Hugh raised his brows. “My dear Penelope,” he teased lightly. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Well…” She plucked at the blanket again. “I’m asking, really, if you might enjoy having, um your, well, my mouth…”
Hugh nearly choked. And without warning, the hand that had been playing with the blanket reached out and touched him over his breeches.
“There was this one picture…” she continued.
Hugh would not interrupt her for the world. Good God, his wife was well read indeed! Her fingers stroked him rhythmically, almost absentmindedly as she seemed to be gathering the courage to continue.
“A picture?” he prompted her.
“It was, well, backward. Or more accurately, flip-flopped, I would say. Both the woman and the man were giving pleasure, and both receiving it, as well.” He couldn’t take it any longer. Was she suggesting what he thought she was?
Hugh lunged forward and pressed his mouth against hers. He could hardly contain himself. She’d aroused him, utterly and completely, merely by uttering a few words and while barely touching him on the outside of his clothes.
He pushed her off of her elbow and used his body to cause her to lie back on the blanket. He kissed her thoroughly and relished every corner and crevasse inside of her mouth. He would do likewise with other parts of her person. For now, though, he felt an overpowering need to simply adore her.
And then he pulled away and stared into her eyes. They held an unimaginable question. And then she said, “May we try it?”
Oh, good incredible almighty God in heaven!
In answer, he reached down and grasped the material of her skirt. He was going to choreograph this very carefully. He wanted her to enjoy this as much as he was most assuredly going to. He thought through various scenarios quickly. They could lay on their sides with him propping one of her legs up with his hand. Or she could remain how she was, lying on her back looking up at the sky.
But, considering other matters, he expected this might work best if Penelope was on top of him. He pulled her skirt up to her knees and spun himself around. Her ankles were still very slim, her legs a delightful creamy white, and her thighs soft and supple. “Climb on top of me, love,” he said.
Unabashed, she raised herself to all fours and then lifted her leg across and straddled his chest. He was suddenly enshrouded in the material of her dress. He inhaled that clean fresh scent he’d grown fond of, as well as the subtle perfume of her arousal. The sunlight penetrated the material, and he had an incredibly appetizing view of her derriere. He took hold of her hips and pulled. She seemed to know what he wanted and scooted backward at his urging.
Just as he was about to reach down to unfasten his falls, he felt petite hands begin undoing them on their own. He was most certain there was nothing in his life he’d ever done to deserve a wife so bold and so willing.
Not willing to wait and hoping she did not change her mind, he parted her folds and leaned his head forward. At the same time, fresh air hit his cock and then the warmth and moist paradise of her mouth. He could tell already that she was as stimulated as he. He enjoyed watching what he was doing and only closed his eyes a few times, when he needed to summon other thoughts in order to keep himself from spending too soon. He used his fingers, his thumb, his lips, and his tongue on her. She used her lips, her hands, her tongue and, good God, the depths of her throat on him. Occasionally, he would feel the edge of a tooth, but she was careful. And there was something about the knowledge that pain was so near that only enhanced his excitement.
And then she began to jerk and shudder. Her juices had found their way all around his mouth and chin. He was going to spend. He could not help it any longer.
“Pen, you might want to, I’m going to—” Surely, he could not spend in her mouth.
But she grasped him tightly. He was trapped. He pumped once, twice, a third time even deeper into her mouth and then allowed his release to come.
She held him there until his member stilled. The only indication either of them yet lived was the pulse he could feel of her heartbeat, and he knew she could feel the throbbing pulse of his. She collapsed atop him and he slid out of her mouth. He was still shrouded in her skirts with the sunlight filtering through. As his heart slowed down, he once again heard the waves crashing below. A sea gull let out a squall.
Both lay exhausted for several minutes before Hugh could summon the energy to speak. “Hell, Penelope. I’m going to have to take a look at your library.”
Her hand began caressing the lower half of his stomach and her fingers combed the hair on his belly. It was a pleasant sensation, soothing. “You may, Hugh,” she said matter-of-factly, “But I’ve always found that the scientific method is the best way to learn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Penelope began to realize, as the long summer days passed, that there were many different layers to a marriage.
There was the practical side, the business and administrative matters. Yes, she’d finally sent word to her mother. Yes, he’d sent an announcement to the newspapers in London, and yes, they were going to need to find a new cook soon. She had grown quite elderly and seemed to be struggling with her duties. And in spite of their wedding and marriage, in spite of Penelope’s interesting condition, the house was in mourning. A black wreath hung on the doorway, and Penelope had had some gowns made up locally of bombazine and crepe. They were not very comfortable, but nothing seemed very comfortable lately. Hugh persisted in wearing the black armband but also a black cravat. She knew he still felt the loss of his mother deeply, even though he didn’t discuss it with her very often.
There was the public aspect of their marriage. Hugh had told her it would not be necessary for her to meet with the tenants, yet, due to her condition, but while she still felt energetic, she wanted to know more about the estate.
And so, he’d taken her about, to the tiny cottages interspersed amongst the holdings and introduced her formally. She always brought with her a basket filled with staples and preserves from the manor’s own inventory. If Hugh told her there would be children, she’d pilfer a toy or two from a collection of Margaret and Hugh’s in the attic. Nothing of sentimental value, however; she always checked with Hugh first. She wanted their children to have access to some of the same playthings their father had entertained himself with as a boy.
They also attended church together weekly, sitting in the front pew. Initially, Penelope felt self-conscious. The surrounding gentry were very forgiving of their precipitous marriage. Hugh was a viscount and she a viscountess. That was what mattered most. And Hugh had always been extremely popular. There were a few younger ladies who eyed her with distaste and envy, but Penelope would not be bothered.
For there was also the physical side of marriage, which the two of them were working out very nicely. Penelope had discovered, after the day of their picnic, that she truly was not squeamish when it came to sensual pleasures. Hugh was not at all either.
It was not unusual for either of them to approach the other with a new idea they had from a picture or book. They’d devised many scenarios that allowed them to satisfy each other without putting pressure on the babies, nor undo stress, it seemed.
Penelope had not counted on experiencing such physical pleasure when entering marriage. She’d been all too intent on everything else. But now that she had discovered it, she deliberately kept scenarios in mind that could be used for when Hugh and she did not wish to procreate anymore. Ways that involved other things than merely the male withdrawing his member before spending. Because she was more aware, now, than she ever had been before, of the dangers that came along with childbirth.
And in the early hours of the morning, when Hugh slept softly beside her, she worried.
There was more than one baby to be concerned for.
Two hearts, two heads, two brains, twenty fingers and twenty toes. Not only did she worry for their lives but for the quality of their health should they both live. She’d
heard of early babies being compromised for life with debilitating ailments. She told herself, rationally, that these apprehensions were unproductive for both her and the babies, but she was unable to dismiss them.
And there was another aspect to marriage—one that presented she and Hugh with the greatest challenge—emotional intimacy.
As husband and wife, Hugh and Penelope trusted each other implicitly with their bodies, their possessions, and the day to day decisions about the estate, but there was a wall of sorts between them when it came to trusting each other outright.
This kept them from sharing their dreams, their thoughts, their fears.
Hugh had decided that there was no possible way that the babies were of his own seed and was not ever willing to discuss it. If she even began to bring up the subject, he either cut her off, changing the subject, or removed himself physically. That dark and distant mood settled in him and would not leave for a day or two. She did not think he did it intentionally, but she still felt as though he would punish her for every attempt.
A resentment grew in Penelope’s heart and she was unable to dismiss it. She was hurt by his continued refusal to even consider her claim. Did he care for her? Did he respect her? It was obvious he did not trust her.
He loved her with his body, but never spoke of other feelings he might have for her. And what frightened her most was that she had fallen in love with him. One could not share so much with a person, a person they liked and respected, and not come to love him, could one?
Yes, she loved him.
She loved the way he constantly pushed away the lock of hair that was always falling into his eyes. She loved the earnestness he exhibited in finally taking on his full responsibility as viscount. She loved the tenderness he had in his voice whenever he mentioned some memory of his mother, or his concern for his sister.
Yes, she loved him.
But she was growing increasingly angry with him.
This was the state of affairs within their marriage when a great catastrophe fell upon the entire household.
Penelope and Hugh were just returning from church that morning when an ancient carriage, one Penelope recognized instantly, rambled up behind them. They’d just alighted from an open barouche themselves, and Hugh looked at her questioningly.
She gave him a pained look and conceded the inevitable. “It’s my mother.”
“Oh, my dears! Would you just look at her, my lord? Look at you, Penelope! You are absolutely huge!” And then, turning toward Hugh, the baroness wagged her finger at him, apparently deciding it was necessary to take him to task. “I always knew you were a scoundrel, Danbury. Swearing you would never marry! Avoiding the ladies of the ton at every turn. Your poor, dear, departed mama! I’ll bet you regret that you did not do your duty to Penelope before she passed. I told the baron he needed to take you to task for your actions, but at least you did the gentlemanly thing and have taken responsibility at last.”
Penelope winced as she watched Hugh’s face. “Mother, you must be exhausted! I wish you would have let me known you were coming. Come inside with us, out of the sun, and I will have a chamber prepared for you.”
Although the calendar showed September, summer had yet to retreat and Penelope had been looking forward to a glass of lemonade since the second hymn ended. Besides that, her back hurt after sitting in the wooden pew and her halfboots suddenly felt a size too small.
“Well of course, why haven’t you invited me in before now? This sunlight will ruin your complexion.” The baroness took Hugh’s arm and allowed him to assist her up the steps to the door.
Penelope arched her back and then followed the two of them. A footman rushed over to assist her.
Once inside, settled in the drawing room, Penelope ordered tea and a light nuncheon to be brought in to them. Her mother had sent the maid who’d always been her companion up to unpack her belongings and proceeded to berate the couple for breaking both God’s laws as well as society’s. Penelope was uncertain as to which mattered the most to her mother.
At first, Hugh had looked uncomfortable, but as her mother went on and on, he’d taken on that distant and cold look.
His mother blamed him for trying to run away from Penelope in London. Her mother blamed him for not marrying her much sooner. Her mother blamed him for taking advantage of her daughter. And if the baron were here, he would have taken some skin off of both of them.
Penelope’s father, she knew, had already corresponded with Hugh, and they’d signed the contracts of her dowry without dispute. Her father was a rather passive man.
Several times during the reprimand, Penelope did her best to steer the conversation toward a less disagreeable subject, but her mother could not have been any more tenacious. It was Hugh, excusing himself, which finally brought about an end to the tirade.
“I’ve an appointment this afternoon, my lady,” he said as he bowed, “and I’m afraid I shall have to leave you to Penelope’s care.”
“An appointment on a Sunday? And while you are in mourning? What is the world coming to?”
Hugh bowed again. “If you’ll excuse me.” He met Penelope’s gaze only briefly and she sent him an apologetic smile. He’d already withdrawn, however to that dark and distant place. Despair filled her at the cold look in his eyes.
In the ensuing silence, she turned to her mother and burst out, “Mother, how could you?”
Her mother merely waved a gloved hand in the air. “It was his due, dear. Why, look at you. He made you wait months before owning up to his immoral behavior.”
“No, Mother! You do not know what you are speaking of! He did not know! It was I who delayed in telling him! The late date of our marriage was my fault!”
But then her mother teared up. “I had never thought that a daughter of mine would do what you have done. I’ve always been tolerant of your radical ideas, but this time you’ve gone beyond the pale. Why, I could barely hold my head up in London after I’d received your letter. My dearest friends and acquaintances all congratulated me on your marriage, but also got their digs in. ‘Why such haste?’ They all speculated that you would marry so shortly after Lady Danbury’s death. Why would they marry and not invite the bride’s mother? Do you realize what you’ve done to me?”
Penelope sighed in exhaustion. Rubbing her hands over her face, she groaned. “Mama, I am very sorry. I am so very sorry, for bringing any shame upon you. I can only tell you that I did not intend for any of this to happen. I’m doing my best. But I cannot discuss this with you today any further.”
She stood up and rang the bell. When the manservant appeared almost immediately, she asked him to please show the baroness to her chambers. Her mother bristled, but it was obvious that she, too, had grown weary.
Before leaving, though, she turned to Penelope. “I will speak with both of you again at supper.”
Penelope merely nodded.
She felt tired, angry, and hurt. She could only imagine what damage her mother could do before her visit was over.
She gave her mother plenty of time to get settled into her chamber before climbing the stairs to her own. Her back hurt, and her feet ached. When she came into the room, though, Rose was ready for her. Rose had known her mother for nearly as long as Penelope had. She labored under no misapprehension as to what the afternoon had been like for Penelope.
Penelope collapsed on a chair, and Rose immediately assisted her in removing her boots. This pregnancy had brought out a nurturing side in Rose that Penelope had not realized was there. Kneeling down, Rose began massaging Penelope’s feet, ankles, and calves.
“Was is so very bad?”
Penelope gave her a look.
“Forget I asked. Of course, it was.”
But Penelope felt near tears. “She was horrible to him.” Rose’s thumbs slid along the arch of Penelope’s aching foot. “She berated him for compromising me and then avoiding the repercussions. He got that look, you know, the one I always tell you about. Only this time, it was Mama
, and not me, and she just kept going and going and going…”
“You need some rest,” Rose announced. She pulled Penelope to her feet and assisted her out of her dress and into a night rail. “There is plenty of time for a nap before dinner. And if necessary, we shall have your meal brought up here.”
“I can’t do that, Rose, that would leave Hugh alone with my mother.”
“He’s a grown man. He can handle it.”
Penelope climbed into the bed and Rose pulled up the covers. “I’ll be fine afterward. Wake me when the dinner gong sounds if I’m not already up. I cannot leave Hugh to deal with Mama alone.”
Rose pursed her lips but nodded. She closed the drapes and then poured a tumbler of water to sit beside the bed.
“Thank you, Rose,” Penelope mumbled.
Rose smiled weakly. “Not to worry, Pen.” She then backed out of the room and pulled the door closed, leaving Penelope alone with her thoughts.
Penelope wondered if Hugh thought she was very much like her mother. Oh, she hoped not. Besides, Hugh was not like her father, really, was he? Of course not. Hugh would not be run over by a managing woman as her father had been for most of his life. He’d not let her manage him, not really. Had he? And on that thought, she drifted off.
Hugh was tempted to stay away for the evening. It would have been the height of rudeness. He was his mother’s son, however, and on such small matters as this, he would not let Penelope down.
But that woman!
After about a quarter of an hour in her company, he’d had to mentally focus on anything else in the room but the words spewing from her mouth. No wonder Penelope had spent so much time gallivanting about England away from her parents.
Being berated for something he’d taken no part in had galled in the extreme. For the first part, he had not compromised Penelope into such a predicament and for the second part, he was making atonement for something another man had done! He was the victim in all of this.
Lady at last Page 21