Wentworth entered the room, and when he looked at her, he stopped dead. “You look beautiful. Newbury is a fortunate man. Now I will say something I told Bella and Amelia before they wed. If you ever need me for anything, be it trivial or major, all you need do is send for me. I will always be your brother and will always look out for you.”
Penelope blinked back tears. “Thank you.”
He held out his arm. “Shall we?”
She smiled, took a deep inhale and exhale to steady her nerves, and placed her hand on his forearm. “We shall.”
The first thing Penelope noticed when she entered the drawing room on her brother’s arm was her family sitting in chairs on either side of the room, making an aisle for her to walk down. A very short aisle, but an aisle nonetheless, and tears pooled in her eyes at their thoughtfulness. After smiling and dipping her head to her family and friends, she forced herself to look at the end of the path and the man standing there with the clergy.
Newbury looked dashing dressed in formal wear, making her almost trip. Seeing him now, dressed in black with a starched white shirt and impeccably tied black cravat, breeches tucked into black Hessians—no heeled dress shoes for this duke—he resembled most every other member of the ton. Except for a few details. His black patch, which, not for the first time, made him appear mysterious. The scar, which never seemed to heal, only added a dangerous flair. She could almost forget about his leg as he stood straight, barely leaning on his cane. It also helped that it was black as well. The only thing noticeable was the silver lion’s head, which his hand gripped.
His lips curled up into a smile that caused his one eye to sparkle. Her stomach fluttered as she realized he wanted to marry her. Was happy about the union. She reached the end of the aisle, curtsied to her brother. Turned to Newbury, curtsied deep, and said, “Your Grace.”
He reached out, taking her hand as she rose, and he bowed. His gaze never left hers as he raised her gloved hand up and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Milady.”
The clergy opened an ancient tome. “We shall begin.”
Newbury and Penelope faced one other, both hands joined.
The ceremony passed in a blur. When the clergy pronounced them man and wife, duke and duchess, Newbury gently pressed his lips to hers as their witnesses cheered and congratulated them.
They skipped the traditional wedding breakfast for an early evening meal. The newlyweds sat across from each other at the end of the table with Wentworth at the head. The two men discussed several topics including government, the recent riots by the factory workers, and The House of Lords. Things she didn’t have any interest in, except for the children working in sweatshops. Children should not be working in such deplorable conditions for sixteen-hour days with little pay. She’d heard stories about the doors being locked from the outside so no one could leave until they were opened. About a fire in one textile factory where every single person perished. Oh dear, it was her wedding day. She best think happy thoughts or she’d have her family worried about the frown and concerned emotions on her face.
Voices traveled around the long rectangular table. Laughter and chuckles made their way to her ears. Emma, Bella, Myles, and Amelia appeared engrossed in a humorous conversation. While Spenser, Bridgeton, and Mary—where was Mary’s husband—spoke softly about something serious, if looks were any sign. Miranda, Elizabeth, and Amesbury were alternating between serious and joy. Penelope didn’t know what she felt. She picked at her food until they served the next course, and she picked more. Nerves jingled inside her stomach, and she didn’t want to have a stomachache the night of her wedding. Her heart hurt a little, as though it didn’t know what to feel. One moment it was beating fast, then the next it eased only to speed up once again.
It equaled the contradiction of her feelings for Newbury. One moment she found herself unable to take her eyes off him, his handsomeness and over-all charm mesmerizing. And the next, she’d conjure up what his injured eye looked like beneath the patch. A grotesque, empty hole where his eyeball should be. A black nothing. And a leg crisscrossed with raised scars running up and down the entire length. His kneecap twisted to the side.
It wasn’t good to let her mind run wild while attending her wedding meal. She never considered herself a shallow person. Had not been brought up privileged. Had seen her share of injuries both from the war and from being in service. Never thought less of a person because of limitations. She did not think less of Newbury because of his. In fact, she admired him and believed she was drawn to him because of those limitations.
As far as tonight. She lowered her head as heat blossomed on her cheeks. Something she didn’t want her husband to see. She didn’t want him thinking she was thinking about him. Even if she was. Being raised with servants and the lecherous viscount, Penelope had seen her share of couples fornicating. So tonight would not be a surprise. And if she were afraid of seeing the duke naked, she would insist on total darkness. No candles, no coals glowing in the hearth. Complete and utter darkness. Thinking about the dark had her heart easing and her insides settling somewhat.
“My dear.” Newbury stood beside her chair with his hand out. So lost in her own thoughts, she’d not heard or seen him approach. “I believe it’s time I escort you to your new home.”
Oh, God! Instant panic. Her eyes darted around the table as everyone wished them, “Good evening.” Wentworth spoke to her, and she heard nothing but the pounding in her ears. She placed her hand in her husband’s—stood on wobbly legs, praying they supported her and she didn’t end up in a heap of yellow on the floor—and he led her down the stairs. They retrieved his overcoat, hat, and gloves and her cloak and hat from the doorman.
Once settled inside the black carriage with the Newbury ducal crest, Penelope’s new husband draped a soft blanket over her lap. “I realized today that you have never seen Newbury House.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“It’s close to Wentworth Manor on Piccadilly. During the past several years, since becoming duke, I’ve spent little time looking at or thinking about the décor. My housekeeper, Mrs. Mere, will be the first to say the house needs updating. Just say the word and I will have the house inundated with decorators and carpenters.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“See, we have arrived.”
Indeed, they had, and her eyes widened at the home. Even in the shadow of darkness she got the impression of a large, stately manor. It would be nice to see it in the light of day.
“What is your first impression?”
“Large.”
Deep throaty laughter bounced around the carriage. “That it is.” The driver opened the door, let down the steps. He held out his hand to Newbury, and he waved him off. “I can manage myself.” Penelope tried not to worry that even one misstep would have him tumbling to the crushed stone granite of the drive. She sighed with relief when he landed, turned toward her and held up his hand. “Your Grace.”
Their hands touched, both covered with gloves, and yet it was as though the contact was bare skin to bare skin. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Would you like an introduction to the staff tonight or in the morning when you’re refreshed from sleep?”
Sleep? Would she be able to sleep? “The morning would be wonderful.”
“Morning it is.”
After removing his overcoat, hat, and gloves, helping her with her cloak and hat, Newbury escorted her up a beautiful wooden staircase with intricate wrought-iron railings. At the top it curved, veering off in two directions. They headed to the right and near the end of the hallway he opened a large wooden door with a curved top. “These are your rooms. I hope they’re to your liking. I believe your maid has arrived and unpacked your things. I’ve ordered a small tray to be sent up in an hour. I hope that’s sufficient time before I join you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will leave you to your privacy.”
Penelope entered the room, and Newbury closed the doo
r after her. The room glowed under the candlelight, highlighting the shades of blue and cream. It wasn’t overly feminine, nor masculine. Somewhere in the middle and Penelope found she liked it. There was an enormous tester bed in mahogany against a wall with small tables on each side. There was a rather extensive wardrobe and a perfect-sized writing desk, which would serve as her dressing table as well. Clarisse had already placed her brush and hand-held mirror on the polished wood. In the far corner stood a privacy screen. On the back wall, a brick fireplace roared with flames. The room had the chill and dampness indicative of being closed up for far too long.
She was just about to explore her sitting room behind the French doors when her maid entered carrying a box. “I’ve brought you a gift from the Duchess of Wentworth.” She placed the box on the blue and cream paisley coverlet.
Penelope’s fingers gently removed the cover, spread the tissue paper to the side, and she gasped. With trembling hands, she removed a thin, nearly see-through pale yellow night rail and matching robe. The linen fabric was the softest she’d ever felt. There was only one problem, she would be nearly naked wearing it. Newbury would be able to see…everything. Obviously, Emma’s plan. What a naughty sister-in-law she had. Tears sprang to her eyes. She missed her already. How would she ever survive living here without her newfound-family? She drew her strength from them on a daily basis.
“Your Grace.” Clarisse handed her one of her monogrammed handkerchiefs. “May I assist you in preparing for bed?”
Penelope couldn’t find her voice as tears clogged her throat. Ever since she first became betrothed to Newbury, she’d become a watering pot. And she didn’t like it one bit. “If you’ll undo the back of my gown, I can manage the rest and you may retire for the evening.”
Clarisse began the tedious task of unbuttoning all the tiny seed pearl buttons. “There, every last one unbuttoned. There is fresh, warm water, soap and towels behind the screen.” She curtsied. “Good night, Your Grace.”
“Good night.” Her time of reckoning had come. She removed her lovely wedding dress and painstakingly hung it up in her wardrobe. She removed her petticoat, chemise, and pantaloons, draped them on a chair and hurried behind the screen to wash up. “Drat, I left my night clothes on the bed,” she said out loud. Wrapped in a towel she made her way to the bed and quickly slid the night rail over her head, did up the laces and swore she’d felt nothing finer against her naked skin. Next came the beautiful robe. It had a string that tied at the neck. She moved to the full-length mirror, her eyes bugging out of her head. “This won’t do,” she murmured. “My nipples are showing and the patch of hair between my legs.” She walked to the wardrobe, threw open the doors, and grabbed a white wrap. She swung it around her shoulders, letting one side hang longer than the other. She looked into the mirror again. “Better.”
“What’s better, my dear?”
Startled, she spun around and found her husband standing in the doorway grinning at her. He’d changed as well. Wore trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that went over the head and tied in the front. Only the top of his shirt wasn’t tied closed, it was open, showing his chest, sprinkled with dark hair. She swallowed when she glimpsed his bare feet. Using his cane, he hobbled her way. “I ask again. What’s better?”
“Nothing.” She stood there not knowing what to do with her hands, or any other part of her body.
“A tray has arrived. It’s in my sitting room.” He pointed his cane. “Please join me.”
“I was just about to undress my hair.”
His one eye narrowed, and he looked inquisitively at her. “Allow me.”
Penelope sat at her dressing table and stared into the reflection in the looking glass as one by one Newbury pulled the real flowers from her hair. Each slightly wilted petal made its way to his nose where he inhaled. When the flowers were gone, he plucked the pins. His hands were surprisingly gentle and adept. When her hair fell to her waist, he spread his fingers through it, seeking any pins he’d missed. The whole time he worked, her head tingled. Her eyes followed every move his large hands made. When he declared he’d gotten all the pins out, he picked up her brush and ever-so-gently stroked it through her hair. Her eyes were riveted to his hands as he worked the tangles out of her hair and then brushed it to a lovely sheen.
“Done.”
When he stepped back, she missed his attention. He’d awakened her body, and she felt flushed from head to toe. “Thank you. You obviously have experience brushing ladies’ hair.” The moment the words escaped her lips, she wished them back. It was their wedding night. She shouldn’t be bringing up other women. “I’m sorry.”
Their eyes connected in the mirror. Her two, his one. For a second she thought she saw sadness, then he blinked, and it was gone. “No need to be sorry for speaking your mind. And the truth is I have experience with helping ladies undress their hair for bed.”
He couldn’t just let her comment about undressing hair go? His words hurt her. He could see it plain as day in her blue eyes. When he brushed her hair, her eyes had a dreamy, intimate look to them. She may not have realized it, but her wrap had fallen away, revealing her nipples through the thin fabric. His body responded, his cock hardening. And all he could think about was covering her body with his and entering her. Being inside her.
And then she mentioned him having experience brushing ladies’ hair, and it broke the spell. He wasn’t angry at her but at himself for saying something hurtful. When the truth was, he’d never brushed another person’s hair before. He lashed out because the gorgeous, delicate woman he married made him nervous.
As he escorted her to the small table set up in the sitting room, he tried to keep his eyes averted from her exposed body. Who in bloody hell would give a virgin on her wedding night a see through night rail and robe was beyond him. He would like to thank the person and ring their neck at the same time. Sitting opposite Penelope now as he was, was sheer torture to his over-sensitive emotions. The surrounding air clashed with awareness. Neither of them ate much. Just picked at their food and sipped the wine.
“Is your room to your liking?” If he didn’t start a conversation, his head would explode.
Moments ticked by as her lovely blue eyes widened over the rim of the crystal goblet. “Yes. Very much so.”
“If there is anything you need, please ask. This is your home now.”
Her eyes dropped to her hands, which rested beneath the table. “I will.”
Conversation with Penelope was difficult in most circumstances when they were alone together, but tonight proved even more so. She was his wife, his duchess. His to do with as he so pleased. So why was he hesitating taking her to bed? Rising, he held out his hand. “My dear, shall we retire for the evening?” His voice sounded strange to his own ears. What must she be thinking?
Eyes downcast, she whispered, “Yes.”
Entering her chamber, he led her to the large bed dominating the room, all the while wishing he could know what went on inside her head. Was she nervous? Afraid? Relieved? Only one way to find out.
Pausing beside the bed, he turned Penelope so she faced him. Resting his cane against the bedpost, he spread his hands on her soft, flush cheeks and lowered his lips to hers. She tasted as he remembered from their previous kisses. Sweet, soft, and fruity like the wine. After a time, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and moaned as heat burned throughout his body. One hand moved into her thick glorious hair and the other to the small of her back, pulling her forward so his hips cradled her.
She gasped, or moaned, making him pause until her arms wrapped around his neck and she joined in the kiss. This time she took the lead. Her tongue explored, her teeth nipped, her hands clutched his hair. Christ, she devoured him, causing his knees to weaken.
Penelope gasped for air between Harry’s lips. In the past, his kisses had been wonderful. Tonight they went beyond wonderful. Every nerve ending in her being tingled with awareness from his kisses. Kisses she knew were meant to seduce. He was sedu
cing her on their wedding night. Perfectly fine with her. The sooner they consummated their vows, the better. Except, she wasn’t in a hurry, her mind and body languidly enjoyed his loving ministrations. The gentle brush of his fingertips here and there. The feel of his lips against hers and the softness of his tongue inside her mouth had her reveling in the here and now, and she never wanted the feelings to end. This excitement, contentment, and need all jumbled up inside her was euphoric.
“You are beautiful,” Harry murmured into her ear as his hands untied her robe and it slithered to the floor. Before she comprehended what he would do next, her night rail joined her robe. Naked and vulnerable, she clutched his shoulders, hoping to hide her nakedness from him. It was one thing for her maid to see her thus, but Harry?
“There is no need for you to hide from me. I’m your husband.”
With eyes wide with shock and interest, Penelope stepped back, wrapped her arms across her bare breasts and stood mesmerized as Harry undressed. His capable hands slid his shirt up and over his head, revealing a hard, strong chest and shoulder muscles. His long fingers unbuttoned the front placket to his trousers, and Penelope held her breath. Heart pounding, body shaking, her eyes riveted to his fingers as he pulled his trousers and undergarment down and off his body, leaving him naked before her. His lame leg was no hindrance to the act of unclothing. She couldn’t see much of his knee because of the brace he wore, but it didn’t look hideous or disfigured.
It wasn’t the first time she’d eyed a naked man. But this man was Harry, her husband, and by his swollen and hard member she would presume he was ready to consummate their marriage. She cleared her throat, trying to speak, but nothing would exit. Instead, she gasped, turned, and climbed beneath the coverlet.
He chuckled. He actually chuckled as he pulled back the covers and joined her in the bed. As he did so, his side of the bed dipped beneath his weight, causing her to slide toward him ever so slightly.
The Spy and His Lady Love Page 11
