by P. F. Kozak
“Very wise man.”
“He was, wasn’t he? I wish I could know him, now that I am older. It is difficult to accept I never knew him as you did.”
“Pamela, you never would have known him as I did. Sir George did not care to include women in his conversations.”
“Do you?”
“It depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“On the woman.”
“And what women have you included?”
“Yourself. There are few others.”
“Lately, you have distanced yourself from me. I don’t think you could say I am included.”
“Pamela, our situation is difficult. We must discuss subjects of some delicacy this evening. However, your plate must be cleaned before we begin.”
“Bargaining with me, Peter?”
“It is how I spend my days, bargaining. It comes naturally to me.”
“I will remember that when we have our discussion.”
Peter ate his meal, quietly monitoring Pamela’s progress. She ate slowly at first, taking a small bite and sipping her wine. As the colour returned to her cheeks, the food disappeared more quickly, until she had finished the plate which May had heaped full.
Peter lifted the lid on the serving platter. “There’s more here, if you care to have a second serving.”
Before Pamela could decline his offer, Lucy knocked on the door. “Master Rennard, I must see you for a moment.”
Obviously irritated, Peter pushed back his chair. “Excuse me, Pamela, while I find out what is so important as to interrupt our meal.”
Peter opened the library door. “Lucy, I left very clear instructions that we were not to be disturbed.”
“I know, sir. I am sorry, sir. It is Miss Constance. She is here and refuses to leave until she speaks to you.”
“Constance! What the bloody devil is she doing here?”
“I don’t know, sir, but she threatened to have me dismissed if I didn’t come fetch you.”
“Lucy, no one can dismiss you but myself, and I certainly will not do that.” Peter turned back to Pamela. “I apologise, Pamela. I have to see to this.”
“Of course, Peter.”
Peter followed Lucy to the foyer, where Constance sat rigidly in a chair. When she saw Peter, she stood. “Good evening, Constance. Might I ask why you have come unannounced? As you can plainly see, I am otherwise engaged.”
“I understand Pamela has finished her schooling and is returning here to live with you. Is this true?”
“What concern is that of yours?”
“I thought we had an understanding.”
“Constance, I have not spoken to you in well over three months! How in God’s name could you assume there is any sort of understanding?”
“My father told me you spoke of me to him in chambers, that you had a fondness for me. My father took that to mean you have intentions toward me.”
“Your father is a fool. I never said anything to him other than what would politely be said to a father regarding his daughter.”
“Is she here now?”
“Constance, I must ask you to kindly leave. This conversation is over.”
“It is a scandalous disgrace, your living here with an unmarried girl! Has she become your courtesan? Is that why you keep her?”
“Peter does not keep me, Constance. This is my home.”
Peter turned to see Pamela standing behind him. “Pamela, this does not concern you.”
“Oh, but Peter, I think it does.” She handed Peter several unopened letters tied in a bundle. “May told me you had left these on your desk. I thought perhaps you might wish to return them.”
“Those are my letters! How dare you!”
Pamela walked directly up to Constance, absolutely regal in her rose ball gown. “You will see, Constance, they are unopened. I have not read them. Nor has Peter. It seems unlikely there is any sort of intention if your many letters go unopened and unread.”
“What sort of concubine have you become? Sir George would be ashamed of you in that dress!”
“I am no one’s concubine. It might interest you to know that my father not only took great pride in me, he also left me his fortune. I am a very wealthy woman, Constance. I do not need any man to keep me. I could buy and sell most wealthy men three times over.”
“Who do you think you are, speaking to me in this fashion?”
“I am Sir George Kingston’s daughter. You have come into my home, debased my character, threatened my chambermaid and made slanderous accusations. My father certainly would not tolerate such an invasion into his home, and neither will I. Please leave now, before I am forced to have you bodily removed.”
“Peter, are you going to stand there and allow this impudence?”
Peter handed Constance the bundle of letters. “Constance, you do not understand. I am the one Pamela would ask to have you removed, and I would honour her request. Good evening.”
Peter calmly walked over and opened the door. Constance stuffed the letters into her bag and went back to her carriage waiting on the street.
Turning back to Pamela, Peter noticed her hands balled into fists at her sides. “My dear, it seems you have recovered from your fainting spell.”
Pamela still had a head of steam up. “I told you six months ago I thought her a persnickety prig. How on earth could you bear to be with her? She is utterly infuriating!”
Peter came over and lifted Pamela’s fist. Unfurling it, he kissed the back of her hand. “I couldn’t, which is why I stopped seeing her.”
“It is totally beyond me what could have attracted you in the first place! Her blonde hair and blue eyes do not change the fact she is hateful as a toad!”
“If you must know, her father is a member of my chambers. He asked me if I would escort her on a few occasions, and I did. The old man read too much into the situation. Wishful thinking, I suppose.”
“You did not see her of your own volition?”
“No, only as a favour to her father. Once I saw her true colours, I severed the connection.”
“I think she would have shattered like glass had you touched her!”
Peter laughed. “If you are implying her passions are not as fiery as yours, you are correct.”
“What would you know of my passions?”
“Considerably more today than I did yesterday. That conversation is yet to be had. Let us sit by the fire and have some brandy.” Peter escorted her back into the library.
The remains of their dinner still sat on the table. Peter rang for Lucy.
Lucy cautiously poked her head in the door. “Yes, sir?”
“Could you clear the table and tell May we are finished with dinner?”
“Yes, sir. She said to tell you she made Miss Pamela’s favorite honey almond cake, if you care to have some.”
Pamela clapped her hands together. “Oh, how delightful! That is the cake she would make for me on special occasions. She would let me lick the bowl and I would wipe it clean.”
“Yes, miss. She made it yesterday, to welcome you home.”
“Oh, Peter, we must have some. It is wonderful!”
Pamela’s enthusiasm for the cake diffused the tension created by Constance. “Lucy, tell May we will have some cake and brandy in here, by the fire.”
“Yes, sir.” Lucy quickly cleared the table and took the tray to the kitchen.
After stirring the embers a bit, Peter tossed another log into the fireplace. He then took Pamela’s hand and led her to the sofa beside the fire.
“Peter, will the situation this evening with Constance compromise your position in chambers?”
“Hardly. Others have come forward and warned me of Constance and her incessant hysterics. I am not the first, and most probably, will not be the last to have discovered she is not what she seems.”
“Does she sustain social connections?”
“You are concerned she will speak of us together?”
“Actu
ally, I am hoping she will.”
“Pamela, you are an enigma. You always have been to me. Why would you hope that she does?”
“Because if she does, and others accept that there is something between us, then perhaps you will come to accept it as well.”
“You present me with a serious dilemma, Pamela, both moral and emotional.”
“Peter, if you could try for only a moment to see me as someone other than Sir George’s daughter, would there still be a dilemma?”
“Perhaps not as severe, but yes, there would still be the difficulty of age.”
“There are those who find a way to bridge a larger gap than ours.”
“Perhaps so. But that does not negate the fact that I am your designated guardian. Your well-being was entrusted to me by your father.”
“Peter, I am of age. Your guardianship now is only of my estate, not of me. What will it take to have you see me as a woman and not that girl sliding down the banister so many years ago?”
“My dear Pamela, you have no idea.”
Lucy knocked on the door. “Master Rennard, I have your pudding here.”
“Indeed.” He got up to open the door. Lucy brought in a tray with the cake, a decanter of brandy and two snifters. A pot of tea and two cups also graced the pudding.
“Thank you, Lucy. That will be all for tonight. The cleanup can be done in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. Good night.”
Peter poured them each some brandy and served the cake. “It is good to see the colour back in your cheeks.”
“Thank you. I am feeling quite fine now.” Pamela took a substantial mouthful of cake, and then another. She cleaned her plate in a few minutes.
“It is also good to see your appetite has returned.” Pamela nodded, unable to speak as she savoured the sweetness in her mouth.
“Shall we now talk about The Pearl?”
Chapter Seven
Pamela swallowed her remaining cake and sipped her brandy before she answered. “All right, if you care to, we can talk about The Pearl.”
“I read the entire journal last evening. It is coarse and vulgar, certainly not something you should have. Where did you get it?”
“From a classmate.”
“Do you have more of them?”
“Why are you asking me that? Lucy told you I do.”
“All right then. Have you read them all?”
“Yes. And if I have the opportunity, I will continue to read them.”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoy them, because they make me burn inside, because they talk of things I want to learn.”
“Haven’t you learned enough?”
“No, certainly not! One does not learn about such things by reading. Experience is the true teacher.”
Peter turned and stared into the fire. “Is that what you want from me, experience?”
“I can gain experience from anyone. What I want is you.”
Peter turned to face her. “Earlier you asked what it would take to have me see you as a woman. That has never been my problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My problem has been not seeing you as a woman. Even while Sir George still lived, I enjoyed your company more than any of those who sought my attention.”
“Peter—”
“Pamela, let me finish. I sent you away because I did not trust myself with you in the same house. To protect you, and to honour the trust that Sir George placed in me, I enrolled you in the finest school I could find.” Peter paced in front of the fire and sipped his brandy. “I thought you would meet someone and marry, that I would never have to face the moment of your sharing this house with me. But here we are. It is now your home.”
“Peter, why is that so horrible? Why do you still push me away?”
“I promised your father, Pamela. I promised him I would care for you and see to your marriage. To do otherwise is to betray an oath I swore to him on his deathbed.”
“Papa lives with the angels now, he is with my mum. He cannot judge you.”
“Yes, but I can judge myself.”
“And what about us, Peter? What about what I want and what you want?”
“What do you want, Pamela?”
“I want you, any way I can have you.”
Peter set his glass on the table. He sat down beside Pamela and pulled her close to him. He whispered, “Lord Christ in heaven, forgive me for what I am about to do.”
Pamela brushed his cheek with her lips. “Darling Peter, there is nothing to forgive.”
Then Peter kissed her, giving the searing heat so long inside of him a voice. To his astonishment, she ardently returned his kiss. With mouths open, they tasted the sweetness of the other’s tongue, the flavours of cake and brandy mingling in an ambrosial nectar.
The kiss opened Pandora’s box. Peter wanted to overpower her, to consume her, to ravage her. He forced himself to pull back. But he had to know. “Have you ever been with a man, Pamela?”
She put her hand on his chest and leaned in close to his ear. “No. I have waited for it to be you.”
Peter kissed her hair and held her tightly. “Pamela, for that, we will wait. I want you to be sure. If it is to be so, then it should not be done here, in a library.”
“I am sure, Peter. I have wanted it to be you for many years.”
“We will explore other things for a time, until you have a chance to consider the full import of giving yourself over to me. Once done, it can never be undone.” Peter brushed her lip with his fingertip. “Pams, tell me what you want to do with me now. I will do nothing more than you ask.”
Pamela touches Peter, continue reading
Pamela does as Peter asks
“I want to touch you again, like yesterday in the carriage.”
Pamela slid her hand up Peter’s leg, stopping just short of his thickening bulge. “Peter, let me touch you again, except this time, I want to see you.”
“You are a wonderment! You speak of such personal matters with the same enthusiastic delight which greeted May’s cake.”
“And why shouldn’t I, Peter Rennard? Isn’t it just as delicious, in its own way?”
“All right, my dear. It would be equally delightful for me to touch your bosom for the first time.”
“Shall I open my dress?”
“Pamela!”
“Oh, Peter, stop being such a Mrs. Grundy. You said we can explore other things. I have read of all sorts of things I want to explore.”
“Have you read of these adventurous things in The Pearl?”
Pamela playfully reached up and undid his ribbon bow tie. “Mostly. Some of the things I’ve read were borrowed and had to be returned.”
“Such as?”
“There is a book, Fanny Hill. Do you know it?”
“John Cleland, 1749. Yes, of course I know it.” Peter reached out and caressed her breast with the back of his hand. “The fact that you know it intrigues me.”
“Why is that?”
“It tells me more of your curiosities, and perhaps your cravings.”
“Does that please you?”
“I would say so, yes.” He slid his hand under her breast and allowed the weight of it to fall in his palm. “Your bosom is lovely, Pams. If you care to show me, I would like to see.”
“First you have to show me.” Pamela slid to the edge of the sofa and stared directly at his bulging prick.
“Dear heart, I must adjust to your lack of modesty about such things.”
“Oh, Peter, I’ve waited so long for this. Don’t make me wait any longer.”
Feeling rather like a fly being lured into a spider web from which he could not escape, Peter opened his trousers. It brought him some relief when he freed his stiff prick from the constricting cloth. Pamela reached to touch him.
“Oh, no, my dear. Now, it’s your turn. Undo the bodice of your dress and show me your lovely mounds.”
Staring wide-eyed at Peter’s thick cock, Pamela slowly u
nbuttoned her dress. Peter wanted to touch himself while he watched, but remembered the pleasure/pain at Nellie’s when he held back from touching.
Pamela undid her dress to the waist and slipped her arms out of the sleeves. Now, only her camisole covered her. Peter’s eyes burned a hole in the cloth as she slowly exposed the flesh underneath. When finally her breasts tumbled free, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Yesterday you said I did not know the ache and the throbbing need.” She opened her eyes and looked into his. “You were wrong.”
Peter took off his tailcoat and vest. “Come, sit on my knee and we will help one another manage it all.”
Without hesitation, Pamela wedged herself between Peter’s legs and sat on his knee. Now that she could see it, she realised Peter’s endowment exceeded Jack’s both in length and thickness. She squirmed on Peter’s knee thinking of how it would feel inside of her.
Peter shifted and pulled her in closer to his chest. “Are you comfortable, Pams?”
“Sitting on your knee is quite fine, but I am certainly not comfortable.”
Peter lightly caressed her breast, with a veneration that caused a tremor in his hand. “And what would it take to make you comfortable?”
For the first time that evening, Pamela hesitated. Her cheeks blushed fiercely as she dried her palms on her skirt. Without saying a word, she clutched the rose material of her skirt in her fists and pulled. The skirt lifted a few centimeters from the floor.
In utter disbelief, Peter watched as she repeated the motion several more times, until the full skirt lay rumpled on her lap. Still holding her breast in one hand, Peter rested his other hand on her bare thigh. “Pams, are you sure?”
“If you don’t, I will have to touch myself. I am on fire!”
Peter needed no other encouragement. Sliding his hand further up, he felt the lace of her knickers. “Are they open, dear heart?”
Pamela nodded and opened her knees further, causing the opening to gap. Peter could never have imagined the sensation of touching her for the first time. The wet curls covering her privates moistened his fingertips like dew on grass. He brushed them, marveling at the lush softness of the hair.
Pamela moaned and put her head on his shoulder. Reaching up to the buttons on his shirt, she opened them, scraping her fingernails down his chest as she moved toward his groin. Peter continued brushing her curls, not knowing if he should do more.