Chapter Seven
The schoolmistress, as Penelope had called her, had been very clear.
Married couples are allotted the cottages on the west lawn. Privacy, you understand. We don’t want any type of scandal. And we certainly don’t want the girls’ tender senses to be bruised.
The last sentence had been directed at Edward with a slight smirk. Seems that even though Miss Eloise had a healthy respect for Edward’s late father and his excellent tutoring of the various peerage’s heirs, she was still a little wary of Edward.
As if he would stay long enough to corrupt any of Miss Eloise’s students.
His plan was still to see Penelope settled and then head home, although the thought twisted his insides into a knot.
The school on the Scottish border was a generous week’s carriage ride away if she needed him.
There still hadn’t been any sign of the mystery man who had followed them.
Edward grumpily looked around the tidy little cottage with one small hearth, one very small bed, and one very jubilant Penelope.
She plopped into the only comfortable chair, surveying the cracked plaster and squeaky floorboards. “Well, this is cozy.”
Edward grunted. “It’s a roof.” He bent to stack kindling in the hearth as his muscles protested. He hadn’t had a chance to exercise in several days. A good long ride would do wonders. But he doubted if Miss Eloise’s establishment had extra riding horses, let alone even one.
Penelope crossed her arms. It was her signature defensive movement. “I understand why you want to leave. Most men would balk at being tied for an eternity to a woman like me.”
He froze, one hand wrapped around a thick log. “What do you mean, ‘a woman like you?’”
She waved vaguely at herself. “Curves. Opinions. More appetite than an inn’s breakfast could satisfy.”
His gut tightened as her words caused an image of the two of them in bed, naked, satisfying all those appetites he had dreamed of sharing with her.
Not the time, old man.
He was here to deliver her to Miss Eloise. Not lust after her.
“I’m hardly the sort of slim, silent helpmate men dream of.”
“Enough of that.” Edward straightened slowly, turning to face her, his gaze locked on hers. “You think you are not what men dream of?”
“Yes, considering how George—”
“Do not mention that scoundrel’s name,” he growled.
She blinked. “Well…isn’t it?”
“No.” He dropped the log, the sound sharp against the bare floorboard. “Men dream of you.” He lowered his voice. “Every inch of you. Did you not notice at the last inn’s public room how the men couldn’t keep their eyes off of you? I wanted to rip their heads off and cover you with my morning coat.”
“Edward,” she sighed. Her voice laced with dubiousness. “You exaggerate.”
“Listen to me,” he commanded. “God knows I want—” He bit off the words, his jaw tightening reflexively. When would his mouth learn not to utter the first thought that pops into his mind? His heart tripped in its beat at his outburst.
Penelope stood, clearly restless, and drifted toward the bed. “You’re sweet to say that to me.”
“I’m not sweet,” he declared.
She ignored him. “The room is rather small. Do you suppose we’ll fit?”
“We’ll manage,” he bit out. He swallowed the lump in his throat. God help him to have the strength not to touch her.
“Do you ever wonder why we never kissed? We’ve been alone together countless times and never even tried it. Or thought to try it.”
“Pen,” he groaned. That wasn’t true for him. He’d thought about kissing her every day since he’d turned thirteen. But she was a duke’s daughter and his best friend.
And he was the son of a tutor. Even if his father had tutored her brother, the current duke. It held little significance in Penelope’s world. Even if she adored him, she couldn’t marry him.
She turned to face him. “I’ve been thinking about it since we said we’re married.
” Her cheeks turned a brilliant crimson.
“I can never lie to you. The truth is that I have been thinking of it since we started on this trip.” Her color deepened, and her voice softened.
“Perhaps I’ve been thinking about it for even longer. ”
“How long?” His voice cracked on the last word, betraying his pain at hearing her confession. He wanted to run to her, pull her into his arms, and kiss her until neither of them could remember their names.
She shrugged and chewed her lower lip. “It is of no consequence.”
Not to him, it wasn’t. He commanded himself to stay quiet.
Slowly, a wicked smile broke across her lips when she met his gaze. “Perhaps we should practice.”
He blinked, quite pleased with his self-restraint. It was a miracle that he hasn’t swept her into his embrace. “Practice kissing?”
“Being married.”
For heaven's sake, she was gradually killing him. His arousal grew at the thought of him towering over Penelope in that small bed. His bare chest pressed against her soft curves as he entered her. Such a delicious thought brought him only heartache. Still, he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. It haunted him.
It taunted him. He could never have her.
She was so close that he could reach out and touch her. It would take little to sweep her into his arms and take her to bed.
“Edward, are you listening to me?” She tilted her head, lips curving. “Surely married couples kiss.”
“Penelope—” His voice sounded in warning, low and rough.
She stepped closer, until her skirts brushed his legs. “For authenticity, of course. Wouldn’t want to throw suspicion our way. Miss Eloise is quite astute and could easily discover our ruse. Besides, you’ve been teasing me about that since the inn.”
He had to get her mind off this idea. “How’s your knee?”
She blinked, clearly confused. “Knee?”
“The accident.”
She smiled in acknowledgment. “It’s fine.”
Pen inched closer.
His reliable voice of reason, filled with self-restraint, had suddenly quieted.
“Penelope,” he whispered. “This is probably a terrible idea.”
“No, I beg to differ. It’s brilliant. Besides, you’re my husband.”
“Pretend husband.”
“Well, pretend husband, let’s see if we can make believe this is real.” Then she wrapped her arms around his neck.
She was playing with fire, and she didn’t even know it.
Edward told himself that for the hundredth time as Penelope stood before him, chin lifted, lips parted in that maddeningly confident way that always made his thoughts stumble.
She’d said something about “practicing” their roles as a married couple.
Something about appearances and believability.
The words had blurred into nothing the instant she smiled at him.
“Go on, then,” she said, voice light, teasing. “If we’re to be convincing, you’d better look at me as though you’re terribly in love.”
He laughed once, low in his chest. “Penelope, don’t ask that. It’s too dangerous.”
When her eyes flickered with a hint of uncertainty, his composure cracked.
She was too close. Close enough that he could see the tiny pulse at her throat, the faint scent of lavender clinging to her skin. One more breath and he’d touch her. One more second and he’d forget everything but her mouth.
“Just for practice,” she said, and the glint in her eyes told him she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Just for practice,” he repeated. God help him, he wanted her.
And without hesitation or any idea of the power she held over him, she pressed her lips to his.
What began as mischief turned molten in an instant. His hands came up, cupping her waist, and instantly tightened. Her curves fit perfectly against his palms, and his mouth claimed hers with a hunger that simmered for years.
He pulled her closer before he could reconsider. Her body pressed against his as if she had been waiting for him all along. Softness and warmth, life and laughter—everything he’d tried to deny himself because she deserved better than a man like him.
He should step away. Should pull away and make some humorous quip. He should definitely remind her that they were only pretending.
Instead, he bent his head and deepened the kiss.
Suddenly, all his prior reasons and hesitation vanished into thin air as the world tilted.
Her lips parted on a quiet gasp, and his control fractured.
His tongue twisted with hers in a slow and sensual dance.
She tasted of tea and something sweet he couldn’t name, and every sound she made, every trembling breath, pulled him deeper.
His hands slid up her back as her fingers fisted in his coat, pulling him closer.
He could feel the moment it changed from a kiss to something more dangerous.
Desire turned into obsession. His stiff cock pressed against her, waiting to unleash the rush of passion that came from being with her.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he knew that if he didn’t stop now, he’d lay her back on that shabby cottage bed and finally take what he’d been dreaming of for years.
He tore his mouth from hers with a ragged sound, pressing his forehead against hers as he struggled for air.
“Penelope,” he rasped. “We cannot…”
She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and dazed. “Why not?”
Because I’ll never stop. Because you deserve a husband who is your equal. Because you deserve a husband who can control himself, not a man who turns into a heathen at the sight of you.
Instead of saying what was in his heart, he managed a rough smile. “Because if I don’t stop now, I won’t stop at all.”
Her lips curved slowly, wickedly. “Well,” she murmured, “that sounds like a you problem, Edward.”
“You have no idea.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reluctantly let her go as he took a step back. “I should see that everything is safe and secure for the night.”
Without giving Penelope a chance to answer, Edward stepped outside into the cool evening air, dragging in a breath that burned all the way down.
The cottage door shut behind him with a soft click, cutting off the sight of her.
But the images of her mussed hair, swollen lips, and eyes full of questions he couldn’t afford to answer were burned into his thoughts.
He pressed his palms to his eyes. God help him, one more kiss and he would’ve undone every button on that ridiculous gown and ruined her right there on the floor of the cottage.
What was truly scary? She’d looked ready to follow him into sin with a smile. That wasn’t the life Edward had promised her father. He was meant to protect her, not worship her.
The night was quiet, save for the whisper of leaves and the faint hoot of an owl. It should have calmed him. It didn’t. His pulse still pounded, his body still thrummed with the memory of her taste.
He turned toward the lane, trying to cleanse the need for her out of his system. That’s when he saw him.
A figure stood half in shadow, near the edge of the hedgerow—a man in a dark coat and hat, still as a carving. Too far for Edward to make out his face, but close enough that the hair rose on the back of his neck.
The stranger didn’t move.
Neither did Edward.
He shifted his weight, every muscle tight, ready to pursue. The protective instinct that always simmered beneath the surface roared to life—visceral, absolute. Whoever that man was, he’d been watching their cottage. Perhaps since they had arrived.
The figure turned toward the small grove of trees.
Edward stepped forward, ready to give chase. “You there. Stop.”
The man ignored him and vanished into the mist at the bend of the road. Gone, as if swallowed by the night.
With his fists clenched, Edward took another step forward. The air felt colder now, sharper. He didn’t like the way it pressed against his skin like a warning.
He glanced back at the cottage, warm lamplight spilling from the window.
He could not and would not leave her alone.
Inside, Penelope, his Penelope, would be fussing with her hair or pretending not to wait for him, probably muttering something about his absurd sense of duty.
She was his, even if he pretended it was just for tonight. No matter what, he would protect her.
He exhaled slowly. The urge to go back inside, to pull her into his arms and keep her there until the world made sense again, was nearly unbearable.
Instead, he turned to the dark road, jaw set. This had to be the work of Draven, trying to force a marriage between him and Penelope. If the stranger worked for Draven and followed them to kidnap Penelope, he would fail.
Perhaps his own grand plan to see her settled, then leave, would have to be reevaluated. Because if anyone laid a hand on Penelope, Edward would ignore all restraint.
He marched back into the cottage, closed the door, and slid the simple lock bolt against the door jamb. Anyone with an ounce of strength could bust the door open and have Penelope in a carriage before she could blink.
“Pen, I’ve reevaluated my plans. I’m staying as long as you want me.”