She braced her hands on her hips. “Apparently the Ashleys are giving a Christmas Ball, and your mother thinks we ought to go.”
“Oh?” He was right—she wasn’t wearing anything. He could see her tight, hard nipples poking against the delicate fabric. He felt himself getting hard under his own dressing gown.
“Oh—is that all you have to say?”
Other possibilities leapt into his mind.Come closer so I can suckle your breasts. Would you prefer to ride me tonight, or shall we try another position?He tried to focus on his wife’s words. “What is the problem, precisely?”
“The problem,Marcus,”—never a good thing when she said his name in that tone—“is that I have no intention of gracing that trollop’s house with my presence.”
Understanding pierced his playful mood. With remorse, he said quietly, “I acted like a fool, but you do know that I have no interest whatsoever in Cora Ashley, don’t you, love?”
“Of course I know that.” The indignant fire in Penny’s eyes eased the knot in his chest. Pacing back and forth alongside the bed, she said, “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“No bitch in heat is going to wriggle her rump at you and try to take what is mine.”
He choked back a laugh. “Er, pardon me?”
“You heard me. She’s like a farmyard beast after you to rut her.” Penny narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you laughing at me?”
He was trying not to. Ever since the revelations at the cottage, Penny seemed freer, more confident, more… herself. Previously hidden facets of her caught the light, sparkling brilliantly. Although he didn’t want his wife to suffer unnecessarily, he couldn’t help but find her feminine jealousy rather delightful—especially since it made her breasts surge against her neckline and her eyes blaze with violet flames. An intriguing image flitted through his head, one evoked by Penny’s discussion of farmyard mating rituals.
As a result, he was no longer getting hard—he was fully there.
“No,” he said contritely. “But your description was rather… colorful.”
Penny sniffed. “It’s the truth.”
“Be that as it may, you may want to consider Mama’s advice.”
“What?” his wife said in outrage.
“You and I both know nothing happened, but if we don’t go to the Ashleys’ party, it will only fuel the gossip. The best way to deal with this is head on. We put in an appearance, and we leave. Once everyone sees that there’s no friction between us and the Ashleys and thus no cause for drama, the rumors will die. End of story.”
He could see that his reasoning hit home… even if she didn’t like it. Huffing out a breath, she said, “You’re assuming a lot.”
He raised a brow. “In what regard?”
“In the regard that I’ll be able to hold myself back from using my garotte on bloody Cora Ashley,” Penny groused. “We’ll see about friction then.”
Chuckling, he snagged her hand and pulled her onto the bed so that she was sprawled atop him. “Don’t pack your garotte in your reticule that night,” he advised, “and you’ll do fine.”
“Oh, all right.” Just as it always did, her storm passed. The fire in her eyes was replaced by a different sort altogether. A wicked, sensual spark that made his blood run hot. “Darling, do you have something in your pocket,” she purred, “or are you justveryhappy to see me?”
“All that talk of rutting may have put ideas in my mind,” he murmured, running his hands through the wild raven silk of her hair.
“Oh? Any ideas you’d care to share?”
“Why don’t I show you instead?” he said.
Crushing her mouth to his, he set about doing just that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was small of her, Penny knew, but as she and Marcus waited in the long receiving line, she took in the ballroom with a touch of smugness. Cora Ashley’s blood might be bluer than Penny’s, but the former wouldn’t know taste if it knocked her over and dragged her down the street. Penny could tell the countess had poured a small fortune into the night’s endeavor and, with all that blunt, managed to create an ambience that was both overblown and unwelcoming.
One couldn’t walk two steps without a suspended sprig of mistletoe smacking one in the forehead. The orchestra was three times as large as it needed to be, its volume so deafening that guests were shouting at each other to be heard. The buffet table was piled high with fussy, greasy bits that appealed to neither eye nor stomach. Yet in Penny’s opinion, out of all of this, it was the champagne fountain that truly took the cake.
