Page 15 of It's a British Christmas

Miss Jennings snickered. “Miss Chambers, certainly you don’t believe marriage requires love?”

Merry gritted her teeth. It was apparent that Miss Jennings was trying her best to have Merry act the part of a shrew. “Marriage perhaps doesn’t require love, but certainly makes the union more pleasant.”

With a wave of her hand, Miss Jennings dismissed her. “Such an American viewpoint. Marriages are to form alliances, strengthen the bloodlines, create heirs.” She smiled in her direction as if Merry were an unsophisticated child, attempting to discuss adult matters.

“I’m afraid I must agree with Miss Chambers.” The duke spoke to Miss Jennings, but his eyes never left Merry. “If one must spend the rest of one’s life with a woman, why not have it be someone you care deeply for?”

“Surely you jest, Your Grace?” Miss Jennings chided, her hand at her throat. “Someone in Your Grace’s position knows the duty in marriage.”

A few seconds passed, and then the duke directed his attention to Miss Jennings. “Of course. Every peer knows what marriage is all about.”

Miss Jennings threw a smug look at Merry.

The rest of the meal passed in pleasant conversation. The few times Merry glanced at the duke, his eyes were on her, assessing, causing her to want to squirm in her seat.

After the final course had been removed, Kitty stood. “I believe the ladies will retire to the drawing room and leave you gentlemen to your port. Ladies?” The duchess moved to the doorway, Miss Jennings and Merry in her wake.

Penrose studied the women as they left the room. His gaze drifted to Miss Chamber’s slender back, then slid down to her lovely derrière and the gentle sway of her hips. He felt a tightening in his groin at the sight.

Miss Jennings might hold her counterpart in disdain, but Miss Chambers had shown more character and intelligence than three of Miss Jennings. He still thought Miss Jennings was the better governess for his wards. But his mind and body knew who he’d prefer to have underneath him in his bed, and alongside him at the dinner table.

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 candlelight 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?