Page 78 of His Wild Duchess
Despite her face growing a deep shade of red, Penelope didn’t pull her eyes away from his for even one second. The corner of her lip curled into an amused smile. “I believe you might’ve had too much to drink already.”
George’s brow furrowed. “Not a drop.”
“Why do you look at me like that?”
He couldn’t help himself from smirking. “Like what?”
“I couldn’t possibly say,” she murmured, her confidence slipping away. Her shoulders hunched as if to turn away.
Eager to hear her words and to keep her focus attached to him, George reached, his finger grazing the curve of her jaw before swiping below her chin. She turned again, a light exhalation leaving her lips.
“Come on,” he whispered. “It’s just us. You are only Penelope, and I am only George.” He smiled, unable to stop his gaze from trailing over her face, from admiring every bit of her as she faced him. “What is it?”
“You look at me,” she whispered, the air catching in her throat for a moment before she swallowed, regaining herself, “You look at me as though I am more than ‘only Penelope.’”
The intensity of the moment hit George like a ton of bricks. He was incredibly close to her, a hairs away from the ruby coloredlips that spoke the sweetest of words. Whatever it was that kept him away from her before no longer mattered. There was only the two of them in the dimly lit bedroom, the ball they were supposed to be hosting going on swimmingly down the hall. None of it mattered, anyways. Not when there was something as alluring as Penelope sitting right in front of him.
“You are more than that,” he whispered. “You know that, don’t you?”
“How?”
George smiled. “Well, youaremy wife.”
Her green eyes drew even wider. “Can…can you…”
“Anything.”
Penelope’s face grew red. “Can you say that again?”
“What,” he murmured, unaware of how close he leaned towards her, “My wife?”
Her eyes fluttered shut. “Again.”
George laughed, entirely engrossed by the beautiful woman in front of him. “You,” he whispered, “Penelope, are my wife.”
With her eyes clothes, head angled up towards him, George felt like he had been caught in a whirlpool, unable to turn away even if he wanted to. And he knew with every fiber of his being that hedefinitelydid not want to. He reached, cupping a hand around her cheek. The feather-like touch caused her to shudder, but she didn’t open her eyes, as if she was afraid of it all disappearing the moment she did.
“My Penelope,” George murmured, practically speaking against her lips, “My wife.”
He stole a kiss within a second, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, lifting her face up even further to him. Penelope breathed a sigh against his lips, her hands gripping tightly onto the front of his coats.
Before, when he was nothing more than a scoundrel out to do whatever he could to make his father mad, George had stolen more than a kiss or two. Women had fallen to him easily, swayed by his charisma and pretty words. He’d linger through Vauxhall gardens, stealing a glance across the way before strutting up to the next Lady he wished to fall in love with him. It was simple, then, when he was a rake doing the things rakes were expected to do.
But suddenly, there was Penelope. In no way, shape or form was she a fragile dove in his arms. There was no trick to weaken her inhibitions. No flirtatious words sent back and forth to lead up to that moment. It was utterly true, and it took everything in him to not capture her in his embrace, to keep her from ever daring to take a step away from him. He held back from engulfing her inhis arms, holding her like she’d run away at any given moment. It wasn’t until Penelope began to sink against him that he curled an arm around her waist, keeping her beside him as long as he could.
Penelope pulled away, gasping for air as if she had been deep underwater.
“Are you alright?” George asked quietly, unable to hide his smile. There was no joke or amusement behind it. All he felt was unprecedented joy, the one thing he had been wishing to happen finally unfolding before his very eyes. He was moments away from falling back into her, from retaking her lips before she could give the slightest notion of turning from him.
She nodded, lowering her head. “You,” she breathed, “Well, I…” Penelope didn’t raise her eyes to meet his own. Her hand raised, grazing against her lips. “Thank you,” she murmured.
George frowned, unsure of what to make of that. Before he could ask what she was truly thinking, Penelope finally raised her head, her brow bunched together thoughtfully.
“Were you,” she began, clearing her throat halfway, “Looking for me?”
“What?”
“Earlier. When you came to my door.”
