A Winter Wedding (19 page)

“I assure you we certainly can,” said Marchford with his mouth full.

“If we do this, you might feel some small obligation to marry me.”

“When we do this, I shall feel an absolute obligation to marry you.”

“No!” Penelope released him and pushed him away. “I shall not be accused of trapping you into marriage.”

He was too much of a gentleman not to stand back up and allow her to scramble up beside him. “My dear girl, I am trapping
you
into marriage,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Do not gammon me. You had no intention to marry me. You simply asked because we got caught.” She was breathless and adorable.

“Yes, but—”

“And that reason is not good enough for marriage nor lends itself to any sort of affection on your part.”

“Penelope, I fear my true feelings for you must be patently obvious.” He gestured down to the tent he was making with his nightshirt.

“Mere lust.” She waved a hand to dismiss it.

He was displeased his show of manly prowess was rejected in such an offhand manner. “I have desired women before you, but I have never offered marriage. This is no mere lust.”

Penelope’s chin wobbled. “What is it then?” Her voice was thick with emotion.

It was a legitimate question, but one he was not prepared to answer. He decided to evade. “We will be married.”

Penelope shook her head. “You must tell me why.”

“Because we work well together. Because we share an attraction neither of us can deny. You are a sensible girl and are able to tolerate my grandmother. These are all good reasons. I should think I do not pose an unworthy partner for you. My station and situation in life should make you very comfortable.”

Penelope gave him a small smile with wet eyes. “Yes, but you see your situation in life would make me very uncomfortable. It would be different if there was…” She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Forgive me, but your offer is not good enough. Good night, Your Grace.”

“Not good enough?” He grabbed his robe and wrapped it around himself to have some dignity. It was intolerable to be rejected by a woman while he was standing at attention for her.

“You have offered everything any girl would want, except what I want,” she said in utter vagueness.

“And what is that?”

“I have already told you.”

“I cannot recall,” he lied.

“Love.”

The word hung heavy and dropped to the pit of his stomach like a stone. He knew what she was going to say, but somehow hoped she would request something he was better able to provide.

“I want to be loved. I want to be adored. Anything less than that is a poor bargain.” Her lips trembled, but her chin rose.

His tongue grew heavy in his mouth. He had never told anyone he loved them, just as the words had never been spoken to him. Was that true? He paused in thought. Not his grandmother certainly, not his mother either. No, he knew nothing of that particular malady, so how could he offer it with any authenticity?

“I hold you in high regard.” It was the best he could offer.

One eyebrow rose.

“I have great esteem for you.”

“But you do not love me.”

“Dammit, Penelope, you are asking more of me than I have to give.”

She walked to the door and opened it. She was a slight woman, especially in her disrobed state, but she was firm in her determination.

The walk back to his chamber was a long one, despite being a relatively short distance down the hall. What had happened? How dare she ask more of him than he was prepared to give? If she would not accept him as he was, so be it. It would be her loss.

The grief accompanying these musings was pushed beneath the rising confidence that whispered to him that he could change her mind. She was not immune to his charms, such as they were. He smiled to himself. He could persuade her. He could trap her. He was not proud of such tactics, but he quickly brushed that concern aside. He wanted to marry Penelope Rose without giving anything of himself away. Surely that was not too much to ask.

Tomorrow he would pay a visit to Doctors’ Commons for a special license, and then, whenever he could contrive to entrap her, he would marry Penelope before she knew what was good for her. The game was on.

Penelope had difficulty sleeping, knowing that just down the hall was the object of her powerful lust. How she had the strength to send him away she did not know. She needed to hold out for a declaration of affection, but she still wished to taste the delectable treats Marchford offered.

What irony that she had initially suggested they share a bed as a way to grab back some control for her life, and now she felt more out of control than ever.
If
ye
find
yerself
cut
off
from
the
vine, ye best drop the saw
. Grandma Moira’s words floated back to her. It was true. She wanted to blame James, but she was as much a part of this as he. And tonight was her fault entirely.

She did want to marry the man, but she knew with certainty, however, that a marriage based on obligation and fleeting lust would end in misery for both of them. She would never be happy loving a man who could not love her in return. And what would happen when he pursued other interests? The prospect of being married to him while he carried on with a mistress was simply too horrible to contemplate.

After a restless night, she greeted the pale dawn with resignation. It would never work between her and the duke; she needed to let it go. She dressed modestly and glowered at the maid until Abigail performed her duty in silence. It was two days before the wedding of Antonia and Lord Langley, and there was much to be done. Pen would focus on her work and ignore handsome distractions.

On her way to the morning room, Pen became aware something was dreadfully wrong. A loud honking sound, a strange rustling, and a loud crash were coming from the usually peaceful morning room. Penelope opened the door slowly, with some trepidation.

“What on earth?”

“Geese!” cried Marchford. “I wish you a very happy sixth day of Christmas.”

“Have you lost your mind?” asked Penelope, utterly aghast. Six large, white geese were running afoul in the sitting room. Some were standing on the furniture; others were walking about, pecking at things. One was pulling at the drapes; another was doing something untoward on the rug.

“Six geese a laying,” explained James, with a mischievous grin. “I have got that right, haven’t I? It is six geese today. I know how much you enjoy the Christmas holiday so…” He gestured at the rampaging geese.

“James Arthur Lockton!” cried the dowager as she followed the sounds of commotion. “What have you done, boy?”

“I am attempting romance,” said James without apology, even when one bird flapped its wings and a china figurine went flying, crashing onto the floor.

“This is not romantic, you fool!” cried his grandmother. “Langley! Peters! Help!”

“I tried to explain to Miss Rose that I am not romantic, but she insisted. This is my poor best, I fear.” He surveyed the chaos before him with laughing eyes. “Oh look, mistletoe!” He grabbed Penelope and planted a breathtaking kiss on her lips.

Penelope’s treacherous body sank into him. “You are horrible,” accused Pen in a shaky voice when he finally let her free. “Utterly reprehensible,” she added, trying not to laugh.

The commotion brought another member of the Marchford household, Miles the Peruvian Jungle Cat, who looked at the birds as vile interlopers into his domain. He joined the fray with a hiss and a meow, chasing the birds into a heated frenzy. Geese flew, drapes fell, tables toppled. Lord Langley and Peters rushed in to help, adding to the crazed, honking disaster.

“I did warn you,” said Marchford with a hint of a smile, not offering to help in the least.

“Bad show, very bad show!” condemned Langley, holding one goose by a leg and the other by the neck.

“Get them!” shrieked the dowager. “Get them all out!”

“Yes, dear!” replied Langley, shooting Marchford another glare.

“You are a horrible man,” said Penelope, feeling obligated to rush into the fray.

“Just wait,” Marchford called after her with a wicked grin. “Tomorrow is swans and then come the cows!”

***

It took some time to get the geese out of the house and even longer to get the feathers out of her hair. And all the while she cursed Marchford, even as she was secretly touched that he would risk the ire of his grandmother to garner her affection.

That afternoon, Penelope was called to join Antonia and Langley to discuss wedding plans when she passed the door of Marchford’s study.

“Miss Rose, a word if you please,” the Duke of Marchford called out to her. He was sitting much as he usually did, at his desk, his head bent over his work.

She stopped and took a deep breath. Even the sound of his voice could set her heart to pounding. Wary, she walked to the door but did not enter. “Your grandmother has sworn to never speak to you again.”

He looked up with a grin. “Truly? Should have filled the house with birds years ago.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Naturally. Come in, please, and shut the door.”

She did as was requested, wondering if there had been some new information in their investigations. “Do you have new information?”

“Indeed.” He stood absently as she moved forward to take a chair. They both sat down. “First, I would like to update you on information regarding the case. I have learned that Lord Felton is actually working with the Foreign Office to import wine with secret messages on the bottle label. Unfortunately, this system has been compromised by the fact that we saw someone trying to intercept these messages.”

“Interesting,” said Penelope, greatly relieved to be speaking of catching spies and not anything else. “But why would the spymaster send one of the secret message decanters to Lord Felton’s home?”

“Particularly when the man does not entertain,” added Marchford. “Yes, there is some explaining to do.”

“So what is our next move?”

“Sprot is talking with Felton. Also, at least one set of the special decanters remains at large in society. We need to find them, so I would appreciate your eyes and ears anytime you go out.”

“Yes, of course. You have my full support.”

“I am very glad to hear it. Especially since you will probably not like the next thing I must say to you.” Marchford stood and strolled back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back. In a blue, tailored coat, tight breeches, and Hessian boots, he was a stunning image.

“I have been giving some thought to our situation,” Marchford continued. “The facts as I see them are this. First, I have made a public proposal, which you publicly accepted. Second, you have privately declined such an offer for reasons of your own.”

“I do believe I made my reasons clear,” interrupted Penelope.

Marchford held up a hand to stop her. “Please hold all questions and comments to the end.” He cleared his throat and continued to pace. “Third, society has made false accusations against you, which would only be confirmed if the engagement were broken, because it would be assumed I had been the one to walk away.”

Penelope opened her mouth to express outrage at this assumption, but Marchford again held up a hand and she fell silent. Though it angered her, she had to admit he was most likely correct. The disillusionment of the engagement would only be seen as the duke coming to his senses. Who would believe she refused him?

“Fourth, between us there exists a mutual attraction neither can deny. Thus, in looking at the situation logically, soberly, I have decided there is only one course of action I can pursue.” He stopped and gazed at her, his sage eyes gleaming.

“Which is?” prompted Penelope.

“I must trap you into marriage.”

Penelope sat in stunned silence. “What?” It was all she could manage.

“I am going to trap you into marriage,” he repeated.

“Wait, what?” She stood up, then sat back down. “I thought you already did that.”

“Yes, a lesser woman would consider herself trapped by a public acceptance. You, however, are a hardened case and require more convincing. I believe that only the threat of bearing a child out of wedlock would induce you to accept my hand in marriage.”

Penelope’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t help herself. “What are you suggesting?”

“As a friend, I thought it only fair to give you warning that I plan to seduce you to my bed…or wherever I can get you alone.” He gave her a self-confident smile.

Her body turned traitor, her heart pounding, her hands sweating. Despite everything, there was a part of her that wished to offer herself to him that very moment. Infuriating man! “So you are telling me that you plan to force me—”

“Oh no. Not force. I am a gentleman, after all.”

“You claim to be a gentleman, but then say you are going to seduce me into accepting your marriage proposal?”

Marchford looked up at the ceiling, considering her argument. “Yes, I suppose that is not exactly a gentlemanly action.” His eyes pierced hers once again. “More the actions of a duke. I am giving you fair warning, that you must concede.”

Penelope panicked and stood up, placing the chair between her and him. “I wish you would let me be.”

“Do you?” He walked closer, and she backed up to the wall. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. “I have acquired a special license so we will be wed as soon as you have been sufficiently convinced.”

“You did not get a license.” She was in disbelief.

“
Special
license,” he corrected. “Returned from Doctors’ Commons this morning.”

She wished to tell him to back away, but she did not—could not. The desire to kiss him was overpowering. Instead, she put a hand on his shoulder. He trapped her, putting his hands on the wall on either side of her. She did not care to get away and instead tilted her head up to him.

His kiss was surprisingly soft, patient. She put another hand on his shoulder and pressed closer to him, her hand moving to the back of his neck. He increased the pressure as well, deepening the kiss. Colors swirled before her closed eyes, and she lost herself in the moment of the kiss, leaning on him for support as her legs gave way. He increased the intensity, pressing forward with his hips, showing her exactly what was on his mind.

“Ow! Stop!” she cried.

Instantly he pulled away, breathing hard. “You did not care for the kiss?”

“I did not care for the chair rail in my back.”

James smiled. “Practical. Let us find a new place.” He swung her around to his desk and lifted her easily to sit on it.

Her heart pounded audibly in her ears as he lifted her skirts enough so that he could stand between her legs.

“This can be settled very easily between us, here and now,” he whispered in her ear.

She desired him so desperately she had to struggle to remember why she was saying no. “Here? On your maps?”

“My maps?” He looked beneath her with some dismay. “Well, I might move the maps.” He shrugged. “I like my maps. Oh, and here is the diagram of that missing safe.”

He handed Pen the diagram, and she couldn’t help but laugh. James joined her, and it felt good to laugh together at the ridiculous situation they were in.

At the sound of a knock on the study door, Penelope jumped down and smoothed her skirts. James looked her over with satisfaction and then called for the person to enter.

It was the butler. “Her Grace requests the presence of the Duke of Marchford and Miss Rose in her sitting room to discuss wedding plans.”

James groaned. “Save me.”

“Come now. How bad could it be?” said Pen cheerfully, unsure if she was relieved or irritated by the interruption.

The Dowager Duchess of Marchford was holding court in her sitting room, surrounded by papers, fabric swatches, color palettes, and sample flowers. A harried Earl of Langley sat across from her and shot them a pleading look as they entered the door.

“Good. James, now stand here, I want to see which of these whites will go best.”

James stood obediently, while Antonia held up fabric swatches, for what purpose, Pen decided it was best not to ask.

“I thought the primary decisions had all been made regarding the wedding plans,” said Penelope.

“Oh, but the napkins, the napkins, dear. I cannot decide between the creamy white and the silver cream.”

The two linens were indistinguishable to Penelope, but she held her tongue.

“I have decided that you and James shall act as my witnesses,” said Antonia without looking up. She was not asking. She was telling.

“But surely there is someone closer in your family who would be more appropriate,” protested Penelope.

“There is no one in my family I can tolerate better than you.” Antonia gave her a quick nod of approval. “Besides, now that you are betrothed, it would demonstrate my approval of the union and start to undermine these vicious rumors. If I knew who was spreading them, I would end it quick, I can tell you.”

“But you forget, I do not plan to marry Marchford.”

“You don’t?” asked Lord Langley, jumping into the conversation. “Whyever not? Anyone can see there is an attraction between you.”

“It is complicated,” said Penelope.

“Odd creature,” muttered Langley.

“Forgive me, but are you not marrying for love?” defended Penelope. “Do I not deserve the same?”

Langley cocked his head. “The gel’s right. Fell in love once, never could get over it. Finally had to go through with it.” He smiled at his bride-to-be, who smiled in return.

“Thank you, Lord Langley. Perhaps you can help me.” Penelope gathered her courage and decided to speak plainly. “Marchford has threatened seduction to force me into marriage.”

Everyone in the room stopped, staring first at her, then at Marchford.

“Did he now?” asked the dowager.

“Indeed, I did,” confirmed Marchford with surprising calm. Penelope had expected him to be ashamed and deny it, but she had underestimated him.

“Good for you,” said Antonia.

“What?” cried Penelope. “You condone this behavior?”

“No, but you are being stubborn. You should marry James and be done with it.”

“I thought you would defend me. Lord Langley, as a gentleman and a peer of the realm, you surely cannot condone this.”