Page 30 of The Spy and His Lady Love
Swallowing her mortification, Penelope rolled onto her back. Harry took advantage and wrapped his arms around her and tugged her so she lay half on top of his chest and half on the bed.
He exhaled. “Much better.”
Words escaped her. She nodded her head in agreement. Because being held within his strong, warm arms made her feel safe, cherished and, if not loved, at least appreciated. Perhaps love between them would come in time. Truth be told, she was halfway in love with Harry already. Would he? Could he ever love her? There was no time to ponder the question as his hands began roaming her body, and Penelope’s inner sensual being started taking over her mind and body.
Harry moved over her, and she took the time to study his face. Really study it by the flicker of light coming off the flames from the fireplace. Her eyes moved around his face, but when she returned to his good eye, the soft blue glowed. He looked young, handsome and relaxed. She hardly noticed the scar down his left side, nor the black patch she was becoming accustomed to. Her insides tingled and her heart pitter-pattered inside her chest. Finally, he leaned down and took her lips in a kiss. Breaking it, he placed feather like kisses down her neck, across her chest, and up the other side.
His knee nudged her legs apart, and his hand played with her, causing her breath to catch and her hips to squirm. Now that her body knew what would come, it wanted to feel those sensations again. He rose up, took his member in his hand, placed it at her entrance, and pushed slow and steady. Again and again as her body adjusted to the size and invasion. One more push. Pain seared her insides, and she gasped.
“I’m sorry.” Harry looked at her with compassion, then kissed the tip of her nose. “I believe the pain will subside momentarily.”
Seeing the compassion in his eyes and him giving her a tender kiss on the nose had her heart tumbling again for this man who became her husband today. Before she could say the pain was easing, Harry began pulling in and out of her, causing her body to tighten around his member. The harder, the faster he moved, the more her inner body clamped around his sex until she clutched his hips, keeping him in place as her legs shook, her insides pulsated, and her head spun with what she now knew was sexual release.
Harry groaned, and his body tightened as he released his warm seed.
Not wanting to squish Penelope,Harry rolled off her onto his back and gasped for much-needed air. It took some time for his mind to catch up to his body, but when it did all he could do was smile. Life, this part of their married life, would be satisfying. His new wife would not close her eyes and think happy thoughts while he did his husbandly duties. No indeed. He was a fortunate man to have made such a wonderful match.
Outside the bedroom, they had much to learn about each other, but Harry also knew they would get along splendidly. Hadn’t they already. And when he told her about being both Harry and Hugh, perhaps she would be relieved and not angry.
A sudden chill washed across his body. He adjusted the coverlet, so they were both covered. He leaned over and kissed Penelope lightly on the lips. “Thank you and good night.” He would wait until she fell asleep before he left for his own bed. He couldn’t risk falling asleep causing the make-up which created his scar to rub off or his patch to fall off. He knew he needed to confess all to her soon, but some niggling inside him told him to wait a while longer.
Her breath evened out and little snoring sounds escaped her lips, bringing a smile to his. Feeling as though he was invading her privacy, he left the warm bed, put on his clothes and entered his sitting room, poured himself a generous amount of brandy and sat in a chair by the fireplace which had burned down to hot coals and ash. He removed the brace from his knee, then bent and unbent it, hoping to work out the kinks. He removed his patch and blinked several times, adjusting to seeing out of two eyes instead of one. Using a handkerchief he wiped off his scar. Now that he and Penelope were living together it would prove difficult to keep his disguise secret. He would have to be Harry all day, every day. Not that he wasn’t Harry all the time, he just wouldn’t be able to go without his disguise. Not something he looked forward to. His leg got sore, his eye and cheek itched.
There was an alternative. Tell her the truth. Why did he fear the truth coming out? He would think it would relieve Penelope to know she didn’t marry a disfigured cripple. Perhaps over a private dinner tomorrow evening, he would tell her. Explain all that he could without divulging Crown secrets.
After the intimacy they shared this evening, she would forgive his deceit. He had to believe she would. The alternative was too painful to explore.
Penelope awoketo the curtains being drawn back from the windows, letting in cloud filtered sunlight.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
“Good morning, Clarisse. Would you leave and come back in an hour?
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Once alone, Penelope curled onto her side and hugged herself. She couldn’t stop the smile from forming on her lips as she remembered last night with Harry. How he made love to her with such gentleness and care for her comfort. Over the years, she’d heard stories about the marriage bed. How men could be cruel and violent to their wives. How they took their pleasure with no regard to their wife’s. Her heart jumped. How fortunate for her to have married Harry. Never in her wildest imaginations had she ever thought to be anything more than a farmer’s wife. And if she hadn’t escaped Viscount Hadley, more likely his mistress and whore. Never a duchess.
After dressing in a comely sea-foam green day dress, her hair styled in a loose chignon, she made her way down the hallway, descended the stairs, and followed the smells making her stomach growl until she entered a cheery blue breakfast room. At the table sat her husband and their eyes connected, sending an inferno to her cheeks. Visions of last night flashed before her. How did intimate married people function on a day-to-day basis without embarrassment?
Emma, Bella, and Amelia never, well sometimes they did, blushed at something their husband’s might whisper in their ear. Penelope, at this point, couldn't care less if her sisters and sister-in-law experienced mortification of deeds done in the marriage bed. Penelope cared about her and Harry and now, this very moment in the breakfast room, when moments ago her stomach growled and made known how little she’d eaten the day before. Only now, her stomach churned, and she felt dizzy and sick. Instead of fixing a plate, she made haste toward the opposite end of the cozy table and sat down with the help of a footman. Inhaling and exhaling, she willed her stomach and head to settle. Not to mention her emotions, which ran rampant the moment she saw Harry.
“Forgive me, my dear,” Harry said with concern. “You appear peaked. Perhaps you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten.” He stood, waiving off the footman who came to his aid. “May I fix you a plate?”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she replied, “Yes. Please. But not too much.”
Moments later he placed a plate in front of her filled with coddled eggs, a thick slice of ham, and a biscuit with clotted cream and jam. Her mouth watered either from revolt or hunger. She would find out soon enough. “Thank you.”
He made his way to his chair, sat, placed a napkin on his lap, and went back to eating. “If there’s anything specific you would like for the morning meal, cook would be happy to prepare it. The same goes for midday and evening meals. Perhaps, when you feel more comfortable here, you will begin the duties expected of the lady of the house?”
Penelope’s eyes lifted from the plate of food, which she’d yet to touch, except for the biscuit. Hoping to settle her insides and nerves, she nibbled on it. “I’d be happy to take over the duties from the housekeeper regarding the daily meals. I’ve not any experience in it, but how hard can it be?” She fervently hoped not hard at all.
“Splendid.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin, stood, and bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to attend to. I will see you at the evening meal.”
Evening meal? Obviously, he had much to do on the day after their wedding. She needed to find something to occupy herself. She spent most of her life in service to the Viscount. Having idle time didn’t arrive until she fled his house and became part of Wentworth’s house as his half-sister. Leisurely time on her hands was something new to her, and she’d yet to be comfortable with it.
She made her way up the stairs to the family drawing room, thanks to directions from the young footman who blushed when she inquired of the room. She sat on a deep blue settee and rummaged through a basket filled with un-started needlepoint. Needlepoint was something she was quite adapt at, having learned from her mother, but never had much free time to accomplish anything but a small pillow. Same for embroidery. Inside the basket she found several white, clean handkerchiefs and decided she would embroider Harry’s initials on them and present them as a late wedding gift.
Busy at work, she didn’t realize the time flew by until a servant brought in the morning tea tray. At the same time the butler announced, “The Duchess of Wentworth, the Countess of Bridgeton, and the Countess of Northborough.”
