Claiming Her Innocence (3 page)

“Betsy,” he said.

“Your lordship.” The pretty maid dropped to a curtsey.

“Is Lady Penelope properly dressed now?”

“Yes, m’lord, and in the lovely dress you had fashioned for her.”

He smiled. “And was she amenable?”

Betsy paused, catching her plump lower lip in her teeth. “She let me dress her, but…”

“Go on.”

“She’s clearly not comfortable being naked in the presence of another.”

“Nothing like you, is she, Betsy?” Lord Westcott winked and Betsy blushed, but smiled in a manner that suggested she considered the observation a compliment.

“No, m’lord. She’s nothing like me.”

“Indeed, which is why I chose you for her maid.” He walked over and poured himself a drink. “Lady Penelope has spent her whole life surrounded by prim, stuffy minders. I wanted her to have a contemporary in her service, someone more… open-minded, if you will—a young woman with less reserve.” He paused. “In your professional estimation, what do you think it will take until she’s just like you?”

“May I be so bold as to laugh at this, m’lord?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t, Betsy.” He turned serious. “It is no laughing matter.”

Betsy dropped her gaze. “I can’t see her ever being like me, your lordship. She’s stiff, ashamed. She covers herself.”

“But you finally saw her naked, for she had to disrobe to change, right?”

Betsy nodded. “Yes, m’lord. Although she was very ill at ease.”

“And her body?”

The maid paused. “I like the men, m’lord. But if I also liked ladies, I’d like her. If I may be so bold.”

“In this case you may.” He cast her a wide smile, enjoying the maid’s candor. “Describe her for me.”

“Describe her?” Betsy asked.

“You question me, little maid?”

“No, m’lord.”

“Then proceed.”

Betsy cleared her throat.

“Her breasts are full, the peaks the color of wine. Her hair, unbound, comes down to the two dimples just above her bottom. It’s a full bottom, m’lord, full and high. Her belly is flat, her legs short but well-muscled for a lady. I see that often in ladies who ride… Do you want me to go on?”

Alton had settled into a chair to listen, and now smiled at the maid. “No, my dear girl. That is quite enough. You paint a most intriguing picture, and your attention to detail will be rewarded.”

The maid smiled at this.

“Tell me,” he continued. “Did you bring me what I asked?” He held out his hand. The maid reached into her apron and removed a carefully folded item that she now slipped into his hand. After placing the item into his own pocket, Alton gently chucked the little redhead under the chin and winked.

“And you remember that other little thing I asked you to do, at such time when your lady can observe you?”

She smiled slyly. “Yes, m’lord.”

“I’m pleased with you,” he said. “So pleased, in fact, that I’m going to give you the evening off.”

“The whole evening?” she asked. “To myself? Whatever will I do?”

“I’m sure a girl like you can find some amusements.” Lord Westcott led her to the door and opened it. Other servants were entering the room now, bearing platters of food. It was nearly time for dinner.

Having dismissed the maid, he headed upstairs, eager to see Penelope in the dress he’d ordered made to her specifications. He knew that even though she was from a good family, she’d likely never worn a dress made to accentuate her womanly charms, while also reminding her of her innocence.

When he rapped at her door and entered, he saw her standing before the looking glass, as if trying to acquaint herself with the vision she’d become.

Alton found himself equally entranced. He stood quietly, realizing she’d not even heard him enter. With her positioned in front of the mirror, he could see both her back and her front.

Penelope’s hair was long and loose, tied back with a childish bow. Short, capped sleeves of her gown were similar to those fashioned for younger girls, and there was a sash at the back. But the bodice was clearly designed with a woman’s body in mind. The mirror revealed creamy breasts that swelled just above the dress’ square neckline. Alton was pleased to see that the maid had not exaggerated; Penelope’s breasts were indeed firm. He imagined them uncovered, the wine-colored nipples dark against the white of her skin.

He stepped to the left and came into view in the mirror. At the sight of him, Penelope cried out and put a fluttering hand to her chest.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” Her tone was accusatory.

“I knocked, but you were lost in yourself.”

She looked down. “Vanity is a sin.”

Lord Westcott walked over and gently took her slim hands in his. “Yes,” he said. “But pride in the gifts you’ve been given is a way of honoring the one who gave them to you.” He paused. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Penelope. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“This dress…” She looked down at her cleavage and closed her eyes with a sigh before glancing up at him. “It shows too much.”

“Not to the man you will marry.” He took her arm in his and led her from the room. “Was Betsy of help to you? I instructed her to bathe and change you.”

“I’m not used to others seeing me naked. Her gaze is very direct.”

“She’s used to seeing those in her care in all states of undress,” he said. “Had you grown up in your home instead of a convent school, you’d have had a maid and none of this would seem unusual to you.”

“I don’t mean to be unappreciative…” she continued as Alton made note that this was the first sign of softening on her part. “But I do beg your indulgence since all of this seems to be such an extravagance. I’ve been taught that modesty, thrift, and chastity are the hallmarks of a good woman.”

They were going down the stairs now. At the bottom of the landing, he stopped. “They are the making of a good
nun,
Penelope,” he said. His eyes traveled from the crown of her head down to her shoes and then up again to linger on her breasts before rejoining hers in a smoldering gaze. “I have different plans for you.”

He gave her no time to respond as they continued on. By now the dining room had been readied for their private dinner. Alton knew to a young woman used to eating plain convent food, her first meal at Westcott Manor would likely seem decadent. But he wanted her to get used to decadence, to plenty. He wanted her to revel in the experience of tastes, textures, and pleasures. He believed food to be sensual, and employed the best cooks in the region. As he pulled out Penelope’s chair, he kept an eye on her expression and was not surprised to see apprehension, even now. It was as if she realized that the sumptuous spread before her was designed to erode the walls of her Spartan leanings.

There was a standing beef rib with Yorkshire pudding, glistening oysters on the half-shell, turtle soup, boiled potatoes with russet red skins slathered in butter and chives, two kinds of pudding, mince pies, and tea. Footmen stood to the side of the table ready to serve it all.

“Does dinner meet with your approval?” Alton asked when he’d seated himself across from her. He’d purposefully delayed the evening meal, knowing she’d be hungry.

“Looking at all that’s being served for two people, I can only think of how many poor mouths this would feed,” she said. “At the convent, we were taught to give.” But even as she spoke, her eyes fell hungrily on the fragrant meal.

“You think only those who do without are capable of giving? I am the greatest benefactor to the poor in the region; I simply don’t make a show of my piety as you’ve obviously been taught to do.”

When she lowered her head in shame, he continued. “As Lady Westcott, you will have more wealth at your charitable disposal. That should suit you, since you’ve been taught to give. In fact, I’m quite satisfied that’s a lesson you’ve learned well. But now I shall teach you how to take.” He paused, lifting his glass. “To take pleasure, specifically.”

The footmen had stepped forward now to heap their plates high with food. While Penelope sat patiently waiting for them to finish, Alton noted how her eyes gazed hungrily on the glistening beef and steaming pudding.

“I insist that you begin eating first,” he said, and leaned over to pick up her fork. Stabbing a piece of meat so tender it fell off the bone, he lifted the morsel to her lips. “Savor it,” he said as she obediently opened her mouth for the first bite. “Let the flavor of each dish wash over your tongue.” He leaned toward her. “When I am tasting something for the first time, this is my approach. I take my time, allow myself to relish the textures, the smells, the flavors. It enhances pleasure, my dear. And pleasure is a gift.”

The flush that came to her pale cheeks indicated that she knew he was talking about more than just the food. Lord Westcott smiled as he speared a potato, and she obediently opened her mouth for that as well.

Handing her the fork, he picked up his and popped a piece of the beef into his own mouth.

“Mmmm,” he said, looking right at her. She flushed.

Good.
He wanted her to ruminate on what was coming, to see his pleasurable devouring of the meal as an analogy for what he would soon do to her.

As he ate, he kept his eyes on her, noting how she squirmed occasionally, how the flush kept rising to her cheeks whenever he noted the tenderness of the beef, or remarked on the extraordinary sweetness of the pudding.

When a chocolate torte ringed with candied cherries was brought into the room, Alton was pleased to see Penelope’s eyes widen in an almost childlike glee. But then her expression changed and with a cry of distress, she rose from the chair and rushed to the door. He was on his feet in an instant, and before she could leave he had caught her gently by the arm.

When he turned her to him, he could see she was crying.

“Leave us,” he said to the footmen. The two men exited without a word, shutting the room’s heavy door behind them.

“Penelope,” he said. “Why are you crying?”

“Because less than a day here and I’m failing!”

“Failing? Failing who?”

She looked up at him, distraught. “Failing myself. Failing my teachers. Failing to keep my promise!”

“What promise?”

She sobbed harder. “To be good!”

“You are good,” he said.

“No!” She pushed him away almost violently as she pointed at the table. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You tempt me! You tempt me with your fine food.” She clutched her bodice. “You tempt me with your fine clothes. You tempt me with your… your words!”

“And you consider succumbing to this temptation a failure?”

“Yes!”

Alton put his hands on his hips and sighed, inwardly cursing the indoctrination that threw up a barrier of guilt between Penelope and the pleasure she should be feeling.

“Come here,” he said. He took her hand then and led her to a chair by the fire. Sitting down, he pulled her gently into his lap. She sat there, stiff and still, but did not try to get away.

“Did you see the sunset today?” he asked.

Penelope looked at him curiously and then nodded.

“So did I,” he said. “There is nothing like a winter sunset, my little dear. Two years ago, I commissioned an artist to paint me a picture of it. He failed to do it justice, so I commissioned another. He too, failed. And it occurred to me, my sweet Penelope, that there are some pleasures that man cannot duplicate, no matter how hard he tries. No work of art can come close to giving us the pleasure of a sunset created by God’s own hand. Would you agree?”

She nodded and gave a little smile.

“Well, given that, is it sinful to take pleasure in what must be the most decadent of pleasures—a sunset—that glorious, one-time work of art courtesy of the creator Himself?”

She’d stopped crying now, and was listening to his words. “No,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said. “God gives us the sunset as a feast for the eyes. That some are blind does not mean the rest of us should not enjoy it. God gave us rich food for the enjoyment of our palates. But would it not be a sin to let the berry wither and sour on the vine simply because not all can enjoy it?”

He paused. “Our bodies, too, were made to feel pleasure. The nuns at the convent will never know it. But is a nun better because she denies the feelings of her flesh? Is it not a sin to deny yours?”

The body that had started to relax on his lap tensed up again. “But I have no such desires,” she said.

“No?” Now Lord Westcott reached into his pocket to withdraw the pantalets that Betsy had given him earlier. “Recognize these?”

Her eyes widened. “My underthings!” Penelope’s tone was incredulous. “How did you get them?”

“I had your maid bring them to me earlier, so I could examine them. They were wet, sweet Penelope. And do you know why?”

“
No!
” She tried to get off his lap, but he held her fast as he continued to talk.

“Because that secret place between your legs—your pussy—longs for a touch just as your eyes long for a sunset and your mouth longs for a summer berry. It is natural, my sweet little love. It is natural and good, and to deny it is a sin.”

She grew still and looked at him, tears glistening on her lashes.

“You don’t understand. It’s not what I was taught,” she said. “I was taught that to even think on it is a sin. And to act on it is worse!”

“The girl you saw punished at the convent, you said she did something horrible, Penelope. What did she do?”

He felt her tremble. “She… oh… must I answer?”

“You must. And you must look at me when you answer.”

He could tell it took all her resolve to obey. When her response came, it was barely audible. “She was caught… touching herself.”

“Go on…”

“In the night. By Sister Agnes.”

“And punished?” he asked.

She nodded.

He caught her face in his hands. “Oh, Penelope. Don’t you see how cruel this is? To punish girls for feelings that God gave them? To make them deny the body’s cry for the most natural pairing in the world?”

Her breasts were heaving now, her eyes dilated. He thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. “I will free you from the bondage of these false teachings,” he said, and with that promise, Lord Alton Westcott pulled Penelope to him to taste her virgin lips for the first time. She resisted at first, but more from surprise than any real aversion. Had she genuinely fought him, he’d have stopped, but he could already feel her softening, feel her moan against his mouth as his tongue met hers, feel her body mold to his as her resistance melted away.