Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) (5 page)

Chapter Five

A
FTER DISMISSING
M
INNIE
for the night, Penelope packed her satchel, all the while wishing she didn’t have to leave. But she couldn’t remain this way any longer. The same dinners. The same conversations. The same disapproving gazes from Ethan.

She felt foolish for ever having dreamed it would be different. And even more foolish for having been in love with Ethan for most of her life. She’d turned down two marriage proposals from perfectly respectable gentlemen in the hopes that someday Ethan would see her as more than a fixture in his life, more than a plate that sat to his left at dinner. Yet, he’d summed up her worst fears with one succinct sentence:
Out of the realm of possibility.

The sense of resignation she’d acquired over the years refused to comfort her now. She knew that if she had any hope of forgetting him, of starting a new dream, of finding a shred of happiness, she needed to be far away from wherever he was. Because whenever he was near, she began to dream of things that were out of his realm of possibility.

After a few useless tears, she wrote two letters, one to her father and one to Ethan. They both asked for understanding, they both offered a surface explanation of her wanting to see more of the world, they both begged for forgiveness. But only Ethan’s letter mentioned how futile her love had been all these years and how she needed to escape immediately before sorrow crushed what was left of her heart.

Once he read the letter, the words would seal her fate forever. She could never see him again.

D
RESSED IN HER
conservative burgundy traveling costume, she set out in the wee hours of morning on her new adventure, determined to leave futility and routine behind.

Portsmouth was as good a place as any, she thought as she looked down to the mail coach’s schedule in her hand. She had an aunt there. Flora was her mother’s younger sister, who had invited Penelope to stay with her on numerous occasions. Now, she would finally accept. The only problem was, this would be a surprise visit. Since her aunt was a carefree sort, given to whims of her own, Penelope knew she wouldn’t mind.

The faint gray light of dawn was starting to creep over the horizon. A few other travelers milled in the area while the horses were being changed. There were eight travelers altogether, which made for a very cramped journey, especially considering only four would be seated inside the coach. She looked around, noting that she was one of three women. Surely, the gentlemen would defer their own comfort and politely offer the inside? However, skepticism warred with reason as she watched not one but two gentlemen hover near the coach’s door.

Yet, in the next instant her choice of seat was forgotten as a carriage came thundering down the street as if the hounds of hell were directly behind it. The older woman beside her gasped when it came to an abrupt halt behind the mail coach.

Penelope blinked in disbelief. She knew that carriage.

With a glance up at the driver, she felt a horrible sense of dread in her stomach. She inclined her head in greeting to Tom, the Weatherstones’ driver, and he returned the gesture. The tiger, young Arthur, hopped down and lowered the platform stairs. He, too, acknowledged her with tilt of his cap and a grin that spoke volumes on the reason they were all here.

She stared at the carriage door, waiting for Ethan to burst out and rail at her about being foolish and insensible. He would try to drag her home, ranting about her potential ruin. He’d probably expect her to thank him for it, too.

Thank him for driving pell-mell and making a scene in front of complete strangers, who were all looking at her with interest now, as if she were some runaway child who needed to be taken home for safekeeping.

She was five-and-twenty! She could make her own decisions, and if something horrible were to happen, then she would be the one to suffer the consequences.

The more she stared at the door, the more her ire sparked. He couldn’t have received her letter yet because she’d left it in the care of her father, and her father wouldn’t open his letter until he went into his study after breakfast. So then, the only way he would know she was here was if he’d been spying on her. Of all the interfering—

The passengers started filing into the coach until any hope for an inside seat was gone. She glared at Ethan’s door. He was going to ruin this for her. She’d finally found the courage to get on with her life, the courage to escape the haunting specter of her future self, and
he
was going to ruin her chance.

She looked to the mail coach. All the passengers were on. All but one. If she squeezed, she could manage to sit in between the driver and a rather rotund male passenger. And, of course, it was starting to drizzle, the air not quite cold enough to make it freeze, but close. Very close.

The angrier she got, the more she could see her breath turn to cloudy vapor. Ethan Weatherstone was due for a piece of her mind. It was about time he understood that he had no right to interfere with her life.

Mind made up, she took one last look at the mail coach and shook her head. She reached down for her satchel and stormed over to Ethan’s carriage.

Penelope threw open the door and climbed inside, seething as she sat across from him. He didn’t even have the courtesy to look at her. Instead, he sat back against the squabs, his head turned to the window. The only reason she knew he was aware of her presence was from the way he clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching just beneath the surface of his skin.

“Were you waiting to humiliate me? Waiting until I was already seated before you dragged me away from the mail coach? Or perhaps you planned to follow me all the way to Portsmouth?”

He refused to respond or even so much as look at her. If she hadn’t been angry before she entered the carriage, then she certainly was fuming now.

“Truly, Ethan, for someone who cannot live outside the lines of your carefully crafted order, your sameness that covers you like a shroud, this is quite surprising behavior,” she hissed, baiting him. “I only wish your concern for my happiness were as great as your concern for my reputation.”

At that, he glared at her sharply. Ah, so she’d struck a chord.

Good. Yet still, he did not say anything.

There he sat, perfectly groomed, his cravat perfectly pleated, his temper perfectly managed. She wished just once he’d lose some of that control. Because here she sat, with her eyes, most likely puffy and red from having cried most of the night instead of sleeping. She was certainly not perfectly groomed since she could feel a soggy tendril of hair plastered to her cheek. Her cloak was damp from rain. Her nose was cold and likely red as well.

“How can you be so . . . so
unaffected
all the time?” Her voice rose with her accusation. “Haven’t you ever dreamed for something outside the realm of possibility? Or are you content with each day so long as your cravat is perfectly pleated?”

She glared at the offending garment, struck by a ridiculous notion to crumple it. No sooner had the idea formed that she gave in to the impulse and moved forward on her seat, her arm reaching forward.

Ethan stopped her, taking hold of her wrist. His eyes flared. Before she could react, he yanked, propelling her forward to land clumsily on his lap.

“How dare—”

His mouth covered hers, silencing her outrage. Her head spun, reeling from the sudden scorching heat of his kiss.

This was a kiss, wasn’t it? Yet, it was nothing like her dreams, where his rehearsed request was followed by carefully controlled actions. No, this was no gentle dream. This was hard and demanding. His tongue didn’t request entrance but swept in and plundered.

His arms were not gentle either. In fact, he held her so tightly she couldn’t move, and grasped her wrist so she couldn’t touch him or push him away.

But she’d never push him away.

Instead, she wanted to cling to him. Her anger evaporated in a rush of steam. Her mind cried out for more of this glorious punishment. She wanted his kiss to burn her, through and through. This was the first time she’d been warm in months.

A mew of frustration tore from her throat when his firm hold would not budge. She wriggled and pulled. Finally, she managed to free her hand, but at the cost of the buttons at her wrist as her glove was stripped away. Yet, she didn’t care.

Now, she was free to touch him. Her bare hand found its way to his hair, threading through the thick, heavy waves. The smooth locks wound around her fingers in a caress. How long had she wondered at the texture or longed for this freedom? Forever, at least.

She returned his kiss with the fervor she’d kept locked away for years. Her tongue mingled with his. A tentative stroke at first. Then a few slow swipes until she knew the intimate interior of his mouth as well as he knew hers. She touched the sharp ridges of his teeth and felt compelled to rake hers across his tongue. He groaned in response, his arms tightening around her.

She squirmed against him, feeling very much like a cat in need of affection. He seemed to know this, because in the next instant he unclasped her fur-trimmed cloak and let it fall to the carriage floor. His hands were on her, caressing the length of her back. From her nape to the swells of her derriere, his fingertips traced every vertebra of her spine, leaving none unexplored.

Never once did he break the kiss. Never once did he ease the pressure. The kiss remained a force to be reckoned with, too long denied. With her eyes closed, she felt the pull of his lips more keenly and was mesmerized into answering with the same urgency.

Ethan. . .

Those same hands, which were meticulous with writing figures in a ledger, were just as meticulous with the row of tiny buttons at the front of her half jacket.

Penelope did not know how to describe what happened next. Until now, she could have only dreamed of such a passionate kiss. Let alone ever imagined how wondrous it would feel to have his hands on her body.

The heat of those hands seared through the thin fabric of her dress and her chemise as her jacket parted. Her flesh grew taut, responding to his touch. A sharp spear of sensation stabbed her with the most exquisite pain, which tightened low in her belly. She arched against his hand, wanting more of this sublime torture.

He obliged her, chafing the fabric over her nipple with the pad of his thumb. She squirmed against him again, feeling hot and liquid and never wanting this to end. She was infinitely glad she did not get on the mail coach. This was a far better way to travel.

Ethan deepened the kiss, stripping away her ability to think. Every glorious pull of his lips, every sublime stroke of his tongue exposed more of the yearning she’d locked away. She could not get enough. He dragged down the front of her dress, exposing her breast to the chilly winter air, her nipple contracting in the cold. Yet his warm hand covered her instantly, pressing and kneading her flesh until she ached for more.

Her body was a mass of tingles. The quivering low in her belly intensified unbearably. She pressed herself against the hardness of his thigh to quell the throbbing ache between hers. A sweet sob escaped her at the contact.

He tore his mouth away, his eyes hooded and fiery. When he looked down at her flesh in his hands, an expression of blatant ownership swept over his features. It was as if he said she was his, and there was no denying it.

Yes,
something desperate inside her cried.
Yes, I am yours. Make me yours!

In answer to her unspoken plea, he bent his head and closed his mouth over her taut flesh. The sensation was like nothing she’d ever felt. Hot and wet, he drew her deeply into his mouth. It was like being stung, but the pain was sweeter, sharper. Relentless, his tongue flicked over her, abrading her, making her squirm more against him. His skilled fingers plucked her other nipple, intensifying the feeling until the sharp stings and the throbbing ache below were in rhythm with each other.

Her whole body tightened. She rocked her hips again. Suddenly, her body convulsed, her hips moving without her consent, her breasts tightening to the point of shattering. He groaned again, his teeth gently raking over her flesh.

And then she did shatter on a wordless moan, clutching him fiercely as wave after wave of pleasure washed through the shattered pieces of her.

All at once, she was so exhausted she couldn’t open her eyes. She sagged in Ethan’s arms, barely holding on to him as he settled back onto the seat with her.

T
HE NEXT THING
she was aware of was Ethan’s carrying her into her father’s study and laying her down on the settee. It was still early yet; the sweet aroma of freshly baked breakfast pastries filled the house.

He paused to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “We will talk about this later.”

She blushed and nodded. Now that they were no longer in the confines of the carriage, knowing what had just occurred made her feel shy. Strange, she didn’t feel shy at all
while
it was happening.

He must have been feeling a little shy as well because he looked guiltily away. Then, as if he’d known her plot by heart, he made his way to her father’s desk. On top, sat two folded letters. Ethan picked them both up and likely noted that one was addressed to him. She swallowed nervously, wondering if he would read it now. How could she bear to look at him after what she’d written, after admonishing him for being the cause of her needing to leave?

Yet, in the next moment, he moved to the hearth. Without asking for her consent, he threw the unopened letters into the fire.

He glanced over at her again, his unruly hair delightfully disheveled. “When Vernon let me in, I merely told him you suffered a fall on your morning walk. So, perhaps you could limp around a bit to make it convincing.”

“Oh. All right.” She blushed again, realizing only now that her clothes were back in order.

Looking up, she hoped to find reassurance in his gaze. She received a small smile instead and a nod before he left.