Claiming Her Innocence (6 page)

“Can I really live as both?”

“Will it displease you so much?”

She shook her head. “No,” she replied, thinking that while the spankings hurt, the aftermath left her feeling very cherished and cared for.

“I am pleased to hear you say that,” he said. “For it is my highest calling to guide and love you.” He smiled. “I’ve business to see to, my dear. Until tomorrow.”

Chapter Six: The Rival’s Barb

For the most part, Alton Westcott was a private man. But as news of his impending marriage spread, so did the rumors. Little was known of his betrothed, and tongues were wagging over news that the region’s richest man had chosen a cloistered young woman for his bride. Everyone wondered if there was more to the story of the hastily arranged nuptials. Had the rakish lord encountered her after she’d returned? Was the speedy union the product of a dalliance that had gotten her with child? To spare Penelope the embarrassment of being wed amid gossip, Alton decided that Westcott Manor’s annual Christmas ball would also serve as Penelope’s introduction to society.

For Penelope, the grand event marked another step in her evolution from sheltered ward to wife. The ball was a spectacular affair, and as the day approached, the house was increasingly gilded with evergreen, candles, and sprigs of mistletoe.

Dressmakers descended to measure and fuss over Penelope, who was getting quite used to even strangers seeing her in her underthings.

To ease her nervousness over the occasion, Lord Westcott had taken to fetching her each day for walks around the lake or rides around the estate in the carriage or—when snow was heavier—the sleigh. It was a special time for Penelope, who realized that her future husband was as intent on courting her as he was seducing her.

“You’re too kind, really,” Penelope had said a day before the ball when Alton handed her a brightly wrapped present. It was the third of several he’d given her—small tokens, he said, of his affection. They were sitting in the sleigh under a fir, its branches heavy with snow.

“My dear, I’ve not begun to spoil you yet.”

Penelope smiled as she opened the box to reveal an array of her favorite candies, Turkish delight. Picking one up, she popped it in her mouth. Remembering Alton’s advice to savor every sweet thing, she allowed the flavor to coat her tongue and closed her eyes in pleasure as she swallowed. At that moment, a cool breeze ruffled the branches, sending a shower of sparkling snow down on the couple. Penelope could not help but laugh.

“You’re so beautiful,” Alton said. “And look, you’ve a bit of snow on your lips. Or is that candied sugar? There’s only one way to find out.”

His mouth had captured hers then, and she did not resist, but melted into him. She’d become more comfortable with kisses, both giving and receiving. But now Lord Westcott was putting his hands on her in a way that was new and different, bringing them up the waist he usually clasped to rest on her breasts, hidden by her cloak.

“My lord… the driver…” Penelope breathed.

“…has been trained to mind his own business,” Alton whispered in her ear, and she knew she could not stop him if she wanted to, not because he would force the issue but because she lacked the will. Already her breasts had grown firm under his hands, the nipples tightly furled into hard, painful peaks that pressed against the fabric of her gown. He’d told her the day before that he could not wait to taste them, and the thought of his hot breath, his tongue on those sensitive nubs of flesh was again causing her pussy to slicken and throb. She shifted in her seat, pressing her thighs together under the lap blanket as Alton’s hands massaged her breasts.

It left her wanting more, and she wanted to tell him so. But part of her still worried that he’d consider her improper if she gave voice to her desires. So when his hands moved from under her cloak and his arm went around her shoulders, she nestled into him and tried to ignore the tight ache in her nipples and pussy.

That she felt herself craving Lord Westcott’s touch was a pleasant development made sweeter by the fact that she’d grown so fond of him in such a short time. He could be instantly strict; he’d proven as much during the doctor’s visit. But once punishment was over, he was sweet and solicitous. Since her spanking, he’d been generous with his time and attention, and indulgent with little gifts.

The biggest gift, however, he reserved for the night of the ball. When Penelope saw the gown he had made for her, any apprehension she had over being presented that evening melted away. She’d worried that it would be another childish frock, but on this night she would not just look like a lady, but the most beautiful one to ever grace Westcott Manor.

She was indeed a vision in the dress. Fashioned from the finest pale pink satin, the gown featured a perfectly fitted bodice with a fashionably low neckline designed to accentuate her perfect breasts. The skirt was bejeweled with hundreds of tiny crystals that caught the light whenever she moved. Her hair, styled in an elegant chignon, was adorned with jeweled pins.

The appreciation in Lord Westcott’s eyes when he finally saw her made Penelope flush with happiness. His gaze made her feel proud, and she enjoyed that feeling without guilt. He’d chosen her, and with each passing day at Westcott Manor, she felt a growing peace that this was where she should be. Now, as she descended the grand staircase on his arm, Penelope gave a silent prayer of thanks for the moment.

He’d taught her to dance in the days leading up to the ball. Now she found herself smiling up at him as he led her in the first dance of the evening. Admiring eyes followed their every step. But so did envious ones, for despite Alton Westcott’s reputation, more than one woman had hoped to be in Penelope’s place.

The gentlemen in attendance were no doubt as envious, for as soon as the first dance ended, every man in the room sought a chance to dance with the perfect rose Lord Westcott had plucked from behind convent walls.

Penelope was a gracious partner, but after each polite dance with a stranger, her eyes sought out her true partner. When she saw him dancing with a tall blond woman who was whispering something in his ear, she felt a twinge of jealousy and chided herself for it. She was relieved when the two parted ways, although she noted how the woman held his hands for a moment before letting go, and whatever she said to him made him smile before turning away.

After that, she lost sight of Lord Westcott entirely. Even in a house as large as Westcott Manor, the Christmas ball meant a packed room. Eschewing a glass of champagne offered by a servant, the diminutive Penelope instead chose to navigate the crowd, standing on her tiptoes from time to time as she struggled to see over the shoulders of those blocking her path.

“Looking for someone?” A silky voice got her attention and Penelope turned to find herself face to face with the blond woman she’d seen dancing with Alton. For a moment she was speechless. The woman was even lovelier up close, with flawless skin, full lips, and ice blue eyes several shades lighter than her sapphire gown.

“I… I was looking for…”

“Alton?” The woman used his name casually, and arched an elegant eyebrow before scanning the room. “I believe I saw him over there.” She pointed to a nearby hallway and took Penelope by the elbow, leading the way. Penelope suddenly felt inadequate next to this imperious woman leading her as an adult would lead a child.

But the hallway was quiet and empty when they arrived. The woman looked around as if surprised. “My goodness,” she said. “I could have sworn he was here. I guess I was wrong.” She fell silent then, her cold eyes sweeping Penelope from head to toe. “So you’re the one—the future Lady Westcott.”

“I’m Penelope Lennox,” Penelope replied. “And yes, Lord Westcott and I are to be married in two days’ time.”

The tall woman smirked. “Well, I’m Lady Caroline Whitfield. And let me give you some advice, little Lady Lennox. You’re about to tread into the mouth of a lion. That man who woos and coddles you now? That’s how it starts. But once he has you, you’ll find the gentleman of the manor is a beast in the bedroom. I should know. I was his lover under duress for years, until I became strong enough to escape.” She closed her eyes and sighed, her voice quavering as she continued. “Oh, the things he made me do. I wasn’t a sheltered virgin like you when I came to his bed; I was a widow. I thought I could handle him. I was wrong.”

Penelope began to back away. “Why are you telling me this? I don’t want to hear this.”

Lady Whitfield reached out, grasping Penelope tightly, turning her suddenly until the smaller woman’s back was against the wall. Her tone was low and earnest as she continued.

“Because you need to hear this, you innocent little fool. I wasn’t so unlike you. I thought I would enjoy relations with him. He’d prepared me so carefully for them, so masterfully. But he’s relentless—feral, even. He used me in ways no man uses a decent woman. The good feeling you have between your legs when he whispers in your ear? He’ll satisfy that. But it won’t be enough, not for a man like Alton Westcott.” Her fingers dug into Penelope’s arm now. “No. He’ll push his cock into your mouth until you gag, thrust it into your bottom hole after he’s tied you up and whipped you red and raw. Night after night he’ll use you—
defile
you—until you’re too ashamed to look into the mirror come morning.”

Penelope felt tears spring to her eyes. “Stop…”

“Why? So I can live with the guilt of not saving an innocent from the daily shame I feel?” She let go of Penelope, raising herself to full height. “Look at me, Lady Lennox.”

When Penelope obeyed, she blanched. The look on Lady Whitfield’s face was a familiar one; it was the same harsh look she’d seen on the face of Sister Agnes.

“He’s making sport of you and everyone knows it! They’re all laughing at you, dear. They
know
! We
all
know! Don’t let him turn you into his whore, Lady Lennox. Save yourself. There’s still time. Stay strong. Leave.” She turned away, looking back over her shoulder for one parting shot. “Stop deceiving yourself. You don’t belong here.”

Penelope felt as if the room were spinning. Reaching behind her, she placed her hand against the wall as she pressed the other against a bodice that suddenly seemed too tight.

The festive surroundings and merry crowd that had brought her such joy only moments before now seemed to be mocking her.

“Lady Lennox, there you are.” A footman approached. “Lord Westcott is trying to find you. He requests your company.”

“I’m sorry.” She lifted her skirts and moved away. “Please tell him I’m retiring for the evening.”

Penelope had to restrain herself from fleeing the room. She could still feel admiring eyes on her, but now she perceived laughter in them. Was she really the only one in the room who did not know the nature of this man? As she exited the room, the strangled sob she’d been holding in burst from her as she made for the stairs. What a fool she had been, allowing herself to be lured with comfort, finery, and—yes—her own weakness. She’d allowed honeyed words to lure her away from the truth Lady Whitfield had spoken. She did not belong here!

In her room, she rushed to the little statue of Virgin Mary. It was cold where it sat against the pane of glass in the frosty window, so cold that the chill of it hurt Penelope’s lips when she put them to the shrouded head of the figurine.

“Forgive me, Mother Mary,” she said, and then turned to fumble through her dressing table for her rosary. Her hands were shaking as she dropped to her knees, clasping the beads tight against her folded hands.

When the door opened a moment later, she startled, but it was just the maid.

“Your ladyship,” Betsy said, walking over. “I was sent to…” She peered down at Penelope. “You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

Penelope shook her head. “I can’t say. I just need to be alone.”

“I can’t just leave you alone. I’m your maid. And besides, I’ve been sent to find out where you are. His lordship’s in a state over your absence.”

Penelope stood, hugging the statue and rosary to her chest. “Please! Just leave me alone!”

Betsy quietly regarded her mistress, concern on her face. “Please tell me what’s wrong, your ladyship.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Penelope said resentfully. “You’re as much a part of it as the rest of them.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“I’ve been warned,” she cried. “Downstairs. I’ve been told the true nature of the man I am to marry, and what he has in store for me. I’m nothing more than a foil for his appetites, a lamb skipping down the path to her own demise! He intends to ruin me! Isn’t that the truth?”

But the maid shook her head. “No. Even I thought that once, but I’ve seen how he looks at you, m’lady. No man looks at a woman like that unless he loves and respects her.”

“Or unless he’s a cunning predator who only shows his true nature once his victim is trapped entirely.” Penelope walked over to the wardrobe, threw it open, and began pulling out her things.

“What are you doing?” Betsy asked.

“What does it look like? I’m leaving! I need you to help me out of my gown. I can get into my traveling clothes on my own. I’m going back to the convent.”

Betsy reached out and took hold of her mistress’ arm. “You’re leaving? Just like that because of some bit of slander? Who would say such a thing?”

“Lady Caroline Whitfield,” Penelope said miserably.

“Lady Whitfield?” Betsy took hold of Penelope’s upper arms. “That was the woman I was telling you about, the one his lordship stopped seeing. You’re taking the bitter words of a former lover over the character of the man who wants to marry you?”

Penelope flushed, defensive now, and angry. “I’ll thank you not to question me,” she snapped, pulling away. “Remember who is the maid and who is the lady.”

“Perhaps it is not Betsy who needs to be reminded who is in authority here.”

Both suddenly turned to see Lord Westcott standing in the doorway. How long he’d been there neither could say, but his expression was grim as he approached Penelope. “As I recall, not so long ago you thought yourself beneath the need for your maid’s services. Now you use your station to dismiss her wise counsel. And it is indeed wise, for she is entirely correct. Lady Whitfield’s words are bitter lies. And you should be ashamed for believing her.”