Chapter 22

"Iknow you want to ask me about the third surprise some more," he teased her in the carriage. "But I won't tell you."

"I wasn't going to ask," she replied playfully. "I'll be patient."

"Good girl," he said mischievously.

For some reason, that comment made heat unfurl somewhere deep inside of her. Being that close to him inside the carriage made her think of all the ways he could be holding her right now, having his lips on hers, forgetting about everything and everyone.

In an effort to focus on something else, she glanced outside the carriage window. The streets were bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, casting a warm, inviting light that guided them back to their estate. With each step, anticipation built within her, fueled by the mystery of what awaited next. When she headed toward the house, he gently grabbed her by the elbow, leading her in the opposite direction.

"This way," he said softly.

As they approached the gazebo nestled in the lush garden, her breath caught in her throat at the sight before her. The gazebo was aglow with the light of dozens of candles, which twinkled so brightly that they created a canopy of stars that seemed to dance with delight.

In the very center of the gazebo, there was a table set with exquisite care, adorned with fine linens and gleaming silverware. A bouquet of fresh flowers graced the center, their sweet fragrance mingling with the scent of the night air. Soft music drifted through the air, the strains of a familiar melody adding to the enchantment of the moment.

At each place setting, there was a delicate crystal goblet filled with sparkling wine, its effervescent bubbles catching the light in a dazzling display. The array of delectable dishes, each one more tantalizing than the last, tempted Penelope's senses with their rich aromas and vibrant colors.

"This is beautiful, James," she gasped while she was still trying to process everything that was in front of her. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he replied back. "You should just enjoy it all."

"How could I not?" she asked, allowing him to help her to her sit. He then took a seat opposite her.

"Please, help yourself," he gestured. "I'm afraid that we won't be served upon as I have asked for some privacy, so we could enjoy this moment… alone. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she was quick to reassure him.

With a playful twinkle in his eye, he raised his glass in a toast, the rich golden liquid catching the candlelight in a radiant shimmer.

"To us," he said, his voice filled with affection, "and to the many more adventures we shall share together."

Penelope smiled warmly, her heart swelling with affection. "To us," she echoed, overwhelmed by everything.

She couldn't imagine that he would go to such lengths just to secure an heir. Then again, he also bet her that she would be the one pleading for a night together before the designated deadline was up — the deadline she herself had chosen which now seemed all too cruel. She wondered if he would try anything this evening. After all, he had done so much for her. Perhaps he expected something in return. And as a fervent redness graced her cheeks, she realized that she would probably not say no.

"What are you thinking about?" His voice suddenly brought her back to the present moment, and she realized that she had been lost in her own reverie for too long.

"Oh, nothing," she tried to dismiss his comment.

"It didn't seem like nothing," he pointed out, bringing the glass to his lips once again. "You were gazing into the distance, smiling somehow… mischievously."

Goodness! she thought to herself. Did she really do that?

"Really?" she asked, clearing her throat a little as she spoke. "I had no idea."

"Yes, you were," he assured her. "That is why I'm so curious what it was about."

"Oh, really… absolutely, nothing, I assure you," she said, adding a dismissive wave of the hand as she did so. She hastily glanced at the table, wondering what to try first. "The roast looks delicious. Should we partake in some?"

He still had that smirk on his face, as if he knew everything, but he simply wished to hear her say it out loud. She thought he would have something to say, as he always did, but strangely enough, he remained silent. Only those eyes of his seemed to bear witness to everything that had been going on inside of her.

"Yes, we could," he finally said, proceeding to cut her a piece of the roast, then cut some for himself as well. "I think you should wear it all the time."

"Wear what?" she asked, still in a flurry of her own thoughts.

"The necklace," he reminded her. "It becomes you."

"Oh," she touched it tenderly yet again, completely having forgotten it was still there, hanging around her neck. He was right. It had become part of her already, and she didn't want to take it off. "Thank you. But perhaps it is a tad bit too formal to be worn every day."

"Nonsense," he said. It was his turn to wave dismissively. "You wear what you wish to wear, what makes you feel good. Clothes and accessories are there to serve a purpose, not to dictate our lives."

"Spoken like a true woman," she laughed, teasing him.

He lifted an eyebrow at her words. "Well, perhaps this lady could teach you a thing or two about jewelry and gowns."

"I cannot say anything against that," she agreed, chuckling and lowering her gaze to what she was wearing at that very moment. "The gowns you have chosen for me are… beyond reproach. They are the most beautiful things I have ever seen, honestly."

"One beautiful thing deserves another," he flirted with her.

That fire inside of her was raging now. She thanked heavens that the table was between them. Otherwise… she had no idea what might have happened.

"You are too kind," she said, endeavoring to keep at least a semblance of a distance, but that was increasingly becoming more difficult.

"Not many would grace me with that epithet, I assure you," he reminded her of something they were yet to discuss, but this was not the moment for it. She didn't want to talk about bad things. She didn't want to talk about anything other than the way he made her feel that day and that evening. Only, it was a conversation she didn't know how to start.

The dinner seemed to fly by like a whirlwind until they both found themselves having tried a little bit of everything on the table before them, and feeling completely satiated, at least food wise.

"Well, I do believe it is getting late," he suddenly said, getting up.

Penelope almost gasped. She didn't want to go. Not yet. She wanted this evening to continue in any manner, just as long as she would remain in his company. However, seeing he was approaching her, she got up. Now, she was standing before him, facing him with her heart beating all the way down into the soles of her feet, feeling like a frightened little rabbit, wanting to run away, but not being able to.

He gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, staring at her. His gaze lowered to her lips. That was the moment she thought he would kiss her again, and she would allow him to. In fact, she wanted nothing more than that. However, he didn't do it.

"Let me walk you back to your chamber, my dear," he said, offering her his arm instead.

"Th-thank you," she managed to muster as they were walking back toward the house.

They climbed the stairs, heading toward her chamber slowly, as if he purposefully made their walk last as long as possible. She couldn't blame him. She wanted it to last as long as possible, too. Finally, they reached her doors. That was where they lingered, neither of them willing to separate.

"This is where I bid you goodnight," he stated.

A part of her wanted to offer him to come inside. Another more ravenous part of her wanted to grab him by the face and kiss him passionately, only then pulling him inside her chamber and slamming the door closed with her foot. But all of that remained only within the confines of her mind, for she did none of it. She remained standing in place, just listening to his words.

"Oh… yes, of course," she managed to muster, much to his obvious delight.

"I wish to help you uphold your deadline of a whole year," he reminded her with a voice that seemed to tangibly caress her ears as it reached her. "That is what you said, right? A year?"

That scoundrel, she thought to herself. He knew exactly that it was a year. He didn't need to ask. He was merely asking because he knew that he was right. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, but she dared not admit that.

"Yes," she said, taking a barely noticeable step back. "A year. That was what I said."

"And I heard you, have I not?" he asked, still with that devilish grin she hated and loved at the same time.

"I don't know if you've heard well or not," she said with mock indignation although it was obvious that they were both pretending, fighting the urge to jump into each other's arms.

"I have," he nodded. "And I am acting upon it, being a gentleman and all."

"Not that you were a gentleman the previous evening," she reminded him.

That was when he took a step closer to her. Their noses were almost touching, their breaths mingling. "Did you like it when I was being ungentlemanly?" she heard him ask, and a million little goosebumps erupted down her back, rushing in all directions of her body, awakening every single sense to the danger of his presence.

"I… it was rather ungentlemanly, yes," she said, not even knowing what it was she was saying.

He took another step closer. They were almost kissing now, their lips just a few inches away from each other, tormenting her.

"That's not what I asked, Penelope," he murmured in that deep baritone of his that she loved so much that made her weak in the knees. "I asked if you liked it."

"I… I did," she finally managed to admit, feeling her cheeks blazing red, revealing everything she was feeling at that moment.

He grinned even wider at her confession. "Well then, should we do something about it?"

Yes, yes, a million times yes.

But she dared not say anything. Her heart was beating wildly, her skin tingling at the memory of his touch which she desperately craved to feel again.

"It was a long day," he observed, pulling away. "You need your rest. And we have all the time in the world." He paused, relishing the look of surprise on her face. "Goodnight, Penelope."

She managed to muster a goodnight of her own before she quickly closed the door to her chamber, leaning against it, as if she might open it again herself and shout after him to come back and take her as she hoped he would. But he was obviously teasing her, tormenting her, wanting her to go back on the promise she had given to herself and the condition she had set of a year without an heir which also meant a year without sharing a bed. Hadn't he said that before the month was out, she would be asking for it herself?

Her cheeks flushed at the memory. Yes, he did indeed say that. The month was not out yet. She would show him that she had better control of her own emotions than he did.

With those thoughts, she called for Charlotte to come and help her disrobe. She was unusually quiet which didn't escape her loyal lady's maid's notice.

"Oh, I'm just tired, that's all," Penelope assured her, faking a yawn as she spoke.

"It would seem that His Grace's surprises were both lovely and exhausting?" Charlotte teased.

"Yes, sort of." Penelope couldn't help but chuckle, wondering what other surprises her husband had planned for her.

Strangely enough, she was excited at the thought.