She shook her head, lips tightened.
Drake ran his palms up her arms, noting the goose bumps that arose from his touch. She looked so sweet, so vulnerable. He just wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go. Take her away from the dirt and noise of the city and back to the country, where the air was as fresh and clean as she was.
Before she could back away and return to the ballroom, he leaned down and scattered soft kisses under her ear, along her jaw, murmuring words of encouragement. After a minute, her muscles relaxed, and when she whimpered, it was all he needed to pull her closer, his hand gliding over the slight muscles of her back to her waist, and then below to caress her rounded bottom.
She was all curves and soft delectable warmth. He could get lost in her for hours. Kiss every inch of her body, and then bring her to a release that would shatter them both. In his arms, she felt right, as if she’d always belonged there.
No longer fighting him, she moved even closer, her hands edging up his chest to encircle his neck. Her fingers played with the ends of his hair, twisting, tugging. Drake shifted and moved his hand to caress her breast, and his blood soared. His thumb skimmed over her nipple, which beaded in his palm. The heat from her body warmed him further, driving him to a fevered pitch.
Groaning with pleasure, he pulled away from her lips and nuzzled her neck, inhaling her heady scent. He nibbled on her ear lobe, then ran his tongue around the delicate shell, stopping to nip, then lightly suck on the lobe. He grew hard and swollen, needing this woman beneath him, naked and writhing with pleasure, calling his name. His finger slid under the sleeve of her gown, and eased it off her shoulder, revealing the tops of her plump breasts. A quick flip of his hand and her breasts burst from her stays, alabaster white, with a dusky rose nipple, pouting, begging for his mouth.
He was almost brought to his knees by the sight of Penelope, with her hair falling to her shoulders, and her breasts illuminated by moonlight. She gasped and his lips once again took hers as his palm rotated, and teased her nipple. Her response was immediate, and he was lost in the passion of her innocent arousal.
“Oh my goodness!” The feminine screech brought him to his senses. Drake tugged up Penelope’s sleeves, spun around, and pulled her close to his side.
Lady Nelson and Lady Beauchamp, two of the ton’s most notorious gossips, and close friends of Lady Sirey, stood not ten feet from them, glaring in indignation.
“What is the meaning of this, Manchester?” Lady Nelson pulled herself up, her bosom quivering with righteousness.
His hesitation was slight. “My lady. So pleasant to see you both here. You are just in time to offer your congratulations. Miss Clayton has just done me the great honor of accepting my hand in marriage. I’m sure you will wish us happy.”
…
Penelope felt the blood leave her face as she slumped against Drake, black dots dancing in her eyes. Dear God, what had just happened? The loud buzzing in her ears was not a good sign. “I think I’m going to faint.”
Drake looked sharply at her, and moved them to a bench. “Here, sit and put your head down.” He lowered her head and rubbed her back. “It will pass in a minute.”
She shook her head furiously, attempting to take deep breaths, but only sucking in the soft fabric of her gown. Why was she always in danger of being smothered when Drake attempted to help her?
As much as she longed to stay in the dark garden forever, once the black dots disappeared, she eased her head up. “I’m feeling a bit better now.”
He studied her for a moment, then reached out. “Here, let me set you to rights.” Drake adjusted her gown, smoothed her hair back, and righted her spectacles, leaving her feeling like a child being readied for church by her nanny. Giving her an encouraging smile, he rose and presented his elbow, which she clutched like a lifeline.
The two matrons had remained outside the ballroom door like hunters expecting their quarry to escape.
Penelope turned to Drake. “I don’t think I can do this.” She barely understood her own words, her trembling voice a misery of fear.
“You can, and you will. Chin up, Miss Clayton. Take a deep breath and put a smile on your face.”
“You are joking, of course.”
“There is nothing funny about the looks on the guardians of virtue.” He nodded toward the women at the door.
When the small group entered the ballroom, the ladies cleared the area simply by casting looks at those who would stand in their way. Once they had enough attention, Lady Beauchamp’s voice rose above the chatter. “I believe His Grace has an announcement to make.”
Clearing his throat, Drake pulled Penelope closer to his side, and cast her a smile. Despite the nightmare they were in, Penelope warmed at the tenderness and warmth in Drake’s eyes. The man should take to the stage. With his acting abilities he would go far.
“I would like to present my future duchess. Miss Clayton has just granted me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.”
Gasps from marriage minded mamas joined murmured congratulations and well wishes. The rumble started near them, and continued through the ballroom, like a wave on the ocean.
Bile rose to the back of Penelope’s throat. She fought it down, horrified that she might disgrace herself further. She held so tightly to Drake’s arm the poor man would probably be bruised in the morning.
“Buck up,” he whispered.
Her Grace hurried up to them, a wide smile on her face, her arms extended. She immediately embraced Penelope in a hug. “I am so thrilled. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me.” Then she hugged her son as well. “This is probably the best decision you have ever made.”
While Penelope tried to absorb all that had just happened, she glanced to her left, directly into Lady Sirey’s eyes. The glint in those orbs, along with the snarl on her lips, chilled her more than the discovery in the garden. She edged closer to Drake, who squeezed her hand.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, and then said, “I am a bit fatigued. Do you suppose we could leave soon?”
“Right away.” He caught his mother’s attention, who was speaking to Lady Beauchamp. “My fiancée is feeling fatigued. If you wish to stay longer, I can send the carriage back for you.”
“No, I think not. I am tired myself. Why don’t you send for the carriage, and I will gather up the girls?”
Relieved to finally be away from the numerous comments and looks cast in her direction, Penelope kept her eyes downcast as they made their way through the ballroom. Several times they were stopped to accept congratulations. But Penelope heard the rumblings about their surprise announcement. No one was fooled. This was a forced engagement, and she was sick to her stomach.
Chapter Seventeen
“You don’t have to do this.” Penelope paced the floor of the library, her gown swinging out each time she turned. She and Drake had returned from the ball amidst hugs and well wishes from the duchess and the girls. And abject terror for Penelope.
Drake stood apart from her, leaning against his desk, his arms crossed. “Yes I do. And so do you. If we don’t marry, you will be ruined.”
She stopped and fisted her hands at her waist. “That is ridiculous. You don’t wish to marry me, and I don’t wish to marry at all.”
“It matters not. It is done. We’ve announced our betrothal. Everyone is happy. Mother is planning a wedding, and my sisters are very excited.”
“So we should both ruin our lives for the sake of everyone else’s joy?” She collapsed in the chair by the fireplace. This was truly a disaster of the worst kind. Drake, the man who wanted the perfect woman for his duchess was about to saddle himself with her.
“Have you forgotten that I am the woman who crawls about in the dirt? I step on toes when I dance, and crash into footmen carrying lemonade. I can’t get through a country dance without referring to the steps on the back of my fan. I drop crumbs everywhere and—”
“Stop!” He moved to stand beside her a
nd went down on one knee, taking her hands in his. “You are so much more than that. You are kind, compassionate, and—beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “There is no need to pay me false compliments. I know all about myself.”
He shook his head. “No. You see yourself differently than the world does. Certainly other than how you appear to me.”
“But you are a duke!” She jumped up, almost falling over him as she paced once again. “I can’t do this to you.” Coming to an abrupt halt, she smiled. “I know. We will wait a few weeks, and then I’ll cry off. I shall return to Devonshire and my science, and you will be free to marry whomever you choose.”
“No, you will not.” He rose to his feet. “You don’t seem to understand. You. Will. Be. Ruined. And if we don’t marry, it won’t do much for my reputation, either. After all, as a gentleman, it is my duty to marry you.”
A slight smile teased her lips. “Ah. What I always wanted to be—a gentleman’s duty.”
He cringed and reached out for her. “Come here. Let us discuss this.”
Reluctantly, she took his hand and joined him on the settee. His warm hands enveloped her frigid ones. What had she gotten them into? Perhaps Drake had taken liberties that a gentlemen should not have, but she’d allowed it. His kisses muddled her brain, made her forget where she was, and what she was doing. But now he had to pay the price because she had never learned how to behave as a lady.
Most likely Lady Daphne would have slapped his face and marched with righteous indignation into the ballroom. But not Penelope. No, she had attempted to resist, but she had been quickly swept away, enjoying his attentions too much. And now everything that Drake had planned for was gone. Instead of the “perfect” duchess, he would have her.
“Ah, you are both here. Good.” Her Grace pushed open the library door, her face a picture of maternal happiness. “We will need to put our heads together and plan a betrothal ball.”
“No betrothal ball, Mother. We will have a quick wedding. I will arrange for a special license in the morning.”
The duchess’s eyebrows rose. “Why in heaven’s name would you do that?”
…
Drake didn’t feel it was necessary to point out to his own mother that keeping his hands to himself for a lengthy engagement would not be likely. And what he needed now was some peace and quiet. The uproar at the crush when the ladies had marched Penelope and him back into the ballroom and announced their betrothal still rang in his ears. His arm had encircled his bride-to-be, not so much in fondness, but to keep her from collapsing into a heap on the floor. She’d been shaking so violently, he had feared for her well-being.
Now she sat on the settee, not looking much better.
“I suggest we retire. This has been a stressful evening, and I’m sure we can discuss this at length in the morning.” He extended his hand to Penelope “My dear, allow me to escort you to your room.”
She looked up at him with tear-rimmed eyes, and his breath hitched. He’d been so busy trying to make the best of the situation that he’d forgotten how this must be affecting Penelope. Here was a woman who had no desire to come to Town, or have a Season, or a husband. Now because of his actions, she was forced to live the life she dreaded. As a duchess. What a muck he’d made of things.
He pushed the disturbing thoughts to the back of his mind. He would deal with it in the morning. “Come.”
Penelope rose and he took her ice cold hand in his, tucking it against his warm body. After wishing his mother good night, they took the steps to the upper floor in silence. He felt her shaking, and wanted to pull her into his arms and assure her everything would be all right. But would it? Despite him saying she was kind, compassionate, and beautiful, he knew this would not be the life for her. Nor for him.
But he would make do. This marriage would be a success, even if his bride-to-be fell short of his expectations. His major concern was her likeness to his mother. Father had been so smitten with his wife, he had allowed her all sorts of freedom unsuitable for a duchess. More than once he’d turned a blind eye to her antics because he’d loved her so. Drake would need to hold himself in check. Not allow his feelings to grow into something he couldn’t control.
Perhaps it is already too late.
…
Penelope flung the blanket off and slid back the bed curtains. Although the sun was barely over the horizon, there remained no reason to continue to lie in bed. She’d tossed and turned all night, and no matter how many times she tried to block everything from her mind, it didn’t work. She and the Duke of Manchester were engaged to be married. The words repeated themselves over and over in her mind with a sickening cadence.
Perhaps a walk in the garden with the dew still on the plants and flowers would calm her. She pulled a morning gown from her wardrobe that fastened in the front so she wouldn’t have to wake Maguire. Cotton stockings and sturdy shoes finished the outfit. She quickly washed her face, and brushed her hair, tying it back with a ribbon.
The house was quiet, the women, no doubt, would not rise for hours. She grabbed a shawl from a hook by the door and let herself out of the house, closing the door quietly. She breathed deeply of the air, the only time of day she felt comfortable doing so in Town.
Morning mist bathed her face, and bestowed upon the garden an eerie feel. She seemed alone in the world, shrouded. Hugging the shawl around her, she walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the freshness of the early morn.
“Ah. I see I am not the only one who rises early.” Drake’s deep voice from behind wafted over her like velvet, giving rise to goose bumps on her arms. Her heart sped up, from being startled or from the speaker himself, she didn’t know.
“Good morning. Yes, you are correct. In the country, I frequently enjoyed a stroll in the garden before sunrise.”
Drake took her hand, and tucked it into his arm. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes.” She turned toward him and shook her head. “No. I didn’t, I’m afraid.”
“Worries?”
“Concerns, for certain. I still do not believe that marriage is the only solution to this dilemma.”
Drake tucked an errant curl into her bonnet. “Concern at being forced to marry? Or sorry to marry me?”
“Oh, no. It has nothing to do with my feelings about marrying you.” She shivered, and he pulled her closer. “I am upset that you are now unable to have the woman you want.”
“Please don’t say that. We are to be wed, and you mustn’t feel that I am unhappy about that.”
She turned to face him, and he took both of her hands in his.
“What of your plan to have the perfect duchess? A woman who will do everything right? You know I’m not her.”
“We have a definite attraction between us. One could say that is precisely why we find ourselves in the predicament we’re in. I think we’ll get on well. You are intelligent and kind. I imagine you will be a wonderful mother. Very much like my own mother.”
“What about my work?”
He tucked her arm in his again, and resumed walking. “You will give that up, naturally. You will be busy with the duties of a duchess. My mother will help you.” He patted her hand. “It will be fine.”
She came to an abrupt stop and glared at him, her face reddening. “I do not wish to give up my work. It is very important to me. You know that.”
One brow arched as he regarded her intently. “It is not at all proper for a duchess to poke around in the woods.”
“Sir, you make it sound as though I were a child, playing in the mud. Botany is a passion for me.”
He leaned close to her ear. “Perhaps I can replace one passion with another.”
Left with a dry mouth and no words, she blinked several times, and then they continued on their way.
…
Once Drake had left Penelope, with plans to meet for an early breakfast in another hour, he headed to the stables. The sun was fully over the horizon, casting a pale light on the lush, green c
ountryside.
He greeted Abaccus with a slight rub down his velvety nose. After tacking up, he headed toward Rotten Row on the south side of Hyde Park. With the light, early morning traffic, he was able to move at a fast clip. The wind whipped his hair and buffeted his face as he entered the park. Riding had always cleared his thoughts, and if ever in his life his thoughts needed clearing, it was now.
He was about to be married to a woman the complete opposite of his ideal duchess. When he mentally compared Lady Daphne to Penelope. . .well, it was better to not pursue that line of thought. What was done, was done. He’d lost his head, compromised the girl, and now he was honor bound to make things right.
No doubt Mother would take Penelope under her wing and help her adjust to her new life. Of course, the adjustment the girl needed to make to the marriage bed would be his duty, and one he looked forward to with a great deal of enthusiasm. Under the guise of a shy, reluctant scientist, he sensed a passionate woman. Her response to his touch brought him fully hard now, just remembering her softness and sweet taste. Yes, that part of marriage would be very satisfying.
“Ho! Manchester!”
Drake turned at the sound of his name. With clumps of dirt spewing behind him, Coventry rode up, a huge smile on the man’s face.
They slowed down to a walk, side by side. “We missed the Brentwood affair last night, but already I’m hearing rumors about an announcement that came as a complete shock to the attendees.”
Drake snorted. “I guess there’s no reason to deny what you’ve heard, is there? Miss Clayton and I are betrothed.”
“What happened to the estimable Lady Daphne? I thought she was number one on your list.”
“If you heard about the betrothal, then I’m quite sure you’re aware of the most notorious part of the story. Miss Clayton and I were caught in a compromising position in the garden by two of the biggest—I use the term both literally and figuratively—gossips of the ton.”
“Ah. Yes, I did hear something about that.” Coventry grinned. “How does the young woman feel about this?”
The Duke's Quandary (Entangled Scandalous) Page 15
