“Other things kept me occupied over the past few years,” he said with a sarcastic smile.
“You’re not a spy, are you?” Penelope asked.
“Whatever made you think that?” Max retorted, hoping he sounded convincing.
“It is just that you are always coming and going, following Monsieur Arnaud,” she said, a hitch in her voice. “I would be dreadfully disappointed if you were.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Think about it, Max,” she said becoming exasperated with his obtuseness. “If you were caught, you would hang.”
“Maybe not.” He crossed his arms and tapped one finger against his chin meditatively. “Being the Duke of Blackmoor’s son, the Prince Regent might deport me to Canada.”
“Like Victor?” As she searched his eyes for the answer, his expression hardened, but he seemed to come to a decision.
Finally, he said, “Like Victor.” He watched her, possibly expecting a reaction, but when she only returned his steady gaze, he said, “I don’t know what your father told you, but Victor has renounced his claim to the viscountcy as he’d decided he likes colder climes.”
“I see.” What else could she say. Her former fiancé had abandoned not only her but his family and country.
“I’m sorry if he hurt you, Pen,” Max said, resting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him, “but do you think you could love someone like me?”
Had she heard him correctly, she wondered. Instead, she asked, “Who are you, Max?”
“Wrong question, Pen.” He gave her a sad smile. “You should not have asked who I am, but who do I want to be.”
She’d never seen him this earnest, melancholy in fact, and wondered at his strange behavior. All right,” she said, “who do you want to be?”
“I have an estate, Sowerby Manor, on the coast in Norfolk. I want to manage Sowerby, know my tenants, and represent them in Parliament. I want you there with me, Pen,” he said softly drawing her to him and gently pressed his lips to hers.
Mesmerized, Penelope brought her hands up around his neck and returned his kiss. His response was sudden and swift, as if she’d fueled an inferno. He crushed her to his chest and forced her lips apart with his tongue. When she responded with a small groan, his ardor grew. His hands roamed her back, her hips. He broke the kiss and nibbled her neck, her ear, sending delicious shivers down her spine. When his hand cupped her breast, she wanted more, even as she questioned her sanity--this was Max who was kissing her.
Though hating to break their embrace, she pushed against his chest. “Max,” she gasped, instantly dreading her decision to pull away from him, “please explain something to me.”
“Anything,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers.
“Who are you? Why did you always leave me for Pierre Arnaud?”
He pulled back and frowned, then bust into laugher. “Oh, Pen, is that what you have been thinking all this time?” He wrapped her in his arms, and she nestled in his embrace. “I didn’t acknowledge it to myself for some time, but I’ve been chasing you ever since I first laid eyes on you.” He chuckled again. “Arnaud was nothing more than a means to an end for me. The War Office knew he was involved in supplying the French with sensitive information. But we didn’t know how he’d gotten it. My job was to find out who gave it to him and how Arnaud sent it on to France.”
“You are a spy,” she gasped, suddenly fearful for his safety.
He nodded. “Was, for my country.”
“Oh, Max,” she said, burying her face in his cravat, “you must think me the silliest fool.”
“Never,” he said, running his hands slowly up and down her back, sending waves of tantalizing warmth through her. “But you haven’t answered me, Pen.” His tone grew serious. “Will you marry me?”
Penelope looked up into his sherry-colored eyes that had darkened with passion. “Yes,” she said simply, leaning toward him for another kiss.
He smiled, devouring her face with his eyes. “One more thing, Pen.”
“Yes, Max,” she whispered, longing for the feel of his lips on hers.
“While I want to become lord of the manor, so to speak, I don’t know how long I can rusticate in the country.”
“Yes, Max?” One of his hands gently slid up and down her side, slowly working its way toward her breast, making it extremely hard for her to concentrate on his words.
“I’m thinking of buying a townhouse,” he said, in between raining soft kisses on her eyes, nose, ears. “Hmmm, something that needs redoing. I’ll need your help redecorating.”
Penelope shook herself mentally, trying to grasp his meaning. “Surely not, Max. With your eye for color, fabrics, what could I possibly have to offer?”
“Restraint!” he growled before devouring her smiling lips.
Several heated minutes passed before once again he lifted his head. “Pen, marry me today?”
She glanced up at the sun slowly beginning its descent behind the trees. “Today?”
“Hmmm, tomorrow?” he asked, kissing her neck, sending delicious shivers down her spine.
“Tomorrow?” she repeated weakly.
Suddenly he pulled away and, with a determined glint in his eyes, said in a voice that brook no argument, “One week, Pen, and not a day longer.”
Penelope grinned foolishly. “One week, Max.”
It was the last thing she said for some time.
A Lady's Dilemma Or The Dandy and Lady Penelope Page 13
