Lady at last

by Annabelle Anders

  She would give up her virginity, and Danbury would act honorably. She’d have her husband and then her baby.

  She moaned again as his lips left her mouth and found her neck. Good God, this felt wonderful. The sensations soaring through her had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to make a baby.

  No, she thought, as her fingers ran through Hugh’s springy chestnut hair, these sensations were far more primitive. She found herself writhing against him, wanting to be closer.

  Danbury growled and lifted her in his arms. As he carried her to the long settee, Penelope congratulated herself on having the foresight to lock the door behind her. She lay back against a pillow, and he held himself above her. His gaze travelled downward and she startled to realize her modest bosoms were no longer covered by her bodice. And then his mouth was on her again. On her shoulder, her neck, and oh, God, on the tip of her breast.

  Penelope gripped the sides of his head tightly as he did amazing things with his lips and teeth. She arched her back, reaching, wanting more. And with no thought at all, her thighs fell open and his weight bore down upon her. She hadn’t truly thought things would go this far, had she? She’d entered Cortland’s study with the thought of flirting with Danbury, tempting him. But could that have been enough to extract a proposal for marriage? Most likely not. Others had tried. All of them had failed. When she’d seen how foxed he was, forgetting even to stand when she’d entered the room, she knew this was her chance.

  She must carry out this deed if she wanted him to offer for her. She’d deal with the aftermath later.

  Hugh stroked the length of her leg. He then pushed her skirts aside and slid his hand up to the very sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh.

  Heat pooled at her apex. She hungered for him. His fingers teased her, drifting from one leg to the other, and then to her abdomen, just below her stays.

  Penelope thrust herself into his hand. “Touch me, Hugh,” she demanded. She had never experienced anything like this. There had been nights that she’d awakened, alone of course, and touched herself. She’d brought herself satisfaction even, but that had been entirely different.

  She was allowing another person, a man to touch her intimately. She knew what he felt. The curling hair that concealed her womanhood, and then the plump creases of skin beneath it. She opened her thighs wider, and his hand took her possessively.

  This was so very different than touching herself.

  Penelope’s breath hitched when he slid one finger inside. Havoc spiraled within as her need grew.

  “You’re so wet for me,” Hugh breathed, “so very ready for me.”

  And then his hand was gone. Penelope opened her eyes to find he was undoing his falls. A sharp stab of regret threatened to engulf her, but she would not allow it. If not now, when? If not Hugh, then who?

  She barely caught sight of his manhood, protruding from a thatch of dark hair, before Hugh leaned forward again.

  His breath was warm, the fumes of the scotch he’d consumed nearly overwhelming.

  Suddenly, the setting for losing her virginity was horribly, horrifically wrong! They were on a settee, in the Duke of Cortland’s study, for God’s sake. And Hugh was drunk out of his mind. Was she insane? Alarm bells sounded in her head but there was no turning back.

  He was pressing into her. She wanted to pull away, but she had nowhere to go.

  It hurt.

  The pushing, the invading, oh, God, the tearing. Penelope couldn’t stop the scream that suddenly pierced the late afternoon quiet of the study.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hugh was awakened early the next morning by Chester, his valet of over a dozen years, to read an urgent missive sent from his mother. Splitting head aside, Hugh knew Chester took enjoyment insisting his master rise early. He’d said the courier had declared the correspondence to be urgent. And the damnable thing of it all was, Hugh loved his mother.

  Swinging his legs over to the side of the bed, he unsealed the note while Chester threw open the heavy curtains. The bright sunlight was punishment, surely, for the previous day’s overconsumption of brandy and scotch. Hugh rubbed his forehead with one hand and attempted to decipher his mother’s handwriting. It was atrocious, as always—barely legible.

  Hugh,

  I’ve purchased new capes (drapes?) for the foyer. The old ones are not allowing enough sunlight in to chase the cold of winter away. These new ones will be made of a lighter fabric and consist of a yellow and green floral print. I’m thinking of having a dark green egging (edging?) added so they aren’t overwhelmingly feminine. This is your estate, after all. For I would never guess. It has been so lonely (long?), my dearest, since you have spent any time here.

  Your dodder (sister?) is departing soon to participate in the season, but I am considering forgoing Town to stay at home. What with having to fight off this scarlet fever and all.

  Anyhow, I would simply ask that you keep an eye on your sister while she is there and offer her your lemon (escort?) on a few occasions.

  Love,

  Mother

  It took a moment or two for the words to penetrate the fog of his brain. He had to read through the entire missive in order to ascertain that he was not mistaken. Even then, he was not entirely certain.

  Scarlet fever? Good God, why had no one contacted him sooner!

  “Chester, we’ll be departing for Land’s End immediately. Why did no one see fit to inform me that my mother had contracted scarlet fever? Damn me, I’ve been told nothing of it. Is there an epidemic at the estate? In the village? Do you know anything of any of this, Chester?” Hugh was near panicked at the thought of his mother’s mortality.

  “I’m certain I do not, my lord,” Chester responded uselessly as he pulled one of Hugh’s large traveling trunks out of the dressing room and began folding clothing into it. “Might I suggest you journey ahead of the traveling coach on your mount instead of waiting? The weather looks fine, and you’d make quicker time that way.”

  Hugh rubbed his hand through his hair and nodded in agreement. Of course, what was he thinking? He could be back at the estate in half the time. Oh, hell, he simply wished his head would stop pounding. He’d not be imbibing again anytime in the near future. “Of course, of course.” He glanced around in frustration. “Where are my damn riding boots?”

  Less than half an hour passed before Hugh and Dicky, one of his outriders, rode off the estate together. The sun had barely yet risen. Glancing over his shoulder, Hugh knew Cortland and the duchess would not take offense at his quick departure. He’d left word of the situation and adamantly instructed nobody follow. He needed to verify the facts of his mother’s letter first.

  His conscience niggled, however, as though he were forgetting something very important. He searched his memory to the best of his ability before dismissing the thought. Whatever he’d forgotten would most likely be taken care of by Chester.

  He had just over one hundred miles to travel before reaching Morrow Point, his estate near Land’s End, located along the coast of the most southwesterly point in Great Britain. If he and Dicky changed out their mounts a few times and took very short breaks, weather permitting, they could arrive late tomorrow night. His heart raced at the potentially devastating situation he might be heading into.

  And what of his sister, Lavinia? Surely, she would not leave Mother at such a time. Surely, she was not that selfish. She’d not been the same woman since losing her husband a few years ago, but she was still quite levelheaded. In fact, she’d never been like other frivolous ladies of the ton. This entire situation made no sense.

  The question of an outbreak of scarlet fever at Morrow Point, nonetheless, was nothing to ignore. He pushed his horse a bit harder. As Summer’s Park disappeared behind him, he again dismissed the thought that he was forgetting something.

  Penelope’s first thought upon awakening was that she was not in her own bed. She was at Summer’s Park.

  Lilly had given birth to the most adorable baby boy yes
terday. A smile spread across Penelope’s lips as she pictured the screaming, squirming bundle of innocence.

  And then other memories swept her thoughts of delight aside.

  Merciful Heavens! She heaved the bedclothes over her head and groaned. She’d truly gone and done it last night. She’d made the most spectacular mistake of her entire lifetime.

  Or perhaps not.

  The seduction of Viscount Danbury. She’d lured him in and then, well… She didn’t even wish to think about what they’d done.

  It had been horrible. Well, part of it anyway—that end part, when it had hurt so much—and then again, when Hugh had gone and passed out.

  Yes, she’d given herself to the scoundrel, and he’d barely had the courtesy to stay awake through it all.

  Burying her head under her pillow, Penelope groaned with mortification as she remembered how she’d shoved Hugh off of her. After she slipped out from beneath his hulking form, he’d snuggled back into the cushions and begun snoring softly.

  And then she’d realized there had been blood! She was lucky none had gotten on the settee. But her bloomers and petticoat were both stained. She’d done her best with a small handkerchief to clean herself off, and God help her, to some extent, Hugh.

  She’d then pulled his britches back together, tossed a blanket upon him, and raced for her room. Thank heavens Rose, her maid, could be trusted. Penelope had rinsed the offensive garments out herself and hung them on the screen to dry, but Rose would not be fooled.

  In spite of having not really slept for nearly two days, it had taken quite some time to fall asleep. She had lain in bed forever, questions and guilt swirling about her mind. Would she be with child? Would Hugh hate her forever? Would he offer for her? And the most frightening thought of all: would he even remember what they’d done?

  She’d heard stories of certain people not recalling events that occurred while they were inebriated.

  Ought she to have left him undone, so when he awakened, he would be forced to remember? But then anybody could have walked in on him. Hugh would have been mortified. For all his swagger and roguishness, he prided himself on being a gentleman. He was a good man. She could never have allowed him to be embarrassed so horribly.

  She would face him today and, of course, he’d offer for her.

  She climbed out of bed, ignoring the unfamiliar twinges between her legs and dressed in a simple gown. Rose would have something to say about all of this later.

  Bracing herself for the possibility that she could run into Hugh at any moment, she marched downstairs to the morning room where a scrumptious-smelling breakfast had already been set out upon the sideboards.

  Cortland, Lilly’s husband, was seated but pushed back his chair and rose when he saw Penelope in the doorway. He was a man who looked quite satisfied with his life. He was alone.

  Penelope gestured for him to sit down again—they had been friends for several years now—and she turned to fill a plate for herself. “Lilly is well this morning? And the babe?” she asked.

  Cortland chuckled. “Both of them are catching up on their sleep. What a red-faced little screamer, was he not? When he welcomed himself into this world?”

  Penelope found a seat and organized the shining silverware around her plate. She then nodded at the hovering footman and waited as he poured hot tea. “He was at that,” Penelope agreed. “I am glad Lilly is resting. She did marvelously, don’t you think?” Of course, the duke would agree with her. He doted on his duchess.

  Penelope watched as the duke again took on that funny, happy expression that had first appeared yesterday afternoon. “She was amazing. Proudest moment of my life.”

  Penelope took a careful sip of the hot tea and watched him over the rim. She then, oh-so-casually asked him, “Has Danbury seen the little marquess yet? He was awfully deep in his cups when I found him.”

  At her words, Cortland took on a more serious demeanor. “He left at first light. His mother has taken ill.”

  She blinked a few times in confusion. Unwilling to believe he’d do this too her and then barely contained a snort of incredulity. That scoundrel! That oafish ape! He was running away from her! His mother taken ill, my foot!

  “He is returning to Morrow Point then? Delaying his trip north?” She’d known he had important business to attend to. Tenant unrest was becoming something of a problem for many of the nation’s landlords. “I’d thought his business up there was rather urgent.”

  Cortland poured himself some more tea before answering. He would be used to discussing such worldly issues with Penelope by now. She was no simpering miss. “He was quite concerned about her health. Didn’t leave any details but specifically instructed that nobody follow him in case it’s catching.”

  “Is his sister well?” Penelope was stunned. Perhaps he wasn’t being a blighter, after all.

  “He didn’t say. We will simply have to await his news. I’m hopeful that his mother has merely exaggerated the seriousness of her malady. She’s done so in the past.”

  “Oh, I hope so, too.” Penelope wasn’t sure what to think.

  As she dug in to her breakfast more heartily, she decided she’d worried the entire situation too much already. She needed to take responsibility for her actions and move forward without dwelling on possible regrets.

  One, she had given her innocence away to an old friend who’d been barely sober enough to accomplish the deed.

  Two, he had then disappeared and was possibly putting his own life into imminent danger.

  And third, she might very well this moment be with child herself, with the father on death’s door.

  She mustn’t overthink any of this.

  Be reasonable. She did not know for certain that she was with child. She was expecting her monthlies in a few weeks and could not do one whit about it.

  Hugh had departed, and she could not do one whit about that either.

  She was a grown woman. She was not one to give in to a fit of vapors.

  But she could not eat a single bite more. Taking a final sip of her tea, she made her excuses to Cortland and then headed upstairs to check in on the baby. He was so very adorable! She wondered what her own would look like…

  The nurse was quite happy to hand the little lad over to Penelope. Lilly had just fed him and was already resting again. The babe, however, was wide awake and alert and gazed back at her with curious eyes. Cradling him in her arms, she sat in the rocking chair and cooed at him. “Such a beautiful boy you are, aren’t you, my love?” What was it about babies, about this baby, that made her feel so empty inside?

  Knowing her actions last night had been foolish and reckless to the extreme, Penelope found some justification for them.

  As she’d come of age, she’d devoured all available books on history, politics, philosophy, and anthropology. In doing so, she’d had the epiphany that women of her time were raised and treated as second-class citizens. And if they married, they were at even more of a disadvantage.

  She’d only marry if she found true love.

  And she thought she had, except that it was unrequited. Roman Spencer, Viscount Darlington and heir to the Earl of Ravensdale, was never going to think of her as anything other than a clever friend.

  She adjusted the bundle of warmth so he was upright against her shoulder and rubbed his little bum lovingly.

  The last time she’d seen Rome, at Lady Natalie and the Earl of Hawthorne’s wedding breakfast, the love of her life had been attached to another lady. She was a simpering little thing who had obviously just made her come out. Why did men allow themselves to behave so ridiculously when it came to much younger women? And how could she, Penelope, continue to hold him in high regard when he was so easily enthralled by a mere infant?

  And Rome had been enthralled. That fact had been painfully, yes, painfully obvious to Penelope. Rome had never looked at her with such a tender expression. He’d never been obsessed with watching her as she’d danced with other eligible gentlemen.
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br />   He’d never loved her, and he never would. The epiphany had been staggering.

  And so, Penelope extinguished any hope she’d had for a happy marriage and left London the very next morning with just her maid. In her father’s coach, of course, with a driver and two outriders. She wasn’t a fool, after all.

  First, they’d gone to Bath where she stayed with some friends of her parents. She took the waters, attended theatrical performances, and shopped to her heart’s content. There was never an abundance of eligible men in Bath. In fact, most of the folks she visited with were well past the age of fifty. She could ignore her single predicament quite easily while surrounded by other spinsters and widows. But after a while, the sheer boredom of it sent her packing.

  She’d returned to her parents’ home for the holidays, just long enough to become aggravated with them, and then traveled farther south to be with Lilly for the remainder of her confinement.

  Which had been satisfying and enjoyable overall but made her even more aware that she was the last of her set to remain single.

  Penelope hadn’t minded when Betsy had married, years ago, and gone on to give birth to half a cricket team. And she’d not minded when Lilly had married nor when Lady Natalie had gotten herself engaged.

  But then, even Abigail had gotten herself hitched—and quite happily, too! Abigail was to have been her sole companion through spinsterhood and old age. But now Abigail was married, too—to the Duke of Monfort no less!

  Penelope was all alone.

  Heartbroken and all alone. She practically snorted at such self-pitying thoughts.

  Everything ought to have been all fine and well. But then she’d gone and watched Lilly give birth to this tiny little creature.

  And now, after the events of last night, thoughts of Roman Spencer could be put to rest forever. She was going to have to wait for Hugh’s return.

  She hated waiting.

  CHAPTER THREE