Chapter Fourteen
Simon
“I now pronounce you man and wife. Lord Camden, you may kiss your bride.”
Simon’s throat tightened with the minister’s proclamation.
It hardly seemed real that he was now, in fact, a married man.
And the girl standing beside him, trembling ever so slightly in the expensive, lace-trimmed ivory-hued wedding gown and matching veil for which he’d paid an ungodly sum of money was truly his wife.
Turning toward Penelope, he steeled his heart against the questions in her dark-green gaze when it lifted to meet his.
That she was still apprehensive of him was apparent.
That she was bravely trying to conceal that fact was obvious, too.
Despite her quaking limbs, she did not pull away when he lifted the delicate veil and revealed the entirety of her face.
Earlier, she’d spoken her vows with quiet resoluteness.
Her only true reaction was when the minister had her repeat the command to love, honor, and obey her new husband.
A quick intake of breath had revealed her unease with that portion of the ceremony before she hastily regained her composure.
That Penelope might have some inkling of just what Simon expected of her obedience sent his blood roaring through his veins with anticipation of teaching her.
She stared up at him now, features pale as winter snow, evergreen-hued eyes wide with apprehension.
When Simon tugged her closer, Penelope shakily laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed.
The ring he’d just slid onto her finger, a band of gold boasting a blood-red ruby the size of a dove’s egg, sparkled in the church’s candlelight.
A frown pulled Simon’s brows into a furrowed vee. As if that will stop me from claiming what now belongs to me.
“Penelope, either you allow me to seal our vows in a civilized manner,” Simon muttered, his words meant strictly for her ears alone, “or I will scandalize every person in this church with my method of claiming you as my own.”
A tiny whimper escaped her throat at the threat, but she did not release her grip of his arm. Rather than retreat, she inexplicably leaned farther into his embrace and tilted her face to his while rising on her tiptoes.
The brush of her soft lips against his was far sweeter than Simon expected.
The boiling need inside him to dominate, to impose his will upon her, was unexpectedly tempered by the innocent kiss she initiated.
Sliding his arm farther around her slender waist, he relished the feel of her lithe body pressed to his own.
He returned the kiss, thrusting his tongue deep.
Ignoring her gasp of surprise, he plundered her mouth as he pleased.
He might have kissed her for the rest of eternity there on the steps of the altar with their friends and family watching. Her taste was addictive. The feel of her in his arms beyond intoxicating. Only when the minister discreetly cleared his throat did reality intrude.
“Enough, little mouse.” Simon reluctantly drew back, ending the kiss by capturing her tiny chin in the palm of his hand.
His little wife wore a look of dazed satisfaction that was captivating.
“You’ve proven your point. I shall remember this display of eagerness once we are within the privacy of our bedchamber. ”
Penelope’s eyes fluttered shut, the lashes dark and thick against her skin. But when she met his gaze again, there was a tiny spark of rebellion in her eyes that both surprised and thrilled Simon.
“As you wish, Lord Camden,” she murmured. When he released her chin, she immediately ducked her head in an effort to escape the heat of his glare.
Taking her arm, Simon tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and escorted her away from the altar.
As their family and the few friends invited to the private ceremony gathered around them, he retained his hold on her.
Even when Lady True tried tugging her daughter away, thin lips narrowing into a frown of disapproval, Simon refused to relinquish his prize.
The feelings of possessiveness swamping him were intense and abrupt.
They came from nowhere and left him feeling a bit dizzy.
Penelope was his now. His. And whether he wanted a wife or not, he must protect her from her parasitic parents and anyone else who thought they could harm her.
“Now we are truly sisters,” Emily said, pulling Penelope in for a tight embrace as Wylder shook Simon’s hand in congratulations. Charlotte and Lucien were next to offer their best wishes, and Simon swallowed an inaudible groan at Lucien’s smug expression.
“You needn’t look so pleased with yourself,” Simon grumbled to Lucien as Penelope was tugged away from his side by his sister and Charlotte.
He kept an eye on her as the three women began conversing in low tones that no one else could overhear.
No telling what their particular conversation was about, but Penelope’s cheeks had turned a fetching shade of blush pink.
“How can I not be? My two best friends are now wed. True, the circumstances for your union are a bit unusual; however, I’ve little doubt you will experience the same bliss that Wylder and I have experienced with our own wives,” Lucien drawled.
Simon shot the man a disgruntled glare. “Do not remind me that my own sister has been initiated into the depraved brand of intimacy that the Rakehells enjoy.”
Wylder’s grin was wide and only slightly abashed.
“I do understand the disgust you feel, Simon. But it should ease your mind that I am absolutely bewitched by my wife. I’ve never known such contentment.
” His silver gaze flickered to where Emily stood, her arm linked with Penelope, and his expression softened.
“She is my everything.” Glancing back at Simon, he added, “I hope your relationship with Penelope becomes the same.”
A grunt of disbelief escaped Simon, but he kept his thoughts private while retrieving Penelope.
His new wife stood stiffly by his side, graciously accepting congratulations until it was time to leave for the wedding breakfast at Blackthorne Manor.
She quivered with tiny, invisible tremors whenever his grip tightened on her elbow, which somehow made him only want to shield her from anything unpleasant.
An unfortunate development, considering his fury at being trapped in marriage had not subsided.
Simon had arranged for one of the family coaches to transport them from the church to the estate.
It was large and roomy enough for at least five passengers, but he intended to spend some precious time alone with Penelope.
Of course, he’d escorted her to various social events over the past month; however, other than that one brief interlude in Hyde Park, their interactions were brief and heavily scrutinized by the prying eyes of the ton.
As they settled into the coach, Penelope slanted him a look. “Is no one else riding with us to Blackthorne Manor?”
Simon shook his head. Taking the small bouquet of sweet pea blossoms and lavender from her gloved hand, he tossed the flowers onto the opposite seat. “Just us, little mouse.”
A heavy sigh whooshed from Penelope. “I do hope you quickly grow weary of using that moniker, my lord.”
Knowing it bothered her only made him continue using it. A slight grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think I will ever grow tired of it, mouse.”
Her lips thinned with aggravation, but she did not respond. Instead, she ducked her head and nervously fiddled with the satin fabric of her gloves.
“I’ve neglected to tell you how beautiful you are in this dress, Penelope.” Simon’s tone remained even, but there was no denying the way his blood was heating up. Even his skin felt hot. “You are a vision. Worthy of the title of Countess of Camden.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, edging away from him to sit closer to the window. Recognizing that she was trying to put a bit of distance between them bothered Simon more than it should have. A frown knitted his brow as he considered what he might do next.
“Come here, wife.” Steel laced his soft words, and Penelope immediately stiffened at the unmistakable command.
“Why?”
“Because I commanded it. And I wish to kiss you.”
“You already kissed me in the chapel,” Penelope argued, a scarlet-hued blush chasing the pale color from her cheeks.
“Yes,” Simon agreed. “Now, I intend on doing so again.”
A flash of foreboding lit Penelope’s eyes. Her chin lifted, but Simon’s raised eyebrow and slight “tsk, tsk” apparently convinced her to rethink any thoughts of rebellion.
She muttered something under her breath but obediently slid back across the seat until her thigh barely brushed against his.
“That’s much better, don’t you think?” Simon asked as he took possession of her tiny hand. Lacing his fingers through hers, he tugged until she was draped over his chest.
Her pouty lips hung open on a scandalized gasp as he held her tight enough to prevent escape.
Like the little mouse she was, Penelope froze when caught in the calculating gaze of a predator.
Simon fought back a grin of sheer delight.
He was frightening her, but he did not really care in that moment.
She was his wife. His to do with as he pleased and seeing that he’d been forced into this situation, he might as well find a bit of pleasure in it.
“Do I scare you, little mouse?” he drawled, leaning so close that their mouths nearly touched. It was a rhetorical question, one to which he already knew the answer.
She frowned a little at the question, then replied with an honest, “Yes.”
“I see.” He brushed his mouth across hers, reveling in the way her breath caught. “Perhaps I should take a different approach.”
“What do you mean, my lord?” Penelope said in a soft, trembling voice. Warm and sweet, her breath feathered his lips, and Simon swallowed a groan.
“I think I shall have you kiss me.”
She startled at that, her eyes growing wide. “I-I don’t think that is a very good idea.”
“On the contrary. I believe it is an excellent idea.” Simon quickly moved her so that her body from chest to thigh was pressed against his own.
The slight weight of her molding to his form felt heavenly, her lavender-and-vanilla scent drifting around him.
Staring deep into her eyes, he recognized how hazy and confused she was by his actions.
“Now, kiss me, Penelope. Touch your mouth to mine. Explore my lips as you please. Kiss me as deeply or as lightly as you like. I will follow your lead.”
“This activity is best suited for the bedchamber, my lord,” Penelope stuttered. “I’d rather not do this here.”
“I don’t care what you want or don’t want, Penelope,” Simon said firmly. “And you are well on your way to earning a well-deserved punishment. I cannot begin to express how that possibility delights me.”
Another absolutely adorable mutinous expression flashed across Penelope’s heart-shaped face, but she obediently braced her hands on his chest and leaned closer. “I-I’ve never given a kiss before. What if it ends up in complete shambles?”
“I shall be the judge of that.” Simon’s eyebrow lifted high as he watched her nervously lick her lips. When she sank her teeth into the plump fullness of the bottom one, his words came out in a growl full of lust. “Now, I suggest you get on with it.”
She hesitated again, no doubt disconcerted by the rough command, when suddenly, the coach lurched. Penelope instinctively fisted two handfuls of his coat as the unexpected momentum threw her forward.
Her mouth slammed down on his with such force that Simon bit his own bottom lip.
The sharp pain did not diminish the scorching hot sensation of her lips pressing his.
In fact, it only seemed to amplify things, and he fought to keep his hands down at his side.
Otherwise, he was likely to flip her onto her back and make her his own right there on the leather coach seat.
With a cry of alarm, Penelope attempted a retreat, but Simon would have none of it.
“Don’t you dare stop, little mouse,” he muttered in a strangled breath, permitting himself to place one hand on her curved waist so she was anchored in place.
“You’ve drawn blood on your very first attempt, and that should please you.
So, go on. Kiss me despite that. Because no matter what you may think, I shall enjoy it. ”
A tiny, distressed whimper escaped her, but she did as he ordered.
Slowly, carefully, she brushed her mouth over his, a shudder wracking her body as blood from the small cut on his lip stained hers.
The primal aspect of it all, the fact that she was kissing him with his blood smeared over her lips, filled Simon with something he’d never experienced before.
The possessiveness of the emotions, the wild, animalistic need to pull her beneath him so he could make her bleed in return, to claim her as his forever and ever, left him reeling as if he’d downed an entire bottle of whiskey in one go.
Dragging her mouth from his, she finally sat back, and Simon allowed it.
Wide, green eyes, sparked with tiny glints of gold, stared at him as her breath came in sharp pants.
She appeared both desperate to escape the moment and helplessly entranced by whatever devilry swirled between them.
Her lips were scarlet red now, his blood lightly smudging her cheek, and the sight of it turned Simon feral with desire.
But they had run out of time, lost in the sanctuary of the coach, and within the next few moments, the outside world would once again intrude.
Taking her chin in the palm of one hand, Simon pulled a monogrammed silk handkerchief from an inner pocket of his coat and gently wiped away the evidence of their kiss.
Penelope barely breathed while he did this, her body trembling against him, reminding him that when he finally claimed her virginity that evening, she would likely cry and plead with him to stop.
He would not listen, of course. After all, that pain she would surely experience was part of her punishment. And he intended to enjoy that suffering.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her gaze never leaving his. “Your handkerchief, it’s ruined.”
Simon’s grin was intentionally cruel as he tucked the bit of silk back into his pocket. “Do not fret, little wife. Your own blood will stain my bedsheets tonight, so I would say we are even.”