He dragged his hand down his face and headed toward his nemesis. Eyes wide, but with a huge grin, Merry rose to her feet, and turned to run. His long legs ate up the distance to her. Her skirts dragged in the snow, hampering her escape. Penrose wrapped his arm around her middle from behind. “No one has hit me in the face with a snowball in twenty years,” he growled in her ear. Merry tugged free of his grip and promptly fell face-first into the snow. She jerked her head up, spitting out clumps of slush, still laughing. “I’m sorry.” Wiping her face, she tilted her head, and regarded him. “No. I’m not sorry.” “That does it. This time, Miss Chambers, you have gone too far.” Penrose wheeled and strode to the pile of snowballs alongside Lady Charlotte. “Madam, this is war,” he shot over his shoulder at Merry. He picked up a well-shaped ball of snow and hurled it in her direction.
