Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (6 page)

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes growing wider. He was drowning in them. He could not break away.
What would her ladyship do if he kissed her?
Experience said that she had a will of her own. Would she return an embrace with passionate eagerness, or would she slap him across the face?

There was but one way to find out.

He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, in a tentative, exploring way at first. Would she slap him? Or would she welcome the kiss?
Lady Annand
stiffened in his arms, her lips remaining locked. Even a
s rigid as she was, there was
tenderness
beneath
. He could feel it, if she would only let go. He teased her lips with his, urging her silently to part them. But she broke away, her face a bright shade of red.
He had the distinct impression he narrowly avoided being slapped.

He couldn't think of the right thing to say. The gift of gab failed him.
Lady
Annand
was—despite all her luscious beauty and underlying softness—aptly named.
She was no merry widow. She was t
he Ice Goddess, indeed.

Chapter Six

No matter how hard she tried, Penelope could not rid herself of the feeling of Pierce's lips on her own. She had no idea what to do, of course, when he grabbed her. And judging by the disappointed expression in his eyes, she did not acquit herself well. The rest of their meeting had been all awkward conversation and careful distance. He did not press himself on her again. And for that, if Penelope had to admit the truth, she was bitterly disappointed.

She hadn't made a Christmas wish since she was a child. And she didn't want
to give in to some kind of depraved lust. But Pierce was awakening feelings in her that she hadn't felt since she was a sixteen year old miss. Feelings she long ago had buried under layers of ice and snow. And now—that snow was beginning to melt. It was all his fault.

This was the only thing she wanted for Christmas. A chance
to explore further, to give herself a chance at love and romance again. But their kiss yesterday had probably cooled his ardor. He looked so downcast and uncomfortable. If only she could do whatever it was she was supposed to do and do it right. No matter what she did to or with men, it always seemed to turn out wrong.

She faced her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She
must
make a decision. She had to choose if she
was going to try to embark on a Christmas
affair with Pierce Howe, and welcome his attentions. Or she had to shut him down. Either way, she needed to make a deliberate move—either to commence their relationship or to simply revert to business as usual. She brushed her hair with long, even strokes. Her mind was a blank. She could only feel—and what she felt were his soft, insistent lips on hers—his strong, sure hands on her shoulders…

Her bedroom door opened and Jane strolled in. "I didn't bother with being announced. I knew you'd welcome me, even if you were still
en dishabille
." She cast her reticule down on the intricately carved mahogany bedside table and flopped on the bed.

"Oh, of course, Jane. You are very welcome, as
always
." Time to gather her wits and stop mooning about Pierce Howe. Jane had such razor-sharp
sensibilities;
she could probably already discern that something was amiss.

"I'll come right out with the purpose of my visit. I've asked around, and no one knows anything about the Barclay Agency. In fact, no one's even heard about it." Jane lolled against the pillows. "I've asked everyone I could think of. But it's like it doesn't even exist."

Penelope gathered her hair, twisting it into a high knot. "That's a disappointment." She stabbed a few hairpins in to hold the knot in place. "I had hoped that someone had at least heard of the place."

"No one has heard a word, or else everyone is lying." Jane replied. "I think, quite frankly, you should tell your beau about it. He's a professional. He'll know what to do. I am quite out of my depth."

"He's not my beau," Penelope snapped. Drat. She'd let her hand slip. Now for the barrage of questions.

But Jane merely quirked an eyebrow. "So sorry I offended
Her Majesty
. But really, if you listen to what I am saying, you'll know I am being reasonable. Howe will know what to do next. I have no idea where to go from here."

Penelope stuck a final pin into the golden coil on her head and half-turned from the mirror. Jane was right. They could probably use some guidance. Not that Pierce Howe had the upper hand. Just that—well, perhaps four minds were better than three. "I will talk to him this afternoon, when he arrives."

Jane scanned her with sharp eyes and nodded. "Would you care to talk about it?"

It was impossible to pull the wool over Jane's eyes. And she was, at least, easier to talk to than Elizabeth in a lot of ways. "Oh Jane," she breathed, and then collapsed on the bed with her friend. "I don't know what to do. He kissed me, and I didn't know how to kiss him back."

The corners of Jane's mouth twitched, and a twinkle replaced the sharpness in her gaze. "Well, do you want to kiss him again?"

"Oh, yes." Penelope sighed. Actually, she wanted more than that. But she would be damned if she would say that aloud to anyone.

"Well, then, you need to try again. We women are lucky in this one respect, Penelope. Awkwardness in the boudoir is actually expected of most ladies. We aren't supposed to know much about the game of love, unless we make our living at it, or unless we've been married before."

"I have been married before." Penelope stated flatly.

"It was a
marriage blanc
, which Howe may not be aware of. But on the other hand, your uncertainty will diminish as you, well, practice more. It's not so simple for men. Poor devils, they have to know exactly what they're about from the very first moment, the very first time. It must be a great deal of pressure."

That was Jane for you. Always thinking from another person's perspective. "That line of thought may do very well for one of your novels, but how does it help me?" Penelope scowled. "What should I do?"

"Well, if you like Howe and want to embark on any kind of affair, then you need to let him know that you are open to it. Even if you are unschooled in the art of love.  You have a very regal appearance, you know. You weren't just named the Ice Goddess for nothing. Men are almost afraid to approach you." Jane chuckled. "In fact, I must hand it to Howe. Most men wouldn't have even attempted to kiss you. He's braver than I thought."

As Jane's words seeped into her consciousness, Penelope formulated a plan. She would have to seduce Pierce Howe. She would have to throw all caution to the wind…

"What are you thinking?" Jane inquired, cocking her head to one side. An impish light gleamed in her dark green eyes. "Are you concocting a strategy to bring your handsome detective to his knees?"

"Something like that," Penelope agreed. "I will start by talking with him about the Barclay Agency. You are right about that. It may be something he can help with."

"Always business first, " Jane sighed.

"Of course, business first. Finding Cicely is more important than any affair I could have," Penelope reminded her. "She was a good friend, and I feel as though her fate rests in my hands."

"Very well. Business first." Jane sat up. "And then, what?"

"I'll just—I don't know. But I will find some way to let him know I am interested in pursuing a physical relationship."

"Botheration!" Jane retorted. "You must try to be more comfortable with yourself, Penelope. Relinquish some control. Let him see your softer side. You have such a defensive stature, such a wall of brittle ice guarding the warmth and beauty of the woman inside. Let him see that, and you will not need to let him know anything more."

Penelope smiled. "That was phrased in a very liter
ary manner
, Jane."

Her friend returned the grin. "
'Tis my career, darling
."

***

Simmons,
Lady Annand
's butler, showed
Pierce
into her ladyship's
lovely
greenhouse
.
A lovely brook, tiled in white, meandered around and through the plants, bubbling quietly
.
Dark, dusky r
oses cl
imbed the dun-colored
stone walls and chrysanthemums
gave
off a spicy scent.
Yes, the beauty of the greenhouse--so fabled in London society--was enchanting.
But it was also the first place Pierce had been other than her ladyship's study. New settings always threw him off, and he tamped down the rising feeling of distrust that was working its way through his being.

He didn't know what to think of the Ice Goddess. One moment she was sure and in command, ordering even a hulking brute like Bill about. And then, when he tried to kiss her, she was as awkward as a schoolgirl. Which was the true
Lady Penelope
Annand
? The domineering leader of society, or the sweet and pensive girl? He had no idea. He fancied them both, but even so, a fellow liked to have an idea of what he was dealing with.

"Mr. Howe, how good of you to come by. Have you waited long?" Her voice, musical and liquid, floated
in as though carried along on the splashing brook.
She
paused in the door way
. Despite his best effort, Pierce's mouth dropped open.
Her ladyship
was dressed in a gown of powder blue, cut far lower than he though
t
fashion allowed
--or that the December weather would tolerate
. Her hair, always twisted in a heavy knot on her head, was completely undone. The
pale
afternoon sun glowed through her tresses, gilding them. She
was
a nymph arising from a spring, or at the very least, like a desirable woman one step away from the boudoir.

He was gawping at her, like a lad who had seen his first naughty etching. He closed his mouth and directed his attention away from her charmingly displayed bosom. "I only just arrived, your ladyship." His voice sounded choked, strained even. He cleared his throat.

"Oh, good. I was afraid I made you wait too long." She offered him her hand. He bowed over it and caught a whiff of her scent.
Gardenias
. He blinked a few times to clear his mind. She was befuddling him, and he needed to be sharp.

She sat in a chair and motioned him
to sit
across from her. "What do you think of my g
reenhouse
? Pretty, is it not? This is my favorite place in my home. I come here every day to
care for my roses
."

He made a deliberate attempt to look away from her and to pay homage to the scenery. "It's very nice." He sounded like an idiot.

"Well, I am glad you came today. I have some information you might find interesting." She withdrew a scrap of foolscap from her bosom and handed it to him.

The paper smelled of
gardenias
and was still warm from her body. He unfolded it with slightly shaking hands. "Barclay Employment Agency?" he read aloud.

"The maid I questioned at the Gilded Lily told me we should start there. I'm sorry I withheld that piece of information from you for so long. But I wanted to try and track it down myself. My friend Jane actually inquired about it for me, but she found nothing." She smiled, showing two adorable dimples at the corners of her mouth. "Do you forgive me? This was before we formed our understanding yesterday."

"Yes, of course. I forgive you." No, wait. He should be angry. She withheld information from him, damn it. And her friend was asking questions around town, surely stirring up all kinds of trouble in her wake. But one look at
Lady Annand
and he was helpless. He should be angry, but he was only—besotted.

"Will you follow up on it?"

"Yes, I will." He folded the scrap of paper and tucked it into his coat pocket.

"Can I help you as you work on it? I promise not to be a nuisance." She shook her cascade of hair
and sent him a devastating smile
.

She was seducing him. That was a
ll there was to it. He stood
to break the spell. Fortunately, his overcoat was long enough to cover the evidence of her success.

He strode over to her chair and leaned closer to her. "
Lady Annand
, I've made it clear I will work with you, but only on certain conditions. What is the meaning of this?" He reached out and grasped a silky curl with his fingertips.

"The meaning of what?" Her eyes were emerald pools. He was drowning in them.

"This…display." He released her lock of hair. "Are you trying to tell me something? If so, you have my undivided attention, I assure you."

"Kiss me again," she whispered, turning her face up toward his.

Who was he to deny her ladyship anything? He drew her up in his arms, holding her close. Then he bent and took possession of her mouth. She melted against him, not fighting and not trying to gain control as she had yesterday. He groaned and deepened the kiss, teasing her lips with his tongue. With a gasp, she parted her lips, and he entered her mouth.

She was enthusiastic but a bit tentative, a heady combination. Breaking away from her lips, he trailed a path of kisses down her neck and collarbone. Just a little bit further…

"Please," she panted. "Oh, Howe. Don't stop, I beg of you."

"Where is your bedroom?" He murmured against the top of her bosom.

"Um..
. Up the stairs. And to the right." Her breathing was heavy. It was a delicious sound. "But the servants will see us."

"I don't give a damn," he muttered. With his fingertips he pulled down the filmy fabric that barely covered her breasts. "I will carry you over my shoulder if I must."

"
But Pierce
…" She was clasping the lapels of his coat as though they were a raft and she was at sea.

"
Trust in me, Penelope
." He gathered her in his arms and carried her
towards the door, a man on a mission
.