Claiming Her Innocence (2 page)

“Come in,” she said, smoothing the gown of her dress as two women entered. The elder of the two immediately introduced herself as Mrs. Simms, the housekeeper.

“Lady Lennox,” she said kindly. “Welcome to Westcott Manor. I hope you are comfortable.”

“As much as can be expected,” Penelope said.

“I’m here at the behest of Lord Westcott,” Mrs. Simms continued. “He said you brought no maid with you from Lennox Hall?”

Penelope confirmed this was so. “There are those who have no food or clothing,” she said primly. “It seems an extravagance to have someone serve and dress me.”

“Well,” the older woman said. “While his lordship understands that you come from the convent, he has asked me to remind you that you are in his home now, and a lady in residence at Westcott Manor is required to have a maid.” Mrs. Simms moved aside and waved her hand toward a pretty, plump redhead. “This is Betsy. She will attend you from now on.”

“But I need no attending!” Penelope insisted. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes at the realization that yet another choice had been taken away from her.

“Beg pardon, Lady Lennox.” The older woman’s tone was kind but firm. “But it’s his lordship’s orders, not mine. He is the only one who can dismiss a maid from your service, and as he is requesting your presence in the study, you will be able to take up the matter with him. Until then, Betsy has been ordered to attend you.”

Penelope was speechless as Mrs. Simms left the room. After a moment she turned to the maid, who was staring at her with an almost curious expression.

“You may leave,” Penelope said.

“I cannot,” Betsy said.

“You can and you will.” Penelope wasn’t used to telling others what to do. Her voice quavered as she spoke. “I do not want you in my presence. Do you understand?”

The maid stood her ground. “Then begging my lady’s pardon, but you’ll have to tell his lordship that you sent me away. Because if I leave my post without permission, I’ll be the one to answer for it.”

“I’ll take responsibility for it,” Penelope said.

“May I at least help you dress to meet with Lord Westcott?” Betsy motioned toward the bureau. “Mrs. Simms said you’d likely want to change into one of your better dresses rather than the one you traveled here in.”

“I’m fine with what I’m wearing,” Penelope said. “I’m a pious woman, Betsy, not a vain one. Your master will learn that soon enough. If you’ll just tell me where to find the study, I’ll go take care of this matter now.”

The maid curtseyed. “Very good, your ladyship.”

Penelope felt a small sense of satisfaction. The maid’s departure signaled her first victory over her master’s unwanted plan to marry her. Surely, once Lord Westcott realized she had no desire to assimilate into his household, he’d release her back to the convent.

She’d been too nervous to absorb the splendor of Westcott Manor upon arriving. Now as she headed down the stairs, Penelope took the time to look at the beauty of the house that was intended to be her new home. Greenery and red velvet ribbons festooned the carved bannisters of the grand staircase, and outside the floor-to-ceiling windows she could see the sprawling grounds glittering under a blanket of freshly fallen snow. A grand chandelier in the foyer twinkled with candlelight. The smell of evergreen and cinnamon hung in the air. It was, she decided, beautiful, but not for a woman more content with a simple convent room with one small window overlooking the chapel below.

There were no windows on the long hallway leading to the study. Sconces lined the walls, illuminating works of art featuring hunt scenes, landscapes, and the occasional portrait.

The end of the hallway opened into the study, and it was here that Penelope got her first look at the man responsible for taking her away from the convent.

Her experience with men was limited to her father and the few priests who took her confession each Sunday. But she did not need a wealth of experience to know that Alton Westcott was exceptionally handsome, and a bit frightening.

He stood facing the door, as if expecting her. His height was imposing, and his tailored long coat, fine breeches, and boots accentuated a frame that was both fit and muscular. His hair was dark and he wore it longer than was fashionable. It curled where it touched his collar.

Just a hint of stubble darkened his sculpted jaw, and his lips were so full as to be beautiful on a man, although no smile played on them.

“Come in,” he said quietly, and at his first words, Penelope realized that she’d stopped in the doorway. Taking a deep breath, she moved forward and stopped a few feet from him. His gray eyes were arrogant, appraising, and under their gaze she felt less significant than a fly.

“You dismissed your maid,” he said. “And you are not dressed for dinner.”

“I did,” Penelope said with more boldness than she felt. “I come to you from the convent, sir. There we dressed ourselves, and did not glorify ourselves with finery.”

“You are no longer in the convent,” he said. “You are in my house, and here you will obey my rules.”

It was time, Penelope decided, to take a stand. She looked him square in the eye, remembering her vow to be brave.

“I have been forced to come here, Lord Westcott, and so I have. But my heart is in the convent,” she said. “And I will obey God’s rules, not yours.”

“Is that so?” He arched a brow. “I was under the impression that you were merely a student there. So you took vows to be a bride of Christ?”

She flushed. “No.”

“No,” he repeated. “So you are not a bride of Christ, but an unmarried woman. As such, to whom do you answer?”

She flushed deeper. Her answer, when it came, was barely audible. “My parents.”

“And what did they command you to do?”

She’d dropped her gaze at his question but forced herself to look at him now. Anger swelled in her breast. It was a new feeling, replacing the helplessness she’d felt. This man was using trickery to… to trap her.

“Come now,” he said. “Surely a girl educated in the convent remembers the fifth commandment.” He waited. “Answer me!” he ordered when she refused to reply.

“To come here and prepare for marriage,” she said. “But they are wrong. I should not be here, with you. I was not meant to be your wife.”

Now he fell silent. “I disagree,” he said. “I think you are perfect for me, Penelope Lennox.” He stepped closer to her, bridging the short distance. Lord Westcott was so close to her now that she could catch his manly scent of tobacco and leather. “You are a naïve, innocent girl in need of someone to guide her, and I am a man in need of a woman to shepherd and care for. You were raised in a convent, but nuns are not parents. You need proper guidance to set you on the right path. In short, you need the influence of a man willing to act as both husband and father.”

He turned away. “Now. You have been here less than a day and have already disobeyed me, but I am willing to give you a second chance. I have asked that your maid Betsy return to your chambers and wait for you. You will go back there now and allow your maid to change you from your traveling suit into a proper dress. Once that is done, I will come escort you for dinner.”

Her mother’s words came back to her. “
He is stern and exacting and seeks a sweet, compliant wife. You must give him the same sweet obedience you gave the nuns.
”

Penelope straightened her spine. “No.”

“What did you say?” Lord Westcott’s voice was low.

“I will not change for dinner, and I will not accept the services of a maid.” Penelope punctuated her statement with a petulant sniff.

“I see.” He regarded her for a moment.

“Tell me, Lady Penelope,” he finally said. “Were the nuns strict at the convent school?”

“Strict?”

“Did they ever physically correct the girls?”

Penelope flushed, recalling how Sister Agnes had caned Susan Pritchett in front of an assembly. It was rumored that Susan had been caught engaging in ‘impure behavior.’ Even now, Penelope could vividly remember the way the young woman’s white bottom had looked, framed by her simple dress as she leaned over the head nun’s desk. Penelope had never seen another woman so displayed before. It was a shocking sight, and as her companions nervously averted their eyes, Penelope found herself unable to look away from the plump mounds of flesh.

When the cane had fallen, Susan had squealed, one foot rising from the floor as a welt bloomed across the expanse of both cheeks. At a barked command from the nun, the penitent had lowered her foot and assumed a position with her legs slightly apart. A glimpse of blond fleece could be seen between the gap in the girl’s white thighs. Susan’s bottom had wobbled as she sobbed, and Penelope had gasped, not just at the luridness of it all, but at a sudden and unexpected twinge between her own thighs. It was not the first time she’d felt the twinge. During her latter years in the convent, the twinge had often come in the night, and developed into an ache she could not allow herself to satisfy. Even now, she remembered the feeling with acute shame.

“I asked you a question.” Lord Westcott’s firm tone brought her back to the present. “Were the girls punished at the convent?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“You witnessed this?”

She didn’t want to answer but found herself nodding. “Yes. My friend Susan was punished once before an assembly.”

“What did she do to deserve such a punishment?”

She was caught touching herself.
Penelope heard the words in her head, but couldn’t bring herself to say them. “She did something horrible.”

“Was punishment delivered on the bare?”

Again Penelope nodded, her flush deepening.

“What implement was used?”

She dropped her eyes. “The… the cane.”

“I see. Her bare bottom was smacked with a cane. Tell me, sweet Penelope, were you ever punished?”

“No.” Penelope locked eyes with Lord Westcott, jutting her chin out proudly. “I never did anything to warrant it.”

“Hmm.” He turned away and walked over to a stand by the door. Lifting a cane not unlike the one used at the convent school, Lord Westcott turned back, tapping it against his palm. “It’s regrettable that you’re choosing to deny me the obedience you afforded the nuns.” He continued to tap the cane against his hand as he spoke. “And let me be very clear. I also received an education where the cane was employed. In fact, as head boy, I learned to wield it quite well. Rest assured that should you defy me, I will not hesitate to correct you in a sterner manner than you ever witnessed during your convent education.” He lowered the cane now to the side of her thigh and slowly dragged it up to her hip. His gaze remained locked on hers. “And I, also, will punish on the bare.”

Penelope felt her throat tighten as her heart raced at his words. The shameful twinge she’d not experienced since Susan’s punishment returned, this time with a flush of arousal.

God forgive me.

“Now, my dear,” he said. “Do I need to bend you over the sofa, raise your skirts, and cane your bare bottom now? Or will you accept my generous offer of a lady’s maid, return to your quarters, and allow Betsy to help you dress for dinner?”

Penelope shifted, aware of the heat in her face and the dampness that had coated the panel of her pantalets.

“I’ll obey,” Penelope said, defeated.

“Good. I shall come fetch you to dinner at around six.” Alton Westcott smiled. It was a knowing smile, as if he also knew the secret beneath her skirts, as if he was aware of the shameful slickness between her legs.

Lust.
That had been Susan’s sin. The nuns had warned against it, warned against carnal feelings no good girl should ever have.

Her mind called out again in silent supplication
. God forgive me.

Chapter Three: Lord Westcott’s Plan

He had no doubt that she’d give in. Alton Westcott was a man who knew women, a man who could detect even the subtlest nuances of a woman’s mood. A change in complexion, a dilation of the pupils, a slight fluttering of the hands—these could indicate nervousness, or something else. Something the woman was trying to hide, or trying to deny.

He’d had chosen Penelope not in spite of her convent education, but because of it. When a young woman like Lady Penelope fought to stay in a cloistered, chaste environment, it often wasn’t because she was afraid of what lay beyond the walls, but rather of what lay within herself. The pious Lady Lennox had ingrained in Penelope a fear of the most natural thing in the world—the girl’s own sexuality.

For a man like Alton Westcott, claiming a woman’s virginity wasn’t about leaving the first mark on untouched flesh, but the joy of awakening a pure woman to her inner wanton, of seeing her make the transformation from a complete innocent to a sexual libertine who reveled in the power of her own body. It was about freeing her from the bonds of the crippling mindset too often foisted on women of his social class—a mindset that led to frigidity and broken hearts when the frustrated husband sought out more willing partners.

Lord Westcott had certainly enjoyed his share of women, and had a reputation to prove it. But despite his notoriety as a rake, for some time he’d been thinking on marriage. The only barrier had been his criteria for a wife. Alton had a certain type of woman in mind—an innocent ripe for the kind of training he had in mind, a sheltered virgin he could tease so expertly that she’d be begging for him to take her. And once she did, the experience would be so powerful for both of them that they’d be forever fixed as the other’s insatiable mate.

He knew that woman was Penelope Lennox. But the proper seduction took proper planning, and for Lord Westcott, that started with the selection of a lady’s maid.

Rake or no, Alton drew the line at bedding his own serving staff. But he was well aware of all who worked in his house, and when word reached him of a particularly lusty maid named Betsy, he knew she would be the perfect attendant to his betrothed.

Pulling his pocket watch from his vest, he looked down, wondering if Betsy would be on time for the meeting he’d planned to have with her before dinner. She was; the door opened as if on cue.