She fixed her eyes on Jonathan, sitting so composed and calm across from her, and felt trembly when she remembered what transpired here last evening. Her gaze strayed to the high-backed chair where she had curled up so contentedly in his arms. Why, she near ached with longing to be close to him again. How could she think of another man as a husband?
“I suppose you mean Lord Stephen,” she offered with extreme politeness but a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Jonathan concealed a smile behind a raised hand which rubbed over his upper lip. “Do you wish to marry him?”
“Whether I might or no, I fear Lord Stephen is no more than flirting with me. I seriously doubt he wishes to become leg-shackled.” She gave Jonathan a wry look that said volumes about her feelings regarding the dashing Lord Stephen, if she but knew it.
“Any others?” he probed.
“Mr. Willowby is all you said, and I scarcely know Sir Aubrey, so I doubt he would suit.”
“I fancy that were I to present myself to the Lord Chancellor with the support of my friends, I should have little trouble being heard or acquiring the necessary permission.” Jonathan cleared his throat again, struck by sudden nervousness, pausing several moments before he continued. “As to a suitable betrothed, may I offer my poor self?”
Penelope thought immediately of his financial situation, and her heart, rather than grow hard, went out to him with deep sympathy. It must be a tremendous strain for him to be the head of such a great family, with a mother and sister who delighted in spending his money, and all the other claims—such as hers—upon his time and energy, not to mention fortune, such as it might be at this point.
“You cannot wish to wed ‘me, my lord,” she replied mendaciously. “Should it rather be a betrothal until my aunt takes herself back to the country? She finds the city distressingly expensive. She complained it would cost them two thousand pounds to keep Everton House going for the Season, and that, you may be sure, vexes her exceedingly.”
Is that an acceptance of my offer, Penny? I suppose it is no more than I deserve, being so unloverlike.” He glanced at Miss Nilsson, who rose silently to slip from the room. It was doubtful that Penelope was the least aware of her departure.
Jonathan rose from his desk, then walked around it to confront the demure figure perched on the chair. He leaned over to draw her to her feet. He held her hands a moment, then released them, gently placing his arms about her shoulders to bring her closer. She did not resist.
“Would it be so distasteful? To be betrothed to me, that is? Or for me to be your husband?” He studied her face, then slowly, so as to give her time to pull away if she wished, he claimed her lips in the very sweetest of kisses. It was light, but demanding, seductive, yet not going beyond that barrier that existed between them.
Penelope melted. All thought of holding back from his kiss fled her mind at the touch of his lips. Heaven could be no better. She slid her arms up to wrap them tightly about him, clinging for all she was worth to his solid and satisfying form. If a drop of water had chanced to fall upon them, doubtless it would have sizzled.
It was Jonathan who drew back from the embrace. He said, rather amused at their predicament, “I fear I have well and truly compromised you, my dear Penny. Shall we consider our betrothal as a fact?”
Embarrassed at her wholehearted reception of his kiss, Penelope nodded, eyes downcast, quite unable to speak for a few moments. He must think her a sad wanton.
“Very well, I shall take the necessary steps. Do you trust me to do what is right for you?” His eyes fixed a keen gaze upon her, suspecting that her trust was not something she bestowed lightly.
Penelope held her breath for a moment. Never had she completely trusted another, particularly a man, she realized. Could she bring herself to trust Jonathan? Then she thought of all his many fine traits: his patience and loving kindness to his mother and sister, his appreciation for lovely things, his music, and last of all, his concern for her. Aggravating he might be at times, but he did care what happened to her, and for that she must extend him her trust.
She nodded. “I do, sir.” Clear blue eyes raised to meet his reflected the complete trust she placed in him.
“I believe you can now claim the indulgence of the use of my first name, Penny.”
“And you are to persist in calling me by that silly pet name as well? No one has ever given me such.” She stepped away from him, giving him a nettled look. The strings of her reticule were being fearfully mangled by nervous hands, his only real clue to her inner feelings.
“Then it’s about time, is it not?” He walked over to ring for Darling, who arrived with suspicious promptness.
“I believe there is another bottle of that champagne that Lady Penelope enjoyed so last evening. Would you be so kind?”
“Indeed, sir.” Darling beamed a smile at Penelope, then left. Moments later, he returned—amazingly soon, considering the distance of the cellar—with the carefully cooled and opened bottle of the fine wine.
Miss Nilsson followed the butler into the room, studying the flushed face of her charge with intent eyes. “Am I to wish you happy, my dear?” she said, her lilt quite pronounced in her emotion.
“Well,” Penelope said with caution, “we have agreed that Jonathan and I shall announce our betrothal. ‘Tis a blessing that betrothals are not quite as binding as they once were, is it not?”
