Lady Penelope's Christmas Charade, a Regency Romance (27 page)

Without warning, Penelope cried out and arched against him. He growled deeply in his throat. No need to hold back any longer. He pushed her gently onto her back and moved faster, burying his face between her breasts. His release was swift and sure, leaving him breathless. He lay atop his beloved, shaking and gasping.

When he came back to reason, Penelope was stroking his hair. He pulled her into a sitting position and helped to right her clothing. Then he buttoned his trousers and flopped back against the seat, gasping for breath.

"Pierce, I love you. I always have, you know." Her voice sounded hesitant, unsure.

"Darling Penelope." He gathered her in his arms. "I love you too. I have ever since the moment I arrived at your townhouse and you began ordering me about."

She snuggled closer to him, and the motion of the carriage swayed and rocked, lulling them into a drowsy state. How fantastic all this was
--and it had all happened thanks to Penelope's Christmas charade
.
She had played every role, from maid to lady to light skirt, and yet beneath it all, retained a stunning beauty of character that took his breath away. They embarked on this charade together simply to find her runaway maid. And without this charade,
he never would have found his beloved. He'd still be a thief-taker, a rogue, a scoundrel. He'd still be running from his past. He wouldn't care a fig for others. Penelope changed all that, and he would spend the rest of his life thanking her.

She was his match in every way, even in terms of lust. He closed his eyes, recalling all the moments they had shared—it was true, most of them occurred in carriages. Or on the floor. Or over a desk. His mouth quirked and he could no longer suppress a chuckle.

"Whatever are you laughing at?" Penelope inquired in a sleepy tone of voice.

"I was just thinking how lovely it will be when we reach the inn tonight. I think it will be the first time, my darling Penny, that I have made love to you in a proper bed."

She reached up and kissed his earlobe. "I look forward to it, Mr. Howe."

"As do I, my soon-to-be Mrs. Howe. Or shall I say
Lady
Howland
?"

"Ugh." She clutched at his shoulder and cuddled her golden head against his chest. "Mrs. Howe. Please."

He held her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. In Penelope, he had found his perfect women. And while she had caught a thief-taker, he had melted the Ice Goddess. 'Twas an ideal match.