Page 26 of It's a British Christmas

“Of course. I always engage in the snowball fights.” Merry slogged through the snow to where Clare also produced snowballs and knelt to help her. “In fact, I am the snowball queen.”

“Aren’t you cold, Miss Chambers?” Penrose spoke from his safe spot, a smirk on his handsome face.

Merry studied him−all stiff and proper. Dry as a bone and watching them from his comfortable perch at the front door. A tiny niggle of awareness settled in her middle. The cold brought out the color in his cheeks, his eyes snapping with his usual arrogance. Once again she remembered the kiss in the darkness of the library. How soft and warm his mouth had been, how hard his body felt against hers.

Now he appeared lofty, above her, a reminder of how far apart they stood. Before she could even form the words for what she planned to do, she picked up a good-sized snowball, and pulling her arm back, let it fly.

The snowball whacked the duke square in the head.

“Miss Merry!” Two astonished young voices screeched.

CHAPTER 8

The cold, wet mess slid slowly down Penrose’s forehead, over his nose, to his tightened lips, then dripped off his chin onto his coat. He dragged his hand down his face and headed toward his nemesis.

Eyes wide, but with a huge grin, Merry rose to her feet, and turned to run. His long legs ate up the distance to her. Her skirts dragged in the snow, hampering her escape. Penrose wrapped his arm around her middle from behind. “No one has hit me in the head with a snowball in over twenty years,” he growled in her ear.

Merry tugged free of his grip and promptly fell face-first into the snow when he released her. She jerked her head up, spitting out clumps of slush, still laughing. “I’m sorry.” Wiping her face, she attempted to stand and instead landed on her bottom. Tilting her head she regarded him. “No. I’m not sorry.”

“That does it. This time, Miss Chambers, you have gone too far.” Penrose wheeled and strode in the direction of the house but made a quick detour to the pile of snowballs alongside Lady Charlotte. The young girl stared at him open-mouthed. He dropped to his knees alongside her.

“Madam, this is war,” he shouted at Merry. He picked up a well-shaped ball of snow and hurled it in her direction. And hit her flat on the shoulder.

“Clare, some help, please,” Merry shouted in the direction where the girl stood in stunned silence.

Clare hurried to her side, and within minutes snowballs flew back and forth between the two pairs, the sound of shrieks and laughter filling the afternoon air.

Three days after the snowball fight, which Penrose took a lot of teasing about from both his mother and Brandon, the skies dumped another foot of snow.

The duchess, Penrose, Merry, Lord Brandon, and Miss Jennings gathered for dinner, the dining room warm and glowing from candles and the fireplace. Footmen scurried back and forth, serving curried rabbit and pouring wine until retreating to stand quietly against the wall.

As Penrose spooned fragrant clear soup into his mouth, he regarded Merry, who looked particularly delightful tonight in a pale aquamarine silk gown. The flames from the fireplace behind her cast a shadowy mystique over her face. Then she would turn her head to comment to another diner, and the radiance of her creamy skin and full lips tempted his senses. No matter how hard he tried, she was never far from his thoughts. Nor was his desire for her.

He smiled, remembering the audacity of her dragging him into a snowball fight. It was even worth the indignity he’d put up with since that eventful incident. For the first time in more years than he could remember he hadn’t felt like the duke. Just a man, playing in the snow with two young girls and a beautiful, mischievous woman.

That could be my family.

He shook his head. No. He liked his life just the way it was. No wife to bring complications into it. Especially one who scoffed at marriage being a business arrangement. Let Brandon produce the necessary heir. His gut tightened. As long as his brother didn’t set his sights on Merry.

“Penrose, with all this snow keeping us indoors, I’m feeling a bit restless. It’s a lovely, clear evening. Perhaps you could have the sleigh brought ‘round, and the horses hitched? I’m sure Miss Chambers and Miss Jennings would enjoy a ride in the night air. I know I would.”

“Mother, I haven’t thought of that sleigh in years. I wonder if it’s still serviceable?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Penrose signaled for the footman to have the stable master locate the large sleigh and prepare it for a ride.

“I’m afraid I must decline, Your Grace. My delicate constitution doesn’t allow for rides in the night air.” Miss Jennings raised her chin.

“As you wish,” he nodded in her direction.

“Indeed. A true lady must guard against taxing her system.” She looked down her nose at Merry, then turned to smile at Penrose, and missed the way Merry glanced up at the ceiling.

He coughed to cover his laugh.

His mother and Merry stood in the entrance hall, bundled up against the cold, when Penrose jogged down the stairs. “Excellent. Are we ready?”

“My dear, I was about to mention to Miss Chambers that it appears something must not have agreed with me at dinner, and I must bow out of our little ride.” His mother touched her stomach briefly and smiled sadly.