Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

C ome and sit beside me, Penelope. Now.

However they were intended, Maxwell Crawford’s words certainly sounded like a command. Penelope felt herself quivering inside even as a thrill of strange excitement shot through her body. She was not afraid of the duke, but she was afraid of the effect he seemed to have on her, making her long for his lips and the embrace of his strong arms.

Regardless of her fear, she was a grown woman and now a wife and a duchess. She refused to be scared out of sitting beside her husband. Daring herself, she shifted across to the seat beside Maxwell and looked him in the eye—instantly caught there by their blueness, their certainty, and their desire.

Drawing her to him as though she weighed nothing, the Duke of Walden quickly captured her lips with his own. It was like a battle she knew she was bound to lose — first her eyes, then her lips, what next?

Penelope whimpered softly in Maxwell’s arms as their kisses deepened, and she felt his hand softly but insistently cupping one of her breasts beneath the summery silk. It felt so good, so right, and so very unnerving. What on earth might he do next, and how would it feel? She could not say but suspected she would like it very much.

“Enough!” Maxwell said abruptly a few moments later, withdrawing his hands and sitting back to catch his breath.

“You stopped,” Penelope murmured, touching her own hungry and abandoned lips. “Why did you stop?”

“Because I must,” he answered with breathless frustration. “This is not the time, and it is certainly not the place. You will know when that time comes. But do not challenge me again unless you are ready for the consequences. Now, let us both sit quietly and gather our thoughts until we arrive. There will be much to do.”

Consequences? What might he mean by that? Penelope shivered, knowing that she was likely to soon find out.

“Walden Towers,” said Maxwell with an expansive gesture of his hands to the great house and the extensive grounds of the estate beyond. “Rebuilt by some distant and ancient relative of mine last century.”

His expression was now even and meditative, without any trace of the hungry beast who had claimed her lips in the carriage not an hour before. He nodded up towards the line of black-clad and liveried senior servants waiting at the top of the stone stairs.

“The staff are rather traditional and have been accustomed to the old duke’s ’s ways, but they know that with my arrival everything must change. I am the new broom that sweeps clean, and you come here at a good time. You may mold the household and its running as you see fit, Duchess.”

Although the reception committee on the steps was a little intimidating for someone who had never run even a small household before, Penelope kept her composure and greeted the staff courteously, paying particular attention to Soames, the small, spry butler, and Mrs. Kenton, the capable-looking housekeeper. They were apparently a married couple with adult children, but the housekeeper used her maiden name to avoid confusion among the staff.

“Shall I give Her Grace the tour of the house, Your Grace?” offered Mrs. Kenton, the two head servants following the Duke and Duchess inside while the others dispersed back to their work

Maxwell shook his head.

“I shall show my wife the house today, thank you, Mrs. Kenton. But perhaps you would be good enough to spend some time with Duchess Penelope tomorrow. There will be many things that I do not yet know about Walden Towers and the estate.”

“Very good, Your Grace. May I ask if you will be staying here for long or going away for a honeymoon? I must order in the meat and plan the meals.”

“We will be staying here, Mrs. Kenton, although we will be up in London for various events in the coming weeks. You may plan accordingly. Thank you. You don’t mind staying at home rather than taking a honeymoon, do you?”

This last remark was addressed to Penelope as the two of them walked away together.

“Why, no, not at all,” Penelope said, her attention somewhat diverted by the grandeur of the entrance hall and main staircase with its vast expanses of marble and collections of artworks and statuary. “I thought we would be staying here in any case.”

“I knew you’d understand,” the duke commented. “There is so much to do this season, and I don’t want us to miss anything significant in London. We must make ourselves known to the ton quickly. Everyone loves happy, loving newlyweds, so we can capitalize on that, too. There are already dozens of invitations awaiting reply, but I wished to have your strategic view on what to prioritize.”

Penelope looked hard at him, although he seemed not to notice. Was he talking about the season or a military campaign?

“I will do my best,” she answered neutrally.

“Excellent. I would also like to know of any important events from which I might have been deliberately excluded and have your recommendations for how best to secure an invitation.”

“How would you define important?” Penelope pressed, slightly irritated as well as bemused by this cool-headed and thoroughly planned approach to the social whirl of the season.

“I shall give you a list of the people and issues of particular value, and you can draw your own conclusions. Your judgement is likely to be better than mine when it comes to the social side of things. Perhaps, together we can accomplish everything in one season, or maybe it will take two, but I’m sure the initial effort will pay off.”

“This really is a business partnership, isn’t it?” Penelope thought aloud with something of a sigh.

“It will be a successful partnership for both of us,” Maxwell enthused. “I shall have my position accepted in society, and you will have security and independence. I know you value both.”

“The life I have always dreamed of,” she mused somewhat ironically, feeling the massive disconnect once more between the man who embraced her so passionately and the one who spoke with such dispassion for networking and social influence. “Well, you’d better show me the house, and then I can get started on this great enterprise of ours.”

“Will he come to me?” Penelope asked, her reflection in the looking glass. “Or am I meant to go to him?”

It was almost midnight, and the candle on her dressing table had burned several inches down since she came upstairs to her new bedroom suite after dinner. During that meal, they spoke almost entirely about plans for the season and Penelope’s initial thoughts on the already received invitations. Maxwell had given her no indication whatsoever of what he expected from her that night.

She wore a thin cambric nightgown with buttons at the front and delicately embroidered flowers on the sleeves and bodice. Her well-brushed hair fell in a wavering golden cloud around her shoulders, almost down to her waist, covering the shapely curve of her breasts. Penelope wondered whether she looked a little too girlish for the Duchess of Walden, but all her nightgowns were similar.

The only relative to show any interest in her trousseau had been Aunt Beryl. If that lady had her way, Penelope would have been left with a stock of high-necked flannel nightgowns in less than fetching but serviceable shades of brown and blue. Half of her day clothes would also have been mourning outfits in order to be better prepared for inevitable deaths, including Aunt Beryl’s own…

Penelope giggled as she recalled that particular conversation. It had ended with the agreement that she would accept a new mourning dress from her great aunt as a wedding gift and would promise to wear it to Aunt Beryl’s funeral when that day came.

“The old buzzard will outlive us all!” Frederick had whispered in his sister’s ear cheekily and then offered his great aunt another toffee with his eternal choirboy charm.

Glancing again at the clock, Penelope came to a decision and rose from her dressing table. She would go to Maxwell and ask him directly what his expectations were. His suite was only at the other end of the corridor.

Eschewing a dressing gown and slippers, she took up her candle and slipped out her bedroom door. There was no one else in this part of the house to see her, and the weather was warm.

Padding barefoot, Penelope quickly reached the main door to the duke’s suite and paused. There was no noise from inside, although she could make out light under the door, indicating that Maxwell was likely awake. Should she knock? Surely not. She was the Duchess of Walden, after all.

Before she could lose her nerve, Penelope turned the handle and stepped into the room as the door swung open. Maxwell turned from where he had been sitting at a desk, quill in hand and paper before him, an expression of astonishment and then wonder on his face.

“Penelope!” he exclaimed, continuing to stare at her with those blue eyes that seemed to see into her deepest places. “I thought you would be asleep. It has been a long day.”

Penelope swallowed, unsure which side of Maxwell she was currently facing. If she persisted, would she be sent away with a list of important tasks for tomorrow or tumbled roughly on the bed?

“I am your wife, Maxwell, and I know my duty, but I do not know how you wish me to… Ah, that is… you didn’t come to me, and I didn’t know what you expect, so I thought I should come here and ask you.”

He put down the quill and smiled as though she’d said something inadvertently amusing. Perhaps she had. The duke’s full attention was now on her, and her pulse began to speed up.

“You speak of wifely duty, but do you really know what such duties entail? I believe I have asked you this before, but I don’t recall that you gave me a satisfactory answer.”

“I did answer you, and I do know!” protested Penelope hotly. “I know that you must… put yourself inside me and that this is how babies are made. We’ll have to produce an heir at some point, so we might as well get it out of the way, don’t you think?”

At these statements, Maxwell could not help but give an audible guffaw, but his face was not unkind. She had said something foolish, but he would not mock her for it.

“I do not think we should get it out of the way, no,” he told her gently and extended an arm towards her. “Come here, Penelope.”

Obedient but trembling, Penelope went to his side, where he took her hand and then drew her down onto his lap.

“You are the most beautiful, desirable woman I have ever seen in my life. And you are mine…” the duke said wonderingly, kissing and caressing her hair and face. “How lucky I am.”

His kisses trailed down her throat as one of his hands found her breast and fondled it lightly through her nightgown.

“Truly magnificent,” he breathed, his touch drawing a sharp moan from Penelope, which he immediately swallowed in a passionate kiss. “And so responsive, my beautiful wife.”

She sighed his name, lost in the strange sensations flowing from the touches of his lips and hands. Maxwell’s fingers had unfastened the buttons at the front of her nightgown, baring her breasts to his caresses.

Despite the intense hunger on his face, the duke did not seem to be in a rush, and his kisses were slower and more deliberate than any before. Penelope supposed that they were safely in his bedroom now, honorably married and beyond the reach of any interference. He had no reason to hurry and seemed to be savoring each kiss.

Penelope’s own hands were discovering the shape of Maxwell’s torso through his shirt, feeling his heat, his strength, and the pumping of his heart. The whole experience was so strange and yet so compelling. Still, she gave a small sound of fright when he rose with her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Do not be afraid,” he urged her, laying her disheveled form down on his bed and lying beside her. “You have nothing to fear from me, Penelope.”

As he spoke, his hands were raising the skirts of her nightgown and caressing her thighs, causing ripples and throbs of sensation all the way up to her belly, especially within the untouched folds of her womanhood.

“Some people say that it hurts the first time,” she whispered breathlessly, even while kissing him and pulling his face to hers.

“I will never hurt you, Penelope,” he said very seriously, stroking her cheek. “Never.”

The mingled lust and tenderness in his eyes were intoxicating, and Penelope knew then that she would not only let him do whatever he wished that night, she would also likely enjoy it. She closed her eyes and abandoned herself to her husband’s touch.

Maxwell kissed her lips, her throat, and her naked breasts, then moved to kiss her navel, exposed by the raising of her skirts. It felt indecent to be rendered in such a position and viewed by such lustful eyes, but they were married now, and this was not only decent but required.

Maxwell himself was still fully dressed, which puzzled Penelope. It seemed impossible for him to do what she was expecting in such a state, but he was certainly stroking her thighs apart as he moved down her body. What else could he intend?

When he kissed her thighs and then her golden-furred mount of Venus, Penelope’s eyes sprang open again. It had never occurred to her that anyone might kiss her there or that it would trigger such violent passion inside her. Maxwell, however, seemed entirely comfortable and confident as he pressed a kiss onto the small button of pleasure at the top of her cleft and another on the throbbing lips below.

“Ohhhhh, Maxwell,” she cried out in pleasure and confusion, feeling him respond with soothing stroking of his hands on her thighs and then an experimental lapping of his tongue. “Yes! Ohhhh…”

Two of his fingers had found the entrance to her body and pressed deeply inside her, like a counterpoint to the motions of his tongue. As Maxwell’s movements became more deliberate and rhythmic, Penelope’s cries grew incoherent. She knew that something was going to happen and that he must not stop, her hands tangling in his hair as if to hold him to her.

A few moments later, the anticipated moment arrived, and she almost screamed with the waves of pleasure that rippled powerfully through her body from the places her husband was caressing so purposefully.

Seeing the smile on Maxwell’s face as he kissed his way back up her body, Penelope felt as though she had been caught up in a huge, exhilarating wave and then unexpectedly washed up gently on a warm, safe shore.

“Dear God, Maxwell. What was that? It was wonderful. I never knew…”

“That is something I shall do to you as often as you wish it, beautiful wife. As you have now experienced, it is an act of pure pleasure with the wonderful side-effect of making you soft, wet, and ready for me.”

His face was now above hers once more, plying her lips with salty kisses as his hands unfastened his trousers. Looking downward, Penelope saw the large bulge at his groin and felt a resurgence of her earlier fear.

Seeming to sense something wrong, Maxwell stopped unbuttoning himself and took a long breath instead, caressing Penelope’s face on the pillow.

“But you must be ready for me here,” he said, touching her head, “as well as here,” he added, lightly caressing the dampness of her slit.

“Do you mind very much?” she asked anxiously, grateful for his sensitivity but conscious that her husband, too, had physical needs.

The duke only smiled and shook his head.

“It does not all need to happen tonight, Penelope. I will take you when you are ready and not before.”

His hands lightly readjusted her nightgown as he spoke, not without a sigh of playful regret in covering her breasts and thighs once more. She snuggled back into his arms after he pulled them both under the covers of the bed and sighed sleepily there, conscious now of Maxwell’s hand stroking her hair and his lips kissing her forehead.

“When you are ready,” she heard him murmur again before she fell forward into sleep.