by P. F. Kozak
“Yes, miss, bundled up on the sofa, with your drawers.”
In spite of her mortification at Lucy’s unseemly discovery, Pamela had to laugh. “You’ve known this all week and didn’t say anything?”
“No, miss, it wasn’t my place.” Lucy sheepishly added, “But I have wondered what happened. I didn’t mean to blurt out my thinking like I did.”
“It’s all right, Lucy.” Pamela gathered the telegrams. “Master Rennard is considering what is best. We will decide tonight.”
“Then, you have good reason to be ruffled by him coming back.” Lucy pointed to the telegrams in Pamela’s hand. “Seems he missed you a bit, he did.”
“It seems he did.”
“Ring for me if you need any help getting ready for tonight.”
“I will. And could you remind Jack to be ready at half past two?”
“I surely will, miss.”
Pamela tucked the telegrams into her night table drawer. She left the lingerie on the bed where she could see it. Glancing at the clock, she realised she still had half an hour before Jack brought the carriage to the front gate. Pamela opened the drawer, retrieved the telegrams, and read them all again.
Jack brought the carriage round on time. Pamela already stood at the gate, waiting. “Miss Pamela? Am I late?”
“No, Jack. Not at all. I’m a bit restless. I thought I would wait here for you.”
Jack opened the door for her and helped her into the carriage. After she sat down, he leaned inside the door. “Nervous like a cat is closer to the truth.” He patted her leg. “No worries, miss. We’ll be there before his train arrives.”
“I know we will.”
He reached into his back pocket and took out his flask. “Here, Miss Pamela, have a swallow. You look as though you need it.”
Pamela didn’t argue. She took the container and took a healthy swallow. The gin burned her throat and she coughed.
“Easy, miss. That’s strong rotgut.”
“That’s the God’s honest truth.” Pamela capped it and handed it back to Jack.
“You hang on to it, miss. Give it back at the station.”
“Jack, really, I don’t need it.”
“Miss Pamela, Lucy told me what might happen tonight. Keep it, just in case you start feeling jittery.”
“Thank you, Jack. I’ll give it back later.”
“Righty-oh. Let’s get cracking.”
He slammed the door shut. A few minutes later, the carriage rumbled down Piccadilly.
As Jack predicted, they arrived at the station well before Peter’s train. She waited in the carriage until just before the train arrived. Jack accompanied her to the platform, where they found a bench. Pamela handed him his flask. “Thank you for this. I did take one more swallow. It settled me.”
Jack grinned. “I knew it would, miss.” He tucked it in his back pocket. “Miss Pamela, if I might say so, the mister is a lucky sod to be coming back to you.”
“I’m equally lucky to be waiting on him to come back, Jack.”
Pamela heard the train whistle before she saw the train. She leaned forward and strained to see down the track. “Jack, there it is. There’s Peter’s train!” She jumped up and nearly ran across the platform.
“Miss Pamela!” Jack bolted after her. “Miss, you have to wait. We don’t know which car he’s in. And you surely don’t want to trip and fall.”
“No, of course not.” Pamela smoothed her skirt, drying her sweaty palms.
“Do you want another swallow of gin, miss?”
“No, Jack. I’m all right.”
Pamela took a deep breath and steadied herself. She would greet Peter as a woman of refinement, not as an overly zealous schoolgirl. Even with that conviction firmly in mind, her stomach did somersaults when the train finally came to a full stop. As the doors opened the length of the train, passengers streamed out onto the platform. Jack stood closer to Pamela so she would not be buffeted by the crowd.
“Jack, do you see him?”
“Not yet, miss. He’s probably hanging back to avoid all of this.”
“No doubt.”
They waited and watched. Pamela clutched her bag, panic welling up in her as she realised he could have missed the train. Feeling movement behind her as Jack stepped to the side, she jumped when someone put his hands on her shoulders.
“Hello, Pams.”
“Peter!” Pamela spun around like a dreidel and grabbed him, all thoughts of refinement and sophistication disappearing in a blur of spinning colour. Hugging him tightly, she whispered, “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“I am glad to be home.” He held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you! That’s your new dress, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. I thought you would like to see it.”
“It is lovely, as are you.” Peter gave Jack his claim ticket. “We’ll meet you at the carriage. Is it in the usual spot?”
“Yes, sir, sitting right where we did when we met Miss Pamela.”
As Jack hurried down the platform to the luggage car, Peter turned back to Pamela. “Do you know how much I want to kiss you?”
Pamela slipped her arm through his. “I expect not nearly as much as I want to kiss you. But that cannot happen here. You are a known barrister in London. We might be seen.”
“Well, that is uncharacteristically sensible of you.” Pamela dug her fingernails into his arm. “Ouch! What was that for?”
“For being patronizing, and arrogant, and pompous.”
“The last two are redundant.”
Digging her fingernails as deeply into his arm as she could, Pamela added, “And bloody infuriating!”
Unhooking her fingers from his arm, Peter affectionately chided her. “Unclench your teeth, Pamela, and open your claws.” Pamela relaxed her grip on his arm. “Thank you.”
“You are quite welcome.”
“Now, getting back to my original point…”
Pamela assumed a haughty tone. “Which was? I’ve forgotten.”
“Which was, how much I want to kiss you.”
“Peter Rennard, you aren’t impulsive enough to kiss me in the middle of a railway station!”
“Is that a fact!” He stopped and swung her around to face him.
Pamela giggled. “You wouldn’t!”
“Yes, I would.” Holding her tightly against his chest, he opened his mouth and covered hers. Pamela melted into him, and returned his kiss. The London Bridge station disappeared inside that kiss. Nothing existed for her in that moment except Peter.
The kiss ended slowly, their lips touching even after the kiss had ended. With more concern for Peter’s reputation than for her own, Pamela stepped back. “Peter, we might be seen here. Let’s go home.”
“You are quite right, Pams. You can be sure the wags are already talking. At least we are helping them tell the truth.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes, I do mean it.” He took her arm and they continued walking. “I’ve given all of this considerable thought during this last week, Pamela, as I hope you have.”
“Peter, it’s the only thing I’ve thought about.”
“I did not have that luxury. But in the evenings and before sleep, when I had quiet time at the inn, I thought of you.”
“The telegrams you sent told me as much.”
They had reached the carriage. Before Peter opened the door for her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Pamela broke the seal. “These are telegram forms. There must be at least a dozen of them in here.”
“Those are the telegrams I wrote and didn’t send. The one on top may interest you the most.”
Pamela removed the first form and read aloud, “‘I think of you constantly, bordering on obsession. Every day here alone is a struggle. Going back to a life without you is unimaginable. God preserve us from ourselves, I am hopelessly in love with you.’”
She stared at the paper in her hand, not knowing if she should laugh or cry. “Why didn’t you send this to me?”
“Because I wanted to see you when you read it.” He opened the carriage door. “Come, let us sit inside.”
Peter helped her into the carriage. They sat quietly for several minutes as Pamela absorbed the words he had written. The question that formed in her mind could not be held back.
“Nellie said you loved me. She said you have suffered for many years because of it. May said I am the reason you never married. Peter, tell me the truth, are they right?”
“Pams, I think you’re holding the answer to that question.”
“I don’t want to read it, Peter. I want to hear you say it to me outright. Are they right?” Pamela’s voice quavered, but she held her gaze steady as she looked into his eyes. “Peter, are they right?”
“Yes, Pamela, they are right.”
She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. “Dear God, how long I’ve wanted to know this, how long I’ve dreamed of this.”
“Pamela, do not think this to be an answer to a prayer. My finally admitting these feelings to myself, and to you, may mean more hell for us than heaven.”
“Peter, how can you say that?”
“Because, Pamela, our lives are not meant to play out as lovers. I am your guardian, entrusted by your father to find you a fitting husband. Having feelings for you as I do is an abomination, and an insult to your father’s trust in me.”
“Having feelings for me is not an abomination! That is saying love is a disgrace, and it certainly is not! And what my father planned for me is not what I want. I will not marry, Peter, and forfeit all that is mine to some sniveling pantywaist with a title.”
Peter chuckled. “I am sure there are young men of the peerage with a bit more virility than that.”
“Those I have met are coddled and insufferably smug. Keeping their company is unbearably tedious. I would not trust any of them with one shilling of Papa’s inheritance.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Just how many of these young men have you met?”
“A few, enough to know they do not please me.”
“And I please you?” Peter wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him.
“You please me more than anyone else.” Just as their lips touched, Jack knocked on the carriage door.
“Pardon me, sir, I have your box and parcels here.”
“Of course, Jack.”
Jack opened the door. Peter slid close to Pamela, to fit his luggage onto the seat. He piled several parcels on top.
“What are those?” Pamela leaned across Peter’s lap to get a better look. “That looks like a hatbox and that one a dress box.”
“You mind yourself now. Those are for later.”
“You brought me something, didn’t you?”
Peter ignored Pamela’s question and turned to Jack. “Do you see how she assumes I brought her gifts?”
Jack played along. “Yes, sir, I see that plain as day.”
“Now why on earth would I want to bring her gifts? She is petulant, impulsive and sasses me every chance she gets! Why should such behaviour be rewarded?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“And there is one more thing.”
“Yes, sir?”
“She tastes of gin. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Jack grinned. “No, sir, not a thing.”
“No, I didn’t think you would. Take us back to Piccadilly. The last thing I want is to have May after me for being late to dinner.”
Still smiling, Jack closed the door. Pamela pinched Peter’s arm through his coat. “You think you are quite amusing, don’t you?”
“I do have my moments.” Wiping his mouth, he grimaced. “I can still taste Jack’s Old Tom. You’ve never heard the rhyme, ‘Little nips of whisky, little drops of gin, make a lady wonder where on earth she’s bin’?”
“No, I never have. I’ve led a sheltered life, thanks to you.”
“Your taste in spirits certainly demands some refinement. I’ll see to that.”
Pamela slipped her arm through Peter’s. “What else will you see to?”
“Your well-being. It is my duty.”
“Well, if I am ever a burden to you, I am sure you could find a way to break Papa’s will and put me out.”
“No, I think it best you stay with me until you marry. There is no telling what would become of you left to your proclivities.”
Pamela laughed. Doing her best cockney, she retorted, “I’ve done awright, I ’ave! Been on me own for six now and I’m no worse for it, guvner!”
“You’ve obviously been spending too much time with Lucy.”
Pamela breathed into his ear, “I thought you fancied common girls.”
“I fancy you.” With no fanfare and no warning, he turned and put his hand behind her neck. Pulling her head toward his, he once again opened his mouth and covered hers. This time, the kiss had an edge and a potency that surprised her. Peter assaulted her mouth with his, roughly pushing his tongue between her teeth. His hand found her breast and closed around it.
His virile insistence continued as the carriage rolled on toward Piccadilly. Pamela could do little more than allow him to touch her. He had her wedged into the corner and his weight prevented her from moving. He kissed her neck and licked her ear. The hand that had been on her breast moved lower. Tugging at her skirt, he pulled it up high enough to reach underneath.
His voice thick with arousal, he asked, “Your cycle is over, isn’t it?”
“Yes, for a few days now.”
He reached further under her skirt, following the smooth thigh upward to her vestal treasure. Slipping his fingers inside of her, he audibly moaned, “God in heaven, I’ve wanted to touch you all week. I’ve spent by my own hand every night, thinking about touching you.”
Still trapped in the corner, Pamela could not move. She pushed against him. “Peter, let me move. I can’t stand it!”
With his fingers still inside her, he sat upright, allowing her a bit of space. Pamela immediately reached for his cock. He grabbed her hand. “No, Pams, not yet. I want to watch you spend before I do. I will tell you when.” He continued to tickle the swollen flesh between her legs with his fingertips.
“You’re driving me mad, Peter!” Pamela pulled her skirt higher, and twisted on the seat, trying to push his fingers in deeper.
“Pamela!” He barked her name so harshly she froze. “Be still, you will break yourself by bearing down as you just did. Neither of us want that.”
Forcing herself to be still, Pamela acquiesced. Breathing heavily, she managed to spit back, “No, I want you to break me with your cock, tonight!”
“Which I have every intention of doing. That is why you must control yourself. If you do that again, there may not be anything left to break.”
“But I need to finish.”
“As do I. Now, behave and allow me to see to it.” He reinserted his fingers into her cunt and stretched his thumb to reach her clit. Using his hand as if it were a claw, he opened and closed his fingers, two on the inside, one on the outside.
The rhythmic pinching had the desired effect. Pamela lifted her arse off the seat as her cunt clutched at Peter’s fingers. She lost herself in the delirium of her arousal. Stifling a scream, the sound she made turned into a husky grunt as once again, she bore down on his hand. The need to be penetrated came upon her in earnest as she climaxed. Peter removed his fingers and cupped her in his palm. Pamela rubbed against his hand until she had spent fully.
Even before her breathing had slowed, Pamela again reached for him. “Peter, let me see to you.” She gasped for another breath. “We will be at Piccadilly soon.”
Peter quickly opened his trousers. Handing Pamela his handkerchief, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. When Pamela untangled his organ from his underpants, she gasped. Peter opened his eyes. “Are you all right?”
/>
“I might ask that of you! Peter, it’s purple!”
Peter glanced down at his erection. “So it is.”
“Is that normal? I’ve only ever seen it red!”
Peter rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Pamela, dear, I am very aroused. If you please, could you give me some relief and I will explain later.”
Pamela quickly covered his cock with the handkerchief and began tossing him off. She knew now when to apply pressure and when to ease off. Allowing him to thrust into her hand, she slowly squeezed. Knowing he would soon finish, she removed the hankie and bent over into his lap.
Before he could react, she had him in her mouth. Within seconds, he shuddered with the onset of his orgasm. As she sucked the purple tip, his cream hit the back of her throat. She swallowed just as another spurt filled her mouth, some trickling down her chin. She swallowed again, managing most of it one gulp. Before he finished, he squirted twice more. She drank it all.
The carriage stopped before Peter had the chance to gather himself. He quickly tucked himself back into his trousers. Pamela wiped her chin with Peter’s handkerchief just before Jack knocked on the door.
“Master Rennard, Miss Pamela, in case you don’t already know, we’re home.”
Chapter Thirteen
May outdid herself with dinner. The Robert May’s salmon with oranges in wine sauce, garnished with sweet and sour onions could have been a Christmas Eve feast. The stuffed dates in honey she served as pudding also tasted of Christmas.
When Peter asked why the celebration, May winked at Pamela and said, “Why, you’re home, ain’t ya!”
Pamela took the snifter of Napoleon cognac Peter offered to her. “You still haven’t told me why it turned purple!”
“That’s the third time you’ve asked me that question!”
“I would stop asking if you would answer me.”
Peter sat down beside her. “It happens sometimes.”
Pamela snorted in disgust. “That’s not an answer! It’s an evasion.”
“And that is not a ladylike sound you just made.”
“There will be a few of those tonight, I expect.”
Peter shook his head and laughed. “Is there anything you won’t say?”
“Not usually. Papa always said I had a mouth bigger than my head.”