by P. F. Kozak
“Little did he know!”
“Why did it turn purple? I will ask until you answer.”
“Because I am intact. When I am aroused for a period of time without relief, I have a tendency to go from red to purple. It has something to do with the blood pooled under the skin.”
“Then it’s normal.”
“Yes, Pamela, it is normal. Did you think me ill?”
“No, not ill. You looked bruised. I didn’t know if something had happened during your trip.”
“I suppose when I sacked Lamton, he could have pummeled me. But he didn’t. My colouration is because of you, not because of any injury.”
“I rather fancy that.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I do. If I am stirred thinking about you, why shouldn’t you also be stirred thinking about me?”
“I remind you, dear heart, yours doesn’t show as mine does.”
She giggled. “You are quite correct about that.” Pamela sipped her cognac and let the warmth spread though her. “Will we retire soon?”
“I expect so. First, I want to speak to you about what we are about to do.”
“Peter Rennard, I don’t want to talk about it! I want to do it!”
“Pamela, are you sure this is what you want to do? By saying yes, you forfeit the pleasures and joys of your wedding night.”
“We have already discussed this. You know my feelings on the subject.”
“Yes, I do. But you do not know mine.”
“Yes, I do. You want me to marry some limp-wristed boy with a title.”
“Perhaps I have reconsidered.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pamela, would you consider marrying me?”
Pamela looked at him as though he had suddenly grown two heads. “Did I hear you correctly?”
“I’ll say it again. Pamela, will you marry me? Isn’t it what you want?”
“Is that why you are asking me, because it is what I want?”
“I am asking you because no other woman has ever been to me what you are. I am asking you because I want to be with you and no one else.”
“What about Papa’s will?”
“There is nothing in the will that says we cannot marry. Sir George would never have thought it possible and did not create a contingency for it.”
“And if I say to you I want to wait until the law is changed to marry, would you agree to it?”
“Why on earth do you want to wait? I have been protecting your property for six years. Our marriage would not change that.”
“Yes, it would. Once we wed, you would be protecting your property, not mine.”
“Pamela, I would do nothing without your knowledge or consent.”
“Peter, my property rights are controlled by English common law. If we marry, all that is now mine becomes yours.” She could not hold back her tears. “Peter, please, don’t make me choose between you and my inheritance. It would tear me in half!”
“Don’t you trust me to protect what is yours?”
“Of course I do! But what if you had decided that the land in Gloucestershire should be mined and I opposed that decision? Since that land is legally mine, I could have overruled a decision I did not want by refusing to sign the legal papers giving my authorization as landowner. If we marry, I have no say, no land, nothing.”
“You have my promise that I will always consult with you.”
“And who will have the final word, Peter? Tell me, who?”
Peter stood and paced across the library and back again. “I never expected this conversation to take this turn, but since it has, let me ask you this. If you could have exactly what you wanted, what would that be?”
“To marry you and to keep my inheritance.”
“And what if the law doesn’t change?”
“But the law will change! The Married Women’s Property Bill, the one Richard Pankhurst helped to draft, is being considered by Parliament. Prime Minister Gladstone supports it. Peter, it will pass, it simply must pass.”
Peter continued to pace. “This legal battle has been raging for many years, Pamela, and has yet to become law. I am aware of the current bill. There is still considerable opposition, although support for it may be growing.”
“Do you support it?”
“I am not in Parliament, Pamela. I have nothing to say about the matter.”
“Nonsense! You are influential in all areas of the law. Your voice in support of this bill could well sway those who do vote. They are your friends and colleagues.”
“I do not concern myself with such matters.”
“Even if it means our marriage?”
Peter shot her a look that struck her like a lightning bolt. “You are mixing my professional and my personal life, Pamela. That is not acceptable.”
Pamela deliberately set her glass on the side table and stood. “Nor is it acceptable that I should be required to give up all legal rights to marry.” Biting back the sob that pushed its way into her throat, she gathered her skirt in her hand. “You have given me your answer and now I will give you mine. I cannot marry you if you do not believe I have a right to keep what Papa gave to me.” She turned to leave the room.
“Pamela!” Peter grabbed her before she reached the door.
With tears streaming down her face, she turned to face him. “You are a master at the law. I expect you will find a way to break Papa’s will so I can leave here.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I told you what I want. You didn’t hear me.”
“Yes, I did. And I am telling you again I do not want you to leave. I want to marry you.”
“Are you willing, then, to allow me to stay in your home until I can marry you on my terms?”
“Yes, if you are willing to accept my proposal of marriage, deferred until the law passes. And, you must also realise there will no doubt be consequences to this pact.”
“There already are.” A choking sob escaped. “My heart is breaking. I thought we would be together tonight, that I would be in your bed and wouldn’t have to wait any longer.”
Peter gave her his handkerchief. “I didn’t say we have to wait.”
“But didn’t you say this should be my wedding night?”
“I said you would forfeit your wedding night. If you agree to marry me and swear that promise is binding, this can be our wedding night. No one need know we have already married in our hearts. When the time comes, we will have it sanctioned by the church. Until then, it will be our secret.”
Pamela searched his eyes for any doubt. “Peter, are you sure?”
He kissed her hair. “Pamela, I have never been as sure of anything in my life.”
Throwing her arms around his neck, her sobs and laughter mingled with her words. “Oh, Peter, darling Peter, yes, dear God in heaven, yes!”
He hugged her tightly. “Does that mean you accept my offer?”
She pulled back so she could look into his eyes. “I accept and I swear the promise is binding. I will marry you in my heart tonight and in the church when Parliament votes the bill into law.”
Peter kissed her nose. “There is one more thing we must consider before we act on this promise.”
Pamela saw a shadow of something in his eyes. “Peter, what is it?”
“Children.”
“Pardon me? Children?”
“Pams, we cannot have children until we marry. We must take precautions to see that you do not conceive.”
“Oh! I hadn’t considered the possibility.”
“I have. For tonight, I have both rubber and sheepskin sheaths.” Peter chuckled. “Nellie calls them little English riding coats.”
“Is that a fact?”
“That is indeed a fact!”
“I thought they were called French Letters!”
“Perhaps by the English. Not by Nellie!”
“What else has Nellie taught you?”
“Enough to know what to do and what not to do. There is a
lso something called a womb veil, made of rubber. She has them for her girls.”
“Perhaps I should ask her for one?”
“I think not! We will find a proper doctor to have one fitted for you.”
“Won’t that be difficult if we are not legally married?”
“I’ll simply tell him that I am your guardian and your virtue has been compromised. Given your reckless nature, I want to be sure you are protected from conception.”
“And if I were to go myself and ask for this shield, so you do not have to make up stories?”
“Pams, it would be easier if I manage it.”
“You mean they would probably not see me without a husband or guardian of some sort.”
“Probably not.”
“Peter, it isn’t right. None of it is.”
“Pams, laws do not change overnight and attitudes may not change at all. But we can manage it, together, if you are willing.”
“How does Nellie do it, then? How does she manage what I cannot?”
“There are ways, Pamela. She has friends who are willing to help.”
“The way you helped when she bought the tavern?”
“Sometimes, one must work around the rules if they cannot be changed.”
“And this from a barrister!”
“It’s what we do. If we can’t work with the law, we learn to work around it.”
“Peter, I will do what is necessary to postpone conception until we marry. But are we in agreement that we will eventually have a family?”
“If you are able to raise our children so they are more obedient than their mother, yes, we will have a family.”
“Well, they will certainly be more spontaneous than their father, to be sure!”
“That’s the second time today you have implied I am stiff-necked.”
“Well, aren’t you?”
“You think so?”
“Prove me wrong.”
“That would be better accomplished upstairs, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps so.” Peter opened the library door. “Wait…” Pamela ran over and picked up both brandy snifters. “Could you get the decanter, please?”
“Are you expecting to need this tonight?”
The reflex to put her hands on her hips nearly made her tip the brandy snifters. Peter’s amused expression didn’t help her exasperation. “Peter Rennard, I am about to be deflowered. Wouldn’t you want a stiff drink before being broken?”
Peter’s laughter rang through the quiet library. “Pamela Kingston, you are a joy, an absolute joy.” He picked up the decanter. “After you, my saucy strumpet.”
With a defiant look, Pamela put the glasses back on the side table. Picking up the hem of the new dress Peter had given her, she tucked it into her belt. She saw his nostrils flair ever so slightly as he stared at her legs. Again gathering the snifters, she sashayed out the door and up the stairs. After turning off the lamp, Peter followed her.
He left her in the hall. “When you are ready, come to my room. The door will be open.”
“I won’t be long.” She handed him one snifter. “I’ll keep mine.”
With the decanter in one hand and a glass in the other, he couldn’t manage the door. “Would you be kind enough to open the door for me?”
“Of course.” She pushed it wide open. “Now I know the door will be open.”
“Pamela, after tonight, it may never be closed again.”
She went to her room, where her lingerie still lay on the bed. Quickly taking off her new dress and everything underneath, she freshened herself at her washbowl. Taking the pins out of her hair, she brushed it so that it lay in wavy strands around her shoulders. Only then did she put on the negligee.
Before putting on the peignoir, she had a tentative glance in the looking glass. She stood awestruck as she viewed her reflection. What she saw could not possibly be her own image looking back at her! She picked up the silk peignoir and slipped in on. The layers of silk and lace cascaded around her, transforming the reflection into a gossamer sylph.
She pulled herself away from her reflection and picked up her cognac from the night table. She took a healthy sip and swallowed. It burned her throat going down. But as it warmed her, she felt braced for the moment she had so long wanted. With one last look at herself, she left her room to cross the threshold into her future.
Peter had his back to her when she came in. He stood at his cupboard, having just taken out his dressing gown. He had on striped silk pyjama bottoms and no top. Pamela shivered, seeing his bare back for the first time. She knew his shoulders to be broad and strong, but seeing the bare skin stretched across them for the first time took her breath.
Without turning around, he slipped his arms through the dressing gown sleeves and tied it at the waist. Only then did he turn. When he saw her standing in the door, he stopped, his eyes riveted upon her. Slowly, he came toward her. She still held the snifter, her hands trembling around it. When Peter reached arm’s length, he took the glass from her hands and set it on the bureau. Still standing in the open door, not knowing what to do next, she waited.
He came back to where she stood and once again fixed his eyes upon her. With unabashed admiration, he quietly said, “My God, Pamela, you are stunning!”
Pamela’s face grew instantly hot. She flushed with timidity, all of her bravura disappearing in a cloud of self-consciousness. She looked down at her trembling hands and whispered, “Thank you, Peter.”
“Come.” He took her hand. “Darling Pams, you are shaking like a leaf in the wind.”
“Peter, I am frightened.”
“Oh, my beautiful Pamela, do not be frightened.” He pulled her close and held her against him. His dressing gown opened just enough for her to feel his bare skin against the top of her breast. “We will go very slowly. If you change your mind at any point, tell me and we will stop.” Pamela nodded her understanding. “Would you like a sip of cognac?”
“Yes, please.”
He led her to the side of the bed. “Sit down and I will get it for you.” He refilled her glass from the snifter and brought it to her. He sat down beside her. “Drink it slowly; it is very strong.”
She took the glass and drank. “This is your special bottle isn’t it? It’s the cognac Papa gave to you our last Christmas together.”
“Yes. I can’t think of a more appropriate time to drink it, can you?”
“Peter, why am I so afraid? I want this, I really do. But I can’t stop shaking.”
“Pams, it is understandable. What we are about to do only happens once in a woman’s life.” Peter took the glass and put it aside. “Let me help you. I want you to enjoy tonight.”
“Have you ever done this before, I mean, been the first for anyone?”
“No. You are the only one.”
“Then how will you know what to do?”
Peter smiled and ran his fingers through her hair. “Pamela, do you really think I won’t know what to do?”
“I’m being silly, aren’t I? Of course you will know what to do.”
“You need to relax.” He lifted her hair and kissed her neck. “Will you let me help you to relax?”
“Yes.”
He surprised her by crawling on the bed behind her. When she turned to see why, he stopped her. “No, you stay still. I’m going to massage your neck.” He lifted her hair and pressed his fingertips into the top of her spine. Making small circles as he moved, he gently traced a line outward on both sides of her neck and then came back to her spine. Still using the circular motion, he slid his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp.
“Peter, that is wonderful.”
“Drop your head forward, Pams, so your chin is on your chest.”
When she did as he asked, he lifted her hair and kissed the back of her neck, sending chills down her side. “Oh, Peter, I feel that down to my toes!”
He continued to kiss her neck as her head lolled forward. Lowering the peignoir, he kissed her shoulders.
As he bent over, he pressed his hardened organ into her back. Trying to make a joke, Pamela asked, “Is it purple yet?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps we should check.”
In spite of her nervousness, Pamela giggled. “Do you know your door is still open? If Lucy should walk by, you’ll give her quite a start, especially if it’s purple!”
“Perhaps you should go close it then.”
Peter tickled her side and she yelped. After jumping up to get away from him, she darted across the room and closed the door.
Pamela entices Peter, continue reading
Peter guides Pamela
When she turned around, she saw Peter had removed his dressing gown. It lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. He still knelt on the bed, looking at her. She took in his bare chest, this being the first time she had seen him uncovered. Brown hair covered his pectorals and followed the line of his sternum down to his belly. She forgot her nervousness as she studied the masculine lines of his body.
“Pams, take your peignoir off for me.”
His voice broke through her concentration. Realising her curiosity about him had been obvious, she apologised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
“Pamela, dear Pamela, nothing pleases me more than to have you stare at me. It is quite satisfying to know you want to look at me as much as I want to look at you.”
“I’ve never seen you without a shirt. It is quite a revelation.”
Peter smiled. “As I am unexpectedly spellbound seeing you as you are this evening?”
“I would suppose so.”
“Let me see more. Take off your peignoir.”
Pamela took a deep breath and slipped her arms out of the sleeves. Keeping her spine straight and her head high, she walked across the room and draped the silk robe over the back of the chair. Feeling Peter’s eyes on her, she turned to find Peter stroking his cock through his pyjamas.
The gaslight burned brightly in the room. Not knowing how she managed the control, she slowly walked over to the lamp on the wall and turned down the gas. The dim light flickered behind her, giving the room an ethereal glow. Peter still knelt on the bed with his hand on himself, seemingly transfixed by the sight of her.
His eyes burned into her. Standing under the lamp, a picture flashed in her mind. She saw a harlot standing under a street lamp, enticing men to look at her. He had called her his virgin and his whore. In this moment, she had become both.