by Ava Sinclair
Claiming Her Innocence
By
Ava Sinclair
Copyright © 2015 by Stormy Night Publications and Ava Sinclair
Copyright © 2015 by Stormy Night Publications and Ava Sinclair
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Sinclair, Ava
Claiming Her Innocence
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by Period Images, Bigstock/sonnydaez, and Bigstock/Macrovector
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Chapter One: Downstairs Debauchery
“Did you hear?” the plump redhead turned to whisper in the ear of the man behind her as he nibbled on the curve of her neck. “Lady Penelope arrived today.”
“Lord Westcott’s bride-to-be?” The man kneeling in front of her pulled his mouth from the nipple he was suckling and looked up, his hands roaming her ample curves as he asked the question.
“Yes,” she said.
“Are you saying ‘yes’ to me or to Davy’s question?” The tall, handsome man behind her laughed as he resumed his nibbling.
“Oh, Tom,” Betsy giggled as she pushed her bottom back against his hard cock. “You know I say ‘yes’ to everything, especially this time of year.” She reached behind her to stroke the length of him. “‘Tis the season for sharing, after all, and I’m happy to share myself with both the valet and the footman.”
The three tumbled to the bed, laughing.
“They’re to be married on Christmas Eve!” Betsy said, pulling Davy’s head to her breasts as Tom’s cock continue to nudge her from behind. “Lady Penelope Lennox, pure as the first snow of winter. Like a lamb to slaughter she’ll be. They say Lord Westcott’s as randy as they come.”
Davy raised his head to kiss Betsy’s mouth as his fingers moved between her thighs to play with her pussy. “Do you speak from experience?” he asked.
“Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure,” she sighed as she pulled his head down to her breasts. “I’m just a simple lady’s maid, after all, and he’s not one to dally with servants. But he’s had his share of lovers. I’ve heard the rumors. It’s said he’s tireless. And big.”
“Is he as big as this?” Tom, now tightly curled behind Betsy, shoved his cock into a passage well lubricated from Davy’s ministrations.
“Aah!” Betsy said. She wriggled her hips as she adjusted to fully seat Tom’s cock before laughingly answering his question. “Bigger, I’m thinking.”
Tom’s response was to growl and grasp Betsy’s hips. Raising her to all fours, he slapped her ass several times with his open hand before plunging back into her. The maid’s cries of pained pleasure only stopped when Davy rose to offer her his cock. With a practiced hand, the maid gripped the base of the turgid shaft and slid her lips over the head, causing the footman to gasp and take hold of the headboard to keep from falling backwards.
Betsy moved between the two with an almost feline grace, her round bottom moving in time to Tom’s thrusts as her head bobbed up and down on Davy’s cock. The two young men were strong and virile; both struggled to hold out, but their lusty partner was too much for them. Davy came first, crying out as he arched his back. Betsy swallowed his cum, her brown eyes boldly meeting his gaze as she did. With Davy satisfied, she raised herself up to her knees, bouncing up and down now on her second partner’s cock. As Tom continued to fuck her with long, eager strokes, Davy moved forward to grasp her in an embrace, pressing her pillowy breasts against his hairless chest.
“Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m coming!” Tom cried out, and at that moment—sandwiched between her two lovers—Betsy came, too, her pussy contracting hard on Tom’s thick cock until he was as drained as Davy.
Now sated, the three lovers collapsed back onto the bed. Betsy giggled as she nestled in the bedclothes flanked by the two happy men.
“You think Lady Prim-and-Proper will give his lordship such a present on Christmas Eve?” she asked.
The men laughed.
“Not a chance,” Tom said. “Those fancy ladies with their airs and manners. I hear that they come to the marriage bed without a clue of what to expect, and then just lie in the dark and let the men have their way.”
Betsy shrugged. “It’s what them fancy lords want, though. An untouched bride.”
“Well, I’ve never understood the appeal of it—a virgin, I mean,” Davy said.
“And more’s the better,” Betsy replied with a smirk, “seeing as how you won’t likely be finding one downstairs.”
“I’m quite serious, really,” Davy insisted. “Seems a fair amount of work, training someone to please a man with skill.” He paused. “Must have taken you years to learn, Betsy.”
When Tom guffawed at this, the maid drove an elbow into Davy’s ribs.
“Not all of us need to be trained.” She playfully slapped him. “I was born with these skills, I was.”
“She’s gifted,” Tom said. “Truly.”
Betsy grew quiet for a moment. “It is a bit sad, though, when you think on it,” she said. “A poor innocent girl coming to a man like his lordship. They say Lady Penelope’s mother is deeply religious, and wanted to become a nun. When she was forced to marry Lord Lennox, she decided if she couldn’t give herself to God, she’d give her daughter to him instead. Lady Penelope was just a wee thing when her mother packed her off to the convent school to be educated. Word is she hoped her daughter would take vows, but Lord Lennox wouldn’t hear of it. He said no daughter of his would wither away in a convent. So a marriage was arranged between her and Lord Westcott. And her without a clue. I pity the poor girl.”
“What?” Davy raised himself up on an elbow to look down at Betsy. “No pity for poor Lord Westcott? He’s the one we should feel sorry for, soon to be served up an icy bride after getting used to all those helpings of hot quim.”
“I’m sure her money will ease some of the pain,” Tom replied cynically. “Westcott’s new wife comes with a fortune. It all becomes his once the banns are read.”
“Aye,” Davy countered. “But what does he need with money? He’s got enough for both of them. Besides, money never warmed a man’s bed.” He paused. “I suppose he’ll seek out others soon enough.”
“Not if he knows what’s good for him.” Betsy turned to look at Davy. “If he starts philandering, he’ll risk his reputation among those who hold the Lennox name in high esteem. That’s more than a couple, and make no mistake.”
“What does she look like, his new bride?” Tom asked. “Has anyone seen her?”
Betsy laughed. “Likely pale as milk and thin as straw,” she teased. “Like all those grand ladies. You lads get stuck with us solid below-stairs girls.”
“I happen to like the solid ones,” Tom replied, grabbing her bottom. “Nothing like a fat arse to slap your balls against.”
“There’ll be no more ball-slapping tonight. I’ve work to do.” Betsy sat up and climbed over Davy, ignoring her lovers’ protests as they sought to convince her of having another go.
Once they realized they could not sway her, the two men rose as well to dress in their dapper service uniforms. Betsy, standing in front of a small looking glass set atop a bureau, tucked her hair back under her cap.
“Who’s to be her maid then?” Davy asked.
Betsy shrugged. “She’ll likely br
ing her own. They usually do.”
“Pity,” Tom said. “You could teach her a few tricks to please her new husband.”
Betsy’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I’d be a most unlikely choice, don’t you think, although you’re right—I could teach her a trick or two.” She smiled at her reflection, the knowing smile of a woman who appreciates the happiness that comes with the freedom of enjoying a good fuck. She looked at the image of her lovers reflected behind her. “Unless he’s the patience to teach and her the willingness to learn, it will be a most disappointing Christmas Eve for both of them.”
Chapter Two: Upstairs Innocence
Lady Penelope Westcott.
The slim hand moved the quill away from the name drying on the paper as the writer looked down at the words in her elegant script. In two weeks, that would be her title. Lady Penelope Westcott. Lady Penelope Lennox would be no more.
Two weeks. That was all she’d been given—just two weeks to get to know the man who would marry her on Christmas Eve. Her eyes moved the small glass figure of the Virgin Mary sitting on the windowsill. The little statue had been a gift from the nuns who’d tearfully pressed it into Penelope’s trembling hands the day she’d been borne away from the convent.
It had grieved Penelope to leave. A month earlier, when she’d turned eighteen, she’d allowed herself to hope that her heartfelt letters combined with her mother’s entreaties might have finally swayed her father to allow her to join the sisterhood of gentle nuns who had raised and educated her.
She’d been kneeling in prayer begging God for that very thing when Lord Lennox’s secretary, Harvey Grayson, had arrived to brusquely tell her otherwise. She was to gather her things, he said. Her father had arranged a marriage for her. Penelope would be taken to see her parents and then travel to the home of her betrothed, where they would get to know one another before an arranged wedding the day before Christmas.
Penelope later learned the reason for the haste. Her father was ill, and while William Lennox loved his French-born wife, he’d never embraced her Catholic faith. He’d capitulated to the convent education for his daughter, but would not consent to her taking vows. There was more to life, he insisted, than living in a cloistered community behind high stone walls. He was determined that his daughter would know love and motherhood. He also knew if he died before Penelope was wed, her mother would certainly push her along the path to taking vows. Lord Westcott, a man of wealth and good judgment was, he heard, weary of sowing his wild oats. He was ready to settle down, and both agreed that his age, stability, and experience would make him a practical choice for the only daughter of Lord and Lady Lennox.
Now everything Penelope had wanted for her future was in tatters.
Crossing the room, she picked up the statue of the Virgin. Mother Mary represented everything Penelope had ever wanted to be—brave, graceful, and eternally pure. A tear rolled down her cheek to fall on the bodice of her simple blue traveling dress. She’d never be any of those things now. She was afraid, lost, and in two weeks’ time would be defiled by the touch of a man she was yet to meet.
“Accept that God has a plan for your life,” Sister Agnes had said just before Mr. Grayson had led her to the carriage.
But what manner of plan was this?
By the time she’d arrived at Lennox Hall, even her mother seemed resigned to the plan. The wealthy Lord Alton Westcott would give her Penelope a life of comfort and ease, Lady Lennox had begrudgingly told her daughter.
“You must be obedient and amenable,” her mother had said. “Lord Westcott is a former military man. He is stern and exacting and seeks a sweet, compliant wife. You must give him the same sweet obedience you gave the nuns.”
But Penelope did not want comfort and ease. She wanted the predictable, unassuming life of the convent with its modest furnishings and more modest dress. The form-fitting gown she’d been given to wear to Lord Westcott’s grand home seemed as ill-fitting as the house itself. A tear sprang to her eye. Try as she might, she could not see herself as the person she was about to become. And she could not believe this was God’s plan. It had to be a mistake.
Dropping to her knees, Penelope kissed the rosary wrapped around her left hand and began to pray for forgiveness—not for what she had done, but for what she was about to do. For the first time in her life, Penelope was about to practice disobedience to those in authority by being the antithesis of the woman her mother had described. It was, after all, the only way to preserve her purity and put the true plan for her life back in motion.
“Please, Mother Mary,” she said. “Give me strength to make Lord Westcott see that I am the last woman he would ever want to marry.”
A knock at the door jarred her from her prayers. Hastily wiping a tear, she rose and kissed the statue before placing it along with the rosary on the windowsill.
“Come in,” she said, smoothing the gown of her dress as two women entered. The elder of the two immediately introduced herself as Mrs. Simms, the housekeeper.
“Lady Lennox,” she said kindly. “Welcome to Westcott Manor. I hope you are comfortable.”
“As much as can be expected,” Penelope said.
“I’m here at the behest of Lord Westcott,” Mrs. Simms continued. “He said you brought no maid with you from Lennox Hall?”
Penelope confirmed this was so. “There are those who have no food or clothing,” she said primly. “It seems an extravagance to have someone serve and dress me.”
“Well,” the older woman said. “While his lordship understands that you come from the convent, he has asked me to remind you that you are in his home now, and a lady in residence at Westcott Manor is required to have a maid.” Mrs. Simms moved aside and waved her hand toward a pretty, plump redhead. “This is Betsy. She will attend you from now on.”
“But I need no attending!” Penelope insisted. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes at the realization that yet another choice had been taken away from her.
“Beg pardon, Lady Lennox.” The older woman’s tone was kind but firm. “But it’s his lordship’s orders, not mine. He is the only one who can dismiss a maid from your service, and as he is requesting your presence in the study, you will be able to take up the matter with him. Until then, Betsy has been ordered to attend you.”
Penelope was speechless as Mrs. Simms left the room. After a moment she turned to the maid, who was staring at her with an almost curious expression.
“You may leave,” Penelope said.
“I cannot,” Betsy said.
“You can and you will.” Penelope wasn’t used to telling others what to do. Her voice quavered as she spoke. “I do not want you in my presence. Do you understand?”
The maid stood her ground. “Then begging my lady’s pardon, but you’ll have to tell his lordship that you sent me away. Because if I leave my post without permission, I’ll be the one to answer for it.”
“I’ll take responsibility for it,” Penelope said.
“May I at least help you dress to meet with Lord Westcott?” Betsy motioned toward the bureau. “Mrs. Simms said you’d likely want to change into one of your better dresses rather than the one you traveled here in.”
“I’m fine with what I’m wearing,” Penelope said. “I’m a pious woman, Betsy, not a vain one. Your master will learn that soon enough. If you’ll just tell me where to find the study, I’ll go take care of this matter now.”
The maid curtseyed. “Very good, your ladyship.”
Penelope felt a small sense of satisfaction. The maid’s departure signaled her first victory over her master’s unwanted plan to marry her. Surely, once Lord Westcott realized she had no desire to assimilate into his household, he’d release her back to the convent.
She’d been too nervous to absorb the splendor of Westcott Manor upon arriving. Now as she headed down the stairs, Penelope took the time to look at the beauty of the house that was intended to be her new home. Greenery and red velvet ribbons festooned the carved bannisters of the gra
nd staircase, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows she could see the sprawling grounds glittering under a blanket of freshly fallen snow. A grand chandelier in the foyer twinkled with candlelight. The smell of evergreen and cinnamon hung in the air. It was, she decided, beautiful, but not for a woman more content with a simple convent room with one small window overlooking the chapel below.
There were no windows on the long hallway leading to the study. Sconces lined the walls, illuminating works of art featuring hunt scenes, landscapes, and the occasional portrait.
The end of the hallway opened into the study, and it was here that Penelope got her first look at the man responsible for taking her away from the convent.
Her experience with men was limited to her father and the few priests who took her confession each Sunday. But she did not need a wealth of experience to know that Alton Westcott was exceptionally handsome, and a bit frightening.
He stood facing the door, as if expecting her. His height was imposing, and his tailored long coat, fine breeches, and boots accentuated a frame that was both fit and muscular. His hair was dark and he wore it longer than was fashionable. It curled where it touched his collar.
Just a hint of stubble darkened his sculpted jaw, and his lips were so full as to be beautiful on a man, although no smile played on them.
“Come in,” he said quietly, and at his first words, Penelope realized that she’d stopped in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, she moved forward and stopped a few feet from him. His gray eyes were arrogant, appraising, and under their gaze she felt less significant than a fly.
“You dismissed your maid,” he said. “And you are not dressed for dinner.”
“I did,” Penelope said with more boldness than she felt. “I come to you from the convent, sir. There we dressed ourselves, and did not glorify ourselves with finery.”