Merry Chambers had passion. When she baited him, and when she spoke of Boston, it was there in her eyes. To unleash that passion would be a man’s pleasure. But with her notions of marriage with love, it would be best to stay far away from her.
He hadn’t loved Lady Eleanor all those years ago when he’d lost to Bedford. He’d merely decided she would make an excellent duchess. Her family was an old, respected one. She was graceful, charming, and beautiful. He would’ve had no problem bedding her, but in no way did she stir his blood. The only woman who had ever done that had just left the room.
Drat his mother for employing Miss Chambers. As delightful as she was to look at and daydream about, she still possessed those odd ideas about her station in life. She certainly had no regard for the difference in classes. She felt free to bait him whenever the mood struck her. Never had anyone, particularly a woman, stood up to him the way she did.
Perhaps her reaction to him came from the same fire that burned in him. He smiled. They certainly did seem to rile each other.
Suddenly he looked forward to having Miss Chambers about for a while. Life had become too dull and predictable.
Merry tossed in her bed, attempting to get comfortable enough to sleep. Finally realizing that comfort wasn’t the problem, she threw off the quilt and swung her legs over the edge. Feeling around with her toes, she slid her feet into her slippers and grabbed the wrapper at the foot of her bed.
Perhaps if she had a book she could read until she felt sleepy. Every time she closed her eyes, a vision of Penrose, with his deep brown eyes and wicked smile, tortured her. How could a man be so comely and have such arrogance at the same time? She didn’t want to be aware of his presence, his scent. Nor to think on how his large hands would feel touching her skin, or his lips closing over hers. The man was a duke for heaven’s sake, and even she, an American, knew he was well beyond her.
Goodness, now I’m beginning to sound like Miss Jennings.
Merry quietly slipped out of her room and descended the stairs. The door to the library stood partially opened, but no candlelight glowed. She entered the room and inhaled deeply of the comforting smell. How she loved being surrounded by books, and the inevitable scent of brandy. The air in her father’s library had always carried the same mixture.
She found a small candelabra with a flint alongside it on a table near the door. With the lighting in front of her, she headed to the bookshelves and began to peruse the titles, looking for something uninteresting enough to lull her to sleep. Her gaze wandered over volumes of history and science.
“Ah, another nighttime wanderer.”
Merry yelped and jumped as that deep voice rolled over her. She spun around, the movement causing the candles to snuff out. “Your Grace, you scared me to death!”
“I apologize, Miss Chambers.” He must have moved in her direction because she could sense his presence. “Here, allow me to re-light your candles.”
A flash of light, and his face appeared above the flint he held. With the shadows cast upon his countenance, he looked almost sinister. He smiled, white teeth flashing, and the picture of the devil himself was complete.
Merry’s mouth dried up, and she eased back, hitting the bookcase behind her. “I’m…I hoped...I was looking for a book.” She ran her tongue over her lips. What sounded like a growl emanated from deep within Penrose’s chest.
“Do not let me keep you from your search.” He touched the flint to a candle he held in his hand and moved away. Penrose made his way to the sideboard. “I merely came for a bit of brandy to aid my sleep.” Though she couldn’t easily see him in the dark shadows beyond the circle of candle light blinding her, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass played over her ears.
“May I pour you some sherry?”
Her heart thumped in her chest, and not all from the fright he’d given her. Here she stood in her nightgown, with only a flimsy wrapper over it. Instead of rushing from the room to protect her virtue, she seriously considered accepting his offer. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Why in heaven’s name did I say that?
“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?”