by P. F. Kozak
“As I want to be your husband. We will start planning the wedding tomorrow. Tonight, there are better things to do.”
“Peter Rennard, you need to sleep!”
“Pamela Kingston, soon to be Lady Stanford, having you under me will be far more rejuvenating than a full night’s sleep.”
He tried to pull up her skirt. “What the devil are you doing in bed with your dressing gown on?”
“It has been terribly chilly in here with the wind hitting this side of the house. I’m trying to stay warm.”
“I will wager you a honeymoon in Paris that I can warm you without your wearing a stitch of clothing.” As he spoke, Peter untied the sash of her dressing gown.
“And if I catch my death letting you undress me?”
“You may book passage to anywhere else you might want to honeymoon.”
Pamela laughed as she slipped her arms out of her dressing gown. “You dodger! You know very well that Paris is where I would want to go.”
“Then, we both stand to win the wager, now don’t we?” Peter massaged Pamela’s breasts through her nightdress. “Take everything off. You will be warm under the quilt.”
Pamela reached down and caressed his hardened cock. “I see you are already quite warm.”
“If you aren’t going to take off your clothes, then I have to resort to extreme measures.” Peter lifted the quilt and disappeared underneath.
Pamela felt him sliding down the length of the bed. “What the bloody hell are you doing! You’ll suffocate under there!”
Even with his voice muffled by the bedding, Pamela heard him say, “I couldn’t ask for a better end.” She felt him push her nightdress up to her waist as he crawled between her legs. Spreading her legs wide, he found the opening in her drawers.
When his mouth touched her, she gasped. With an intensity that rivaled the wind blowing outside, he sucked her. Not knowing how he could possibly breathe under the quilt, she threw it off. Peter immediately slid both hands under her bum and held her even tighter against his mouth.
She raked her nails through his hair, wanting to somehow touch him while he licked her. The burning in her groin moved through her belly into her chest. She thought surely her heart would burst with the feeling she had for this man. Just as he devoured her womanhood, he consumed her soul. Her girlhood crush on Peter had grown into a deep and abiding love for the man she would soon marry.
Not being able to stand another moment of this torture, she filled her fists with his hair and yanked. When he lifted his head to stop her, she slipped out from under him. With brazen immodesty, she knelt in front of him and pulled her nightdress over her head. He also rose to his knees and took off his pyjama top. As if in a sacred ritual, they knelt facing each other on the bed. As Pamela lowered her drawers, so did Peter lower his pyjama bottoms.
“Pams, get me a sheath from your drawer.” She opened the drawer of her night table and took out the tin of shields Peter had given her to keep there. She took one and came to him. Before putting the cover on his stiff prick, Pamela leaned over and kissed the tip, licking off the drop of dew that had formed on the end.
With delicate tenderness, she wrapped his cock in the sack and tied the string. Before lying down, she embraced him. “Peter, no matter what happens tomorrow, I want to spend my life with you. I love you.”
Peter gently lowered her to the bed. “My darling Pams, I also want to spend my life with you.” Opening her legs, Pamela accepted Peter into her body and into her soul.
Go to Chapter Nineteen
Pamela motioned for Peter to follow her into the alleyway beside Nellie’s. Out of sight of the busy street, she took his genitals into her hand and fondled him. He tried to open her dress so he could touch her breasts, but he couldn’t seem to manage the buttons. Instead, his trousers opened of their own accord. She knelt in the dark passageway and took his prick in her mouth.
He murmured, “Why are we here? Shouldn’t we be home?”
“Peter, darling, we are home. You’re dreaming.” He opened his eyes. Pamela lay beside him, caressing his genitals as she had in the dream. He had his hand on her breast. Still in a sleepy haze, Peter muttered, “What are you doing in here, Pams?”
She leaned over and whispered, “Enjoying you.” Then she licked his ear.
Now more awake than asleep, he still feigned sleepiness. “Hmmmmm? Enjoying me?”
“Enjoying every bit of you.” She kissed his neck. Making a trail of kisses to his throat, she kissed the dent between his Adam’s apple and the top of his collarbone. Then she unbuttoned his pyjama top and rubbed her face in his chest hair.
Peter tucked the blankets around her, so she wouldn’t get chilled. The wind gusting the entire day had chilled the whole house. The warmth of her body and the feel of her next to him made him long for the day when they would share this room. “Pams?”
She looked up at him and asked, “Are you awake now?”
He wrapped her in his arms. “I thought you were a lovely dream. Now that I’m awake, I see you really are a lovely dream.”
“Had you not become a barrister, you could have been a poet.”
“Pamela Kingston, you are the poetry in my soul. No one else in my life inspires me the way you do. You are certainly the love of my life.”
“Peter Rennard, do you realise I will soon be Pamela Rennard?”
“Actually, you will also soon be Lady Stanford.”
Pamela reached down and continued to fondle him. The sensation of her hand on him made him ache with wanting her in his bed always. “Pams, shall we set a date right now?”
“Peter, the vote isn’t until tomorrow.”
“Even if it doesn’t go our way, you said you would still marry me!”
Peter felt her inhale deeply. “Yes, I did. You are quite right. We should set a date.”
“The fifteenth of June then. If the bill passes tomorrow, the royal assent should be given by the end of May. The law would begin the first day of June.”
“I told May just today that we might marry in June. Perhaps we will honeymoon in Paris?”
“If you care to, yes, indeed, we can honeymoon in Paris.”
Pamela snuggled in close to his ear and whispered, “Might I share the master bed before then?”
As tempting as the suggestion might have been to him, Peter held firm. “No, Pamela. May made it quite clear she would leave if we shared a marriage bed before we are wed. I know you do not want that.”
“No, I do not want her to leave. You are quite correct. I will simply have to visit more often until then.”
“Indeed! And what will you do on these midnight liaisons?”
“Shall I show you?”
“Should I leave a few shillings on your pillow when you finish?”
“If you wish. Although, I would think I am worth more than a few shillings!”
Peter could attest to the fact that she certainly would be a wealthy courtesan. But when she became randy, as she appeared to be tonight, he fancied treating her as one of Nellie’s girls. “I’ll pay you an extra shilling or two if you treat me well.”
“Is that a fact, guvner! I’m worth more than that, I am! A wealthy gentleman such as yourself should be paying a girl what she’s worth, he should! If he don’t, he ain’t no gentleman at all!”
Peter’s already stiff prick twitched against his belly as Pamela assumed her trollop persona. She had developed quite a talent for mimicking street whores. Every time she played this game with him, he knew she would immerse herself in it. He responded in kind. He relished this freedom to be coarse with her.
“Talk is cheap, m’dear. If you wish to be paid well, you have to earn it.”
“And that I will, captain. You’ll see you picked yourself a ripe one, you did!”
“I don’t believe you are as ripe as you say. Tell me something ripe, so that I will believe you.”
“Oh, go on with ya! I know your wantin’ me to pull at ya so you can cream in me hand.” Pa
mela loosened the tie on his pyjama bottoms and pushed her hand inside. When her fingertips touched his stiff cock, a guttural sound gurgled in his throat.
“If you want to be paid well, you best be showing me your bubbies. A trollop not allowing me to see her bubbies will never get more than a shilling from me!”
“Well, captain, why didn’t you tell me you fancy my bubs?” Pamela untied her dressing gown and undid the buttons on her nightdress. Pulling her night clothes open, she fully displayed her bare titties. “Nice ones, aren’t they, captain?”
Peter filled his hand with one of her soft mounds. “Oh, yes, my dear, they are fine ones, indeed.”
“Might you fancy sucking my titties, guvner?” Peter moved to take a hard nipple in his mouth. Pamela put her hand on his head and held him back. “Sucking my titties will cost you two shillings more. A toff like you can afford to pay a working girl her due.”
Peter had to stifle a chuckle. She had never used that line on him before. Keeping to his role as a gentleman, he retorted, “M’dear, I will decide what payment you are due.”
“I don’t give it away, guvner. You best not forget that!”
“I assure you, miss, I will not forget it.”
With his prick throbbing, he took a scarlet bud into his mouth. She lay quietly, letting him suckle and knead her bubbies. When he licked the underside of her breast, her salty perfume filled his nose. He adored her scent, a mix of her ambrosial skin and rose water.
She interrupted him. “Now, don’t you be thinking I’ll stay here lettin’ you lick me bubbies all night! What’s your pleasure, guvner? Will you be spendin’ in me hand?”
Pamela nodded toward the clock on his night table. He had only a few hours to sleep before having to leave to prepare for the vote. She knew his habits well. He could spend hours playing this game, hours better spent on this night sleeping.
“I’ll spend in your hand while I feel your cunt.”
“You are a filthy one, you are! Wantin’ to touch up me cunt.” Pamela snuggled in close beside him and pulled up her nightdress. He pulled the quilt up, so they were covered to their necks. They lay side by side, frigging each other until they fell asleep.
Chapter Nineteen
Pamela woke before dawn on her wedding day. Thankfully, the house remained quiet. She had a bit of time before the others stirred. After lighting her oil lamp, she quietly opened her bedroom door. Total silence.
Breathing a sigh of relief that even May and Lucy still slept, she crept down the stairs. Given their situation, Pamela and Peter deemed a small wedding at Piccadilly appropriate. The parlour would be suitable for the ceremony and the dining room for the wedding breakfast.
Feeling like a child sneaking a peek on Christmas morning, she opened the parlour door. The scent of roses washed over her. Late yesterday afternoon, the floral arrangements arrived. The flower shop delivered more roses than she had ever seen in one place, even more than the carts held at Covent Garden. Unbeknownst to her, Peter had contacted the shop and doubled her order. He said he could never have enough roses to represent his love for her.
After some argument, Peter put his foot down and told May he would not permit her to cook for the wedding. The food would be prepared and served by a caterer. He told May that being Pamela’s substitute mum supplanted her job as cook. Pamela needed her as a family member on her wedding day, not in the kitchen cooking. May finally forfeited her right to cook the wedding breakfast with Peter’s concession that she could plan the menu as well as bake the cake herself the day before.
The guests were to arrive at about half past ten, with the ceremony to begin at eleven. Lucy and Jack could hardly believe it when Peter asked them to greet the guests and seat them. Pamela took them both shopping for proper wedding clothes. During the trip, they inquired as to the possibility of Jack becoming a butler and Peter hiring another driver to replace Jack. Pamela suspected another wedding might be in the offing.
Last evening, Jack moved the sofa against the wall and set up rows of rented chairs. Jack and Lucy requested they be permitted to sit together on the sofa, so they could hold hands during the ceremony. May had a reserved seat in the front row.
Pamela walked down the impromptu aisle between the chairs and set her lamp on the small table where the clergyman would stand. The parish clerk had a chair beside the table, so he could witness the ceremony and record their signatures in the parish registry. Their parlour had been transformed into a chapel overnight.
The flower shop built an archway of roses, under which they would take their vows. Pamela stood under the archway in wonderment. In a few hours, they would be married. Peter would finally be her legal husband.
He had fought so hard for the law that meant her keeping her inheritance, using all of his legal skill and influence to garner votes. Pamela smiled remembering the note Peter sent by messenger after the vote on the fifteenth of March. It read simply:
Dearest Pamela:
The Married Women’s Property Act has passed. You can be my wife and retain your inheritance. Start planning the wedding.
Yours in love,
Peter
Richard and Emmeline Pankhurst made a trip to London following the passage of the bill. Pamela invited them to stay at Piccadilly. Much to Pamela’s delight, they accepted. That visit fostered an unexpected friendship between Peter and Richard. Whereas Pamela and Emmeline corresponded regularly and remained friends, Peter and Richard had never met. During their visit, Peter and Richard had heated conversations regarding certain points of law, which Pamela and Emmeline watched in amused silence.
The night before they left, Peter took Pamela aside and made a surprising suggestion. He asked Pamela if she thought Richard and Emmeline would stand for them at their wedding. Since they had no blood family to ask, Peter thought it fitting that the Pankhursts be included in the ceremony. In an unusual way, the Pankhursts had been an important part of their lives for the last two years. When asked for their participation, they enthusiastically accepted.
She sat for a moment among the roses, taking it all in. She thought of her father. He should be here today, this most important day of her life. The tears came without warning. She sat and wept for her papa.
“Pams, are you all right?” Peter stood behind her. She hadn’t heard him come in.
Wiping her eyes on her dressing gown sleeve, she chastised him. “You aren’t supposed to see me today until the ceremony.” Her voice cracked as she added, “It’s our wedding day.”
Peter hunkered down beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Yes, it is, my darling. Why aren’t you asleep? It is still dark outside.”
“I wanted some time in here, alone. Then I thought of Papa.” She buried her face on Peter’s shoulder as the tears streamed down her face.
“He is here, Pams, I know he is. Sir George wouldn’t miss your wedding, not even from the other side.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small box. “Perhaps you should know about this now.”
“What is it?”
“It is something Sir George gave to me to before he died. He told me to see to it on your wedding day.” Peter chuckled. “Of course, he never expected me to be the groom. I was on my way to give it to May when I saw the light in the parlour.”
Pamela took the box and opened it. “Oh, my!” Pamela took a sixpence out of the box. “It is a lucky sixpence.”
“Sir George told me that is the very one your grandfather put in your mother’s left slipper on their wedding day. He kept it for you. I am having May do it for Sir George, as she is closest to you.”
Pamela brushed the tears from her face. “Oh, Peter, I miss him so.”
“I know you do, Pamela. I miss him, too.”
“I’m pleased Nellie agreed to come today. It connects me to Papa in a special way on our wedding day.”
“Hopefully, Henry will wear the morning coat I gave to him. If he comes in his street clothes and suspenders, more than a few eyebrows will be raised.�
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“Nellie will see to it. She told me she bought him a new shirt when she shopped for her dress.” She ran her finger over Peter’s lips. “Thank you for agreeing to invite her. I know you did it for me.”
“I just hope none of her clients are among our other guests.”
“If some do recognise Nellie, I seriously doubt they will mention it, do you?”
“No, dearest, I don’t think they will.”
When someone lightly knocked, they both started. Lucy stood in the shadow of the open parlour door. “Pardon me, Miss Pamela, you told me to draw your bath at six o’clock, sayin’ not to dare let you be late.”
“Quite so, Lucy.” Pamela handed Peter the box with the sixpence and kissed his cheek. “I won’t see you again until the ceremony. Peter Rennard, I love you.”
“And I love you, Pamela Kingston.”
As Pamela walked with Lucy to the stairs, Lucy whispered, “Miss, May would be so cross if she knew you saw the mister before the wedding!”
“No doubt. But you aren’t going to tell her, are you?”
“Certainly not, Miss Pamela. It is our secret.”
Lucy drew Pamela’s bath, then went to lay out her wedding dress. She had already packed Pamela’s trousseau for the honeymoon. Whatever few things remained, Pamela would manage herself before they left.
Peter handled booking passage to Paris, saying a husband should carry his bride off to a secret place for their honeymoon. They would be staying in Paris for a week, but she didn’t know where. He had been so mysterious about it all. Pamela didn’t even know where they would spend their wedding night.
Having plenty of time to soak before anyone else needed the toilet, Pamela took her time in the bath. She felt calm sitting in the warm water, but while drying herself, her stomach filled with butterflies.
Keeping with the flower of the day, she splashed rose water on herself before putting on her dressing gown. When she came into her room, Lucy sat at her desk waiting for her. The silver-blue organza wedding gown from the House of Worth lay on the bed. Her veil hung from the bedpost. As she looked at the dress, she started to cry.