Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance

by Lilia Birney

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I liked your idea.”

  She dropped her gaze to the bed sheet. For some strange reason, she was having difficulty breathing. Her heart beat heavily against her ribs.

  “You never answered my question.” His voice, even as scratched and weary as it was, held a note of tenderness.

  “I-I wasn’t sure—I’m not sure you’re in your right mind,” she responded with a half-hearted chuckle.

  “I’m saner now than I have ever been in my life.” His hand, still warm and large through weeks of illness and emaciation, clasped hers. “Please, Penny? Make me the happiest thief-taker in London. I have only one wish and one gift this Christmas. Will you marry me?”

  She glanced up at him, tears burning her eyes. “Of course I will marry you, Pierce.” She bit back a sob. “If for no other reason than to never lose you again.”

  He laughed softly and pulled her into his lap, kissing her with the same slow, measured fierceness that had been her undoing on the carriage ride to Leicester. But this time, she made sure to return the embraces with all the fervor and warmth that weeks of loneliness and worry had instilled in her being. He was hers now, and she was his, and all the Cavendishes in the world could go hang themselves.

  ***

  Pierce promised Penelope he would wed her the moment he was strong enough to carry her over the threshold. So he set about to make sure that he could regain all his strength. When he was well enough to be moved, he returned to his bachelor flat. His housekeeper made stout teas and soups and slowly, over the coming weeks, his strength returned.

  He closed up shop. No more thief-taking for him. Penelope deserved a husband she didn’t have to rescue every time she turned around. Besides, he wanted to spend his nights at home, by her side. Not crouching in some godforsaken alley trailing a criminal. Bill and Jim had already been pressed into service with the Runners, as assistants to the patrollers.

  So, as he sat eating porridge in his lonely flat one morning, he had done everything he needed to do except get well. Penelope begged for a simple wedding, not a grand affair like her wedding to Peter. And he wholeheartedly agreed. He hated society and all its trappings.

  “Why, hello, Lady Annand,” his housekeeper called from outside the dining room. “He’s just having his breakfast. I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “No matter, no matter,” Penelope called in her dulcet tones. “I’ll just let myself in. Thank you.”

  She whirled into his breakfast room, resplendent in a dark blue wool gown. “Pierce, darling, I have a plan,” she gasped, throwing herself into his arms as he rose.

  “What is it? Is everything all right?” He gripped her back and held her a few paces away from him. He couldn’t concentrate when she came at him like that. As it was, he had half a mind to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bedroom.

  “I was talking to Jane this morning and it dawned on me—we don’t have to wait to get married.” She bounced up and down on her toes. “Why see to the reading of the banns and all that rubbish? Let’s go to Gretna Greene.”

  “Gretna Greene?” He smiled, already liking the sound of it. “But I’m hardly a young buck out ravishing a debutante, Penelope. Are you sure it’s what you want?”

  “It’s perfect. Some of our happiest moments have been in carriages, you know.” She darted a sly glance up at him, her emerald eyes sparkling. “And it’s quite a journey from London, as you know. And with the roads turning icier, well, we may have to prolong our journey.”

  Pierce laughed. What she said was absolutely true. “But what about your friends? And your position in society?”

  “Oh, Pierce, you are adorable. You know very well that everyone knows what we’ve been up to. After I kept you in my home for weeks, nursing you back to health, our names have been associated with nothing but scandal.” She traced her finger along his jaw line. “If you elope with me, then you will make an honest woman of me. At last.”

  Pierce made a rough mental calculation. “I can be ready to leave in about an hour,” he responded. “Just need to pack a few things, and close up the flat.”

  She pouted a bit, tracing the outline of his lips. “An hour? Truly? But I am ready to leave now.” She waved her hand at the window. “My carriage is waiting downstairs.”

  He couldn’t stifle the quirk of his lips. She had, with her usual energy and efficiency, arranged matters just so. Only this time, he was not the least bit annoyed. Rather, vigor flowed through him at the mere thought of being alone with her in a carriage for several days…sleeping together in wayside inns…

  “I’m ready now,” he admitted in a hoarse croak.

  “Excellent.” She pulled away and rang for the housekeeper. “Let’s toss your things into a trunk and be on our way. I cannot wait.”

  The housekeeper entered with a curtsy. “You rang?”

  “Yes. Could you ready my trunk with a few traveling things? I need to leave in a hurry.”

  The old woman gave a gap-toothed grin. “Ready right away, milord.”

  Within a quarter of an hour, they were bundled into the carriage, racing northwards toward the border. He hadn’t been alone—so delightfully and privately alone—with Penelope in an eternity. Pulling her into his lap, he began removing her hairpins, one by one.

  “Pierce, really.” She swatted at his hand. “My coiffure took forever to arrange this morning. Don’t you think it looks fetching?”

  “It does,” he agreed, removing another hairpin. “And I am happy to see the gold coming through once more as the henna fades. But it’s been so long, Penelope, so long.” He coiled a tendril around his healing wrist. “When I was ill, I dreamed your hair was the sun’s rays.”

  For a moment, Penelope did not respond. Then she pushed away from him and loosened her hair, removing all the pins until the gleaming mass tumbled down her shoulders.

  “Better?”

  “Infinitely so. As always, you are so generous and good.” He pressed a row of kisses along her hairline, breathing deeply of her scent.

  She began untying his cravat. “Do you feel well enough, darling?”

  His breath caught in his throat. “Let me just say that whatever we are about to do will only make me feel better. Much, much better.”

  Penelope eased away from him, unbuttoning his trousers with swift, sure hands. Finding him, she wrapped her hand around him, moving up and down as he groaned. “Penelope. Honestly, darling. You’ll be the death of me.” His arousal was so strong; he would only be able to last a few moments if she kept that up.

  He pulled her into his lap and, pushing her skirts up around her waist, allowed her to slip over him at her own pace. Then he tugged her bodice down, taking first one nipple, then the next into his mouth, tasting, pleasuring.

  Penelope moved up and down at her pleasure, moaning as she did so. “Pierce. Oh, Pierce. I missed you so much.”

  He held back as long as he could, glorying in the silken feel of her as she glided up and down atop him, her scent of ripe peaches and sensuous gardenias flooding his senses. “Bloody hell, Penelope. I missed you too. Never again.” He ground the words out as he tried to hold still.

  “I must move faster, Pierce,” she whispered. “Please. Help me.”

  He had never denied her anything before, so why start now? He grasped her bottom in his hands and began moving with her, quickening the pace. Damn, he was going to finish quickly. He needed to hold back, but the rhythm Penelope set was driving him mad.

  Without warning, Penelope cried out and arched against him. He growled deeply in his throat. No need to hold back any longer. He pushed her gently onto her back and moved faster, burying his face between her breasts. His release was swift and sure, leaving him breathless. He lay atop his beloved, shaking and gasping.

  When he came back to reason, Penelope was stroking his hair. He pulled her into a sitting position and helped to right her clothing. Then he buttoned his trousers a
nd flopped back against the seat, gasping for breath.

  “Pierce, I love you. I always have, you know.” Her voice sounded hesitant, unsure.

  “Darling Penelope.” He gathered her in his arms. “I love you too. I have ever since the moment I arrived at your townhouse and you began ordering me about.”

  She snuggled closer to him, and the motion of the carriage swayed and rocked, lulling them into a drowsy state. How fantastic all this was—and it had all happened thanks to Penelope’s Christmas charade. She had played every role, from maid to lady to light skirt, and yet beneath it all, retained a stunning beauty of character that took his breath away. They embarked on this charade together simply to find her runaway maid. And without this charade, he never would have found his beloved. He’d still be a thief-taker, a rogue, a scoundrel. He’d still be running from his past. He wouldn’t care a fig for others. Penelope changed all that, and he would spend the rest of his life thanking her.

  She was his match in every way, even in terms of lust. He closed his eyes, recalling all the moments they had shared—it was true, most of them occurred in carriages. Or on the floor. Or over a desk. His mouth quirked and he could no longer suppress a chuckle.

  “Whatever are you laughing at?” Penelope inquired in a sleepy tone of voice.

  “I was just thinking how lovely it will be when we reach the inn tonight. I think it will be the first time, my darling Penny, that I have made love to you in a proper bed.”

  She reached up and kissed his earlobe. “I look forward to it, Mr. Howe.”

  “As do I, my soon-to-be Mrs. Howe. Or shall I say Lady Howland?”

  “Ugh.” She clutched at his shoulder and cuddled her golden head against his chest. “Mrs. Howe. Please.”

  He held her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. In Penelope, he had found his perfect women. And while she had caught a thief-taker, he had melted the Ice Goddess. ‘Twas an ideal match.