Page 17 of Yule Be Mine

“Huh.” Penelope snorted as they rushed past the area where Tom stood. “Either you are blind, Yule, or you are jealous of Tom flirting with me. He’s not too young because he’s past his majority. Isn’t that the yardstick most of the ton goes by?”

“Well, yes…” Penelope was correct in that. Gentlemen who had attained the age of one and twenty were usually considered grown men, able to run their lives or their estates without any further fuss about it. Try as he might however, Yule couldn’t envision Tom wishing to settle down, even for a moment. “If you put it that way, yes, he is a man. That doesn’t necessarily mean he always acts like one.”

Penelope mumbled something and though Yule bent his head toward her quickly, he couldn’t catch it. “I beg your pardon, what did you say.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “I said you don’t always act like one either.”

He had to get away from Penelope, if for nothing else than to stop all her wrangling. Still, he needed to warn her off his cousin, else he’d feel a cad if something happened to her. “Nevertheless, Penelope, you should watch yourself with Tom. You can ask around, but I’m telling you the truth about his reputation. If you were going to set your cap at someone next Season, it shouldn’t be him.”

“Perhaps I should set my cap at you, then.” The sly look in her narrowed eyes sent a tremor through Yule. “Because you are certainly the more mature of the two of you, aren’t you, Yule?”

His mouth dried as though he’d not had a drop to drink in a month. “Please be serious, Penelope. I’m only trying to help you.”

“I am being serious, Yule.” She squeezed his hand and he almost stopped them right there in the middle of the dance floor. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t court me, is there?”

This was what he’d been afraid of. Shaking his head until his ears rang, Yule’s first thought was he needed to end this dance and take the recalcitrant child back to her mother. “Don’t be ridiculous, Penelope.”

“Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t?”

Yule swallowed hard and steered them toward the end of the dance floor. He couldn’t believe Penelope was serious. Nor could he think how to answer her while he was maneuvering them around the floor. Once they commenced a balance step—something that needed absolutely no thought to execute—he could free his brain enough to answer her. “You are not even out yet, Penelope. I cannot court you. You’re too young to be thinking about a serious courtship.”

“I’m seventeen years old, Yule. Mamma brought us to London because I’m old enough to be out. Or will be in February.” She peered into his face, pleading. “Why can’t you see that?”

That pulled him up short. Ever since he’d recognized her last evening, all he could see was the little freckled-faced girl who’d tagged along behind him. He hadn’t been able to make himself accept the idea that Penelope was a young lady now. A desirable young lady who other gentlemen might very well wish to dance with, or flirt with. Or court. “I can see that.”

But somehow, not until this minute. Not even this afternoon, when they’d kissed under the mistletoe, had he given her a thought beyond friendship. At least not very much. One simply couldn’t admit to being aroused by a lady young enough to be his—well, he wasn’t old enough to be her father. Uncle, maybe? Older brother? It was deucedly awkward, whatever it was.

“I don’t think you do, Yule.” Penelope had stopped dancing and was looking up into his face, a determined look on her face.

He cocked his head, puzzled by the gleam in her eyes.

“I need to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“This.” She raised herself up on tiptoe, pressed her lips to his, and kissed him.

Once more absolute shock shot through Yule’s body, from his mouth down to the tips of his toes. Heat engulfed him, as though the room had suddenly been lit up by a bonfire. Reason melted, the first casualty of the heat, and he found himself kissing her back, turning their heads so their mouths fit perfectly together. Time ceased to exist, giving way to the touch of her lips, the taste of her that made him hunger for more.

He might very well have tried for more, but the abrupt end to the music followed by the hushed clapping of gloved hands brought Yule back to his senses. Slowly, as though he was moving though molasses, he leaned back from her, his gaze taking in the rapt look on her face, as though she was Sleeping Beauty and his was the kiss that had brought her back to life.

Oh, Christ. That kiss. They were in the ballroom with at least fifty people watching. Penelope was ruined. And all the guests knew it. He’d been so worried about Tom debauching her, he hadn’t given it a thought that he might be the one to do the deed. This was a nightmare from which it was impossible to awaken. “Do you know what you’ve done, Penelope?”

“I kissed you, Yule.” Her laugh was playful, although this was no laughing matter.

“I compromised you, Penelope. In front of a room full of witnesses.” He gazed about, expecting someone to come up and accost him over his treatment of her. No one, however, seemed to mark them at all.

“No, you didn’t.” She shook her head, setting her curls to bobbing.

“Penelope, a gentleman cannot go about kissing a woman in public, especially not like that, without dire consequences.” They’d be forced to marry of course. The thought stopped his breath. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t marry Penelope.

“Not when they’re under the mistletoe.”

Jerked back from his calamitous notion, Yule finally focused on Penelope, who was pointing to the ceiling. He craned his neck back and sure enough, a huge ball of mistletoe, thick with white berries, hung suspended from a bright red ribbon.

Relief poured through him like the flood waters in spring. “Oh, thank God.”

“Not exactly the comment I’d hoped for, but I trust that kiss has finally made you aware that I’m a perfectly eligible young lady.” She raised an eyebrow. “One you should absolutely consider courting.”

Yule stared down into her fresh, eager face, a surge of lust rushing through him like a freight train. How he’d been able to ignore the fact that Penelope had grown up, he hadn’t a single idea. It was as though he’d been wearing blinders these past two days—blinders that had suddenly been ripped off. He could now see what both Tom and Julius had tried to tell him. She was the most beautiful lady he’d ever seen, and although she could be annoying as hell when she wanted her way, the pull of attraction could not be denied any more. Not with his member straining against his trousers and his blood pounding in his ears. But he had to sort all these feelings out and the ballroom was not the place to do that. He grasped her arm and hurried her off the floor. “I need to take you back to your mother, Penelope.”

“That’s all you can say? After trying to kiss me senseless?”

He kept his eyes on the floor as he threaded them through the crowded room, but her tone said everything her words did not. Better to have her angry with him at this juncture than have to argue and try to explain the unexplainable. “Yes.”

They fetched up at her mother’s side and Yule bowed to both ladies, then turned and fled without another word. He ran out of the ballroom, down the hallway, into the library where he shut the door, then leaned against it, panting as though he’d finished a race. He doubted Penelope would follow him, but he still wished for a key to lock himself away. If he saw her again tonight, he wasn’t certain he could keep his baser self in check. Having now seen her as an eligible young lady, he couldn’t not think of her that way. Couldn’t help wanting her that way.

Yule straightened and made a bee line for the decanter on the sideboard. Pouring a hefty dollop into the waiting tumbler, he sent a word of thanks to Fritz and his father for keeping such blessed libations at hand and downed the brandy at a gulp. The burning liquid comforted him, but did nothing to reassure him that his change of heart was a good thing where Penelope was concerned. The house party was over tomorrow, so he’d set off first thing in the morning, giving himself some time back in London to think this through before he did anything rash.

God knew he’d done enough of that this weekend.