Page 28 of It's a British Christmas

She shook her head in response.

Had she discerned his thoughts at the moment, she would be petrified. Despite claiming he didn’t scare her she was certainly not unaffected by his closeness. Her pulse raced, evident by the throbbing in her neck that appeared almost painful. She drove him mad with her scent, her obvious arousal. He had to taste her, feel those soft lips under his. Gripping the back of her head, he gently rested his mouth on hers.

Penrose must’ve certainly heard her heart thundering in her chest. Was she afraid of him? Yes. Afraid of how he made her feel. And wish for things beyond her grasp that one only found in fairy tales.

As his warm lips covered hers, the light of a thousand candles burst behind her closed eyelids. She whimpered, and he pulled her closer. Everything inside her body throbbed. Her nipples ached where they pressed against her layers of clothing. The woman’s place between her legs throbbed, then moistened. What was happening to her? She’d never felt this before, and although it frightened her, her traitorous body longed for more.

Penrose drew back and held her face gently, brushing his thumb over her heated cheek. “I want you, Merry. Very much. And that should scare you.” Once more his head descended and he reclaimed her lips, crushing her against him. He slipped his tongue in, sweeping over the inside of her mouth, stroking, seeking all the sensitive parts. She tentatively used her tongue to meet his, spurring a groan to rumble from his chest.

He released her mouth and brushed kisses over the sensitive skin behind her ear. Shivers ran down her body.

“Are you cold?”

Quite the opposite. She wanted to remove every layer of clothing. And heaven help her, she wanted Penrose to do the same so she could rub her sensitive skin against his. Nothing in all the books and learning she’d had, prepared her for these feelings. “No, not cold. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am much overheated.”

Penrose chuckled and pulled back to stare into her eyes. “You never do or say what is expected.”

“’Tis a gift, Your Grace,” she whispered.

“We’d better get back.” He slid over and reclaimed the reins, and coldness replaced the warmth his body had provided. When she clasped her arms around herself, he pulled her to him, tucking her snugly into his side.

The ride home was swift, seeming to take much less time than their venture out. Her emotions were tumultuous, questions swimming around her mind. What would happen when they arrived home? Could they continue this back and forth dance without coming to the obvious conclusion? And what would happen afterward? Did she want to take the chance?

Penrose hopped from the sleigh and tossed the reins at the stable master. Taking Merry by her elbow, he escorted her to the house.

“I think a bit of brandy would warm us both up. Care to join me in the library, Miss Chambers?” Penrose shrugged out of his coat and peeled off his gloves. The footman helped relieve Merry of her cloak and pelisse she’d worn to keep warm. The house stood silent, a testament to its residents having retired for the night.

Although still confused by the kiss, and not sure where this would all lead, the thought of ending the night now dampened her spirits. “Yes, I think I could use a small drink.”

They entered the library, and Merry rubbed her hands together and headed toward the blazing fireplace. Her heart thumped, and with the silence in the room, felt certain Penrose could hear it, and would know how he affected her. She should leave, save herself from what she wanted so badly.

“Miss Chambers.” The duke’s deep voice rumbled behind her as he held out a crystal glass of sherry. Her heart pounded double time as her senses came alive at his scent. She stared at his strong hand, mesmerized. What would those hands feel like against her naked flesh? She closed her eyes, but the image stayed with her.

“Thank you.” She turned and cleared the squeak from her throat.

He gently touched her cheek, tenderness in his eyes.

Once they sat in front of the fire, a warm rush of memories from the other night raced through her. Only this time she wore clothes. She blushed. Why were her thoughts so wanton?

She slanted a look at Penrose, his long legs stretched in front of him. Generations of aristocracy had been bred into those features. Broad forehead, high cheekbones, and a straight nose above full lips. He studied the fire, taking unhurried swallows of brandy. Every time her gaze wandered to his mouth a spark of awareness clenched her stomach.

He’d said he wanted her. For what? Certainly she would never suffice as his duchess. Did he intend to seduce her, and then like so many aristocrats, send her on her way, or offer her carte blanche? She best be on her guard where the Duke of Penrose was concerned. Perhaps Miss Jennings had been correct, and all he would seek her from her would be a quick tumble.

Frustration mounted as she dwelled on how foolish she’d been already to allow his kisses. With his attractive looks, title, and money, the man before her could have any woman in England.

She dragged the remnants of her pride around her like a comforting wrap. Once Kitty’s Christmas Eve ball was over, she would leave. Perhaps if Penrose decided to take a bride, it would be the governess. He seemed to hold the woman in high regard, and the girls had adjusted well to her tutelage. Although no beauty in the classic sense, Merry didn’t imagine a man with Penrose’s sexual appetites would find it hard to bed Miss Jennings. And produce the heir and spare.

Penrose didn’t seem too interested in the usual way men of the ton pursued a wife. Kitty had confided that he hadn’t attended ton activities in years. As a duke, it was his responsibility to provide the heir, not leave it to his brother, as he intended. Surely he would eventually come to that decision. And Miss Jennings agreed with his assertion that marriage was no more than a business arrangement.

Penrose drained his glass, and then set it down, pulling her from her musings. He studied her for moment, a hungry look in his eyes. Then he rose and pulled her up with both hands, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I can no longer fight this.” Without further warning, he took possession of her mouth, gently at first, and then with power and persuasion. All her senses screamed, warning her to flee.

He released her lips, his warm breath causing her skin to tingle as he placed short, feathery kisses behind her ear, down her neck to her jaw. She tilted her head to give him greater access.

“Day and night, thoughts of you in my bed consume me,” he murmured as he continued his assault on her senses. “I never lose control. Never.” He drew back and looked in her eyes. “Until now.”

Merry licked her dry lips and Penrose groaned. “I want to make love to you, breaking one of my strictest rules about bedding women under my employ.”

“I am not in your employ, but your mother’s,” she breathed.