Penelope walked right up to the edge and looked down. He held tightly to her hand and pulled her backward. “I always hated it when Margaret did that.”
Penelope looked over her shoulder at him with questioning eyes but didn’t resist him. “I don’t want your sister to feel uncomfortable living with us, Hugh. I think she left because she feels she would be an intrusion. I don’t feel that way about her at all. This is her home!”
Hugh pulled Penelope against him, wrapping his arms around her waist. He rested his hands upon her protruding abdomen. “Margaret did not leave because she felt she was intruding,” he explained reluctantly. “She told me that she cannot bear to be here when you grow large with child. She cannot bear to be here when you finally give birth.”
“Does she hate me so much?” Penelope sounded confused and hurt. “Is she so offended by…?”
He shook his head. “She delivered a stillborn just after her husband’s death. She told me she cannot bear to be reminded. It is too soon.”
Penelope sighed and rested against him. “I didn’t know.”
“Not many did.”
“She has not had an easy time of it over the past few years, has she?”
“No.” They stood in silence together. All that was in front of them was ocean. Endless, ocean. They were, quite literally, at England’s edge.
The mood had become melancholy rather quickly. But Penelope shook it off for the both of them.
“I’m starving, Hugh! Let’s see what Cook has prepared.”
The next few minutes were spent opening the basket and spreading a blanket over the untamed grass that grew there. Penelope took out a few dishes and napkins and began piling various delicacies onto two plates. Cook had provided a bottle of wine but no glasses. They took turns drinking directly from it, in between bites of cucumber sandwiches, pastries, and fresh strawberries. Hugh regaled her with some of the adventures he’d had here. Penelope would interrupt to ask him for more details or explanation. She was a very good listener. Eventually, he persuaded her to speak about herself. She shared a few stories of the foibles she’d managed to get herself into with her cousin over the past several years.
Abigail had been a very important person in her life for a long time. He knew the lady had married last summer. He wondered if her cousin’s absence had left Penelope feeling lonely. He’d felt a bit of that himself, he reluctantly admitted, when Cortland had wed. He and Penelope were two of the last single people left from a handful of friends who’d experienced that first season together in London after Waterloo. That had been nearly a decade ago.
Feeling content and full, Hugh stood up and stretched. While he did so, Penelope returned the leftovers and dishes to the basket. When she was finished, she leaned back on the blanket and propped herself up with her elbow. A suspicious gleam lit her eyes.
“Hugh?”
He chuckled. “Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about something and wondering.” He watched as she bit her bottom lip. A shot of heat surged to his loins.
Men were such simple beings.
He crouched down and then lay beside her. “What have you been thinking?” He raised one hand and ran his index finger from the edge of her sleeve down to her wrist. She shivered.
“The night of our wedding, you, well, you did things with your mouth.” She did not meet his eyes. She plucked at the blanket, instead, and watched her fingers as she did so.
“I did.” Hugh’s own voice sounded husky.
“It was, well, really, rather extraordinary.” And then she met his eyes. The blue lights danced. “And, well, I have seen renderings… in this one particular book.”
Hugh raised his brows. “My dear Penelope,” he teased lightly. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Well…” She plucked at the blanket again. “I’m asking, really, if you might enjoy having, um your, well, my mouth…”
Hugh nearly choked. And without warning, the hand that had been playing with the blanket reached out and touched him over his breeches.
“There was this one picture…” she continued.
Hugh would not interrupt her for the world. Good God, his wife was well read indeed! Her fingers stroked him rhythmically, almost absentmindedly as she seemed to be gathering the courage to continue.
“A picture?” he prompted her.
“It was, well, backward. Or more accurately, flip-flopped, I would say. Both the woman and the man were giving pleasure, and both receiving it, as well.” He couldn’t take it any longer. Was she suggesting what he thought she was?
Hugh lunged forward and pressed his mouth against hers. He could hardly contain himself. She’d aroused him, utterly and completely, merely by uttering a few words and while barely touching him on the outside of his clothes.
