Chapter Fifteen
Penelope
Penelope closed her eyes as Charlotte unfastened the buttons on the back of the wedding dress and Emily carefully removed the filmy veil flowing over her shoulders.
She was exhausted by the day’s events, and now that the hour she’d been dreading had arrived, it would take very little for her to collapse in a heap at Simon’s booted feet.
“I know you are frightened by what is to come, Pen, but Simon will try his best not to hurt you,” Emily whispered softly, taking Penelope’s cold hands within her own. “You must trust him to take care of you.”
Penelope’s eyes snapped open at that. “Yes, I’m sure the earl will show every kindness to the woman who forced him into marriage.”
Charlotte gave Emily a distressed look before pulling Penelope away from the other girl.
“He will not be unkind,” she asserted in a firm voice.
“But he will be demanding, and that is something totally different. Remember our conversation from a few days ago. Our men are different sorts of creatures from how I imagine other men are with their wives. Please him, and he will worship you.”
Those words weighed heavily on Penelope as the two girls finished helping her undress, only to have them throw a nightgown over her head.
It was so sheer that it was laughable to call it an actual garment.
The soft muslin fabric billowed around her body, the sides held together by simple pale-blue ribbons that matched the pair on each shoulder.
If one of those ribbons should come untied, the entire gown would fall to the floor.
“I do not remember selecting this at the dressmaker’s.” Penelope huddled into the gown, her shoulders rounding in an attempt to conceal her bosom. Embarrassment colored her flesh pink. “I would never have selected something so scandalous.”
Emily smothered a giggle before giving Penelope an apologetic smile. “Simon did have final say over your trousseau. I suppose he is to blame.”
Penelope glared at her friend as she snatched up the matching robe lying across the arm of the chaise lounge. She shoved her arms into its sleeves, her movements quick and jerky with her distress. “It’s indecent. And I don’t know how I shall face your brother wearing it.”
“He will expect you to be wearing this when he arrives,” Charlotte said, a gentle tone of warning lacing her words. “Of course, you can choose another gown, but that bit of rebellion will surely gain you a punishment.”
Penelope’s lips pressed together tightly at the mention of punishment.
Her new husband had already warned her she should expect such things, but it did seem foolish to provoke him over something so trivial as a nightgown.
“I would not dream of disappointing him,” she muttered.
“Not when he is already vexed to be a husband.”
That statement was tactfully ignored as Charlotte arranged Penelope’s long, chestnut curls in soft waves over her shoulders.
“You look stunning, Penelope. And your husband will quickly realize how fortunate he is to have gained you as a wife.” A rueful smile curved Charlotte’s lips, and she motioned at Emily.
“I wish we could stay longer, but Lord Camden will arrive any moment, and it’s probably best that we are gone. ”
After one last embrace, the two women slipped out of the room, leaving Penelope standing alone with clammy hands and a hammering heartbeat.
The room was so quiet now that it was not filled with the chatter of her friends.
Glancing about the vast space, she took in the heavy woodwork, the intricately detailed moldings, and the dark bulk of the furniture.
Dominating the bedroom was the massive four-poster bed, which occupied one wall.
It faced a bank of windows, and the matching draperies complemented the beautiful coverlet of deep scarlet and black.
Sheer window treatments beyond the drapes allowed filtered sunlight to illuminate the room, but still, it was an overtly masculine room, which was not surprising since it had always belonged to Simon.
Even though he’d recently moved into the Curzon Street townhouse, he had apparently decided to keep a room ready at his parents’ estate.
Which will one day become his estate.
Penelope’s heart thumped painfully at the reminder.
Simon was already a powerful earl, and the future would see that power grow and expand.
It was a dizzying thought that she would share in that.
As a countess, she would have opportunities and a freedom she never could have imagined, even with the unexpected windfall of her inheritance at her disposal.
She fell so deep into her thoughts that Penelope did not hear the quiet snick of the door opening. Only when the decisive click of the lock tumbled into place did she realize Simon had entered the room.
He leaned against the door, his arms crossed casually over his broad chest, his handsome features blank as he contemplated her in silence. Dark eyes roamed her body, and the only indication he found the sight before him pleasing was the enigmatic spark that lit the velvety-blue depths.
Penelope’s first instinct was to duck her head. To hide from the intense scrutiny he subjected her to. But something strangely foreign reared inside her in rebellion. With a courage she never suspected she possessed, Penelope tilted her chin high and matched his stare with her own.
That burst of bravery made Simon’s firm mouth curve into a smirk of utter delight. He obviously found her amusing, and that irked Penelope.
“Has my little mouse found her backbone?” he murmured, pushing off from the door with the languid grace of a tiger.
Advancing upon her, he shed his coat as he stalked closer, tossing it into a nearby chair before reaching for the cravat around his neck.
Rather than discard it, he wound the fabric around his hand, allowing the ends to flutter free.
Penelope swallowed hard as the irrational lump of fear in her throat erased the threads of bravery swirling around her.
Every bit of food that she’d nibbled on at the wedding breakfast now threatened to make an appearance.
She swallowed again, hoping it would calm the topsy-turvy state of her stomach when Simon halted before her.
Taking a lock of her hair between his fingers, he rubbed the silky strands as he stared at her. Penelope shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
“Rule number one, little mouse. When I ask you a question, you will answer.” His smile deepened as Penelope’s eyes dropped from his.
“I don’t know how to answer you, my lord,” she said quietly. “I’m neither mouse nor, apparently, do I possess a backbone. If I did, I would not be trapped in this current situation.”
Silently, she groaned, lamenting her choice of words. Reminding this man of any hint of entrapment was dangerous.
Simon’s dark-blue eyes glittered with annoyance, his fingers tightening on her hair. “Then let me clarify. Do you think to challenge my authority over you?”
“That would be the height of foolishness, my lord.” Penelope somehow controlled the quaking of her limbs as Simon abruptly released her hair.
As she stood waiting for what he might do next, Simon began circling her as a predator would a small doe.
The heat and weight of his perusal raised goosebumps on her skin, and she did not dare move a muscle.
“Do you think I meant for you to wear this robe in my presence?” The words were a whisper across the nape of her neck. A second later, his fingers slid under the robe’s material, easing it down her arms until it pooled into a small heap at her feet. “There…that’s much better.”
His hands traveled up her arms, gliding over her bare skin until he reached her shoulders. Hard fingers gripped her flesh, and she choked on a whimper when he bent forward so that his mouth hovered beside her ear.
“Rule number two. You will not conceal your body from me. It belongs to me now.” One large hand moved to her throat, his palm resting over the hollow of her neck.
Slowly, he slid it up until his thumb pressed against the underside of her chin.
Applying a little pressure, he forcibly tilted her head back until she was staring at the coffered ceiling rather than the polished wood floor.
“Every breath in your lungs is mine. Your heartbeat? Mine. Your blood? Mine. Every inch of you is mine to command. To destroy. To ruin. To pleasure.” His mouth trailed down the column of her neck, from her ear down to the curve of her shoulder.
Raking his teeth over the tender spot there, he murmured, “How soft you are, wife. So soft and so damned sweet.”
She did not realize his free hand had plucked at the ribbons on her shoulders until the cool air of the room drifted over her exposed nipples.
The nightgown slid down her body as she gasped in shock, her hands automatically gripping the material to keep it in place.
But with one swift move, Simon captured her wrists, pinning them in the small of her back and forcing her spine to bow.
The position caused her breasts to jut forward obscenely, and Penelope could feel her skin turning red with mortification.
Her state of embarrassment did not bother Simon in the least. A growl of approval rumbled in his chest with such fervor that it seemed to melt into her very bones.
Releasing the grip of her throat, his hand next slid over the curve of her buttocks.
As she choked back a sob, he examined the twin swells of her arse with exacting care.
Tracing the indentation of her waist. The hollow of her lower back.
The line of her hips. Everywhere his fingers traveled sent shockwaves through Penelope, jolting her until she quivered with a confusing desire.
What is happening to me? How can my body find even an ounce of enjoyment in this?
“Beautiful.” Simon pressed more hot, open-mouth kisses to the sides of her neck and across her shoulders while keeping her hands hostage in an iron-like grip. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, little mouse. Hearing your cries of pleasure. And pain.”
From somewhere deep inside her, the words bubbled forth in a panicked stream. “Please, do not hurt me, my lord. I will do as you command, I swear it.”
Simon froze for the space of a heartbeat, then a wicked chuckle feathered across Penelope’s burning skin. “You’ve much to learn, wife. And your education begins now.”
He abruptly released her hands and stepped away from her body.
When she dared turn and look at him, Simon was pulling his shirt over his head, exposing the broad expanse of his chest. It was lightly sprinkled with dark, coarse hair, and as she remembered from that stormy night when she watched from the shadows of his bedchamber, the same dark hair created a narrow trail down to the top of his pants and beyond.
Crossing her arms over her chest to hide her nakedness, Penelope sucked in a breath at the remembrance of his large hands stroking his own cock.
How large and thick his member had been.
Her eyes snapped shut as she focused on erasing those scandalous images from her brain while shifting her legs to ease the ache that now seeped between her clenched thighs.
“Get on the bed, wife.”
Penelope did not move. The harsh order seemed to have paralyzed her ability to respond. She simply could not force her limbs to obey. Her head was swimming with apprehension. With fear. With dread of the unknown.
“Climb up onto the bed, Penelope. Or I shall place you there myself.”