Claiming Her Innocence

by Ava Sinclair

  “You’re too kind, really,” Penelope had said a day before the ball when Alton handed her a brightly wrapped present. It was the third of several he’d given her—small tokens, he said, of his affection. They were sitting in the sleigh under a fir, its branches heavy with snow.

  “My dear, I’ve not begun to spoil you yet.”

  Penelope smiled as she opened the box to reveal an array of her favorite candies, Turkish delight. Picking one up, she popped it in her mouth. Remembering Alton’s advice to savor every sweet thing, she allowed the flavor to coat her tongue and closed her eyes in pleasure as she swallowed. At that moment, a cool breeze ruffled the branches, sending a shower of sparkling snow down on the couple. Penelope could not help but laugh.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Alton said. “And look, you’ve a bit of snow on your lips. Or is that candied sugar? There’s only one way to find out.”

  His mouth had captured hers then, and she did not resist, but melted into him. She’d become more comfortable with kisses, both giving and receiving. But now Lord Westcott was putting his hands on her in a way that was new and different, bringing them up the waist he usually clasped to rest on her breasts, hidden by her cloak.

  “My lord… the driver…” Penelope breathed.

  “…has been trained to mind his own business,” Alton whispered in her ear, and she knew she could not stop him if she wanted to, not because he would force the issue but because she lacked the will. Already her breasts had grown firm under his hands, the nipples tightly furled into hard, painful peaks that pressed against the fabric of her gown. He’d told her the day before that he could not wait to taste them, and the thought of his hot breath, his tongue on those sensitive nubs of flesh was again causing her pussy to slicken and throb. She shifted in her seat, pressing her thighs together under the lap blanket as Alton’s hands massaged her breasts.

  It left her wanting more, and she wanted to tell him so. But part of her still worried that he’d consider her improper if she gave voice to her desires. So when his hands moved from under her cloak and his arm went around her shoulders, she nestled into him and tried to ignore the tight ache in her nipples and pussy.

  That she felt herself craving Lord Westcott’s touch was a pleasant development made sweeter by the fact that she’d grown so fond of him in such a short time. He could be instantly strict; he’d proven as much during the doctor’s visit. But once punishment was over, he was sweet and solicitous. Since her spanking, he’d been generous with his time and attention, and indulgent with little gifts.

  The biggest gift, however, he reserved for the night of the ball. When Penelope saw the gown he had made for her, any apprehension she had over being presented that evening melted away. She’d worried that it would be another childish frock, but on this night she would not just look like a lady, but the most beautiful one to ever grace Westcott Manor.

  She was indeed a vision in the dress. Fashioned from the finest pale pink satin, the gown featured a perfectly fitted bodice with a fashionably low neckline designed to accentuate her perfect breasts. The skirt was bejeweled with hundreds of tiny crystals that caught the light whenever she moved. Her hair, styled in an elegant chignon, was adorned with jeweled pins.

  The appreciation in Lord Westcott’s eyes when he finally saw her made Penelope flush with happiness. His gaze made her feel proud, and she enjoyed that feeling without guilt. He’d chosen her, and with each passing day at Westcott Manor, she felt a growing peace that this was where she should be. Now, as she descended the grand staircase on his arm, Penelope gave a silent prayer of thanks for the moment.

  He’d taught her to dance in the days leading up to the ball. Now she found herself smiling up at him as he led her in the first dance of the evening. Admiring eyes followed their every step. But so did envious ones, for despite Alton Westcott’s reputation, more than one woman had hoped to be in Penelope’s place.

  The gentlemen in attendance were no doubt as envious, for as soon as the first dance ended, every man in the room sought a chance to dance with the perfect rose Lord Westcott had plucked from behind convent walls.

  Penelope was a gracious partner, but after each polite dance with a stranger, her eyes sought out her true partner. When she saw him dancing with a tall blond woman who was whispering something in his ear, she felt a twinge of jealousy and chided herself for it. She was relieved when the two parted ways, although she noted how the woman held his hands for a moment before letting go, and whatever she said to him made him smile before turning away.

  After that, she lost sight of Lord Westcott entirely. Even in a house as large as Westcott Manor, the Christmas ball meant a packed room. Eschewing a glass of champagne offered by a servant, the diminutive Penelope instead chose to navigate the crowd, standing on her tiptoes from time to time as she struggled to see over the shoulders of those blocking her path.

  “Looking for someone?” A silky voice got her attention and Penelope turned to find herself face to face with the blond woman she’d seen dancing with Alton. For a moment she was speechless. The woman was even lovelier up close, with flawless skin, full lips, and ice blue eyes several shades lighter than her sapphire gown.

  “I… I was looking for…”

  “Alton?” The woman used his name casually, and arched an elegant eyebrow before scanning the room. “I believe I saw him over there.” She pointed to a nearby hallway and took Penelope by the elbow, leading the way. Penelope suddenly felt inadequate next to this imperious woman leading her as an adult would lead a child.

  But the hallway was quiet and empty when they arrived. The woman looked around as if surprised. “My goodness,” she said. “I could have sworn he was here. I guess I was wrong.” She fell silent then, her cold eyes sweeping Penelope from head to toe. “So you’re the one—the future Lady Westcott.”

  “I’m Penelope Lennox,” Penelope replied. “And yes, Lord Westcott and I are to be married in two days’ time.”

  The tall woman smirked. “Well, I’m Lady Caroline Whitfield. And let me give you some advice, little Lady Lennox. You’re about to tread into the mouth of a lion. That man who woos and coddles you now? That’s how it starts. But once he has you, you’ll find the gentleman of the manor is a beast in the bedroom. I should know. I was his lover under duress for years, until I became strong enough to escape.” She closed her eyes and sighed, her voice quavering as she continued. “Oh, the things he made me do. I wasn’t a sheltered virgin like you when I came to his bed; I was a widow. I thought I could handle him. I was wrong.”

  Penelope began to back away. “Why are you telling me this? I don’t want to hear this.”

  Lady Whitfield reached out, grasping Penelope tightly, turning her suddenly until the smaller woman’s back was against the wall. Her tone was low and earnest as she continued.

  “Because you need to hear this, you innocent little fool. I wasn’t so unlike you. I thought I would enjoy relations with him. He’d prepared me so carefully for them, so masterfully. But he’s relentless—feral, even. He used me in ways no man uses a decent woman. The good feeling you have between your legs when he whispers in your ear? He’ll satisfy that. But it won’t be enough, not for a man like Alton Westcott.” Her fingers dug into Penelope’s arm now. “No. He’ll push his cock into your mouth until you gag, thrust it into your bottom hole after he’s tied you up and whipped you red and raw. Night after night he’ll use you—defile you—until you’re too ashamed to look into the mirror come morning.”

  Penelope felt tears spring to her eyes. “Stop…”

  “Why? So I can live with the guilt of not saving an innocent from the daily shame I feel?” She let go of Penelope, raising herself to full height. “Look at me, Lady Lennox.”

  When Penelope obeyed, she blanched. The look on Lady Whitfield’s face was a familiar one; it was the same harsh look she’d seen on the face of Sister Agnes.

  “He’s making sport of you and everyone knows it! They’re all laughing at you, dear. Th
ey know! We all know! Don’t let him turn you into his whore, Lady Lennox. Save yourself. There’s still time. Stay strong. Leave.” She turned away, looking back over her shoulder for one parting shot. “Stop deceiving yourself. You don’t belong here.”

  Penelope felt as if the room were spinning. Reaching behind her, she placed her hand against the wall as she pressed the other against a bodice that suddenly seemed too tight.

  The festive surroundings and merry crowd that had brought her such joy only moments before now seemed to be mocking her.

  “Lady Lennox, there you are.” A footman approached. “Lord Westcott is trying to find you. He requests your company.”

  “I’m sorry.” She lifted her skirts and moved away. “Please tell him I’m retiring for the evening.”

  Penelope had to restrain herself from fleeing the room. She could still feel admiring eyes on her, but now she perceived laughter in them. Was she really the only one in the room who did not know the nature of this man? As she exited the room, the strangled sob she’d been holding in burst from her as she made for the stairs. What a fool she had been, allowing herself to be lured with comfort, finery, and—yes—her own weakness. She’d allowed honeyed words to lure her away from the truth Lady Whitfield had spoken. She did not belong here!

  In her room, she rushed to the little statue of Virgin Mary. It was cold where it sat against the pane of glass in the frosty window, so cold that the chill of it hurt Penelope’s lips when she put them to the shrouded head of the figurine.

  “Forgive me, Mother Mary,” she said, and then turned to fumble through her dressing table for her rosary. Her hands were shaking as she dropped to her knees, clasping the beads tight against her folded hands.

  When the door opened a moment later, she startled, but it was just the maid.

  “Your ladyship,” Betsy said, walking over. “I was sent to…” She peered down at Penelope. “You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

  Penelope shook her head. “I can’t say. I just need to be alone.”

  “I can’t just leave you alone. I’m your maid. And besides, I’ve been sent to find out where you are. His lordship’s in a state over your absence.”

  Penelope stood, hugging the statue and rosary to her chest. “Please! Just leave me alone!”

  Betsy quietly regarded her mistress, concern on her face. “Please tell me what’s wrong, your ladyship.”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” Penelope said resentfully. “You’re as much a part of it as the rest of them.”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I’ve been warned,” she cried. “Downstairs. I’ve been told the true nature of the man I am to marry, and what he has in store for me. I’m nothing more than a foil for his appetites, a lamb skipping down the path to her own demise! He intends to ruin me! Isn’t that the truth?”

  But the maid shook her head. “No. Even I thought that once, but I’ve seen how he looks at you, m’lady. No man looks at a woman like that unless he loves and respects her.”

  “Or unless he’s a cunning predator who only shows his true nature once his victim is trapped entirely.” Penelope walked over to the wardrobe, threw it open, and began pulling out her things.

  “What are you doing?” Betsy asked.

  “What does it look like? I’m leaving! I need you to help me out of my gown. I can get into my traveling clothes on my own. I’m going back to the convent.”

  Betsy reached out and took hold of her mistress’ arm. “You’re leaving? Just like that because of some bit of slander? Who would say such a thing?”

  “Lady Caroline Whitfield,” Penelope said miserably.

  “Lady Whitfield?” Betsy took hold of Penelope’s upper arms. “That was the woman I was telling you about, the one his lordship stopped seeing. You’re taking the bitter words of a former lover over the character of the man who wants to marry you?”

  Penelope flushed, defensive now, and angry. “I’ll thank you not to question me,” she snapped, pulling away. “Remember who is the maid and who is the lady.”

  “Perhaps it is not Betsy who needs to be reminded who is in authority here.”

  Both suddenly turned to see Lord Westcott standing in the doorway. How long he’d been there neither could say, but his expression was grim as he approached Penelope. “As I recall, not so long ago you thought yourself beneath the need for your maid’s services. Now you use your station to dismiss her wise counsel. And it is indeed wise, for she is entirely correct. Lady Whitfield’s words are bitter lies. And you should be ashamed for believing her.”

  “M’lord…” Betsy began, but Alton held up his hand.

  “Leave us,” he said, and the maid instantly obeyed, scurrying from the room.

  As Betsy shut the door, Penelope found herself alone with her betrothed.

  “It seems that I have been the subject of some scurrilous gossip,” he said. “I want you to tell me what was said, Penelope. Tell me everything. I will answer each charge honestly. And then, my dear, you will answer to me.”

  Chapter Seven: Lord Westcott’s Correction

  It was all Alton could do to keep control of his own emotions. He knew that Penelope thought his anger was directed at her, but he was even angrier with himself. He was a man who knew women, who prided himself on reading them. But on this night, he’d seriously misjudged a former lover’s desire for vengeance.

  He’d danced with Lady Whitfield—an act of social civility—and she’d congratulated him on his pending marriage.

  “I hope she knows what she’s getting into,” Lady Whitfield had said as the dance ended, and he’d smiled at the comment, seeing it as just a jibe, for he had not known what his former lover had planned.

  Later, when he could spot neither woman in the crowded room, he’d felt a sense of foreboding. When the footman he’d dispatched to find Penelope returned to tell him she’d fled, Alton had expected the worst. Now he pressed his betrothed to tell him what had been said.

  “I can’t bring myself to repeat her words.” Penelope had dropped her gaze. “They were too horrible, the things she said—the things she said you made her do.”

  “But deep down, you want to know the truth. So ask.”

  She closed her eyes, and he could see she was struggling. “Did you… did you put your…” Penelope paused. “She said you put your cock in her mouth. Is it true?”

  “I did.”

  She audibly gasped.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “And… please tell me this is not true, for surely such a thing is not possible. She said you put it in her… in her bottom.”

  “I did.”

  “She said… you took pleasure in inflicting pain.”

  “I do,” he said with a small smile.

  Penelope gave an anguished little cry. “It’s true then! You’re depraved!” She made to run past him, but he caught her.

  “Yes, my love, she spoke the truth of these things, but it is not true that they are depraved.”

  “She said she hated it!”

  “She lied,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re so silly,” he said with a laugh that was not unkind. “You know nothing of what goes on between a man and a woman. There are so many more doorways to pleasure on your body, Penelope. You think sex is just between your legs, when it is really between your ears.” He tapped her gently on the forehead. “So much is in your mind. Once you free it from what you are told is wrong, nothing is forbidden between a man and woman who love each other.”

  “Did you love her?” Penelope’s tone was so fierce that Alton was taken aback. Gently he released her arm.

  “I thought I did,” he said. “Then one day in town I witnessed the cruelty she’d so carefully hidden from me. She dared laugh at a beggar woman. It incensed me. I was born into wealth, and so was she. When her husband died, she was left with more than enough to live on. She’s never known what it is to want. She never will. I cannot stand to see a man injured, nor a family
hungry. I cannot abide the company of someone so dismissive of the plight of others, or someone who fails to appreciate their own fortune by comparison. I certainly would not want that person to bear my children. I told her I would not see her again.”

  “So you sent her away?”

  “I did. And at first she made light of it. Then she sent letters, often, begging me to reconsider. I would not answer them.”

  Penelope walked over to a chair and sat down. “She painted a different picture, one of a woman under duress, seduced, used, degraded, and then thrown away. She said you whipped her bloody, ravished her.”

  “The bitter words of a bitter woman, my dear. As for the bedsport we shared, I did spank her. But nothing I did to her was ever under duress. Lady Whitfield is a woman of unusual appetites and extreme passion. In that way we were matched; but it takes more than that, which is why I chose you.”

  “But you still don’t understand,” Penelope said. “I may share your compassionate heart, but how can a virgin match you in appetite? The things you admit to doing with her make me ill. I cannot do them!”

  “Oh, but you are wrong on both counts.” Alton walked over to her. Even with her tear-tracked face looking up at him and her gown wrinkled from kneeling, she was still beautiful. “I suspect your passion is more than a match for mine. As for those things you find so scandalous, you will not only do them, but you will love them.”

  “No.” She stood and backed away. “Those are things bad girls do. I’m a good girl.”

  “Are you?” He walked toward her, forcing her to retreat backwards until she was against the wall. “You believed a soulless, bitter woman over the man who loves you. You condemn the pleasures I offer before you even taste them. I think you are a very bad girl.” He took hold of her. “Well, my dear, as I warned you, I am quite stern with bad girls. You will be forgiven, but first you must be corrected.”