“Of course not. Miss Chambers already has already accepted a new situation.”
His gaze swung to the governess. “You already have a new position?’
“Yes, indeed,” the dowager beamed. “I’ve hired Miss Chambers−Merry as she’s asked me to call her−as my companion.”
His jaw tightened as he glared at Miss Chambers who shrugged and tilted her lips in a slight smile.
The devil take it!
Chapter 5
Merry entered the drawing room to the sound of Miss Jennings, tittering. Everyone had already gathered to await the dinner announcement.
“Miss Chambers, would you care for a sherry before dinner?” Lord Brandon sauntered over to her. Dinner hadn’t even started, yet it was apparent he was already in his cups. Bloodshot eyes and a slight hesitation in his gait told the story.
“Thank you, no, my lord.”
Miss Jennings let out with another giggle at something the duke said. Merry glanced in her direction and swallowed a laugh. The woman wore a pink gown more suited to a young miss. Rosy cheeks on her otherwise sallow complexion grew as she flirted−there was no other word−with Penrose.
Heavens, where was the very proper governess who’d disparaged her? Merry’s gaze moved from the pink nightmare to His Grace. Her heart almost stopped. No man should be that handsome. His dark brown eyes above a strong jaw almost had her giggling like Miss Jennings. No padding had been necessary in the jacket that fit him like a glove, and his snug breeches outlined the taut muscles of his legs.
“They make quite a pair.” Lord Brandon leaned close to her ear, his brandy-laced breath wafting over her.
Merry started at his words, then chastised herself for staring. “Whatever do you mean?”
Lord Brandon smirked and sipped his drink. “I think Miss Jennings has her eye on my big brother. Although, with you in the room, I don’t see how the poor woman has a chance.”
Heat rose from her middle and shot up to her face. Scanning the room for something else to comment on to calm herself, she caught His Grace staring at her, his look so intent she thought perhaps she’d forgotten to put on her gown. Her face grew hotter.
“Excuse me. There is something I must discuss with your mother.” She hurried away from Lord Brandon, the sound of his chuckle in her ear. Before she reached Kitty, speaking animatedly with a middle aged man unknown to her, one of the footmen announced dinner.
“Here she is now, Lord Moreland.” Kitty took the arm of the man and joined Merry. “Lord Moreland, I would like to introduce you to my companion, Miss Chambers. His lordship is one of our neighbors who occasionally grants us the pleasure of his company.”
“Delighted,” the man said, bowing slightly.
Merry curtsied. “A pleasure, my lord.”
He extended his other arm to her, and she placed her hand there, and the three sauntered into the dining room. Miss Jennings had a firm grasp on His Grace’s arm, and Lord Brandon viewed them over the rim of his glass as they quit the room. He winked at her as she moved past.
Once they’d settled into their places, footmen began pouring wine and serving the soup.
“Miss Chambers, am I to assume from your accent you are American?” Lord Moreland smiled at her as he raised his wine glass to his lips.
“Yes, my lord. I am from Boston.”
“Sir, I must commend you on your astuteness,” Miss Jennings said. “I believe Miss Chambers has tried, although unsuccessfully, to adopt proper English speech. ‘Tis a shame my young charges have picked up some of her American vernacular.”
Oblivious to the stunned silence following her words, she cast a smile at the duke, who frowned, then glanced at Merry.
Is he frowning because the girls are worse off than he thought?
She swallowed her annoyance as Lord Brandon leaned toward her. “Don’t let her get away with that.”
Merry shook her head and spooned the delicious pheasant soup into her mouth. She would not involve herself in a war of words with the governess. At least not in front of the duke. He already held Miss Jennings in high regard, and Merry would merely come across looking churlish.
After the second course had been served, and the footmen stationed at their places against the wall should anyone require their assistance, Lord Moreland turned his attention once again to Merry. “Tell us about Boston, Miss Chambers.”
Merry beamed. “Boston is a wonderful city, my lord. It has a long history, being one of the first cities settled after the colonists arrived. But now it is a bustling place, comparable to London.”
“Certainly nothing in the Colonies can compare to London?” Miss Jennings’ whiny voice grated on her ears.
Merry smiled at the governess. “Miss Jennings, you do remember we are no longer the Colonies? We defeated your countrymen−for the second time−a few years ago.”
The duke affected a choking sound, and Lord Brandon once again leaned toward her. “Bravo, my girl.”
She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. This was neither the time nor place to indulge in petty bickering.
Lord Moreland saved the day. “What were some of your favorite places in Boston?”
Relieved, she happily returned her attention to him. “I loved every part of it, my lord. I enjoyed walking to Dorchester Heights and gazing out over the sea. We also have a new Science museum, and a wonderful library for the public where I spent a great deal of time.”
“You are interested in books?”
“Oh, yes. My father was a professor at Harvard.”
He frowned. “What encouraged you to travel to England?”
“Lord and Lady Bedford had just lost their dear nanny. She contracted a fever while traveling in Boston and died. My father had recently passed, and I thought a change of scenery would be beneficial, so I agreed to accompany them to England as their governess.”
“And how do you find England, my dear?”
“I’ve been here five years and grow to love it more each day.” Merry’s natural enthusiasm took over. “Everything is so green and lovely. I even enjoy the foggy and rainy days. When Lord and Lady Bedford were in London for the Season, I was permitted to visit the theater, museums and symphony.”
“I wonder why it is that a woman as lovely as yourself has not been snatched up by some young buck?” Lord Moreland cast her a warm smile.
Merry raised her chin. “I prefer to marry for love, my lord. And thus far that has not come my way.”
Miss Jennings snickered. “Miss Chambers, certainly you don’t believe marriage requires love?”
“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 dowager 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, t
hen 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 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?”
“That’s not the point, Your Grace. What would Miss Jennings say?”
“Ah, Miss Jennings.” He slanted Merry a look. “The perfect governess.”
She gave an unladylike snort. A glance at the duke caught him in a smile.
“It appears Miss Jennings does not quite approve of you.”
“Neither do you, Your Grace.”
His brows drew together. “Please stop with the ‘Your Grace.’ It gets burdensome after a while.”
Merry’s lips quirked. “I have the feeling you rarely find your title burdensome, Your…”
“Penrose. Why don’t you call me that instead?” When she inclined her head, he remarked, “So you believe love and marriage are compatible?” His intense gaze encompassed her as if she were a bug under glass. She felt exposed and smothered at the same time.
Nonplussed by his quick shift in conversation, she raised her chin. “Yes, I do. My parents had a love match, and I will not marry without love.”
“Foolish child.” He shook his head as he studied the brandy he swirled.
“I beg your pardon!” Merry felt the heat rise to her face.
He glanced quickly at her. “Once again I must apologize. I meant no insult.”
“Her Grace told me she and your father were in love.”
“That’s true. However, it didn’t start that way, and they were lucky love remained. Things could turn messy if a couple fell out of love. Better to marry without that expectation.” He drained the last of his brandy and set the glass aside. “To me marriage is all a business arrangement, nothing more.”
“And at four and thirty you have not been successful in securing a busine
ss arrangement for yourself?”
“Ah. Straightforward speaking. A trait of the Americans.”
Since her brash statement didn’t have him ordering her to her room, she continued. “You are a duke, with responsibilities. Surely someone as dedicated to his title as you are would have ensured the continuation of the Penrose line and filled his nursery by now. An heir and a spare, is that not the accepted vernacular?”
“Lord Brandon is my heir.”
“And it appears he has done nothing to secure the title, either. So neglectful, Your Grace.”
He grinned. “You do realize how far over the line you have stepped, Miss Chambers?”
She inclined her head. “Yes, please excuse my straightforward speaking. I am afraid it doesn’t bode as well here in England as it does in America.”
“Which Americans have in abundance.”
“As you say.” She sighed and stood. “That little bit of sherry has rendered me drowsy. I’m sure I will be able to sleep now.”
Penrose stood at the same time she did. “Alas, I find the brandy did not soothe me as much as I’d hoped.”
“Perhaps a book?”
“I have a better idea.” He moved toward her, and set his hands on her shoulders. “Do you know why Miss Jennings dislikes you so?”
Merry shook her head, the ability to speak having fled. Her skin burned where his warm palms held her, his strong fingers kneading her flesh. She should not allow these liberties. But it was, oh, so hard to move away from his commanding presence. His eyes held her prisoner. She moved her gaze to his sensual lips.
“Because you’re a beautiful woman−Merry.” He edged her closer. “Isn’t that what the girls and my mother call you?”
His eyes danced with mirth and something else. Undefinable, and fleeting. Her senses were awash with his smell, touch, warmth. The dark room, lit only by the glow from the fireplace, with his strong body blocking out the darkness, enveloped her with an aura of peace and danger all at the same time. She tried desperately to remember his question. “Yes.” Her voice, having recovered, decided to only whisper. “Your Grace…”
Merry Christmas, My Love Page 25