trait of the Americans.”

Since her brash statement didn’t have him ordering her to her room, she continued. “You are a duke, with responsibilities. Surely someone as dedicated to his title as you are would have ensured the continuation of the Penrose line and filled his nursery by now. An heir and a spare, is that not the accepted vernacular?”

“Lord Brandon is my heir.”

“And it appears he has done nothing to secure the title, either. So neglectful, Your Grace.”