“You are surprisingly bold,” he murmured, “for a blushing young maiden.”
Impatient, she’d gathered him into her arms. “And you’re surprisingly solid...for a toff.”
He brushed her lips with his in a tender, careful kiss.
Not what she had expected. “You surprise me—”
“Chev.”
“Chev?” she queried.
“My name. Cheverley.”
“I’ve never heard that one before.”
“My Christian name, actually.”
“Even good friends do not call one another by their Christian names, Chev.”
“They do if the Christian name is preceded by ‘Lord.’”
“As in Lord Cheverley?”
He nodded. “Though I am merely a second son.”
Merely? She’d never even met a proper baron. The most rarified gentleman of her acquaintance was a barrister whose wife sometimes purchased meat from her father.
The titled were shadows from another world. A world with awesome, terrible power...
“Have I silenced you with my consequence?”
“Second sons can be called ‘Lord’?” she managed to ask.
“They can if their fathers are dukes.” He’d leaned close to her ear. “Are you impressed?”
“Do I look impressed?”
“I can’t see you. But you don’t sound impressed at all.” He ran his fingers down her cheek. “It’s dashed attractive.”
“I’m not trying to be attractive.”
“That is exactly why it works. Is there anything I can do to impress you?”
“No,” she’d replied truthfully. She did not like the aristocracy. She especially did not like dukes. She was about to tell him. Then, he laughed, and everything changed.
His laugh. Good God, his laugh. It rumbled in her belly. It made her come alive.
“Kiss me again, Chev.” What could a short dalliance hurt? “And do try and give this one a bit of effort.”
“What’s your name, vixen?”
“Penelope.”
“Miss Penelope...”
She’d liked that. Miss Penelope. In fact, she’d gone a little gooey inside.
“I choose you, Miss Penelope.” He kissed her again. Hotter. Lingering. “Do you choose me?”
