Chapter Nineteen
Penelope
The silence in the coach was stifling, but Penelope was grateful for it.
The sickness she usually suffered when riding in moving vehicles was oddly absent this early in the morning, but still, she knew she could not carry on a civil conversation with Simon in her current emotional state.
Staring out the window at the passing neighborhood streets, she swallowed back tears while ignoring how her heart felt as though it was exploding out of her chest.
She’d never held any illusions when it came to her marriage to Simon.
It was hardly a love match. Indeed, it was not even a union based on mutual affection.
It was little wonder that her new husband would chafe at the boundaries of matrimony and be resentful over the way it had come about.
She understood how trapped he felt. She had experienced the same for as long as she could remember.
Held hostage by her parents and expected to follow their demands, no matter the damage left in its wake.
Penelope folded her gloved hands in her lap. Simon’s entire demeanor was one of angry resentment, and she trembled at the thought he might direct that frustration toward her in a more physical manner.
Perhaps she was a bit too uncharitable. After all, he’d been as gentle with her as could be expected.
Even when causing her pain during intercourse, he’d tempered it with soothing caresses and tender care for her after the act.
He’d even restrained himself from taking her a third time, although Penelope was not sure why he did not follow through on those previous threats.
Remembering those moments when he’d surged between her thighs in undeniable conquest had Penelope shifting uncomfortably on the coach seat. She was sore in those intimate areas. However, the various twinges of pain hardly compared to the strange, unwelcome ache in her heart.
It appeared that a loveless marriage—a life in servitude to a cold, indifferent husband—was her lot.
And not for the first time, Penelope cursed the fact that her unexpected inheritance had arrived too late to be of any benefit.
With the power of a small fortune behind her, she would have held bargaining power.
She could have chosen her own husband or lived a spinster life if necessary.
She would not have been forced to hide from society and the cruelty of her own parents.
A small sigh escaped her. It was just after dawn, and the streets were coming alive with the pulse of London.
Hackney cabs, coal carts, and various vendors who plied their trades in this fashionable side of town populated the cobblestone roads.
On the pedestrian walkways, maids with their heads down scurried past on various errands for the many great households of Mayfair.
It felt strange to know that the world carried on as usual for others, but for her, it had been tossed completely upside down.
Simon had insisted that they return to Camden House first thing that morning, but he had not given a reason for the haste. Not that she expected an explanation. Undoubtedly, her husband would do many things that would go unexplained.
On the seat opposite her, Simon shifted his position, stretching his legs out so that his shins brushed her skirts.
“Penelope.”
Penelope startled at the sound of his voice. It was low and commanding, immediately pulling her attention to him.
Simon’s brow creased as he regarded her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Are you unwell?”
“No, my lord.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he removed his hat and laid it on the seat beside him. “As I suspected, a punishment will be necessary to make my point. Little mouse, what have I instructed you to call me?”
Penelope tangled her fingers together, heat rising inside her at the mention of punishment. She leaned back against the coach seat, meeting his gaze with as much bravado as she could muster. “My apologies…Simon.”
“Too late,” he replied softly. A calculating gleam lit up the dark blue of his eyes, then his lips curved upward. “When we arrive at Camden House, you shall go immediately to my study and wait for me to join you there.”
Penelope bit her bottom lip. “Yes, Simon.”
“There, you will kneel before the fireplace with your hands behind your back while you wait. Do you understand, wife?”
Something excruciatingly hot flooded Penelope, accompanied by a jolt of foreboding that left her breathless. She nodded, but it was not enough for her stern husband.
“I’ll hear the words from your own mouth that you understand me, Penelope.”
“I-I understand, Simon,” she said, her voice trembling. When he spoke in that precise manner, his tone rigid and calm, it sent shivers of dread tumbling through her. She couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t actually harm her while undertaking this unknown punishment. What would he do to her?
He will not truly harm me. I know this. I know he won’t. But still…just the thought that he could is frightening.
“Come here, Penelope.”
She considered refusing for a flash of a second before self-preservation reared its head. Disobeying him would only result in further punishments, of that she was sure, but a bit of rebellion was unfortunately necessary.
“I am unable to face backward in a moving coach,” she explained in a halting voice. “Doing so makes me ill…”
Before she could even finish speaking, Simon moved to sit beside her. Catching her chin in the palm of his hand, he turned her face to his.
“Remember our discussion before this marriage took place, Penelope, when I explained how our relationship would proceed. I command, and you obey. You either earn punishments or rewards, and your submission to me determines which one you receive. I will hurt you, but I will never harm you. And I realize you don’t understand what that means, but you will soon learn the difference.
” Sliding his hand to the nape of her neck, Simon pulled her closer and murmured against her lips, “You will enjoy all aspects of it, I promise you. Even the pain will leave you craving my touch.”
*
Soon, the coach pulled up to the front of Camden House, and the vehicle jostled a bit as the coachman secured the matched pair of bays.
Simon did not wait for the footmen, taking it upon himself to leap down onto the sidewalk once the automatic coach steps opened.
Reaching up into the coach, he offered Penelope his hand and helped her descend.
As the coach pulled away from the front of the townhouse, Simon tucked Penelope’s hand in the crook of his arm.
“Remember where you are to go once inside the house, Penelope,” he murmured in a low voice as they climbed the steps to the double front doors.
Glancing over his shoulder at something on the other side of the street, he nudged her forward as the butler swung the doors open.
“Good morning, Lord and Lady Camden,” the elderly man said with a wide smile.
“Good morning, Williams,” Simon replied, guiding Penelope to enter the house. “Please see that Her Ladyship is escorted to my study. She is to wait for me there, undisturbed, while I attend to a bit of business.”
He was already turning away and descending the steps as Williams bowed at the waist and motioned for Penelope to proceed into the grand foyer.
The doors closed behind them with a quiet snick, leaving her alone with the confused butler who helped divest her of the pelisse she wore, along with her hat and gloves.
“Milady? If you will follow me?”
Penelope squared her shoulders and followed the man down the center hall.
It was strange to think that in the month that had passed since her last day here, so much had changed.
She was the lady of this house now. And something caught fire inside her at that amazing reality.
Yes, she was essentially Simon Blackthorne’s property, but it was also true that she belonged here.
This beautiful, elegant home was hers. The title of Countess of Camden belonged to her and no one else.
Whether it was good or bad, Simon Alexander Blackthorne was hers as well. Hers. Her lord. Her master.
Her husband.
And because she wished to please him, Penelope did as he ordered. When the door to the study closed behind her, she immediately sank to her knees before the fire, her hands clasped behind her back as she waited for Simon’s arrival.
Her mind was a torrent of thoughts, working her nerves into a state of distress that required deep breaths to calm herself.
It was her own body that betrayed her, however.
It seemed the longer she knelt there, hostage to Simon’s dominance even when he was not physically present, the more unexpected heat pooled in the junction of her thighs.
Her skin prickled with awareness, hypersensitive to the warmth of the fire and the slide of her garments.
Closing her eyes, she tried ignoring the strange sensations overtaking her senses, but that method of avoidance was not working at all.
After what seemed an eternity, Simon finally walked through the study door, an irritated frown creasing his forehead.
Startled, Penelope jerked to attention, wondering if he would notice she’d slumped forward, tired of waiting in complete silence.
But Simon only cast her a cursory glance.
For some reason, he appeared disheveled; a somewhat mangled bouquet of flowers hung limp in one of his hands.
Penelope bowed her head at once, instinctively lowering her gaze to the intricate pattern on the rug cushioning her knees. What had occurred during the short time they were apart?
Letting out a muttered curse, Simon strode closer to where she knelt. She did not dare look up, choosing instead to focus on his boots and the scuff of dust and dirt marring their once-polished surface.