her boneless form. A courtesy on his part, surely. He was as hard as she’d ever felt him, and as her breathing slowed, the tension in his body increased.
She caught his gaze in the mirror and nodded.
Now.
“Lean over,” he growled. “Hands on the frame.”
The brusque command thrilled her. She did as he asked, bending forward at the waist and bracing her hands on either side of the mirror’s gilt frame.
He lifted her by the hips and pushed deep, claiming her in one powerful motion. As he took her in pounding thrusts, his flanks met her backside with sharp, rhythmic smacks. They echoed through the room, obscene and arousing. Soon these sounds were joined by low, primal grunts of satisfaction.
She watched him, captivated by the display of raw, unfettered male desire. Sweat broke out on his brow. His jaw clenched so tightly, the tendons on his neck went rigid. He stared at the mirror, watching her breasts jiggle and sway with each thrust.
With a muttered curse, he redoubled his pace. Her observations were halted. It was all she could do to brace herself against the force of his thrusts. She would have bruises tomorrow from his viselike grip.
She felt him swell even larger within her, and his rhythm faltered. With a tortured groan, he pulled free of her sex and pressed her legs together, thrusting between her thighs until his seed spilled over her skin—hot and crude.
She felt marked, claimed.
But also wild and free.
Several panting, sweaty, sticky moments later, they crumpled together to the floor, sitting with their backs against the wall. Penny rested her head on his chest. He was lovely to snuggle. There was simply so much of him. She could be satisfied with just one of his arms to clutch, or a single shoulder to rest her head upon.
But Penny wanted him all.
She couldn’t deny it any longer.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her ear to his pounding heartbeat. Like the rest of him, his heart was strong, defiant, loyal. Capable of lasting love. He might revel in denying it, but she knew the truth. If he ever permitted himself to love, he would love fiercely and without reserve. Only the most stubborn of women would be able to bear it.
And Penny loved nothing so much as a challenge.
Let me try, she silently willed. Let me try.
“So.” He sat up and stretched, dislodging her from her resting place. “You were asking about the ball.”
The ball.
She pulled herself from her musings. Yes, that was why she’d come over, wasn’t it?
“When did you decide to host a ball?”
He stood, hiking his trousers. “Somewhere between delivering you home from the hotel that night and exerting a bit of influence over the Irving family the following morning.”
Penny was agog. “You didn’t.”
“Would you rather those sisters spread vile gossip about you all over London?”
“I don’t want you ruining families on my account.”
“I didn’t ruin the Irvings. I merely made it known that I could ruin them, if I so chose.”
She moaned a little.
“Listen, it’s not my fault their father backed the wrong company in the fur trade.”
“The fur trade?” She accepted his hand, and he helped her to her feet. “Very well, I suppose I won’t complain. This time.”
So this was why she’d remained “unidentified woman” in the Prattler. She ought to have guessed.
She did her best to rearrange her attire. The seam under her arm had ripped. Yet one more frock for the mending heap. “This still doesn’t explain why you’re hosting a ball.”
“I would say something about two birds and one stone, but you’d complain about animal cruelty. Suffice it to say, by hiring an orchestra and inviting a crush of people to admire this place, we can solve both our problems in one evening. You can satisfy your aunt. I can sell the house.” He clapped his hands in cheery fashion. “All sorted.”
“How efficient.”
“While you’re here, you may as well give me your opinion on the wall coverings.” He gestured at the strips of silk damask on the wall. “Tell me your preference.”
“The blue.”
“They’re all blue. You’re not even looking.” He took her by the shoulders and swiveled her to face the samples. “Which is best for the lady of the house?”
“Why does it matter what I think?”
He tensed. “Why shouldn’t it matter?”
“Because I’m not the lady of the house.” She tried, and likely failed, to mask her discomposure. “It’s not my bedchamber. It never will be. So it doesn’t matter what I think, now does it?”
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Maybe not.”
Penny smoothed her skirts and drew a breath to calm her emotions. He didn’t deserve her frustration. Selling the house had always been his goal, and she was being churlish because she didn’t want to be reminded of it.
It wasn’t his fault that she was falling in love with him. For that, she had no one to blame but herself.
“Never mind me,” she said gamely. “I have no eye for fashion. And to be truthful, I don’t much like blue of any shade. That’s all.”
In a gesture she found irrationally dispiriting, he kissed her on the forehead. “Very well, then.”
Penny decided to change the subject—to kittens. Kittens were always a welcome change of subject.
“Here is some good news. The last litter of kittens is fully weaned. They’re ready for their new homes. We can take them tomorrow.”
Most people wouldn’t consider kittens to be harbingers of doom. But then, most people weren’t Gabe.
He had a bad feeling about this errand.
It began when she overruled him on their mode of transportation. He offered his carriage, but she insisted on taking a hackney cab. “I won’t have any of your grumbling if one of the kittens claws the barouche’s upholstery.”
They piled into a hackney, three hampers of kittens between the two of them. Keeping them all contained proved to be an impossible task. They clung to his coat like burrs, and as soon as he plucked
