Chapter Eighteen
Simon
Despite his threats, Simon did not press himself upon his new wife a third time. Instead, after sharing their late supper and a bottle of wine, he called for a bath to be drawn for Penelope.
She was becoming more accustomed to being nude in his presence, her blushes not nearly as pronounced now.
When he swept a sponge over her body, she only tensed whenever it brushed across her nipples or when he brazenly reached between her thighs.
Turning her head during those moments, she avoided eye contact and stubbornly held her tongue.
Somehow, Simon managed to maintain his composure during this exercise of restraint. Gritting his teeth, he discreetly swiped away the beads of sweat dotting his brow every time her bare body flashed through breaks in the soapy water.
Stepping out of the bath with his help, Penelope shivered as he briskly wiped her down with a thick, soft towel. Blinking drowsily at him, she swayed with the motion of his actions, her hand gripping his shoulder for support when he bent down and dried her legs one by one.
Simon had deliberately allowed her to drink most of the wine during their mostly silent meal.
He reasoned that it would help ease any lingering pain she felt from their lovemaking.
That it also made her compliant was simply a bonus.
Not that his new wife was difficult to control.
No, on the contrary, she was almost perfectly submissive except for that tiny bit of rebellion he glimpsed in her every now and then.
He tucked her into the bed before calling up for the dishes to be cleared away and the bathwater emptied.
She huddled under the sheets while servants worked to prepare a fresh bath for himself.
Once they were alone again, Simon felt her gaze upon him as he eased into the steaming water.
She never looked away while he bathed. Knowing she was watching him had his cock as hard as stone, and he deliberately sank back against the edge of the tub, arms resting along the tub’s sides.
Dragging out the moments, he concentrated on tamping down the baser instinct demanding that he yank her back into the tub so he could fuck her hard and fast.
Tilting his head back, Simon stared at the ceiling as the water grew cooler and the minutes ticked away.
By the time he rose from the tub and dried himself off, Penelope had drifted asleep, one small hand curled beneath her chin, her brow slightly furrowed.
It was an unavoidable fact that Simon wanted her again, but as he slid into bed alongside her, he restrained those impulses.
Despite the underlying thread of steel in her body, Penelope was surprisingly fragile.
She was like a China doll that might fracture into pieces if handled too roughly.
Letting out a heavy sigh, he lay on his side, spooning her warm body.
Nuzzling into the sweet, curling mass of her burnished-chestnut hair as it spilled across the pillows, Simon reconsidered how he should handle her.
No good would come from breaking her too quickly.
He could afford to bide his time a little longer before introducing her to the depravities of his lifestyle.
There were so many things he wanted to show her.
So many experiences involving ropes and crops and the sweet sound of her begging for more.
While true that he greatly enjoyed teasing his partners with a bit of pain, it was more about pushing the woman to the extreme edge of desperation.
He liked hearing a woman cry—either because she wanted to come or because she did not think she could handle another orgasm.
Holding that power, either the granting of orgasms or their denial, was one of the most pleasurable aspects when it came to his dominant nature.
And he’d never encountered a woman who could resist his particular brand of sexual activity.
Indeed, he was highly sought after at the pleasure houses he had frequented over the years.
Letting out a groan of absolute frustration, Simon shifted his hardening cock away from the warmth of Penelope’s sweetly curved backside.
It would be a simple matter to slide between her legs and crush any objection she might have with a firm hand on her throat as he fucked her.
But then she sighed in her sleep, snuggling deeper into the circle of his arms and instinctively seeking the warmth of his body, and Simon’s heart melted a little.
Charmed by the innate trust she could not conceal while unconscious, Simon gritted his teeth and willed his erection to subside.
He held her gently as the fire in the hearth crackled and hissed.
When she stirred a bit, he soothed her with soft murmurs and a tender caressing motion of his hand over her side and down to the curved flare of her hip, steadying her against him until she settled once more.
Why he felt the need to comfort her, Simon could not say. This type of emotion was completely foreign and confusing as hell. He should not care if he hurt her. Should not care if she considered him to be nothing more than a monster. Penelope was his, and he could use her as he saw fit.
But still, something inside him pushed that cruel thought aside.
Rather than shoving his way into her body and drinking of her sweetness once more, he listened to her soft breathing.
He became entranced by the feel of her in his arms. Captivated by the way he could relax against her.
Everything about this girl felt…right. His arms tightened around her waist as he finally drifted off to sleep, but one thing continuously repeated itself in his mind.
She’s mine. All mine, and no one can change that now.
*
The following morning, Simon rose and dressed before Penelope woke. He was in the process of tying his cravat when he realized she had pushed herself upright, a handful of sheets clutched to her bare breasts. Appreciation for the sight she presented was evident in the warmth of his voice.
“Good morning, little mouse.” His mouth twitched with amusement when her eyes narrowed at the despised endearment he insisted upon using. “I’m glad to see you did not scurry away during the night this time.”
“I did not realize that was an option available to me,” she muttered, clutching the sheets even tighter while raking elegant fingers through her tangled mass of glossy, brown curls.
The ruby ring glinted from its place on her finger.
It appeared far too large on her delicate hand, and Simon frowned that he had not taken her fragile build into consideration when he commissioned the piece.
“You should know by now that I will tear any building apart to find you if you ever think to run.”
She cocked her head, considering his words as though they puzzled her. “I would think my absence would greatly please you.”
He gave her a small, slow smirk that had her squirming with awareness. “Not after the night we just spent together. Please realize my sincerity when I say you will never escape your new position as my wife. Until death we are bound. Do you understand?”
Penelope’s mouth tightened, but she obediently bowed her head. “Yes, my lord.”
“You may use my given name, Penelope.”
“As you wish.”
Simon was interrupted from responding by the arrival of Penelope’s maid, who had arrived to prepare her for travel.
A second maid followed behind her, pushing a cart containing a tray of tea and biscuits for Penelope and a pot of strong, black coffee for himself.
He bit back his irritation that the same maid who participated in the marriage-trapping scheme had retained her position.
Indeed, he still found it fantastical that sweet, shy Penelope had tricked him into negotiating the maid’s continued employment.
He sipped his coffee, impatiently tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair as Sally helped Penelope into a hunter-green traveling gown with a matching pelisse trimmed with velvet frogs.
The intricate embroidery on both garments spoke to immense wealth, although it was a subtle display of extravagance.
Every article of clothing in the trousseau he had paid for shared the same characteristics.
Expensive fabrics, expert construction, and exquisite details.
It was all intended to showcase the woman now known as the Countess of Camden.
To highlight her beauty and grace. But it was an unavoidable fact that Penelope could wear a flour sack, or even the meanest rags, and her innate beauty would still shine through.
His wife was absolutely stunning. Everything about her captivated him, especially her blushes.
The rosy shade spreading across her skin only made her more enticing.
He wanted to lick and bite every inch of her that turned that delectable shade of pink.
Even the way she winced in discomfort, no doubt feeling twinges of pain from their lovemaking, was entrancing.
“Is the gown not to your liking, my lord?” she asked quietly, casting a glance at him from beneath the sweep of her dark lashes as he stared at her.
“Why do you ask, mouse?”
Penelope smoothed a hand down the front of the pelisse. “You are frowning quite fiercely.”
Simon smoothed his features back into a mask of indifference. “The gown is more than acceptable. It suits you very well.”
A wistful smile lifted the corners of Penelope’s full mouth.
“Other than my wedding dress, it is one of the loveliest gowns I’ve ever owned.
” She fiddled with the matching gloves, her agitation easily recognizable.
“I never thanked you for the clothes. I’ve only seen a few of the finished pieces, but everything thus far has been wondrous. Thank you, my lord.”