IfHe’sSinful

by Desconocido

  He stared at her, his body crying out to take her at her word while his mind lectured him on what was expected of a gentleman. The truth of her words shone in her eyes. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. The madness she stirred in him was a shared one. Ashton stood up and held out his hand.

  “If we are about to tumble into sin, Penelope Wherlocke, let us at least retain enough dignity to do so in a bedchamber,” he said.

  She grasped his hand, nimbly hopped off the settee, and led him to her bedchamber. He knew where it was, but allowed her to take the lead. Ashton had hoped the walk to her bedchamber would cool his blood enough to restore his good sense, but his blood continued to pulse with need every step of the way. He shut the bedchamber door behind him the moment they stepped into the room and then he looked at her. Her undone gown was sliding off her shoulders, her full breasts almost completely exposed, and he decided good sense could go to the devil. For once he was taking what he wanted and he would deal with the consequences later.

  Penelope saw Ashton’s hesitation and feared that he had regained control of his desire. She nearly laughed with joy when he caught her up in his arms and strode to her bed. She was already wrapped around him when they fell onto the bed. Drugged by his kisses, her passion running hot enough to blind her to everything around her, she only became aware of how rapidly he had divested them both of their clothes when his warm flesh pressed against hers.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, crouching over her so that he could study her from head to toe and enjoying the way his body burned with hunger for every silken inch of her. “So soft.” He ran his hand down her side from shoulder to thigh and then bent his head to slowly lick the hard tip of one plump breast. “As sweet to the taste as the finest nectar. I have ached for you since that night at Mrs. Cratchitt’s.”

  “As I have ached for you,” she said and lightly stroked his broad, smoothly muscular chest. “And I think we have talked enough.”

  “Yes.” He ground out the word between tightly clenched teeth and then fell on her, almost able to hear the last thin thread of his control snap.

  The moment his mouth closed around the aching tip of her breast, Penelope lost the ability to think clearly. She became deeply immersed in the desire racing through her veins, a desire stirred higher and higher with his every kiss, each stroke of his tongue against her skin, every touch of his hand. Her need was so great by the time he slid his hand between her legs that she barely even flinched over such an intimate touch. He kissed her as he stroked her there, his fingers dipping inside her. The ache he created there was not soothed by his touch; it grew worse. She needed more but did not know how to ask for it.

  Ashton knew he could wait no longer to possess her. He had dreamt of loving her slowly, of bringing her pleasure over and over, but he would have to fulfill that dream another day. If he did not get inside her soon, he would empty himself upon the sheets. He began to ease himself into her, groaning as her wet heat began to close around him. When he met the shield of her maidenhead, he kissed her and thrust hard, tearing through the barrier like some ancient marauder and capturing her gasp of pain in his mouth.

  “It hurts only the once. I swear it,” he said as he spread kisses over her full, soft breasts.

  “I know.” She wrapped her body around him again, holding him as close as she could as the pain eased and the pleasure returned. “What next?”

  “Is the pain gone?”

  “Oh, aye, I just feel so deliciously full.”

  Ashton groaned and began to move. He intended to go slowly, to be gentle, but the way she quickly caught and matched his rhythm, the soft sounds of pleasure she made, destroyed that gallant intention and need ruled him. When she gained her pleasure, her body rippling beneath and around his, he thrust deep inside her and let his own release take him beyond all rational thought.

  Penelope was just shaking herself free of the bliss he had given her when Ashton climbed out of bed. She was so relieved when he did not immediately start to get dressed that she blushed only faintly when he fetched a wet rag and cleaned them both off. She pressed as close to him as she could when he climbed back into bed and pulled her into his arms.

  “Penelope, I mean to get free of Clarissa and—” He sighed when she yet again pressed her hand over his mouth.

  “No promises. No raising of hopes. What will be, will be. Let us just enjoy what we share,” she said.

  “I am working to escape their trap, you know.”

  “I know and I pray you succeed. For your own sake, if naught else. There are just too many complications for us to speak of a future now.”

  He grimaced. “I know, which is why I should never have even kissed you.”

  “Why not? I like your kisses.”

  Ashton knew she was not as blasé as she attempted to sound, but he laughed and kissed her. She was right. There were too many knots to untie to speak of any future for them now. But as he began to make love to her again, he promised himself that he would get free of debt and of Clarissa. Then Penelope would not be allowed to hush him when he tried to speak of their future. He knew now that the only future he wanted had Penelope Wherlocke in it.

  Chapter Ten

  “When will ye and Radmoor marry?”

  Penelope forced herself to continue calmly with her sewing, but inwardly cursed Artemis for his blunt question. Finishing the neat row of stitches on the little shirt she mended gave her a moment to try and plan out the best way to answer his question. She finally raised her eyes to gaze at him with what she hoped was an expression of gentle confusion.

  Ashton had done his best to creep away unseen just before dawn but she had known it was a wasted effort. There were no secrets in a house filled with Wherlockes and Vaughns, even one where many of the occupants were too young to have a full knowledge or control over their gifts. She had almost told him so, wanting him to come back to her bed and hold her, but she held silent as he kissed her and slipped away.

  All the boys over seven were gathered in front of her and not one of them looked as if they believed in her guise of innocence. She would try to divert them from the matter but she would not lie. That, too, would be useless and could easily hurt their feelings.

  “And why should his lordship marry me?” she asked. “S’truth, I believe he is already spoken for.”

  “And I think bedding the virginal daughter of a marquis ought to take precedence over all other promises made,” snapped Artemis.

  “Artemis, I may be innocent but I am also a woman full grown; a spinster in some eyes.”

  “That does not make his seducing you acceptable.”

  “Not even if I wished to be seduced?” she asked, and sighed when Artemis and the other boys looked even angrier. She was disappointing them and that hurt.

  “Your reputation,” Stefan began.

  “I have none. No one save my family even knows me.” That stung but she ignored the old pain. “And if the world did learn about me, once they learned about this place, I would have no good name to protect anyway.”

  “Because of us. Because we are all bastards.”

  “That seems unfair,” muttered Olwen, his scowl causing him to look uncannily like his father, her uncle Argus.

  “It is unfair but a lot of what society does is unfair,” she said. “If all were fair and as it should be, I might have met Radmoor at some ball or soiree, we would have flirted a little, danced, and perhaps he would have courted me, learned to care about me, and asked to marry me. But here we are. I have naught and he needs money to keep his family out of debtor’s prison. He may escape Clarissa’s clutches, but he will still need to marry an heiress.

  “I love him. I know he desires and cares for me. This is not just some careless lusting. Should we deny ourselves because some cruel twist of fate makes it impossible for us to be together as man and wife? I truly believe that, if not for the need to save his family, he would marry me. He said as much.” Or tried to, she added honestly, but she wou
ld not tell the boys that she had silenced him each time. “I decided that was good enough.”

  “Do you think fate will be kind and fill his purse so that he can marry you?” asked Artemis.

  “Nay, so you need not sound so derisive.” She smiled a little, knowing it was a sad expression, when he blushed a little at her reprimand but still looked angry. “He makes me happy, and just for a little while, I want to be selfish and hold fast to that.”

  After a heavy silence and a lot of exchanged looks laden with silent messages she did not quite comprehend the meaning of, Stefan sighed. “Then it would make you unhappy if Artemis challenged him for a duel to defend your honor.”

  “Very unhappy.” She cursed her own stupidity for not foreseeing such a consequence.

  “I do not like this,” said Artemis. “It is not right of him to take advantage of how you feel about him.”

  “He does not know,” Penelope said, the hard note in her voice telling them that she did not want him told, either. “He calls it madness, and enchantment, and fears he is behaving as badly as his father, who was a faithless scoundrel and left his family in dire straits. I know my own heart and that is enough. S’truth, at this time I believe it would be cruel to try and make him fall in love with me.

  “And who can say? Mayhap fate will be kind and give him what he needs so that he is free to choose me if he wishes to. Then I shall certainly do my best to make him see that what we share is far, far more than a passing madness.”

  “And what shall you do if he does marry another?”

  “I will endure the pain and cure myself of this madness. I will not continue to be his lover. He would not ask it of me, either, as he is truly an honorable man. Right now he does not feel bound because he never asked Clarissa; she and Charles tricked him into that betrothal. If he says vows to a woman, however, he will keep them.”

  She could tell that they were still unhappy with the situation, but her word that she would not become some married man’s mistress, no matter how much she loved that man, appeared to have taken the edge off their anger. Penelope could understand their worries and their anger. Every one of them was the result of some affair, shunned by many as if that were somehow their fault. They did not want her to entangle herself in the sort of thing that had tainted their lives. She loved them all, and appreciated their concern and their outrage on her behalf, but she could not let them dictate how she lived.

  A movement in the shadows at the far corner of the room caught Penelope’s attention. She squinted and soon made out the spectral shape of a too plump woman of middle years. When she saw that Conrad was also squinting into the shadows, she sighed. Conrad shared her gift. It was enough to confirm what she was seeing.

  “Our neighbor Mrs. Pettibone has died,” she said as she put aside her sewing basket and moved toward the ghost.

  Alone. I am alone.

  “Not for long, Mrs. Pettibone,” Penelope said. “If you would just let go of this corporal world, you would move on to a better place and join the loved ones who passed before you.”

  Alone. I am all alone.

  Penelope frowned. It was not unusual for one who had recently died to be terribly confused, but she had the distinct impression that the woman was speaking of far more than just discovering that her spirit was now separated from her body. “Artemis, I think Mrs. Pettibone has died unattended. I thought she had three daughters.”

  “Her daughters are in the country,” he said. “They will not be back for a week, mayhap longer. I am not sure.”

  “Well, you are a clever fellow. Think of something to tell the watch so that he will feel compelled to go into the Pettibone House. The last thing her poor girls need is to come home to find their mother a week dead. If you know, or can discover, exactly where her girls have gone, I will send them word to come home now.”

  It took hours to sort out the problem of Mrs. Pettibone. The ghost did not leave, however. Penelope decided there had to be something the woman still needed, something concerning her daughters, and resigned herself to having Mrs. Pettibone’s spirit around the house for a while. The Wherlocke Warren was, as her family liked to say, a clean house, void of unhappy spirits and what her aunt Olympia called unsettling energies. There had been the occasional spectral visitor, however, and she had accepted that. She would endure this one, too.

  Her brothers, Darius, and Septimus disappeared during the turmoil of an interview by the watch and the carting out of poor Mrs. Pettibone’s body, leaving her alone with the seven youngest boys. Their energy soon wearied her, and deciding it was a rare fine day and too good to waste, she rounded them all up for a walk to the park. The one she chose was across from Ashton’s house but she told herself that was no more than a coincidence. It was a lie and she knew it, but she held to it. She thought that if she repeated it to herself often enough, she might believe it and would be able to act appropriately surprised if Ashton found them.

  Ashton stepped into the parlor of Hutton-Moore House and could tell by the look upon Clarissa’s face that he was in for a show of her temper. After spending hours reveling in Penelope’s warmth, he did not care. Clarissa had tricked him into this betrothal and her brother had blackmailed him into holding to it. Neither of them deserved his respect. He was also determined to escape their clutches as soon as possible. For the first time, he was even contemplating selling some of his lands to do so.

  “I believe you had said you would be here yesterday, Ashton,” Clarissa said as she sat down and waved one delicate hand to indicate that he should take the seat beside her.

  Leaving the door to the parlor wide open, Ashton sat down in the seat across from her. There was no chaperone in the room, not even a maid. It smelled of a trap. Since they were already betrothed, he did not know why she felt compelled to play the entrapment game. If she was planning a seduction, it certainly was not because she had an uncontrollable passion for him. The only reason he could think of was that she wished to add one more link to the chain around his neck to be certain that he joined her at the altar. If fate was kind, he would break that chain and leave her standing there alone.

  “There was a distraction I could not ignore,” he replied and feared for a moment that he was about to get a lap full of hot tea.

  “A distraction so great you could not even send round a note to say that you were not coming?”

  “Once the hour set for our meeting had passed, I assumed you would know that I was not coming. In all honesty, I do not believe I ever promised to come to share tea with you. Since I had not agreed, or promised, to be here, I fear it never occurred to me to tell you that I was not coming.”

  Ashton sipped his tea and watched her struggle to keep her temper under control. Clarissa craved his title, the heritage of his family, and the chance to become a duchess. She did not want a man or a true husband, however. She wanted a lapdog. She and her brother might be able to force him to marry her, but he would be damned if he would bow to her every whim. His father’s fecklessness meant he had to allow himself to be bought, but he would not be enslaved.

  “Might I ask what this distraction was?” Clarissa asked, her attempt to put a light, sweet note in her voice ruined by the thrum of anger behind every word.

  “The sight of a young woman fleeing your house with her baggage. Pitiful small amount of baggage it was, as well. Naturally, being a gentleman, I stepped forward to give her aid. Imagine my surprise when I discovered she was your sister.”

  “Stepsister,” Clarissa mumbled, her cheeks losing some of their rosy glow.

  Ashton continued as if he had not heard her. “A sister who had been living here all along. How is it that I have never met her?”

  “She is a very shy girl and somewhat odd,” Clarissa hastily replied, quickly glancing to her left as she spoke. “She has never cared for society and will not attend even the smallest dinner gathering. Now that I am to be wed and become your viscountess, she fears all the turmoil that will come as we entertain your many acq
uaintances as will be expected.”

  “Ah, well then, you must fetch her back and ease her mind.” Ashton smiled at her and idly wondered if he looked as much like the indulgent but firm uncle he sounded like.

  “What do you mean? How could I do that?”

  “By telling her that we will be spending most of our time in the country. My lands have been sadly neglected, I fear, and it will take a lot of time to set them to rights. I shall want my wife beside me while that is being seen to. What with the houses, lands, and tenants that need seeing to, there will be little time left for frivolity and certainly no time for running to and from London.” Ashton knew some would call him a cad and a liar for what he was doing, but he had to admit that he was enjoying it.

  “But, surely, we will need to be here for the season. Your sisters need to find husbands,” Clarissa said in a tone that implied she had just trumped him.

  “Mother will take care of that chore. You do not need to worry about it. You will have more than enough to keep you busy, especially when the children begin to arrive.”

  “I do, of course, understand my duty to beget your heir, but—”

  “And the spare. Do not forget the spare. I come from a large family, however, and that is what I desire to have for myself.”

  Clarissa narrowed her eyes and set her tea down with a snap. “I know what game you play. You nearly had me believing that nonsense, but I am on to you now. You seek to make me cry off, to run horrified from the very idea of marrying you.”

  “You imagine things, my dear. I but speak the truth.” In a way, he did, but with a slight twist he knew would aggravate Clarissa.

  She leapt to her feet and paced the room for a moment before whirling around to glare at him. “I have no intention of living in the country and being your brood mare.”

  Now the play would turn hard and mean, he thought, but said, “I am not sure you have much choice in the matter.” Ashton picked a small lemon cake from the tray on the table and began to eat it as if he had not a care in the world.