Spurred by his words, Penelope fell even deeper into the abyss, relishing in the feel of his ministration, each nip and suck at her center taking her closer and closer to the edge.
And soon, her release sent her sinking to the grass, her body rocked by quakes from within.
Cecil caught her before she hit the ground, smiling down at her fondly.
“That sounded like a good one,” he muttered, sharing the taste of her on his tongue. “What do you think? Was it worth the risk?”
Penelope couldn’t for the life of her recall why she had contended against this and nodded, pressing her face into his chest as he pulled her closer, mumbling quietly,
“Absolutely.”
Cecil helped her dress again, his moments slow and gentle, making her feel rather self-conscious of how adept he was at this.
Afterwards, they silently sat together on the stone bench in the quiet of the garden, close but no longer touching. The night had settled into the particular stillness that comes in the hour before dawn begins to think about arriving.
Penelope was looking at the moon, feeling so incredibly at ease, so she was not startled when Cecil spoke up.
“I do not understand… How have you not found a husband yet? Now that I know more about you, I cannot imagine why you have not been claimed by some noble man with promises of making you the sun of his life. You are… a vision to behold. Do not tell me that you are not aware of this.”
Penelope laughed, shaking her head.
“You make it sound too obvious.”
“It is!” he insisted. “Aside from your sharp tongue and stubborn character… I imagine that any man who crossed your path would believe you were a dream. Why did you choose not to find a match for yourself? Why did you drop out of your first season so early?”
He sounded so concerned, and it made her heart bleed in a way it had not in ages. And she wondered if she would finally voice out a burden that had been upon her heart for far too long.
“It… it was not a single event. Something happened that made me doubt my desire for eternal companionship. And then during my debut, it was as though I received confirmation that engaging in such activities was merely a waste of my time,” she said calmly.
“What happened?” he questioned gently.
Penelope had surpassed those memories for so long, she was not sure she could find the words to speak about it — if she even wished to. But then, her lips parted.
“After my parents passed, an uncle came to live with us. He believes as were still too young handle important affairs on our own and at the time, we were thankful for the support. Lionel was twenty-one, barely ready for his viscount roles and I, at fifteen, needed to prepare for my debut. But without my mother, it was proving difficult. We really – we needed someone.”
She paused, inhaling the sweet scent of jasmine. She had always liked jasmine, so it calmed her significantly.
“He did not stay for very long, only about five months. During that time, things were fine at first. Lionel had a lot of work to do and traveled for business so it was my uncle and I for an extended period of time. He gave me etiquette lessons, as well as dancing lessons and he seemed nice. Then… then he began to say things to me. At first they were simply compliments, then they turned suggestive, with him staying that he wished he could have been me all to himself. And that I would be wasted on some noble man with no account for taste. And one evening, he cornered me in the hallway and tried to touch me. I said I would scream and he said it wouldn’t matter because he would be absolved of any blame whereas my reputation would be ruined. He never had his way… and I feel ill afterwards and when Lionel returned, he asked our uncle to leave. We never saw him again after that and I somewhat lost faith in romance after that.”
Cecil was very still beside her, and she could not bring herself to face him, not when she could feel tears clinging to her eyelashes.
“I have never told anyone — not even Lionel knows what really happened,” she said. “Please do not tell him. He carries enough burdens as is.”
Heavy silence covers them both for a long moment. Then Cecil said, very quietly, and with a flatness in his voice that was unfamiliar to her ears.
“Where is he now?”
“France, I believe. He has been on the continent for some years.”
“Good for him, then,” Cecil said. “Because if he were in England, I would have challenged him to a duel at the earliest opportunity, and I want you to understand that I would not miss.”
The certainty of his statement finally urged her to look at him.
His jaw was set, and his eyes were dark, and there was nothing in his expression that looked anything like the Cecil she had argued with over her croquet skills — or lack thereof — or the Cecil who said insufferable things with perfect composure, or even the Cecil of an hour ago. This looked like something older and quieter and considerably more dangerous.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen the way you handle a mallet, so I know a gun is no problem for you.”
“You have my word,” he said, and he said it the way he had assured her that she was in safe, good hands, in the sun room – not to be charming, not as a performance, but simply because he meant it.
