Chapter Eighteen #2
Simon set his coffee cup down and stood from the chair. With predatory intent, he stalked closer until he reached her. Without even sparing a glance at the maid, he snapped out a dismissal. “Leave us now and inform the butler that the coach should be brought round. We shall be down shortly.”
Sally squeaked out, “Yes, Your Lordship.” A moment later, she practically fled the suite of rooms, leaving Simon and Penelope alone once more.
Silence stretched between them until Penelope spoke.
“Are you angry with me, my lord?” The words came out in a breathy rush, but there was an underlying strength in her tone that caught Simon off guard.
Was his little wife losing her fear of him? He hoped not. It was the one thing he could use to control her. The fuel that drove his righteous anger at being forced into marriage.
“Continue refusing to use my name, and I could find myself becoming most irate,” he drawled.
Penelope startled, her gaze meeting his.
The green material of her clothing turned her eyes into the most alluring shade of dark emerald.
They were so deep, so alluring, it felt as if he could drown in them.
“I am sorry, my lord. It will take some time to accustom myself to obeying you in this. It seems so…intimate. Perhaps I should call you by your title instead?”
“My name, Penelope.” He moved closer, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her against his body. “You do want to please me, do you not?”
She hesitated, then nodded slowly, her eyes even wider. “Y-yes.”
“Then say my name,” he murmured in a dangerously low voice. “Or must I make you come again to get what I want?”
Penelope visibly shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Please, my lord…Simon…that will not be necessary.”
It was strange how his name rolling off her perfect, pouty mouth made him feel incredibly warm inside. He liked hearing it, even if she wasn’t calling it out in the throes of passion.
“What an obedient little wife you are,” he taunted just before claiming her mouth with brutal tenderness.
She tasted like the tea she’d recently sipped and the sweetness of the biscuits.
She did not fight him as he kissed her, but neither did she melt into his arms. It was more or less something she simply endured.
Simon was surprised by how much that bothered him.
He absolutely loved kissing this girl…despite everything else wrong with their situation… and he wanted her to enjoy it, too.
“When we are alone, you will use my name.” Kissing her deeper, he tugged her firmly against his body. “Now, kiss me back, Penelope. I command it of you.”
Her eyes flashed with shocking rebellion, but she obeyed.
Tentatively mimicking Simon’s actions, she innocently stroked his lust until he finally released her with a muttered curse.
There was the real possibility that failing to retain the smallest thread of control would mean tumbling Penelope back onto the bed and taking her again.
His hands clenched into fists as he fought down the urge.
What was it about her that obliterated his calm, collected control?
Penelope clutched the forgotten gloves to her chest, eyes wide with shock when he cursed again.
Simon ignored how his blood flowed like molten silver through his veins and turned away.
Snatching up a pair of black gloves, he flung open the bedroom door and stepped aside so that his infuriatingly tempting wife could exit the room ahead of him.
“It is time that we are on our way, Countess. I am eager to return to Camden House, and I imagine you are as well.”
It was the first time he’d used her new title, and Simon knew she was unsure how to react to the display of respect. Teeth tugging on her bottom lip, Penelope’s gaze traveled over his features.
“Your parents have been exceedingly kind during my stay here, but I do admit I look forward to a bit of peace,” Penelope admitted quietly as she donned the gloves and picked up the bonnet that went with the gown.
She quickly placed it on her head, tying the ribbons beneath her chin as she moved past him.
“Some time spent alone with my own company will be heavenly.”
A sound of disgruntled annoyance escaped Simon. “Do you honestly think you may retreat from society now that I’ve made you my wife?” He watched as she swayed down the corridor ahead of him.
Glancing at him from over her shoulder, she replied, “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that we will surely be inundated with invitations and expectations to attend a variety of social events. While I shall naturally escort you to certain gatherings, you will be responsible for the majority of these matters. It’s expected of a countess with your social standing.”
Penelope stopped and whirled to face him, panic darkening her eyes. “I-I must do this alone?”
Simon scowled, gripping her by the elbow and continuing to stalk down the corridor. “You shall not be alone, not really. You will have my mother, my sister, and Ashcroft’s wife, Charlotte, to accompany you to most events.”
“I hoped for a reprieve,” she said in a sad, little voice, her pace quickening to almost a trot so that she could keep up with Simon’s longer stride.
“I warned you at the beginning of all this that we would remain in London following the wedding. I see little sense in taking a honeymoon in our situation.”
“Of course, Simon. I understand…I do.”
The trembling dismay in her tone told Simon she was holding back her disappointment at her new reality. She said nothing more as they settled into the coach which would take them from Blackthorne Manor on the edge of Mayfair to the Curzon Street townhome.
Simon had no doubt his disappointed bride would be even more upset if she knew that while he would not capitulate to squiring her around London as her gentleman escort, he had every intention of having her warm his bed every evening.
His fists clenched tight with resolute determination.
Penelope would act the proper countess in public and be his pretty little toy in the privacy of his bedchamber. It was the only aspect of this damnable marriage that made it worthwhile.