Not that Penelope had ever experienced any such event.She’d remained so far up on the shelf for so long that even wallflowers pitied her.She was old.Finished.She smirked.If the thought of kissing her were to cross any man’s mind, it would be a miracle at thirty-four years.
Penelope didn’t believe in miracles.She believed in science.Chemistry.Opportunity.It was time to start.She took a deep breath.
Well-meaning friends were always trying to get her to look different in order to be attractive, tobedifferent in order to deserve love.Sweeter, flirtier, prettier.Become something men desired.
For this experiment to work, she was going to have to do the opposite.She narrowed her eyes.Duchessneeded to let a woman bewitch a man without even trying.
First step: limit external influences.
There was no looking-glass in her laboratory, so she would have to do this part by feel.She tugged her already careless chignon a little more lopsided and tightened her battered smock about her neck.Next time, she would take care to make herself appear even more unappealing than usual.For now, she had to hurry.Saint Nick was bound to wonder where she was off to.
When she dashed back into the kitchen, she pulled up short.He was systematically demolishing biscuit after biscuit, consuming each with such care and sensual delight she quite doubted he had noticed her absence at all.
Her lips quirked at the sight.Although she hadn’t baked the biscuits with Saint Nick in mind, she rather wished she had.Who knew watching a man consume something she created would be so satisfying?
“How are the biscuits?”she asked.
He jumped guiltily as if he’d forgotten Penelope altogether.She was not surprised.She hadn’t been wearingDuchess.Now that she was, he would not forget her a second time.
“Does your offer still stand?”she asked.
He snuck the last crumb before setting his plate aside.“You’ll sell me the rights toDuke?”
Under no circumstances.But Duchess needed time to work.Penelope was still refining the final characteristics.She didn’t expect men to swoon at first sniff.Repeated exposure was the key.This could take days.She had to ensure he spent a measurable amount of time in scent range.
She leaned against the door jamb.“I promise to think it over.Come back tomorrow.”
He abandoned the remaining biscuits with obvious remorse and reluctantly turned toward the doorway.
She was still standing there.
He could have squeezed past her.
She could have moved aside to give way.
Instead, they found themselves toe-to-toe, door jambs at their backs, with only a whisper of space between.Just enough room forDuchessto work.
“Thank you for the biscuits.”He gave her a boyish smile.
She tried not to smile back.“Thank you for the flower.”
“My pleasure.”His eyes twinkled.“That is, until you left it lying on the ground like rubbish.”
“It was rubbish,” Penelope assured him.“Try harder next time.”
His brow furrowed.“Try harder to what?”
“Whatever you’re trying to do.Surprise me.”There.Duchessshould have reached his nostrils by now.Penelope moved out of arm’s reach and motioned toward the door.“I’m sure the rose is still out there.There’s time to give it to someone who would appreciate it.”
“No,” he said quietly, his blue eyes intense on hers.“You’re right.The rose was meaningless.I’ll do better.”
But he made no move to exit.
Penelope’s heart beat alarmingly fast.Something was happening.She tried to think rationally.A racing pulse was a good thing.Every beat of her heart was sending tiny pulses ofDuchessfrom her pulse points to his nostrils.The scent was subtle.He would not know what was so intoxicating about her.It would just work.
She hoped.
Unfortunately, his scent was having an equally disruptive effect on her senses.This feeling of vertigo was not due toDukeor any othereau de toilette.She doubted he used one.He didn’t have to.His scent was deeper than that, more real, more complex.A trace of his soap, the scent of his skin, an essence of arrogance and romance and danger.She swallowed hard.
