The Bargain Bride (23 page)

Then she heard the carriage. She checked the clock. Forty-five minutes. Was that all? He must have rushed, whatever his business was, proving his hurry to get back to her. Penny tore off the virgin's vestment and donned the soiled dove's. She blew out all but one candle.

West's hands were so full, he could only kick at the door for her to open it.

“Who is there?”

She heard a muffled curse that brought a smile to her lips. “Who the devil do you think is at your—”

She had it open before he finished the sentence. He looked at her smile; then he looked at her near nakedness. He shoved a huge bouquet of flowers at her, enough to make a bower of her bedroom. Then he pushed a sack of scented candles and oils into her hand and started to dash for the connecting door to his room. “I need to shave again. Five minutes. Four.”

Penny set down the flowers and the sack and grabbed his sleeve as he raced past. “You are fine.” She reached one hand out to caress his cheek and jaw.

He took her hand and turned it so he could kiss her palm. “No, I am not fine.” He was out of breath, and nearly out of his skin at her tender touch. The sight of her wearing that bit of silk and a smile of welcome stole his soul. He needed those four minutes to get ready, to get control, to make sure he did not embarrass himself or frighten his innocent bride.

“Three minutes.”

“Don't go.”

Ah, the sweetest words a man could hear. West couldn't leave now, not even if he still wanted to. His entire body was straining toward her, sure to disobey any command his mind might give. What mind? What matter?

He gave up and took her into his arms, took her lips, took his pleasure in feeling her pressed against his chest, his stomach, his thighs. “My God, you are so beautiful,” he murmured, his hands on her soft posterior pulling her closer yet against his hard warrior. He whispered of wanting, between kisses that were of searing intensity, of tongues and teeth and throbbing music.

“Music?” Penny pulled out of his arms and stepped toward the window. She pulled back the draperies and looked down. Three Gypsy fiddlers looked up and waved between bars. Penny recalled her state of undress and hastily let the curtains fall.

“What are they doing there?”

West grinned. “Why, they are serenading you, of course. The singer will arrive as soon as he finishes his piece at Lady Bannamere's Gypsy masquerade ball. I managed to spirit these chaps away while they were on a break. I left her the orchestra, so you need not worry about her party.”

“They are playing so loudly they are going to wake Grandpapa.”

“I told them to.” He went to the window and made clapping motions.

They played louder.

“They'll wake the whole neighborhood!”

“Ah, but there will be no bedroom noises to upset you.”

She waved her hand at the musicians, the flowers, the candles he had lit. “You did all this for me?”

“Hell, no, woman,” he said, both of them ripping at his clothes, then hers. “I did it for me.”

But he did a lot for her, first. He showed her that rising rapture again, with his kisses and his hands and his knowing fingers that understood exactly where she was most sensitive. When she thought she could not stand any more, when her cries almost drowned out the musicians, then he gave her that shattering release. Finally, when her body was still pulsing, he rose on his arms over her, poised to take his own pleasure, and add to hers.

Except she was a virgin.

“This might hurt, sweetings. I am sorry.”

Penny was sorry, too, to lose that afterglow of passion, that drifting, floating feeling of satiety and splendor. Fear took over, but she would not let him see it, or disappoint him again. “Do not worry. I'll just close my eyes and recite a hymn.”

West gripped her chin and turned her face up. “No. Look at me, Penny. Think of me, of the feelings you just had, of how much I need you, of how much I want you to enjoy every minute of our lovemaking. You will, I swear, after this first time.”

“Do you promise?”

He'd promise to hire the man in the moon to play the mandolin next time, if he could get through this time, and soon. “I promise.”

He groaned when he felt the hot, moist tightness start to surround him. “Oh, Lord, I don't think I can stand this.”

“I thought it was supposed to hurt me, not you.”

“It is killing me, sweetings, inch by slow inch.”

Now Penny did feel uncomfortably stretched. She squirmed, wanting the other feelings back, the soul-stealing, senses-stirring storm of pleasure, not this almost painful intrusion.

He groaned again. “Lud, don't do that, Penny, or I cannot hold back.”

“But you were right, it hurts.”

He groaned louder, glad of the musicians or he'd howl the household down, or up. “Do you want me to stop? I am sorry to cause you pain, but I will be sorrier if you tell me to stop. I'll shoot myself afterward, but I will stop, if I can.” His arms and elbows were quivering, his breaths coming in gasps, his voice pleading.

For answer, Penny raised her hips to meet him, enfolding him, encompassing him, encouraging him—and enjoying him, especially when he reached a hand between them, touching her again, loving her, giving to her, not just taking.

Oh my. Penny sighed in happiness. West immediately rolled off her. She sighed again, this time feeling the loss of separation.

He kissed her and pulled her into his arms and apologized, all at once. “Thank you, my dear. Next time I'll do better.”

If there was better than this, Penny thought she would expire from the experience. Dying would be worth it. “When?”

West pulled the sheet over his lower half when she looked down in curiosity at his now pathetic, puny, but deliriously happy privates. “You'll be sore tomorrow.”

She shrugged, moving her breasts against him. “If I am already going to be sore, I might as well see what I have been missing.” She raised the sheet again. “Or do men get sore, too, from making love?”

“More so from not making love.”

Her forehead puckered in thought. “Shall I kiss it and make it better?”

She did, and he was a lot better, a lot faster than he thought possible.

“Where the hell did you learn that?”

Penny grinned. “You see the advantages of having a broad education and an eclectic library?”

“I see the advantage of having you as my wife.” He was feathering kisses across her cheeks, her eyebrows, smoothing that line of concentration, then moving to her breasts, her belly, between her legs. “Lord, I might even thank your father.”

She gasped, then said, “You must be grateful indeed.”

“Let me show you how grateful.” And he did. This time he could wait; she could respond; they could meet at the stars and float back to earth together. They never knew where one began, the other ended, or when the exhausted musicians took a break.

Tangled together, sharing breaths and heartbeats, they were about to fall asleep when Penny bit West on the shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“For making me wait so long.”

 

Lord and Lady Westfield were not to be disturbed . . . that night, the entire next day, and the night after. They were selecting furniture for their rooms, if anyone asked. What they were doing was testing out her bed, which was deemed comfortable, and his enormous mattress, which they decided suited the master bedroom quite well after all. They tried out the new bathing room, which was not as comfortable, not with water and bubbles and wet towels all over, so they made a more careful examination of the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. They carefully compared the chaise longue in her room with the leather armchair in the sitting room for sturdiness. Pieces of the chaise were shoved outside in the hall.

When the servants took the broken furniture away, they left food, wine, hot water, fresh towels, and coal for the fire in its place. Sometimes the viscount and his wife ate; sometimes they forgot all about food or drink. They certainly forgot about the rest of the world, including Penny's stepmother and her lists.

Lady Bainbridge felt she ought to receive the woman in Penny's stead, since she was supposed to be Penny's companion and chaperone, and since she would have to deal with the banker's wife and her daughters sooner or later. This was the best position she had had in years, a comfortable household and a good friend to guide through the social shoals. She would not let Penny down.

She accepted Lady Goldwaite's list of eligible gentlemen and quickly scanned it. She mentally crossed off the Duke of Cargell's son, for His Grace would never look so low for a bride for his heir. The Marquis of Brodhurst was too old, the Earl of Sedgewick too debauched.

When she pointed out these facts over tea, Lady Goldwaite bristled and demanded to see Penny. “She is the one who insisted the girls choose their own husbands. Well, they can choose from these men.”

Lady Bainbridge tried to explain that Lady Westfield was occupied with getting her house in order, but she would be certain to show Penny the list.

“Redecorating, is she?” Lady Goldwaite was all for charging up the stairs to help rearrange the furniture.

“Oh, but his lordship is helping,” Lady Bainbridge said, trying not to blush as red as Penny often did.

“Hmph. What does a man know about what is pleasing?”

Plenty, from the sounds of things, but Lady Bainbridge could never say that.

“No, Persephone needs a more experienced opinion.”

“Oh, I am certain his lordship is experienced enough.”

“Well, they cannot be at it all afternoon. We'll wait.”

Since the pair had been at it all night, all morning, and through the luncheon hour, Lady Bainbridge was not certain how long the wait might be. “I am afraid they might have other plans.”

“Nonsense. They knew I was coming. Send a servant to tell Persephone that I have arrived.”

Lady Bainbridge choked on the watercress sandwich she was eating.

“Give over, Mama,” the elder daughter said, “you are embarrassing Lady Bainbridge,” which gained her a warmer place in that lady's heart until Mavis added, with a giggle, “They are most likely still in bed.”

“What, in the afternoon? Whatever for?”

“Mama!” the younger wailed, twisting her hair into tangles.

Her mother glanced at Amelia, then snorted. “Never. Persephone has better manners. Not even harlots ply their trade in the daytime.”

“But they are married.”

“What has that to do with anything? One does one's duty in the dark. And this is not a suitable topic for young ladies,” she told Lady Bainbridge, as if that superior female needed reminding of proper behavior. “Now send a servant for Persephone so we might discuss her ball. I thought a Viennese theme, with painted gondolas and flowing fountains. What do you think, Lady Bainbridge?”

Lady Bainbridge thought she was lucky to work for Penny, not this outrageous matron. She also thought she'd cut off her eyelashes before she interrupted Lord and Lady Westfield.

 

Mr. Cottsworth was easier company. He actually apologized for coming when Lady Bainbridge explained about the Westfields taking inventory of the house.

“I should have known better, but West and I did have an appointment at Manton's shooting gallery this morning.”

“Then may I offer you tea? Coffee?”

He accepted, with time on his hands and a pleasant female issuing the invitation. She did not wince at his limp or turn away, but directed him to a comfortable chair.

She did not chatter, either, he was happy to see. Relaxed over tea, he smiled when she started to make more excuses for the absent hosts.

“Finally getting on with it, are they?” he asked with a soldier's bluntness.

She did not take offense, smiling back at the former officer, who had been married and widowed, like herself. They had met a time or two at various social functions, but seldom spoke before this. Now they had affection for the newlyweds in common, so she felt at ease enough to say, “With great enthusiasm, from what I hear from the servants.”

“Everyone in London heard about the musicians that other night. Lady Bannamere was furious they left her party early. Were they as loud as the grapevine has it?”

“The grapevine would have withered under the noise. I am surprised the neighbors did not complain.”

He laughed, a pleasant sound.

She did not mention the splintering furniture, the bathwater dripping through the ceilings, or the uneaten trays of food, but she did smile at the gentleman.

“I am happy for them.”

“As am I.”

They both seemed to be thinking of their own marriages, so silence fell. Cottsworth took that as a signal to leave. He used his cane to rise from the chair, sorry Lady Bainbridge had to see his clumsy motions, but knowing there was no help for it. “I suppose I shall be encountering you more now.”

“Since you are Lord Westfield's good friend, I suppose so.”

He bowed. “I would like that.”

She curtsied, hoping he would not see the quick color flooding her middle-aged cheeks. Penny's affliction must be catching. “I look forward to it.”

—By Arrangement,
a chronicle of arranged marriages, by G. E. Felber