Wedded in Sin (23 page)

“He’s the sweetest, funniest, smartest child. Everyone says so. He explores everywhere, most of them places he shouldn’t be. He tries to eat everything, and my God, when he cries, I sometimes want to scream right back. Everyone thinks I’m a slut because of him. I used to get looks from people on the street. Kind ones, happy ones. Now they curl their lip, and I’ve been spit at. Spit at! Because they think I’m a tart. But they don’t know me.
You
don’t know me! Because I would never, ever hurt Tommy!”

There was more screaming. Every time he took a breath, every time he tried to move away from the shelving, she started up again. She loved the boy; that much was clear. But also the well of frustration and anger boiled out of her at the same time. She was a woman alone saddled with an infant boy. Of course she was exhausted and angry.

And yet, that wasn’t the source of her fury. It was part of the problem, but not the source. So he waited, his hands raised in defense, his eyes watching to see if she lunged for any of the implements on the shelves.

She didn’t, thank God, and eventually she stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps as exhaustion took its toll. But she still had the strength to glare at him. Then she repeated what she had said before.

“You don’t know me. I would never hurt Tommy. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see me at all?”

She stumbled backward, finally allowing him to move away from the wall. He would have caught her, but she was more likely to punch him than thank him for his help. Besides, she steadied herself on the edge of the chair. Her back was to him, and he could see the clenched ripple of her muscles as she heaved in great gulps of air. Then he waited a bit longer, wondering if her good sense would return.

“Penny—”

“I would never hurt Tommy.”

“I know.”

She released a shuddering breath. “Then why would you say such a thing?”

“Because you’re angry, Penny. And some of your anger is directed at him.”

“Because raising him is
hard
!”

“And because there’s something else about him that infuriates you.”

She shook her head. “No! He’s a child! It’s not his fault!”

“What isn’t his fault?”

She whipped around, her eyes narrowed and this time her fists were raised. “You’re twisting my words!”

“You know I’m not.”

She didn’t answer. She stood there, her eyes glaring, her fists raised, and her body clenched so tight it was a wonder she could stand upright. And in that position, he knew she would never talk, never say the fury that was etched deep inside her. Which meant he would have to do it for her. Or at least try.

So he took a deep breath, raised his hands palms outward in surrender, and plunged on in. “Shall I take a guess, Penny? Shall I say that your father was an idiot? He never saw what you did for him, never appreciated how much of the work of cobbling you did? All he could see was that you were a girl and that he did not have a son.”

“My father loved me!”

“Of course he did, but absently, in the way of all great artists. They see only their art, not those that support him day by day. If he had let you take your rightful place at his side, if he had let people know that you were his heir, then none of this would have happened. No one would believe that he’d given ownership to Tommy, which could then be sold to Cordwain. And even if they did, you could have been apprenticed to any of the other shoemakers. But he didn’t do that. And he certainly didn’t tell anyone that you had been making the shoes for months, if not years.”

She swallowed, her eyes wide. There was denial in her face, and her fists had dropped down low as if she couldn’t bear to raise them against her father. “It would have ruined him if word got out that he could no longer make boots.”

“Maybe. But it would have been the making of you.” He stepped forward, gently touching her wrists. When he went for her hands, she twisted the fists back and away from him. “Your father is the one who didn’t see you, didn’t know you. Of course that’s not Tommy’s fault. It was your father’s. And your mother’s, too, for not making him see his only child.”

She turned her face away, but not before he saw what was in her eyes. It wasn’t fury, as he had expected. It wasn’t even the shimmer of tears. What he saw was a bleakness, an emptiness that told him that he had guessed right.

Meanwhile, she bit out six words, spoken in clipped accents as if she’d pushed them through clenched teeth. “My father was a good man.”

He shrugged. “He was certainly a good shoemaker,” he said quietly. “He might have been a good man, too, but he was a terrible father.”

She flinched at that, but didn’t speak. And the longer she stood there, body clenched tight, the more he began to worry. He thought that would be the release she needed. Finally, someone had said the words that were damned up inside her: Her father was an idiot. Her father hadn’t valued her as he should.

Except her shoulders didn’t release; her mouth didn’t soften. If anything, she coiled tighter, and held back even more.

Which meant he’d been wrong. This wasn’t the source of her anger. He huffed out a frustrated breath. Damn, he was lousy at this type of conversation. Give him a set of clues, and he could make brilliant deductions. Scuff marks on the floor, a missing purse, even something spoken that was obviously a lie—all those things were clues that he used to make clever deductions. With Penny he’d done all that and obviously come up with the wrong answer. Which left him totally at a loss.

He touched her averted cheek, stroking his finger across her flawless skin. “I don’t know what to say, Penny. And that is a rare thing indeed.”

She didn’t smile at that, though he imagined her expression lightened a bit. Then she released a long breath, but not as a woman finally letting go. Not even in a snort of frustration. More like a slow hiss from a pipe. Steady. Mechanical. Not a release, just a symptom.

Then she began to speak.

“My father loved me deeply,” she said, her voice flat. “When I was little and got a new dress, he would take my hands and we would dance about the room. Whenever I was with the customers, he kept an eagle eye on me to make sure no man said anything wrong or touched me in any way. And when boys came to call, he tortured them mercilessly on their parentage, their prospects, their…everything.” She shifted slightly, puffing out her chest as she mimicked her father.
“‘The man for my Penny has to be worthy of her.’
That’s what he said. That was his love.”

“Were there many boys come to call?” he asked. It was not what he meant to ask. It wasn’t in the least bit relevant, but neither was his irrational surge of jealousy at the thought of it.

She shrugged. “Enough. Among my set, I was considered quite a catch.”

“You still are, Penny.”

She didn’t bother to argue with him. She merely shook her head. He knew what she was thinking. Everyone believed her a tart. She was now impoverished and had a baby to boot. Among most people, she’d fallen far from desirable.

“If only you could see this rationally, Penny. If only you understood how your skills, your determination, and your strength make you a prize.”

Then she did look at him, and he saw fear in her eyes. A stark terror that froze the breath in his lungs.

“I once asked my father to let me sell shoes for him. Ladies slippers, much like what I am doing now. We would be Shoemaker and Daughter—shoes for lord and lady alike.” She fell silent, obviously remembering. The fear hadn’t left her eyes, and he knew they were getting close. But she’d stopped speaking.

“I assume he said no,” he prompted, hoping to get her to continue.

It worked. She nodded slowly. “He said, ‘What good would that do when you will be off and having babies with Wesley before the year’s end?’”

He frowned, his belly tightening. “Wesley?”

“Wesley Barlow, the son of a baker my father liked. Wesley and I have known each other since we were Tommy’s age.”

“And your father expected you two to wed?”

She nodded, but the motion was more of a jerk. “I thought…I thought he was right. Wesley was my choice and I…” She looked down at her hands. Only now did he notice that they weren’t clenched. Instead, they were limp. Almost as if she hadn’t the strength to move them.

“Did you love him?”

“Yes.”

A surge of fury washed through him. This boy—this idiot—had Penny’s heart. “What did he do?” Samuel rasped out. “What did he do to hurt you?”

“He got a maid pregnant. They were wed two years ago.”

It didn’t take long for him to guess at the rest of the pieces. “Your father always saw you as a girl, so when this wedding that he’d always wanted—the wedding to his friend’s son—when it failed, he decided it was because you spent too much time making shoes.”

“Mama said that, not Papa.”

“But it was your father who made the decision. He declared that you would go be a girl. Go to parties and the like. Except he still needed you in the shop. So you worked for him as a shameful secret while your mother demanded that you be a beautiful girl to catch a man. And no one ever—from the very beginning of your life—ever let you just work as you wanted. As a shoemaker.”

She bit her lip, her breath catching from strong emotion. But he couldn’t tell if it was a sob or a scream. Either way, it didn’t matter. And either way, he still had to point out the illogic of her fury.

“But you are doing it now, Penny. You have finally found a way to do exactly what you’ve wanted from the very beginning. You are making shoes, you are supporting yourself. You are—”

“Doing a man’s work,” she whispered. “A girl acting like a boy. I couldn’t hold Wesley’s interest. Every man who has looked at me has disappeared eventually. My father—” Her words choked off. She drew in to herself, collapsing against the table to the point that he grabbed her elbows to hold her up.

“Your father what?” he pressed. “Penny, this is important. I need to know what your father did.”

“He called me unnatural. They both did, Mama and Papa.
Unnatural.
Because I wanted to make shoes.” This last was pushed out on a sob as the tears finally broke free. She collapsed against him and he held her as her body shook.

Here at last was the source of Penny’s pain. How well he understood this particular nightmare! Friends and family who didn’t understand, who thought you an aberration because of what you loved. Because of what you found fascinating. But whereas his particular demon was unnatural, hers was simply a gift. The gift of being an artist. And as often happened with the lower classes, the artistry took a practical turn. She had a gift for shoes, and that was a marvelous thing.

He pulled her tighter into his arms. In truth, it was the only way he could support her body, but he didn’t object in the least. He wanted to hold her as she sobbed against his chest. He didn’t speak. He had to wait until she had control of herself enough for his words to make any sense to her. But in time she quieted, and he almost mourned the passing of her tears because she stirred against him, fighting his hold.

“You know it’s not true, don’t you?” he said into her hair. “You are not the least bit unnatural. And the men who abandoned you were fools. Every last one of them.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she got more still, more frozen, and he cursed himself anew. He had said something wrong. Again.

“Penny, what is it? You must tell me.”

She spoke so quiet he almost didn’t hear, but he was listening very closely. “You are not a fool.”

He frowned, not understanding. “Not often. But there are times.”

He touched her chin, gently urging her to look at him. She did, though the movement was obviously reluctant. “You are not a fool,” she said more strongly. “And you have no desire to lie with me.”

He gaped at her. How could she possibly have read the situation so wrong? “Of course I want to!”

Her chin thrust out and an angry glint entered her gaze. “You said you didn’t. You said it clearly less than an hour ago.” And therefore, by extension, he thought her unnatural.

It took him a moment to think back to when he could possibly have said that. “Good God, Penny, you were trying to kill me at the time! Or run away. If I had told you the truth, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Her eyes narrowed and he could see she didn’t believe him.

“Do you truly know nothing about me?”

The answer was obvious. She didn’t know, which made the situation all the more ridiculous.

“I can see I shall have to be blunt. And sometimes,” he added ruefully, “blunt requires demonstration.”

So saying, he caught her hand. She wasn’t expecting it, so he grabbed it easily. The resistance came as he gently forced it down. He was still holding her, so it required that he step back just a bit. Just enough to give room for him to press her fingers against his organ. But she was fighting him. Not out of any understanding, but out of habit. Which meant he had to be stronger than she was. Which meant she landed with more force than he’d intended.

The impact nearly brought him to his knees. But he measured the pain and groaned at the pleasure. And in time, she stopped fighting, softening her fingers until she had flattened her palm against him.

Eventually he managed to speak, but the sound was tight as his lust fought with his reason. “Yes, Penny, I want to bed you. I have wanted it from the very first moment I met you. I have created schemes in my head to seduce you. Even when you were trying to claw my eyes out, I wanted to throw you down and take you.”

He took a deep breath, and in that moment, his body overtook him. Without willing it, he thrust against her hand. She gasped and started to pull away, but she was trapped between him and the table. And he didn’t want her to soften her caress.

His body trembled, and he released a groan of delight. He saw her eyes widen in shock.

“You really want me?” She bit her lip.

He dropped his forehead against hers. “I cannot think for wanting you, Penny. And believe me, that has never happened to me before.”

He saw a ghost of a smile skate across her face. “I know this is ridiculous. I remember how you schemed to seduce me. But you didn’t really know anything about me then. You were just being a man. And now that we are better acquainted…” Her voice trailed away.