Claiming Her Innocence

by Ava Sinclair

  “You are no longer in the convent,” he said. “You are in my house, and here you will obey my rules.”

  It was time, Penelope decided, to take a stand. She looked him square in the eye, remembering her vow to be brave.

  “I have been forced to come here, Lord Westcott, and so I have. But my heart is in the convent,” she said. “And I will obey God’s rules, not yours.”

  “Is that so?” He arched a brow. “I was under the impression that you were merely a student there. So you took vows to be a bride of Christ?”

  She flushed. “No.”

  “No,” he repeated. “So you are not a bride of Christ, but an unmarried woman. As such, to whom do you answer?”

  She flushed deeper. Her answer, when it came, was barely audible. “My parents.”

  “And what did they command you to do?”

  She’d dropped her gaze at his question but forced herself to look at him now. Anger swelled in her breast. It was a new feeling, replacing the helplessness she’d felt. This man was using trickery to… to trap her.

  “Come now,” he said. “Surely a girl educated in the convent remembers the fifth commandment.” He waited. “Answer me!” he ordered when she refused to reply.

  “To come here and prepare for marriage,” she said. “But they are wrong. I should not be here, with you. I was not meant to be your wife.”

  Now he fell silent. “I disagree,” he said. “I think you are perfect for me, Penelope Lennox.” He stepped closer to her, bridging the short distance. Lord Westcott was so close to her now that she could catch his manly scent of tobacco and leather. “You are a naïve, innocent girl in need of someone to guide her, and I am a man in need of a woman to shepherd and care for. You were raised in a convent, but nuns are not parents. You need proper guidance to set you on the right path. In short, you need the influence of a man willing to act as both husband and father.”

  He turned away. “Now. You have been here less than a day and have already disobeyed me, but I am willing to give you a second chance. I have asked that your maid Betsy return to your chambers and wait for you. You will go back there now and allow your maid to change you from your traveling suit into a proper dress. Once that is done, I will come escort you for dinner.”

  Her mother’s words came back to her. “He is stern and exacting and seeks a sweet, compliant wife. You must give him the same sweet obedience you gave the nuns.”

  Penelope straightened her spine. “No.”

  “What did you say?” Lord Westcott’s voice was low.

  “I will not change for dinner, and I will not accept the services of a maid.” Penelope punctuated her statement with a petulant sniff.

  “I see.” He regarded her for a moment.

  “Tell me, Lady Penelope,” he finally said. “Were the nuns strict at the convent school?”

  “Strict?”

  “Did they ever physically correct the girls?”

  Penelope flushed, recalling how Sister Agnes had caned Susan Pritchett in front of an assembly. It was rumored that Susan had been caught engaging in ‘impure behavior.’ Even now, Penelope could vividly remember the way the young woman’s white bottom had looked, framed by her simple dress as she leaned over the head nun’s desk. Penelope had never seen another woman so displayed before. It was a shocking sight, and as her companions nervously averted their eyes, Penelope found herself unable to look away from the plump mounds of flesh.

  When the cane had fallen, Susan had squealed, one foot rising from the floor as a welt bloomed across the expanse of both cheeks. At a barked command from the nun, the penitent had lowered her foot and assumed a position with her legs slightly apart. A glimpse of blond fleece could be seen between the gap in the girl’s white thighs. Susan’s bottom had wobbled as she sobbed, and Penelope had gasped, not just at the luridness of it all, but at a sudden and unexpected twinge between her own thighs. It was not the first time she’d felt the twinge. During her latter years in the convent, the twinge had often come in the night, and developed into an ache she could not allow herself to satisfy. Even now, she remembered the feeling with acute shame.

  “I asked you a question.” Lord Westcott’s firm tone brought her back to the present. “Were the girls punished at the convent?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “You witnessed this?”

  She didn’t want to answer but found herself nodding. “Yes. My friend Susan was punished once before an assembly.”

  “What did she do to deserve such a punishment?”

  She was caught touching herself. Penelope heard the words in her head, but couldn’t bring herself to say them. “She did something horrible.”

  “Was punishment delivered on the bare?”

  Again Penelope nodded, her flush deepening.

  “What implement was used?”

  She dropped her eyes. “The… the cane.”

  “I see. Her bare bottom was smacked with a cane. Tell me, sweet Penelope, were you ever punished?”

  “No.” Penelope locked eyes with Lord Westcott, jutting her chin out proudly. “I never did anything to warrant it.”

  “Hmm.” He turned away and walked over to a stand by the door. Lifting a cane not unlike the one used at the convent school, Lord Westcott turned back, tapping it against his palm. “It’s regrettable that you’re choosing to deny me the obedience you afforded the nuns.” He continued to tap the cane against his hand as he spoke. “And let me be very clear. I also received an education where the cane was employed. In fact, as head boy, I learned to wield it quite well. Rest assured that should you defy me, I will not hesitate to correct you in a sterner manner than you ever witnessed during your convent education.” He lowered the cane now to the side of her thigh and slowly dragged it up to her hip. His gaze remained locked on hers. “And I, also, will punish on the bare.”

  Penelope felt her throat tighten as her heart raced at his words. The shameful twinge she’d not experienced since Susan’s punishment returned, this time with a flush of arousal.

  God forgive me.

  “Now, my dear,” he said. “Do I need to bend you over the sofa, raise your skirts, and cane your bare bottom now? Or will you accept my generous offer of a lady’s maid, return to your quarters, and allow Betsy to help you dress for dinner?”

  Penelope shifted, aware of the heat in her face and the dampness that had coated the panel of her pantalets.

  “I’ll obey,” Penelope said, defeated.

  “Good. I shall come fetch you to dinner at around six.” Alton Westcott smiled. It was a knowing smile, as if he also knew the secret beneath her skirts, as if he was aware of the shameful slickness between her legs.

  Lust. That had been Susan’s sin. The nuns had warned against it, warned against carnal feelings no good girl should ever have.

  Her mind called out again in silent supplication. God forgive me.

  Chapter Three: Lord Westcott’s Plan

  He had no doubt that she’d give in. Alton Westcott was a man who knew women, a man who could detect even the subtlest nuances of a woman’s mood. A change in complexion, a dilation of the pupils, a slight fluttering of the hands—these could indicate nervousness, or something else. Something the woman was trying to hide, or trying to deny.

  He’d had chosen Penelope not in spite of her convent education, but because of it. When a young woman like Lady Penelope fought to stay in a cloistered, chaste environment, it often wasn’t because she was afraid of what lay beyond the walls, but rather of what lay within herself. The pious Lady Lennox had ingrained in Penelope a fear of the most natural thing in the world—the girl’s own sexuality.

  For a man like Alton Westcott, claiming a woman’s virginity wasn’t about leaving the first mark on untouched flesh, but the joy of awakening a pure woman to her inner wanton, of seeing her make the transformation from a complete innocent to a sexual libertine who reveled in the power of her own body. It was about freeing her from the bonds of the crippling mindset
too often foisted on women of his social class—a mindset that led to frigidity and broken hearts when the frustrated husband sought out more willing partners.

  Lord Westcott had certainly enjoyed his share of women, and had a reputation to prove it. But despite his notoriety as a rake, for some time he’d been thinking on marriage. The only barrier had been his criteria for a wife. Alton had a certain type of woman in mind—an innocent ripe for the kind of training he had in mind, a sheltered virgin he could tease so expertly that she’d be begging for him to take her. And once she did, the experience would be so powerful for both of them that they’d be forever fixed as the other’s insatiable mate.

  He knew that woman was Penelope Lennox. But the proper seduction took proper planning, and for Lord Westcott, that started with the selection of a lady’s maid.

  Rake or no, Alton drew the line at bedding his own serving staff. But he was well aware of all who worked in his house, and when word reached him of a particularly lusty maid named Betsy, he knew she would be the perfect attendant to his betrothed.

  Pulling his pocket watch from his vest, he looked down, wondering if Betsy would be on time for the meeting he’d planned to have with her before dinner. She was; the door opened as if on cue.

  “Betsy,” he said.

  “Your lordship.” The pretty maid dropped to a curtsey.

  “Is Lady Penelope properly dressed now?”

  “Yes, m’lord, and in the lovely dress you had fashioned for her.”

  He smiled. “And was she amenable?”

  Betsy paused, catching her plump lower lip in her teeth. “She let me dress her, but…”

  “Go on.”

  “She’s clearly not comfortable being naked in the presence of another.”

  “Nothing like you, is she, Betsy?” Lord Westcott winked and Betsy blushed, but smiled in a manner that suggested she considered the observation a compliment.

  “No, m’lord. She’s nothing like me.”

  “Indeed, which is why I chose you for her maid.” He walked over and poured himself a drink. “Lady Penelope has spent her whole life surrounded by prim, stuffy minders. I wanted her to have a contemporary in her service, someone more… open-minded, if you will—a young woman with less reserve.” He paused. “In your professional estimation, what do you think it will take until she’s just like you?”

  “May I be so bold as to laugh at this, m’lord?”

  “I’d prefer you didn’t, Betsy.” He turned serious. “It is no laughing matter.”

  Betsy dropped her gaze. “I can’t see her ever being like me, your lordship. She’s stiff, ashamed. She covers herself.”

  “But you finally saw her naked, for she had to disrobe to change, right?”

  Betsy nodded. “Yes, m’lord. Although she was very ill at ease.”

  “And her body?”

  The maid paused. “I like the men, m’lord. But if I also liked ladies, I’d like her. If I may be so bold.”

  “In this case you may.” He cast her a wide smile, enjoying the maid’s candor. “Describe her for me.”

  “Describe her?” Betsy asked.

  “You question me, little maid?”

  “No, m’lord.”

  “Then proceed.”

  Betsy cleared her throat.

  “Her breasts are full, the peaks the color of wine. Her hair, unbound, comes down to the two dimples just above her bottom. It’s a full bottom, m’lord, full and high. Her belly is flat, her legs short but well-muscled for a lady. I see that often in ladies who ride… Do you want me to go on?”

  Alton had settled into a chair to listen, and now smiled at the maid. “No, my dear girl. That is quite enough. You paint a most intriguing picture, and your attention to detail will be rewarded.”

  The maid smiled at this.

  “Tell me,” he continued. “Did you bring me what I asked?” He held out his hand. The maid reached into her apron and removed a carefully folded item that she now slipped into his hand. After placing the item into his own pocket, Alton gently chucked the little redhead under the chin and winked.

  “And you remember that other little thing I asked you to do, at such time when your lady can observe you?”

  She smiled slyly. “Yes, m’lord.”

  “I’m pleased with you,” he said. “So pleased, in fact, that I’m going to give you the evening off.”

  “The whole evening?” she asked. “To myself? Whatever will I do?”

  “I’m sure a girl like you can find some amusements.” Lord Westcott led her to the door and opened it. Other servants were entering the room now, bearing platters of food. It was nearly time for dinner.

  Having dismissed the maid, he headed upstairs, eager to see Penelope in the dress he’d ordered made to her specifications. He knew that even though she was from a good family, she’d likely never worn a dress made to accentuate her womanly charms, while also reminding her of her innocence.

  When he rapped at her door and entered, he saw her standing before the looking glass, as if trying to acquaint herself with the vision she’d become.

  Alton found himself equally entranced. He stood quietly, realizing she’d not even heard him enter. With her positioned in front of the mirror, he could see both her back and her front.

  Penelope’s hair was long and loose, tied back with a childish bow. Short, capped sleeves of her gown were similar to those fashioned for younger girls, and there was a sash at the back. But the bodice was clearly designed with a woman’s body in mind. The mirror revealed creamy breasts that swelled just above the dress’ square neckline. Alton was pleased to see that the maid had not exaggerated; Penelope’s breasts were indeed firm. He imagined them uncovered, the wine-colored nipples dark against the white of her skin.

  He stepped to the left and came into view in the mirror. At the sight of him, Penelope cried out and put a fluttering hand to her chest.

  “I didn’t hear you come in.” Her tone was accusatory.

  “I knocked, but you were lost in yourself.”

  She looked down. “Vanity is a sin.”

  Lord Westcott walked over and gently took her slim hands in his. “Yes,” he said. “But pride in the gifts you’ve been given is a way of honoring the one who gave them to you.” He paused. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Penelope. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “This dress…” She looked down at her cleavage and closed her eyes with a sigh before glancing up at him. “It shows too much.”

  “Not to the man you will marry.” He took her arm in his and led her from the room. “Was Betsy of help to you? I instructed her to bathe and change you.”

  “I’m not used to others seeing me naked. Her gaze is very direct.”

  “She’s used to seeing those in her care in all states of undress,” he said. “Had you grown up in your home instead of a convent school, you’d have had a maid and none of this would seem unusual to you.”

  “I don’t mean to be unappreciative…” she continued as Alton made note that this was the first sign of softening on her part. “But I do beg your indulgence since all of this seems to be such an extravagance. I’ve been taught that modesty, thrift, and chastity are the hallmarks of a good woman.”

  They were going down the stairs now. At the bottom of the landing, he stopped. “They are the making of a good nun, Penelope,” he said. His eyes traveled from the crown of her head down to her shoes and then up again to linger on her breasts before rejoining hers in a smoldering gaze. “I have different plans for you.”

  He gave her no time to respond as they continued on. By now the dining room had been readied for their private dinner. Alton knew to a young woman used to eating plain convent food, her first meal at Westcott Manor would likely seem decadent. But he wanted her to get used to decadence, to plenty. He wanted her to revel in the experience of tastes, textures, and pleasures. He believed food to be sensual, and employed the best cooks in the region. As he pulled out Penelope’s chair, he kept an eye on her
expression and was not surprised to see apprehension, even now. It was as if she realized that the sumptuous spread before her was designed to erode the walls of her Spartan leanings.

  There was a standing beef rib with Yorkshire pudding, glistening oysters on the half-shell, turtle soup, boiled potatoes with russet red skins slathered in butter and chives, two kinds of pudding, mince pies, and tea. Footmen stood to the side of the table ready to serve it all.

  “Does dinner meet with your approval?” Alton asked when he’d seated himself across from her. He’d purposefully delayed the evening meal, knowing she’d be hungry.

  “Looking at all that’s being served for two people, I can only think of how many poor mouths this would feed,” she said. “At the convent, we were taught to give.” But even as she spoke, her eyes fell hungrily on the fragrant meal.

  “You think only those who do without are capable of giving? I am the greatest benefactor to the poor in the region; I simply don’t make a show of my piety as you’ve obviously been taught to do.”

  When she lowered her head in shame, he continued. “As Lady Westcott, you will have more wealth at your charitable disposal. That should suit you, since you’ve been taught to give. In fact, I’m quite satisfied that’s a lesson you’ve learned well. But now I shall teach you how to take.” He paused, lifting his glass. “To take pleasure, specifically.”

  The footmen had stepped forward now to heap their plates high with food. While Penelope sat patiently waiting for them to finish, Alton noted how her eyes gazed hungrily on the glistening beef and steaming pudding.

  “I insist that you begin eating first,” he said, and leaned over to pick up her fork. Stabbing a piece of meat so tender it fell off the bone, he lifted the morsel to her lips. “Savor it,” he said as she obediently opened her mouth for the first bite. “Let the flavor of each dish wash over your tongue.” He leaned toward her. “When I am tasting something for the first time, this is my approach. I take my time, allow myself to relish the textures, the smells, the flavors. It enhances pleasure, my dear. And pleasure is a gift.”