“I’m sure it is, it’s stone like the façade.” The door snapped open and Wes climbed out. “I’m just wondering what they’re doing here.”
“A gift from Lord Dryden,” the driver answered. “As am I. He’s paid our salary for a year.”
Penny gasped as he handed her out. “A gift?”
“Thank you, Stanley.” Wes squeezed her hand as he spoke to the driver, but his teeth had clenched together. He should provide his wife these things. There was nothing to do but work hard so that he could afford to pay their staff in the future, and fix up their home for good.
If she felt better about the house than she expected, he was decidedly worse. Penny should have a home with a proper door. His plan, as usual, had not been carefully thought out. She’d grow to hate him, he was certain of it. Try as he might to make the right decisions, he’d been plagued with making poor choices since he’d become an earl.
They walked up the drive to greet the staff. He tried to keep his frustration in check. Dryden had pulled himself together before he’d married. Made sure he could shower his bride with the best life had to offer. He ached to think of what he brought to Penny. So little.
The butler, Mr. Carrington, and the cook, Mrs. Welsh, greeted them with friendly efficiency. They’d done their best to clean some of the dirt and grime from the common rooms and they’d prepared a sleeping chamber.
“Thank you kindly,” Wes had answered, not letting go of Penny’s hand. They moved inside and Wes shrugged off his coat, handing it to the butler. “Are there any tools about?”
“Yes, my lord. In the barn,” the butler answered.
“Would you be so kind as to fetch them for me?” We asked, as he stared at the broken door.
Mr. Carrington gave a slight bow. “Of course.” Then he disappeared toward the back of the house.
“What are you doing?” Penny asked, her fingers brushing his shirt sleeve.
“Fixing this door,” he said, not looking at her. She’d see the turmoil within, he was sure of it, if he looked at her. “I can’t bring you to a home that won’t even hold out a storm.”
She was silent for a moment before she stepped closer. “I appreciate your help. So much. But you needn’t fix it right this very moment. Don’t you want a tour?”
He shook his head. Every broken part of the house would be a reminder of what he didn’t bring to this match. “I’ll fix this first, love. It’s our safety that matters most.”
“We’re in the countryside now,” she said softly. “What’s to put us in danger?”
He looked at her then, his face taut. “I’m fixing the door, Penny.”
* * *
Penny blinked at the dark glint in her husband’s eyes. He mustn’t like the house. Or her? “If you wish,” she answered, unsure of what else to say. She took a step back, studying his furrowed brow.
Mr. Carrington returned and handed Wes a wooden box filled with several tools, including a hammer. “What do you make of it, my lord? The door is in good shape. Solid.”
“The hinge is broken.” Wes touched the metal. “I’ll try to fix it for now, but we’ll likely have to have a new one forged. Are you from the area?”
“I am, my lord. Blacksmith in the village does fine work and for a fair price too,” Mr. Carrington answered.
“Good.” Wes pulled out a bar of sorts. “We’ll remove the hinge and nail the door shut until it can be repaired.”
Penny blinked. Nail the door shut? Wes was not acting at all the tender man she’d been with for the past two days.
“Excellent.” Mr. Carrington nodded. “The rain has been ruining the floor.”
Both men looked down with matching frowns. Something about the scene made Penny relax a bit. “Perhaps we can find a rug upstairs to cover the damage until the floor can be repaired.”
Mr. Carrington nodded. “Very good idea.”
Wes relaxed a little too, his shoulders dropping. “I’ll make this house shine for you.”
Her insides warmed. There was the Wes she’d married. “I’m sure you will.” Then she shed her worn jacket. “If you’re going to start in with work then so will I.” The front sitting room, just to her right, had already been cleaned.
She looked in and her breath caught. This had been her mother’s favorite room. Penny’s hand fluttered to her chest. Lady Claire Marks had spent countless days sitting in the overstuffed chairs, watching out the window for Penny’s father to return from whatever new business venture he’d departed on. Not that he ever returned successful. In fact, he usually came back empty handed, reeking of ale, and looking ten years older than when he’d left.
While the façade of the house hadn’t sparked her pain, this room made her ache and she curled into herself. She never wanted to be as foolish as her mother had been. Penny reached for the handle and firmly closed the door. “I’ll start in the library.”
“Hard room to clean,” Wes said.
“Other than the study and the dining room, it’s the only other room on this floor. It doubles as the entertaining space for guests as it’s the largest.” She straightened up again. That room was filled with lovely memories of days spent reading or playing games. “Growing up, it was my favorite place in the house.”
She started rolling up her sleeves. “I suspect many of the books are ruined.”
“I’m afraid they are,” Mrs. Welsh said. “I’m not sure what to do with them.”
“We’ll burn them,” Penny answered. “I don’t imagine there is much firewood about.” She started crossing the foyer. “In fact, I’ll start a fire now. The night will grow cold quickly.” She turned to Mrs. Welsh. “Did you make up the master suite for us?”
“I did, my lady,” Mrs. Welsh said giving another curtesy.
“Excellent. Heating the library will warm the floor in that room but we’ll have to start a fire up there later.” With determined strides, she opened the door.
Chapter Ten
Wes stared at the door. He didn’t want to tell Penny, but someone had broken it to begin with. Likely only people looking to pilfer from the house but still. He’d sleep better knowing the house was secure. His wife was safe.
Hell, he’d sleep better with the knowledge he’d begun one task in the list of a thousand that needed to be done.
He’d removed the broken hinge and then boarded the door in place. When that was done, he’d gone around to check the other doors and windows. He couldn’t provide the staff, the food, or the clothing yet, but he could keep them safe. It was a start; it had to be.
Passing the door, he strode into the library. Penny had made a start too. A fire crackled in the hearth and one wall of the room was dusted, swept and polished. Only the heaviest pieces of furniture remained that likely couldn’t be stolen or sold, and one of them was a built-in bench under the window, not too far from the fireplace. Penny lay curled up on the bench, wrapped in a worn, but clean quilt, sound asleep. On top of a pianoforte, also freshly polished, sat a tray of half-eaten food. He grabbed a meat pie from the tray and took several large bites as he watched his wife sleep. She looked stunning like this, her face relaxed, bathed in the golden glow of the dying fire.
He finished his pie, then brushed off his hands and crossed the room to scoop her up into his arms.
Her eyes partially opened. “You didn’t join me for dinner.”
“Sorry about that, my love. I needed to make sure the house was secure.” Then he brushed a kiss along her forehead. “Tomorrow night I’ll be sure to finish in time to join you for dinner.”
She gave him a sleepy half grin as she touched his cheek. “Thank you.” Then her eyes drifted closed again as he carried her up the stairs and into their room.
Strictly speaking, the house was smaller than even his London townhome, though it was in much better condition. Despite its size, he liked the house. It had the air of being a home. Nice space, not too large, but not too small. It wasn’t ostentatious like the townhouse had once been, it didn’t
make him uncomfortable in its grandeur, but it had the potential to be beautiful. The sort of place he’d be proud of.
The fire burned merrily in their chamber when he entered the room. A large bed stood in the center, its four posts draped with curtains. He sucked in a breath. He was going to enjoy this bed. Well, more precisely, he and Penny would make passionate love in it. Their bedroom would be a home within a home, a sanctuary of their very own.
He popped a knuckle. He wasn’t even certain he’d stay past a year. Once there was profit and an heir… He stopped. There was a long path between now and then and he would focus on what he had now not what might be in the future.
Pushing aside the curtain, he lay Penny down on the bed and then slipped beside her, snuggling her body into his. The mattress was soft, the blankets warm and he fell asleep in seconds.
He woke to a light grey dawn filling the room with a hazy light. Blinking, he tried to remember where he was. Until an arm slung over his chest. Then he remembered. Penny. Kent.
She burrowed in closer. “I’m cold,” she murmured.
He drew her into his side, brushing his lips on her forehead. “We can’t have that.”
“Did you sleep?” she asked, her leg covering his.
“Wonderfully.” He looked up at the curtains. “Where did this bed come from?”
“Most of the items were here,” she answered. “Mrs. Welsh must have supplied the new curtains. The bed is too large to be stolen I guess and even my father had the decency not to sell the wedding present he bought for my mother.”
She knew that items had been stolen. He tensed, gathering her closer. “If you knew that the house had been raided why did you insist we were safe yesterday?”
She looked up at him. “It was likely farmers just trying to provide for their families.”
Fair point. “Your father bought this bed?”
Penny shrugged. “He was trying to prove his value to my mother, I suppose. She was a lady and he was the son of a merchant.”
Unease made him stiffen. That was something he understood.
* * *
Penny trailed her fingers down his chest, her own insides tingling with awareness. She wondered if she’d ever tire of the feel of those muscles. She doubted it.
Somehow, she’d managed to fall instantly asleep the day before, the carriage ride and the work having worn her out. This morning, however, her body hummed with the knowledge she shared a bed with her husband, intertwined together.
There were far too many clothes between them.
As if he were thinking the same, he reached down and began to slide the hem of her shift up her leg and over her thigh. “How do you feel about the bed?”
“I don’t mind it. I have a lot of happy memories in this room.” She didn’t share that the front room was a different story. He slid the fabric up her hip. The room grew lighter and even in the dim interior of the bed, the skin of her leg glowed in the early morning light. “Should we…should we wait until the night?”
He gave a small chuckle against her hair. “If you’d like. But you, my little Penny, are beautiful and I would very much like to see all of you. Seeing can be very satisfying.”
Between Penny’s legs throbbed, a dull ache that begged to be tended. She wanted to see him too. All of him. She reached for the ties of his shirt and unlaced the top. He pulled away and yanked the fabric over his head.
Penny’s breath caught in her throat. Wide shoulders tapered down a muscular torso to his trim waist. She reached her hand out again, he must think her odd the amount she touched him. “You’re beautiful too,” she whispered, her fingertip tracing the ridge of one of his muscles.
He gave another laugh. “Men aren’t supposed to be beautiful.”
She looked at him, laying on his side next to her, his blue eyes piercing into hers. “Handsome then. Devilishly so.”
“Better,” he answered as he unbuttoned the falls of his breeches and pulled them off in a swift motion.
She nearly gasped aloud. No wonder coupling had hurt. The rod between his legs was massive. “Are they all like that?” she asked, her tongue coming out to wet her lips.
“Stiff?” he asked as he lay on his back, lounging with his hands behind his head. “In bed with a woman like you, yes.”
“Large,” she replied as she reached out and ran her fingers over the flesh, its velveteen texture both surprising and exciting.
His member swelled even larger and she gave a small gasp. “Not all men are the same size. No.” He placed his hand over hers and gently began sliding them up and down his thickness.
“Can I use my mouth the way you did?” Before he could answer, she leaned down and placed a kiss on the tip. A loud groan filled the room.
“Penny,” he grunted between clenched teeth. “Until yesterday, it had been a very long time and my control isn’t what it used to be.”
“How long?” she asked and licked the tip, the way he’d done to her. His hips clenched and rose off the bed.
“A year. Longer. Maybe two.” He squeezed her fingers with his.
“Why so long?” she asked, her gaze meeting his even as she took the tip in her mouth. The salty flavor was pleasant and erotic, her own parts pulsed with need.
He drew several shallow breaths. “I didn’t like myself, how could I give pleasure to someone else?”
She sat up, still holding his gaze. That answer made her ache and she found herself pulling her shift up over her head as she came to her knees. He was exposed before her and she wanted to reciprocate.
His face tightened, growing hard as granite as he reached for her waist and traced her hips, then slid his hands back up to cup her breasts. “Lovely,” he said softly tracing her every curve. “Perfection.” Then his hands came back over her hips and he guided her on top of him.
Her brows drew together but she trusted he knew what he was doing and as he settled her legs on either side of him, she felt the press of his manhood against her slick folds.
“Oh,” she gasped, pushing against his thick rod which slid inside her without pain or resistance. “Oh!” she cried again as pleasure erupted inside her. When he was fully seated in her channel, his hip bones pressed against her nub in the most delicious way.
His hands were still on her hips and he guided her back up and then down again, both of them moaning as he filled her.
This time, they didn’t go slow. The pace quickly built until her breath came out in heaving gasps and pleasure hurtled toward her. When she exploded around him, he let out a fierce cry, his warm seed filling her as she collapsed on his chest.
“Oh,” she said, for lack of another word. “That was…”
“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing her hair.
She closed her eyes, snuggling against his chest. It had been perfect. She didn’t want to face the rest of the world outside this bed.
Chapter Eleven
Wes spent the next five days doing what he could to the house. Without paint or wood, there were many repairs that just couldn’t be done but he was able to trim the plants and rake the drive, oil rusty shutters, and get the place in working order.
Mrs. Welsh helped them procure a few more pieces of furniture. The dining room table was still there but the chairs were long gone. A mish-mash collection of six seats now lined the grand mahogany pedestal table, which had been polished to a shine, thanks to Penny.
It was early April and time to begin planning for the crop. He couldn’t plant quite yet but he could turn over the soil. With that in mind, he decided to visit the local village to see the blacksmith. The plow needed a few repairs and the hinge should be done.
Rising early, he and Penny climbed into the wagon. She wanted to get more supplies for the larder, and going together felt like a bit of an adventure.
He snapped the reins, and Penny gave a laugh next to him, one hand coming to the ribbons of her bonnet.
He took the other and gave a quick kiss to her palm. Though her glove separated his
lips from her skin, he amended to kiss her palm tonight, then each of her fingers.
They’d been engaged in informal carnal lessons. Penny was an insatiable student who asked a multitude of questions such as, “What if I kiss you here?” and “What happens when I touch you there?”
Did she know that her thirst for knowledge drove him wild with desire? He wanted her more with each passing day. How had it not occurred to him that an intelligent woman would make the best sort of lover?
As they rumbled down the road, she pulled a little notebook out of her pocket. It was different from the volume he’d seen her carrying. “What’s this book?” he asked.
“I thought I might keep a record of our finances. We can track expected expenses and ration out our money as needed.” She tapped a bit of flint against the paper. “We should leave some amount for emergencies.”
He looked over at her again. Intelligent women also made the best wives. “Excellent idea.”
“Do you know how much grain seed we’ll need and what the cost might be?” She began writing in the book. “Don’t worry if you don’t. I remember Mr. Wright. He runs the store. He’ll give us a fair price. He’s a good man.”
Pride and gratitude puffed out his chest. “I’m sure he will.” He slowed the carriage a bit. “I don’t know the price, but I think we’ll need fifty pounds at least.”
“We’ll start a vegetable garden too.” She continued scribbling. “That way Mrs. Welsh and I can preserve for the winter. Even if we only break even, we can still eat comfortably.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. She sounded so casual. As though she wouldn’t consider him a failure. He’d brought her here to change her life, not break even. She was working so hard. He pressed his fingers into his eyes. He wasn’t doing enough. “I hope we more than break even.”
She looked at him then. “On the bright side, if we don’t, we’ll stay together for another year.” Then her face flushed pink. “And besides, success can take time. If we don’t further our debt, I’ll consider that a success.”
The Wicked Wallflowers Page 14
