She should never have worn this gown. If one more gentleman talked to her breasts, she would scream. The gentleman introduced to her as Lord Grey had cornered her a while ago, and kept moving closer than what was acceptable. If only she could loosen one of her hairpins to stick his hand.
Once more she edged away from him and turned her head to see Penrose striding toward them, his face a mask of fury. She stiffened her spine, ready to do battle.
Her stomach released a horde of butterflies. Why did he have to look so good? A myriad of eyes watched him from above silk fans as he strode past. Her heart hammered at the sight of his broad shoulders as he eased his way through the crowd. Dark waves of silky hair fell over his forehead, drawing her attention to his eyebrows, furrowed above piercing brown eyes. She gulped. This would be much easier to do if she didn’t have to look at him.
He gripped Grey’s shoulder. “Grey. I believe Lady St. James is looking for you.”
About to object, Lord Grey backed away when he observed Penrose’s face. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Penrose took her gloved hand in his, kissed it, then staring into her eyes, swept her into the first dance. All the arrogance of His Grace, Duke of Penrose, emanated from his hard body.
Heat diffused her face at the memory of that arrogance cracking under the spell of their shared passion. Her flesh tingled where his palm gripped her back. As he brought them into a turn, he pulled her closer. His dancing was a
s graceful as everything else about him.
“It appears I will have to replace your lady’s maid.” His deep voice swept over her like a curtain of fire.
Unable to speak, Merry didn’t reply, but merely raised her eyebrows.
His jaw worked. “She seems to have forgotten the rest of your gown.”
Merry lifted her chin. All the cutting remarks she’d worked out in her mind throughout the day had fled at Penrose’s touch. Why did he affect her so? Where was the anger she’d felt last night after hearing his intention to become betrothed to Miss Jennings?
After making love to me.
Gathering the mantle of righteous indignation about her, she cast him a tight smile. “This gown is precisely the way it should be. And you have no right to criticize my choice of clothing.”
“And that will soon change.” He moved them toward the French doors, and then grasping her hand tightly, all but dragged her onto the terrace.
“Your Grace, it’s freezing out here.” She ran her palms up and down her arms.
“We need a quiet place to talk, and I don’t want to march you through that room with every man in there staring at your bosom.” He shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her.
She pulled the jacket closer. “’Tis my bosom to stare at.” The warmth from his body transferred itself to her, along with his scent, crippling her heart.
“Merry.” He took both her hands in his. “I’ve been trying see you alone all day.”
“Under the circumstances, Your Grace, ‘tis very inappropriate.”
He slid his arms around her, then gathered her close. “But not for long. What I’m about to ask you will make it acceptable for me to be alone with you any time I wish.”
The blood rushed to her face. The nerve of the man. Not only was he going to expect her to be his mistress, he would also demand her time and attention any time he chose. Oh, how her palm itched to smack that smug face.
“Indeed?” She raised her eyebrows, all the time dying on the inside.
He cupped her chin. “Miss Chambers, I am requesting you do me the honor of becoming my duchess.”
Her heart pounded in righteous indignation. She reared back. “How dare you? You think because…” She stopped and stared at him wide-eyed. “What?”
“I’m asking you to marry me, sweetheart.”
Merry stared at him in shocked silence, then shook her head. “Marry you?”
“Yes.”
“What about Miss Jennings?”
“Who?”