Claiming Her Innocence (5 page)

Earlier in the evening, when Lord Westcott had spoken of her restraint at the convent, his description had been frightfully accurate. Even now Penelope lay with her fists clenched at her sides, trying to will away the ache between her legs, trying to deny herself pleasure even though there was no nun to haul her away for her sin—if it was even a sin at all. Lord Westcott was right. He was the authority in her life now. He had given her permission. Would it be wrong? Penelope’s right hand relaxed, the fingers unclenched. She moved her arm until her palm was resting just above the swell of her pubis.

She thought of Sister Agnes. Sister Agnes, who had been so good to her, who had made her promise to be good. Sister Agnes who always had a smile for the well-behaved girls but punishments for the ones who were too independent. Sister Agnes, who stalked the halls as if on a mission to stamp out temptation wherever it existed. She’d made Penelope fearful, and now Penelope wondered if she weren’t really a good girl, but merely a frightened one.

Her hand moved down. It was now on the swell of her Venus mound. She could feel the heat of it through the cloth of her nightgown. Penelope raised her knees and under the bedclothes, the hem of her gown slid up to her waist. If she touched herself under the fabric, what would happen? Perhaps the shame would be punishment enough.

Her hand slid lower. Her thighs fell apart. Her fingers brushed the springy curls and even this slightest touch made her gasp. That she could be so sensitive there didn’t seem possible. Her hand trembled as she moved it lower, pressing through the damp fleece until they rested just inside the seam of her plump outer lips.

She was touching herself there, in that place Lord Westcott had called her pussy. She mouthed the word in the dark.
Pussy.
She pictured a cunning, wild thing with an appetite—a soft thing that liked to be stroked—and almost giggled. Penelope wanted to spread her legs, and for a moment lay there in the dark listening, as if fearing someone would know. But the room was silent and her knees moved apart. Her hand was still on her slit, and now that opened, too. She felt soft petals of skin, velvety slick, and a throbbing above that drew her hand.

Now the only image in her mind was of
him
. Of the handsome face of the man who’d stolen her away from a life of pious celibacy. There was a beckoning ache at the apex of her cleft and she pressed her fingers against it, as if to halt it, and gasped when a jolt of raw pleasure shot through her. Penelope pressed again, and then moved her fingers up and down as she’d seen the maid do in the alcove. A throaty moan—a woman’s moan—escaped her as pleasure washed through her body in a soft wave.

But the more she stroked, the more her virgin body demanded her to continue. She was moving her legs now, her fingers working feverishly as she rocked from side to side, her hips thrusting gently into her hand. As her core tightened into a knot of delicious tension, she was aware of an aching emptiness inside, and remembered the maid had said Lord Westcott would fill it with his cock.

Cock.
She said that word in the darkness, wanting to know the mysteries of it, wanting to be plundered and filled. The voice of the scolding nun that used to scream inside her head faded into the distance, replaced now by the deep voice of her betrothed telling her it was natural, good, and desirable for her to feel as she did, and to act on these feelings. Her fingers were soaked with her own arousal, and this time when she moved them up to the top of her cleft, she felt a hard little nub, its sensitivity so acute that the pressure of this final touch caused her to cry aloud into the dark and arch her back. The ripples of pleasure were so strong now that they took her breath away, leaving her gasping when she finally sank back down on the bed.

Penelope had not passed out, but she’d come close. There was no doubt that she’d experienced that overwhelming pleasure Betsy had described. She’d come short of
petit mort,
but was not disappointed. When it finally came, she hoped it would be not at her own hand, but at the hands of the man who was close to drawing her from the shadows of repression into the light of carnal pleasure.

Chapter Five: The Visiting Physician

“A doctor?” Penelope furrowed her brow as she looked up from a note that had been delivered moments earlier. She’d been sitting before a fire, reading a lovely book on birds he’d given her when her betrothed sent word that in an hour’s time she would be examined by his personal physician. “But I’m not ill.”

“It’s likely for his personal peace of mind, m’lady.” Betsy was putting away some linens and now walked over to her mistress. “Did you have no physicians in the convent?”

“Only when we were ill.” Penelope shut the book. “Sister Agnes believed illness came from sin, so if we weren’t feeling well, we often hid it.”

“She doesn’t sound very nice,” Betsy said. “If I may be so bold.”

“It’s all right,” Penelope sighed. “Things were so different there. I’m still trying very hard to remember that things aren’t quite so simple as I was raised to believe.”

She looked back at the note. “Wait. There’s more.” She scowled. “This can’t be right.” She glanced up at the maid. “Betsy, it says I am not to be wearing undergarments today.”

“Then you won’t wear them.” The maid’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“I most certainly shall.” Penelope rose and tossed the note in the fire. “I can think of no cause why I should not be clad. The most the physician ever does is give a tonic and look at your throat, anyway. This is likely some test of Lord Westcott. He’ll not know if I’m complying unless he looks under my skirt.”

“My lady…” The maid began, concern in her voice, but Penelope was in no mood to argue and ordered Betsy to fetch the pretty pink dress with the cream-colored bow, her kid slippers, and full petticoat and pantalets to wear underneath.

Penelope had grown fond of the unusual dresses he’d had made for her, even though they were a bit childish. She’d also grown fond of other ways Lord Westcott treated her as a child. It had been his assertion that preparing her for life as lady of the manor did not mean denying her the parental care she’d missed. He reminded her more than once that he would indulge her as a father would, and correct her as one, too. It was, he said, in his nature to dominate. Yes, she would grow, he told her, but in the confines of his direction and oversight.

The parental role he’d taken made Penelope feel nurtured and safe. At the convent, the girls were undistinguished and all were treated the same. In the short time she’d been under Lord Westcott’s care, his attention to her needs and behavior made her feel special. But she’d become bold enough now to again balk at a direct order. She would not give in to his demands so far as her underthings were concerned.

Later, when Lord Westcott arrived, he was in the company of a tall man with brown hair and wire-rimmed spectacles. Nearly as handsome as her husband, he was introduced as Dr. Baker, and greeted her with an easy smile. By his side was a tall older woman with a beak-like nose and steel gray hair, who he introduced as Dr. Baker’s nurse.

“So, you are the little lady who has stolen my friend’s cold heart?” the doctor said.

“Friend?” Penelope asked. “I thought you were his physician?”

“He’s both, my dear.” Lord Westcott reached down for her hand. “We served together in the army years ago when I was in service to the Crown. Gerald and I met there, and when he settled in the local village, he became my physician. Now he will be yours.”

“Your betrothed tells me you were in the convent,” Dr. Baker said.

“Yes,” Penelope nodded, and went on to answer some questions about her general health.

“I’ve asked Dr. Baker to give you a basic premarital exam, Penelope,” Lord Westcott said.

“But…” she began to object.

“There’s no need to fuss,” the doctor said as his nurse began to pull things from his bag and lay them on a nearby table. Penelope recognized two scopes, but when she saw the thick glass thermometer, her heart began to pound.

“I don’t have a fever,” she quickly said, recalling one of the girls at the convent tearfully describing how such an instrument had been shoved into her bum during an outbreak of fever that Penelope had fortunately avoided.

“Again, it’s routine, to establish a baseline,” Lord Westcott said. “And it will be over before you know it. In fact, we’ll get that part out of the way first. This is why you were told not to wear undergarments, Penelope. Just go lean over the bed and Dr. Baker will have a reading before you know it.”

But she was shaking her head. “No. I don’t want my temperature taken. And besides, I am wearing my undergarments.”

Lord Westcott walked over. “But you were told not to wear them.”

She dropped her eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“And you willingly disobeyed?”

“I’m an adult!” she objected. “I will not simply go without underthings because you say so.”

“My, it seems my little Penelope deigns to pick and choose when to be the coddled ward and when to be the independent lady, without realizing it is not her choice.” As he spoke, Lord Westcott removed his jacket and began to roll up his right sleeve to expose a muscular forearm.

Pulling over a nearby chair, he sat down and pulled Penelope across his lap, ignoring her protests as he flipped up her skirt and jerked down the pantalets she was wearing.

“Oh, no! Please don’t! For pity’s sake!” Penelope looked back, stricken. “Not with others in the room!”

“Stop fighting,” he barked. “If you’d complied, Dr. Baker and his nurse would have only looked upon your bottom for the short time it took to take your temperature. Because you defied me in front of them, you’ll be corrected in front of them.”

Penelope was mortified, and quickly reminded of how seriously her future husband took his role as her minder. Within moments she was bawling in a most undignified manner as his broad hand soundly spanked her upturned nates. She was mindful of the picture she must present with her wiggling about; the doctor and his nurse were surely not only seeing the full of her wriggling bottom, but what lay between her kicking legs.

She felt as if her backside was on fire. Lord Westcott was spanking her earnestly, the blows causing her bottom first to sting and then to burn. When Penelope’s little hand flew back in an effort to shield her searing cheeks, her future husband caught her wrist, rendering her helpless.

By the time the spanking had stopped, Penelope was sobbing pitifully and feeling more like a little girl than a woman soon to be married. But if the doctor and nurse found anything odd in the scenario that was playing out before them, they didn’t show it.

“I believe she’s in the perfect position to have her temperature taken, Dr. Baker,” Lord Westcott said, and Penelope, draped over her future husband’s lap, found herself grateful for being face down at that moment. It was bad enough that she’d been spanked into compliance and was about to have a thermometer stuck in her bum. Having to face those who’d witnessed her humiliation would have made things far worse.

She could feel a hand on her burning cheeks, parting them, and remained silent. Hot tears slid down a face reddening from embarrassment as the bulbous, lubricated tip of the thermometer slid into her bottom.

“Now there’s my good girl.” Lord Westcott’s voice was low, and his hand pressed her cheeks together around the thermometer that protruded between them. As he squeezed her sore bottom around the implement, Penelope was aghast to feel her pussy starting to throb. Biting her lip, she fought the feeling, for how could she be aroused under such circumstances?

“Pardon me, Lord Westcott.” For the first time, the nurse accompanying Dr. Baker spoke. “I noticed that your young lady is not shaved. It is highly recommended, and if you’d like, I can certainly perform the task quickly.”

“Yes, I agree with the nurse,” the doctor was saying. “And also, if she’s given to fits of temper, I can prescribe a bolus you can insert into her bottom. It contains soothing herbs best absorbed by the lower gut.”

“Please do leave some,” Lord Westcott said. “I believe just the mention of such a remedy may be all that is needed to improve a certain young lady’s mood.”

Penelope flushed at the conversation that was taking place as if she weren’t there.

Dr. Baker removed the thermometer and raised her to her feet. Across the room, the nurse had spread a drape on the bed and was mixing a mug of shaving cream. Penelope looked at Lord Westcott with pleading eyes, but knew entreaties would be useless, so she meekly complied as he ordered her to step out of the pantalets he’d pushed down and kept her eyes to the floor as she was led to the bed.

Being shaved by the nurse with two men in the room was all the more humiliating because she knew when she spread her legs, all could see the arousal that now coated her thighs. But again, no one mentioned it. She felt exposed as the hair was expertly and swiftly removed; could they tell how her pussy clenched? Was it normal for her to feel excitement amid such fear and embarrassment?

The rest of the exam was carried out in the same clipped, professional manner, and Dr. Baker told her what a good girl she was at the end of it, and promised to see her at the wedding. It all seemed very surreal to Penelope, who suspected that it wasn’t so terribly unusual for wives to be treated in this manner.

Later, after the doctor left, she asked Lord Westcott if this was the case.

“It’s more common than you probably realize,” he said. “The grand ladies you see in society are likely sporting red bottoms under their fancy gowns. “ He chuckled. “I’m quite sure it was that way for my parents. But it’s necessary to keep order. There can only be one master.”

He kissed her then.

“I’m sorry I disobeyed,” she said as he tucked her into bed for her nap, for the ordeal had made her overtired.

“You were corrected, so all is forgiven,” he said. “And your shaved pussy is very beautiful. I look forward to touching and tasting it, Penelope. Remember, while I may punish you as a child, very soon I will touch you as a wife.”