simply apologized and retreated?
Because you want to change things , Penelope reminded herself. “I thought perhaps we could talk about… our situation.”
“Now? And here?”
“Why not? In London, you’re never at home. On the drive, Mr. Carlisle was riding alongside. Here, there are no maids or valets to interrupt unless we call for them.”
Without a word he took off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. His cravat was next; he tossed it atop the coat, but it slid off to pool on the floor. He unfastened the band at the neck of his shirt. His fingers were long and strong and supple, and though Penelope was a good five feet away, she could almost feel the warmth of his fingertips brushing against the smooth linen as though it had been her skin.
He glanced at her. “Don’t let me stop you. You were saying?”
Penelope looked away. “I’ve been thinking about your letter, my lord. The one to my father. It seems to me that he did not absolutely reject your request.” And I wish you would tell me what that request was , she wanted to add.
He paused, fingers clasped on the next button. “His refusal seemed quite definite to me.”
“But it wasn’t. Not really. He said he wouldn’t agree at this time . But surely he meant if you meet his terms…”
“I would call them demands .”
“Perhaps.” Penelope took a deep breath. “At any rate, we both know what he wants. It’s been three months, my lord, since the wedding. It seems to me it is time to take the next step.”
The earl didn’t answer. Slowly, he stripped off his shirt.
Penelope’s mouth went dry at the sight of so much bare skin. His chest was unexpectedly broad, and under the light furring of hair, she could see each muscle so clearly defined and distinct that she would be able to draw him from memory. Her heart was pounding.
He laid the shirt aside and came to stand directly in front of her. She had been even closer to him, of course, on their wedding day—but this was different. He seemed so much bigger than she’d realized, and that bare chest was so much warmer… What would it be like to be pressed against him? Under him?
She shivered a little.
He moved past her to the washstand, poured warm water from the pitcher into the basin, and bent to splash his face.
Penelope watched the muscles flex in his back and arms. Then, feeling as if she was only half-awake, she reached for a towel to hold out for him.
He looked at her over the edge of the linen square. “I must beg your pardon. I did not realize how strongly your father has pressured you for an heir until yesterday when he visited in Berkeley Square, and even then I did not comprehend how concerned you are about providing one in order to satisfy him.” He blotted his face and folded the towel.
The careful way he matched up the corners told Penelope exactly how tightly he was controlling himself, for she couldn’t imagine him caring whether a towel was neat or not.
“You must not disturb yourself over the matter,” he went on. “Mr. Weiss cannot cut off your allowance, for my solicitors saw to that in the marriage contracts.”
She took a moment to find her voice. “That’s not…”
“I understand it is not money but fear of disappointing your father that worries you most.” He laid the damp towel aside. “But there is no need for these desperate maneuvers. I have no intention of claiming my husbandly rights.”
Desperate? He thought she was desperate? And he was letting her down easily, as gently as was possible in these horrid circumstances.
She kept her back straight as she turned to walk out of the room.
“Penelope,” he said softly. “I am sorry.”
“So am I, my lord.” She didn’t look back. “So am I.”
***
“Court me?” Olivia’s words came out as nothing more than a squeak, so she had to try again. “What do you mean, court me ?”
The duke shrugged. “What everyone means, I suppose, when they use the phrase in speaking of an
Because you want to change things , Penelope reminded herself. “I thought perhaps we could talk about… our situation.”
“Now? And here?”
“Why not? In London, you’re never at home. On the drive, Mr. Carlisle was riding alongside. Here, there are no maids or valets to interrupt unless we call for them.”
Without a word he took off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. His cravat was next; he tossed it atop the coat, but it slid off to pool on the floor. He unfastened the band at the neck of his shirt. His fingers were long and strong and supple, and though Penelope was a good five feet away, she could almost feel the warmth of his fingertips brushing against the smooth linen as though it had been her skin.
He glanced at her. “Don’t let me stop you. You were saying?”
Penelope looked away. “I’ve been thinking about your letter, my lord. The one to my father. It seems to me that he did not absolutely reject your request.” And I wish you would tell me what that request was , she wanted to add.
He paused, fingers clasped on the next button. “His refusal seemed quite definite to me.”
“But it wasn’t. Not really. He said he wouldn’t agree at this time . But surely he meant if you meet his terms…”
“I would call them demands .”
“Perhaps.” Penelope took a deep breath. “At any rate, we both know what he wants. It’s been three months, my lord, since the wedding. It seems to me it is time to take the next step.”
The earl didn’t answer. Slowly, he stripped off his shirt.
Penelope’s mouth went dry at the sight of so much bare skin. His chest was unexpectedly broad, and under the light furring of hair, she could see each muscle so clearly defined and distinct that she would be able to draw him from memory. Her heart was pounding.
He laid the shirt aside and came to stand directly in front of her. She had been even closer to him, of course, on their wedding day—but this was different. He seemed so much bigger than she’d realized, and that bare chest was so much warmer… What would it be like to be pressed against him? Under him?
She shivered a little.
He moved past her to the washstand, poured warm water from the pitcher into the basin, and bent to splash his face.
Penelope watched the muscles flex in his back and arms. Then, feeling as if she was only half-awake, she reached for a towel to hold out for him.
He looked at her over the edge of the linen square. “I must beg your pardon. I did not realize how strongly your father has pressured you for an heir until yesterday when he visited in Berkeley Square, and even then I did not comprehend how concerned you are about providing one in order to satisfy him.” He blotted his face and folded the towel.
The careful way he matched up the corners told Penelope exactly how tightly he was controlling himself, for she couldn’t imagine him caring whether a towel was neat or not.
“You must not disturb yourself over the matter,” he went on. “Mr. Weiss cannot cut off your allowance, for my solicitors saw to that in the marriage contracts.”
She took a moment to find her voice. “That’s not…”
“I understand it is not money but fear of disappointing your father that worries you most.” He laid the damp towel aside. “But there is no need for these desperate maneuvers. I have no intention of claiming my husbandly rights.”
Desperate? He thought she was desperate? And he was letting her down easily, as gently as was possible in these horrid circumstances.
She kept her back straight as she turned to walk out of the room.
“Penelope,” he said softly. “I am sorry.”
“So am I, my lord.” She didn’t look back. “So am I.”
***
“Court me?” Olivia’s words came out as nothing more than a squeak, so she had to try again. “What do you mean, court me ?”
The duke shrugged. “What everyone means, I suppose, when they use the phrase in speaking of an
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