Lady at last

by Annabelle Anders

  As long as he’d known her, she’d always been confident and managing. It was… satisfying to see her a little off balance.

  He was hungry.

  He’d not eaten anything last night. And he’d exercised plenty to build up an appetite.

  At his hesitation, Penelope opened the door wider. “Do you want to share it with me, or…?” She gestured for him to come back into her room. “Or would you prefer to find something alone?”

  He nodded, slipped his shirt over his head, and then followed her back into her chamber. She’d set the tray on a conveniently placed table and poured him some tea. Her hair fell over her face as she did so, making her look more like a lost waif than the bittersweet lover she’d become.

  Careful not to spill, she added a spoonful of sugar and then handed him the cup. She did know him rather well, for all the turmoil they’d been through. Her hand shook slightly but he did not comment.

  She did not pour herself a cup but tore off a piece of bread and nibbled at it.

  “Are you sick in the mornings?” He didn’t want to know about these babies and what they were doing to her body, to her life, to his life; but some part of him was strangely curious.

  “I was at first, but I’ve learned if I eat something right away, it isn’t as bad.” She flushed slightly. This was the woman he’d had moaning and writhing last night?

  As though she could read his mind, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. Her tongue peeked out to catch a wayward flake of bread crust and then dipped back behind her lips.

  Had she done that on purpose?

  Did it matter?

  “Are you ill now?” he asked.

  She shook her head. A long lock of hair fell forward as she did so.

  He wanted her again. He hated a part of her, he admired a part of her, he pitied a part of her but mostly, he just wanted her. He reached out and took hold of the collar of her nightgown in one fist. It must be a favorite of hers. The material was well worn.

  With a sudden jerk, he tore it down the front of her body. She jumped as though scalded and then covered herself with the torn material and her hands. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty, but she did not chastise him as he’d suspected she might. And she did not push him away nor order him to leave.

  And so, Hugh reached up and pushed the material off of her shoulder. As it dropped into the crook of her arms, he used his thumb to massage the pulse near her neck. It raced. By God, she was as aroused as he was.

  This time would be quick. This time, she had nowhere to hide. Would he be repulsed by the sight of another man’s babies growing inside of her womb?

  He jerked the gown off her arms, out of her hands, and tossed it to the floor.

  She was round all over. If anything, he grew even harder.

  Deliberately, he turned her so that they both looked into the mirror. There, she met his eyes fearlessly. He stood clothed, while she was completely nude. His eyes swept over her form, taking in her pale white skin and the red thatch of hair between her thighs. The curve of her stomach was firm, but the babies within caused the skin to stretch and her navel to appear somewhat flattened.

  Her breasts were full, and his eyes were drawn to the rosy tips, resting, it seemed, upon the mounds of flesh and pointed upward. A ferociousness grew inside of him. He would take her as he pleased. Hugh covered her breast with one hand, flicked the tip with his thumb, pinched, and then slid his hand down and over her stomach.

  Sunlight poured through the window, casting her female form in light. She arched her back and pressed her head into his chest. So responsive, she wanted this.

  Nudging her feet wide with his still dusty boots, he spread her legs apart. He then hastily unbuttoned his falls and pushed her forward so that she braced herself on the vanity table. Impatiently, he located her opening and slid into her heat with one forceful shove.

  A few glass jars and tiny brushes crashed to the floor with his first thrust. Less so, with his second, but he barely noticed. Her eyes met his in the mirror, half closed in a haze of lust. As he grasped her by the waist, he didn’t pretend this was affection. It was a storm that needed to exert itself before the sun could come out again.

  He did not spend himself quickly. Although his thighs began to burn and his heart raced, he buried himself inside of her again and again. Her bottom was flushed red from where his groin slapped and ground against her.

  Was he punishing her?

  Was that what this was?

  He felt her climax first and, as a flush crept over her body, he quickened his own movements. It did not take long thereafter for him to find his own completion.

  Penelope slumped forward onto the dressing table and Hugh rested against her back, still inside of her, both of their breathing labored.

  He was afraid to move. Afraid of what he’d done.

  She was his wife, for God’s sake.

  The skin above her hips remained red where his fingers had dug into her. He’d treated her ruthlessly. It was possible she’d have bruises from his touch.

  He reached around with one arm and held her in a protective embrace.

  She’d been raised a lady. She’d made a ghastly mistake, one which could have ruined her life and the lives of her children. He’d just treated her like a common whore.

  For all the wrongs she’d done to him, she did not deserve his depravity.

  “Have I hurt you, Pen? God, I’m a brute.” The words tore from him.

  She did not answer. This was not the marriage he had wanted. This was not anything he’d ever planned for in his life.

  He slid out of her, did up his falls, and located her dressing gown on the end of the bed. Her hands remained on the dressing table, her face turned away in… shame?

  Feeling an overwhelming combination of tenderness and self-loathing, Hugh draped the gown around her and lifted her into his arms. When he did so, she buried her head against his shoulder until he settled her on the bed.

  As he pulled the coverlet up and over her, she finally met his eyes.

  He could not see the blue flecks at all. They were a deep forest-like green. It dawned on him that the blue lights in her eyes appeared brighter when she was animated.

  “You think me a whore,” she said finally. “Because I find pleasure in this; because you believe I have done so indiscriminately.”

  Hugh’s heart skipped a beat. He had a choice to make. One that might set the tone for the rest of his marriage.

  He could continue hating her, blaming her. Or he could forgive.

  “It was a mistake. You should not have to pay for it forever.”

  “But you did not make the mistake and I’ve made it so that you, also, will pay. You have already paid. You have lost your freedom. I had thought after last night that you might come to forgive me someday. I thought that perhaps you already had.” As she spoke, a few of those blue flecks began to appear. “You are still very angry with me. And that is not all. You have just recently lost your mother and are suddenly being pressed at from all sides with responsibilities you have put off for a very long time. You are angry with yourself.”

  Leave it to Penelope.

  But there was no anger inside of him right now. His body, mind, and spirit were engulfed in a tidal wave of weariness.

  And then Penelope did something completely unexpected.

  She pulled back the cover and patted the mattress beside her. “Come back to bed, Hugh. There is no work to be done today and neither of us slept a great deal last night.”

  He dropped into a chair and tugged off his boots. Not bothering to remove any of his other clothing, he climbed into the bed. Penelope scooted over so that he had plenty of room. It was she who pulled up the covers this time.

  Penelope lay quietly on her side and watched Hugh. His breathing was steady, and his chest rose and fell evenly. She noticed tiny wrinkles around the corners of his eyes. He’d laughed a great deal in his life but not lately.

  He was changing.

&nb
sp; He’d always been considered the easygoing one, the fun one, the bachelor who would never be captured. She’d known this because, being Penelope Crone, the men her age had at times welcomed her into their discussions regarding business and politics. They’d allowed her on more than one occasion to enter into the inner sanctum that was usually reserved only for gentlemen. She’d come to know many of them in ways that their wives, daughters, and mothers never would.

  But Hugh was not merely the rake, the playboy. He’d been a dedicated son and older brother. He’d honored his responsibilities in Parliament and been loyal to the people who were lucky enough to count themselves among his friends.

  Had she merely chosen him because he’d been in the right place at the right time? Or, the wrong place at the wrong time, depending upon how one wished to look at it? She did not think she would have done what she did with any other man.

  Except for, perhaps, Rome. But Rome would never have allowed himself to drink to such an excess. Rome, it was known, could be something of a killjoy.

  Even in her tiredness, as she’d contemplated that she’d nearly waited too long to marry and have children, she’d known that Hugh would act honorably.

  If only he’d remembered! Or if she had waited until he’d awakened! That had most definitely not been a part of her ridiculously impulsive plan.

  He did look terribly handsome, even sleeping and disheveled. She wanted to reach out and touch his hair but was afraid to wake him.

  He was a bit of an injured tiger these days.

  Glancing over at the dressing table, she shivered at the way he’d taken her earlier. Initially, she’d been frightened, when he tore her gown. But she had done nothing to stop him. A part of her had known that Hugh needed something more from her. He’d needed a forfeit, of sorts.

  And so, as his eyes had burned over her, she’d braced herself for his demands. When he’d turned them both to look into the mirror, she’d surprised herself in that she, too, wanted whatever was going to happen, desperately.

  Pain and pleasure collided. She’d throbbed inside as she’d felt him use her. What was wrong with her? No lady would ever admit as much to herself.

  Everyone she’d even known had considered her unfeminine, lacking in sensuality and carnal needs. If they only knew! At the tender age of fifteen, she remembered, she had begun to realize the pleasure one could give to herself.

  Perhaps that was why she hadn’t cried and wept afterwards… even that first time.

  But, Heaven help her, when he’d bent her over the table, she’d wanted all of it! The release she’d found with him had robbed her of even the ability to stand. She’d nearly collapsed to the floor afterward.

  Both of them, though, had been left feeling guilty.

  Surely, he believed her to be a woman of loose morals. She’d given him no reason to think otherwise.

  Penelope could not imagine any of the ladies she knew accepting such treatment from their husbands. Would they?

  The Earl of Hawthorne was all solicitousness and manners with Natalie—in public. Was there more to marriage than met the eye?

  Lilly and Cortland, too, always treated each other with the utmost of respect and affection. She supposed one never really knew what transpired between a husband and a wife. The glaring difference between her marriage and the wedded bliss of her dearest friends, though, was that they all loved each other. None of them had forced their spouses into doing something they absolutely abhorred—like taking on the paternity of a child they did not believe to be their own.

  Hugh rolled onto his side, his back toward her now. She could see that even in sleep, his muscles, beneath the linen of his shirt, were honed and well defined. His hair was long, falling over the collar by an inch or two. She’d not realized how much he’d let it grow. It had been more fashionably styled when they’d been in London.

  She was tempted to curl up behind him and take solace in some of his strength. But he would probably not appreciate that. So, instead, she slipped out of bed and went into the dressing room to clean herself.

  When she did so, there was more than a little stickiness between her legs.

  She was bleeding.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Rose. She needed Rose. She could not get Hugh to help her. He would believe it was all his own fault. He would think he’d caused it.

  None of that really mattered. What mattered was that her little fish were in trouble. Where is Rose?

  Penelope took the washcloth and wiped herself clean to see if the bleeding continued. The first swipe was startling, in how much there was, some congealing together in slimy strands. The second swipe showed some whitish material. Was that Hugh’s seed? When she dabbed a third time, with a new cloth, there were just a few spots.

  What to do? What should she do?

  She folded another cloth and placed it between her legs. The midwife had stressed the importance of bedrest. Strict bedrest if there were any pains, she’d said. Strict bedrest if there was any spotting, she’d said. She’d advised Penelope to be cautious in allowing a physician to examine her. Sometimes, she’d warned, they could do more harm than good.

  Penelope slipped back into the bedroom and oh, so carefully climbed onto the bed. She then placed a pillow beneath her knees and laid back, staring at the brocaded canopy above her. She would not allow herself to become upset. These babies needed her breathing deeply and not upsetting them any more than she already had.

  Please stop bleeding, please stop bleeding. She placed her hand on her stomach and rubbed it gently. It’s okay, babies. It’s going to be just fine. I love you! You must be okay! You have to be okay! You’re all that I have now!

  “Are they moving?”

  Hugh was awake and watching her. But wait, were they moving?

  “They are.” That sensation was not cramping. It was her little fish, flipping around, she was certain of it. They would not be flipping around if they were in distress, would they?

  And then he reached out and covered her hand with his own. “Can you feel them from the outside?”

  Penelope looked at him and raised her brows. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I would notice if you could. I am so very aware of what they feel like inside of me.”

  Hugh nudged her hand away and cupped the small mound with his own hand. He closed his eyes as though concentrating very hard.

  When he finally opened his eyes again, he smiled ruefully.

  “No?” she asked.

  “Not yet.”

  She could not believe they were having this conversation. She’d thought he hated these babies. Oh, how she wished he could believe they were his own!

  “They are most certainly very tiny still.”

  “Even if you are not,” he said. But she could see he was teasing her.

  And then her stomach chose that moment to grumble. She’d not eaten hardly at all the previous day and had only had a few bites of toast before Hugh had ravished her.

  Hugh patted her tummy and laughed. “Now, that, I know, is not your babies. We need to get some food in you, else they’ll think they are cocooned within a thunderstorm.”

  With that, he swung his legs off the bed and fetched a few plates off the tray from earlier. Penelope did not want to move. She wanted to be sure the bleeding was stopped first.

  She also did not wish for Hugh to know what had happened.

  He handed her the plate and some tea, and she lifted herself to somewhat of a sitting position. This was not an easy feat to do without spilling anything. But she knew the tea would be good for the babies. The midwife had also told her to drink plenty of fluids. She gulped the tepid tea and then reached to set it on the side table, but Hugh took it from her first.

  “You are tired,” he said. He still had that sheepish look, but it was far better than how he’d been before.

  Sighing, and thankful for the excuse to stay in bed, she nodded. “I am.” But she smiled back at him. She took a bite of a strawberry on her plate and then handed
that over to him as well. By now, he was looking at her curiously.

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but then changed his mind.

  Uncertain as to what to do all of a sudden, he bowed slightly toward her and took a step backward. “Very well, then. I will leave you to rest.” Again, looking as though he had more to say, he turned and left her alone.

  Oh, where was Rose?

  Penelope was not alone for long. Rose had merely been waiting for the viscount to exit her chamber before barging back in, a discretion for which Penelope was eternally grateful. Imagine if Rose had come in when he was ravishing her!

  “Why are all of these perfumes strewn about the floor, Pen?” With a teasing twinkle in her eye, she glanced over at Penelope and gave her a sly look. “Has he remembered? Does he believe the babies are his now?”

  Penelope shook her head. “He still labors under the misconception that they are another man’s but…” She did not wish to get Rose all stirred up, but needed her maid’s assistance. She needed to make sure her little fish were still thriving. “I started, well, bleeding—afterward, that is.” At Rose’s frightened look, she rushed to add, “I can feel them moving, and I think the bleeding has stopped but I did not wish to take any chances, and so I think I ought to remain horizontal for the rest of the day. It’s just that…”

  “It is the day after your wedding.”

  “Yes, and I don’t want for Hugh to feel, well, guilty. I think we’ve managed to come to some sort of a truce, but he’s likely to be set off again by any additional, er, complications.”

  Rose was not a very submissive maid, but she did usually seem to know exactly what Penelope needed. When it really mattered, that was. She deftly wet a cloth in the basin and brought it over to the bedside. Reaching out her other hand, she said, “Let’s see how much blood there is now. If there is more than a drop or two, I think we need to call on the local midwife. You ought to meet with her anyhow. You are a married lady now.”