Lady at last

by Annabelle Anders

  Abigail now was married to the Duke of Monfort. Theirs was a love match but it had not begun that way. The duke had compromised her and then most honorably offered her his protection in the form of marriage.

  Penelope missed her cousin. Abigail had a gentleness of spirit about her; she’d always managed to find the silver linings in the thunderstorms.

  Penelope could use a silver lining or two.

  “Her grace would never hate anyone,” Rose stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve never known a more optimistic person.”

  Penelope laughed at the truth of those words. What would Abigail do if she were in Penelope’s shoes?

  Abigail would not be angry with Hugh at all.

  Penelope knew that she’d made a horrible decision when she’d walked into Cortland’s library that evening, but she could not help being hurt by the fact that he did not believe her. Did he not know himself? Did he not know what he was capable of while so far into his cups? What other things had he done when he’d had too much to drink? Things that he might not even remember?

  “And your mother?”

  Ah, yes, she was going to have to tell her parents eventually. Her mother would be in raptures over the fact that her only daughter had finally wed. She was not going to be quite as thrilled with the circumstances of the wedding, nor with the early arrival of her grandchildren.

  It was odd. The babies would not be born for months still, and yet Penelope already felt like a mother to them, to her little fishes.

  “I thought to speak with Hugh first about that, too. I’ve made so many of the decisions regarding his life, his future, that I feel it only fair to defer to him at this point—as inconsequential as these matters are.”

  This was so very unlike her. The old Penelope most likely would have already sent an announcement to the papers and all of her relatives. The old Penelope would… She dropped the knitting once again and smiled. “I’ve a nursery to prepare. And the estate books to look over. I need to meet with the housekeeper and discuss the poor quality of the meals we’ve been presented with since our arrival.” There were things she could do without Hugh’s opinion. Things that would improve the quality of his life here at Land’s End. She would stop wallowing as of this moment.

  Yes, it was her wedding night, and no, her bridegroom was nowhere to be found, but there was not a thing in the world she could do about that. She’d told him she was sorry. She’d tried to convince him of the truth. And today she’d even gone so far as to give him the story he’d wanted to hear.

  Hugh was quite simply going to have to come to terms with a few things on his own.

  After leaving Penelope, Hugh drove around the countryside for a while and eventually found himself at a local tavern in the nearby village. He’d removed his jacket and cravat, but his clothing still reeked of quality.

  He did not care.

  He found a seat in the corner and ordered a pint from the curvaceous bar wench who waited on him. Conversation lulled slightly when he’d entered, but once they all realized there was nothing interesting about him, the volume of the room gradually increased again.

  The beer was warm but strong.

  As the sun set, the room filled. Eventually, he was forced to share his table and the bench where he’d been resting his boots. A few of them seemed slightly familiar to him; he wondered if any were tenants of his. Nobody addressed him, however, and nobody seemed to realize just exactly who he was. The conversation he overheard proved just that.

  “Lord Danbury married today!” a voice rang out above the din. “What with the viscountess toes up for not even month, one wonders at the timing.”

  Laughter followed.

  “Oy, that’s the right of it,” a different voice pitched in. “Word is the new lady up there is well on her way to delivering the heir. The viscount’s tomfoolery has apparently caught up with him.”

  Hugh knew he had a reputation for some wildness in the past. He should not be surprised to hear such an opinion of himself.

  “About time’s all I can say. Someone needs to settle that pup down.”

  “The poor lad, for all his raking and carousing, one thing’s for certain, that boy loved his mama.”

  A few mugs rose in a very casual toast. Everybody in the room seemed to know one another.

  “Do you think he’ll stay put for a while?”

  “That one? Nah, he’ll probably leave the ball and chain here and go back on up to London. Doubt he’ll keep to one woman for long!” Lots of laughter followed this statement.

  Hugh had been staring at the foam on his beer throughout all of this. He was only slightly surprised when the pretty barmaid fell into his lap.

  “What’s your story, mister?” She wiggled her bum against his lap. He’d been paying her well each time she brought him a drink. He supposed she was looking to see what other services she could provide for him.

  She smelled of strong perfume and spirits. Her bodice was pulled so low that nothing of her shape was left to the imagination. She was pretty, but tiredness lined her eyes.

  The memory of pulling Penelope into his lap just over a month ago—had it really been just a month?—jarred him. So much had changed. His entire life, turned over.

  Holding Penelope that night had been sweet. Holding this woman now, this barmaid, felt slightly sordid. Penelope’s actions, what she’d done to him, had been sordid. She’d been conniving to trap him, hadn’t she?

  She’d also been utterly desperate. He understood that now. Hugh gently pushed the woman back onto her feet. “I’ll take another ale, ma’am, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  She pouted for a moment but then quickly shrugged and flounced back to the bar. Women were never happy to be dismissed. Hugh pulled out his fob watch.

  It was nearly nine o’clock. Was Penelope sleeping already? He’d left her at home nearly ten hours ago.

  When the woman returned with his drink, Hugh paid her handsomely and left. He’d realized that he hadn’t the stomach for dalliance outside of the vows he’d made today. Perhaps someday but not today. And he guessed he would not likely feel comfortable with it for a long time.

  He knew his father had kept mistresses on the side while he’d been alive, and he also knew of the pain it had caused his mother. Was he made up of the same cloth?

  Not today.

  Rose had gone to bed hours earlier, but Penelope could not sleep. So, she pulled out the most recent household books, reluctantly handed over to her by the housekeeper, and began perusing through the expenses and allowance entries in order to develop an understanding of the goings on here at Land’s End.

  Several candles sat burning on her desk, and her reading spectacles perched upon her nose somewhat crookedly when a sharp knock sounded at her door.

  The servants had moved all of her belongings into the mistress’ suite. Lady Danbury had not utilized the room for years, but it had been cleaned and aired out nicely.

  Penelope knew that it adjoined Hugh’s.

  “Come in,” she answered automatically. She wore her night rail and nothing else, but the billowing gown covered her from neck to wrists to ankles.

  The door opened to reveal a more disheveled Hugh than he’d been when she last saw him.

  He was dressed in only his shirt, waistcoat, and fitted breeches. He appeared unshaven, and his hair was windblown. She could smell the yeasty hint of ale upon him.

  She dearly hoped he was not drunk.

  As he entered, he didn’t sway or stagger. He appeared to have all of his senses about him. He walked in and sat down on one of the brocaded chairs near her bed. She noticed he’d removed his shoes.

  “I should have known you’d not be frittering your time away sleeping.” He watched her with a curious light in his eyes. He wasn’t glaring at her, though, and that was a welcome change.

  Penelope glanced at the books and shrugged. Setting her pencil down, she turned to give him her full attention. “Did you travel far today?” She wasn’t quite certain
what to say to him in his present mood. He looked tired, though. He looked as though he’d journeyed a hundred miles.

  He shook his head, “Not far.” And then Penelope realized why he was here. Had he, in fact changed his mind about… intimacy?

  He met her eyes, and she recognized the intensity there. She wasn’t sure what to call it. Was it desire? Was it lust? She knew it was not love.

  But it wasn’t that cold hatred she’d been on the receiving end of all week long.

  “Is it safe? For the babies?” His question confirmed her realization.

  Penelope swallowed hard. “The midwife said as long as I’m not feeling uncomfortable.” At the time, she’d scoffed at the midwife’s instructions regarding such matters, but now she was glad to be informed.

  “Are you?”

  “Uncomfortable?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not presently. But I don’t know about during…” She knew one thing for sure. She had been craving this. That was another thing the midwife had told her about. The increased sexual desire that a woman in her condition might experience.

  Hugh’s eyes watched her. “Are you willing…?” He let his voice trail off.

  Suddenly, Penelope’s mouth felt dry, and she was certain he could hear her heart beating from across the room. “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Yes,” she said more firmly. She wanted to add that she was his wife, and it was her duty, but that would be hypocritical of her. This had nothing to do with duty. This had nothing to do with obligation.

  Hugh reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt. He’d not disrobed that night in Cortland’s study.

  She pushed memories of their first time out of her mind. For now, she’d dare to hope that this time could be a new beginning for them.

  He peeled his shirt off and she watched, fascinated, as the muscles on his arms and torso moved and rippled. Chestnut hair led a trail down past his belly, into his breeches.

  Unsure of what he’d expect from her, she simply waited. Her palms were suddenly damp as heat poured through her. Hugh stepped forward and pulled her to her feet. She knew her night rail was tent-like.

  Because she needed a tent!

  And then he took hold of the long braid that fell across her shoulder. “Like a silken rope.” The words left his mouth almost of their own volition. He untied the ribbon and slowly unraveled it, combing his fingers through the long strands.

  “It’s not so very red,” she apologized.

  Hugh raised his gaze from her hair back to her face. “It’s golden-red.”

  Penelope reached out one hand and touched the skin that stretched over his muscles between his shoulder and his elbow. It was smooth, slick almost. She remembered how they had strained, before, when he’d held himself above her.

  And then Hugh was distracted from her hair by the tie at the neck of her gown. He meant to unclothe her. “The candles,” she said. Her reluctance to appear naked before him did not stem from modesty but from fear that if he saw her swollen belly his desire would flee. She didn’t want him to be reminded…

  Hugh stopped and turned to extinguish the lights she’d set up for her work.

  Now there was only the moonlight slicing across the counterpane. Penelope, feeling ignorant and tentative, nonetheless scampered onto the large bed and under the covers. If he removed her gown now, at least he would not see the bulge that had once been her abdomen. Hugh stepped in front of the window and became a looming shadow beside the bed. She could tell, though, that he was unbuttoning the falls of his breeches and then peeling them off.

  He was naked when he pulled back the covers and climbed in beside her.

  His aroma was musky, masculine and earthy. She only detected a hint of the cologne he normally wore. She swallowed hard. It shouldn’t hurt this time. He wasn’t drunk and she wanted this.

  “Penelope,” He pulled himself up beside her. “Stop thinking so hard.” One of his fingers smoothed the furrow she must have made on her brow. And then his hand was in her hair, behind her neck. She could barely make out his features as he lowered his mouth to her throat.

  That warmth that had flooded through her before was suddenly a burning heat rushing to her thighs, her gut, her womb. She wrapped her hands around his head and held onto him as he trailed his mouth down to her breasts.

  His hands had gathered her gown up to her waist. Without warning, he pulled it over her head. The rush of chilly air did nothing to cool her sudden ardor. “Please.” The word escaped on a whimper. She craved this. She craved him.

  His hands explored her breasts, her side, down to her waist and thighs. He moved over her and allowed his weight to settle upon her. It would not have been unpleasant, normally, she assumed, but… “Hugh,” she managed. “I don’t think…”

  He’d felt it. He’d felt the hard mound between them. She did not want him to stop! But his weight exerted too much pressure.

  He raised himself up, for only a moment. But then before she had time to realize his intentions, he rolled them both over so that she lay on top of him.

  All she was aware of now was the hardness that was Hugh. Straddling him now, she lifted herself upward and then lowered back onto him.

  “Ah. Oh, oh, yes.” She could not stop the gasps as his member slid inside of her. It felt so very, very—she searched her mind for the proper adjective—so very…

  He removed himself slightly and pulled back before pressing upward and penetrating her completely. It was as though he knew exactly what she needed.

  So very…

  He thrust again, holding her by the waist now.

  So very…

  Good.

  She stopped thinking and surrendered to simply feeling.

  Sitting upright, she arched her back and shifted herself in an attempt to take him deeper. The moonlight reflected in his gaze as it flicked from her eyes, to her lips, and then her breasts, and then her eyes again. His parted lips glistened and a bead of sweat appeared on his brow. When he reached up and cupped her breast, she experienced a hint of pain, but something else, a burning need. She raised one of her hands and pressed it over his.

  A squeeze and then another profound thrust drew a moan from her.

  His breathing hitched as they moved together, each creating and then satisfying the other’s need.

  He taught her how to ride him, urging her upward, forward, and backward. And he placed his hand down there, too, creating even more need, making her dizzy with sensation, almost hysterical in her motions.

  Finally, Hugh grasped her thighs tightly with both hands, increased their rhythm, seemed to search for her very center, and then pinned her tightly against him. His seed poured into her at the same time she dissolved into a million pieces.

  When he stilled, she collapsed into a boneless heap of woman. She could do nothing but lie there and attempt to catch her breath.

  His hands caressed her backside, rubbing and massaging her buttocks before eventually pulling the covers up and over them both. When she finally could summon the strength to slide off of him and curl up to his side, she was startled at what she saw.

  One tear drop had escaped from Hugh’s closed eyes.

  A tear?

  He would not want for her to ask him about it. He would most likely be mortified.

  She inched higher onto the pillow and wrapped her arms around his head. Ah, she felt another drop of moisture fall upon her breast. But he was silent. He did not move or say a word.

  They slept. Made love again. Slept and then made love a third time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Hugh awoke to the gentle sound of snoring. Peaceful, rhythmic, and soothing. It reminded him of when, as a child, he slept with an old hound.

  Soft hair tickled his nostril and a smooth leg nestled under one of his thighs.

  He’d married yesterday.

  Penelope Crone.

  Penelope Chesterton, now. His wife. And not in name only.

  He slid his arm out from beneath her hea
d and untangled himself from the rest of her body and the covers. He did not want to talk with her this morning.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about anything anymore.

  Gathering his clothing from the floor, he tiptoed across the room. Once inside his own chamber, he let out a deep breath and closed the door behind him.

  His muscles ached, which was ironic, since Penelope had done much of the work… if one could call it that. She’d been on top of him for all but that little while, when he’d used his mouth…

  He did not really wish to admit it to himself, but Penelope Crone’s sexual appetite was nearly as ravenous as his own. Good God! No wonder she’d found herself with child!

  Her passion had nearly overwhelmed him, if that’s how he wished to describe those mortifying moments when he’d felt like weeping. He’d not expected the torrent of emotion that engulfed him when they’d climaxed together.

  It had not been because of the sex.

  It had simply seemed like he’d found a release, at last, for the pent-up grief he’d felt since his mother’s death. And for the fact that the children his wife would bear were from the seed of another man. It had all… caught up to him.

  And she’d noticed.

  She’d held him.

  He tugged at the bell pull three times before he remembered he’d given his valet the night off. The entire house was quiet for that matter. He pulled on breeches and managed to wrestle his feet into his boots before realizing that he was no longer alone.

  Penelope, with her hair falling wildly around her face, stood peeking through the doorway, once again dressed in that tent of a nightgown she’d worn last night. He’d never seen her so terribly disheveled. Her lips were plump and swollen and her eyes had a sleepy look to them still. He grew hard almost instantly.

  “Your housekeeper informed me that the neighbors were hosting a breakfast for all of the servants this morning. I understand it is a tradition to abandon a new bride and bridegroom to their own devices the morning after…” She looked anywhere but at him. “There was a tray of food left outside my door, however. I believe it is so that the two of us can break our fast.” And then she bit her lip.