Engaged in Passion (A Bridal Favors Novella) (10 page)

Meanwhile, Penny was still talking, her expression fierce. "You have to be more forceful," she said. "I didn't realize just how much I could do until I was forced to. My parents died and I've got Tommy to look after, but all of a sudden I've found an answer. I can do what I want here. I'm stronger than what they say, and I'm better than what my father thought!"

Francine sat down slowly on the nearby bench. It was almost as if her knees had gone out, but her attention was firmly fixed on the passionate woman before her. Penny was so strong. It took her breath away.

"I want to be like you," she breathed.

Penny blinked, then abruptly ducked her head. "Why would you want that? You have parents, money—"

"You have independence. Freedom."

Penny swallowed. "It's hard."

"You're strong enough." She lifted her chin. "I want to be strong enough, too." She looked at Penny who was busy writing down measurements and then arranging sketches to show Francine different types of slippers. "How do you survive?" she wondered out loud.

Penny shrugged. "I work. I make these sketches and take the measurements."

"But that's an apprentice's job. You can't make enough money..." Then she understood, and her estimation of the woman rose a thousandfold. "You make the shoes."

Penny's eyes widened in panic. "Of course not!" she cried. "Everyone knows girls can't make shoes. They're not strong enough."

"But I bet you can." She looked at Penny's arms and strong hands. "I bet you've been making shoes for a very long time."

"Hush!" the woman cried. "It's not true! You can't—"

Francine grabbed Penny's hands. "I won't tell. I swear! And you can't tell about me and Anthony."

Penny blinked. "Anthony? Bookkeeper Anthony?"

Francine grinned and nodded, then pressed a hand to her mouth. "You think we could do it?"

Penny released a low whistle. "Doesn't he work for your father?"

Francine nodded.

Penny didn't answer. She just shook her head and looked down at the shoe designs.

Francine felt her whole body deflate. "You're right. I can't—"

"Anthony has been whistling lately. Did you know that? I've heard him come in to do the books. Last two times, he was whistling. He's never done that before."

Francine looked up, not understanding. "He whistles?"

Penny nodded. "I knew he was falling in love. I knew it. He looked happy. Very tired, but still happy." Was there a wistfulness in her tone? A quiet longing?

Francine thought there was. After all, she'd heard it often enough in her own voice. "You fancy him, don't you?"

Penny sighed, the sound coming from deep within. "Not him, exactly. He's nice and smart and all. Handsome, too."

Francine giggled. "Very handsome."

Penny grinned. "Very handsome," she echoed. "But he's not the one for me. He's in love with you."

"Oh no! We haven't spoken about—"

"Doesn't matter. I can see it. And do you love him?"

Now it was Francine's turn to look away. But a moment later, she turned back, her chin lifting in defiance though there was no one here to defy. "Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, I do."

"Well then, you'll find a way."

"I will, won't I? I will!" Francine abruptly wrapped her arms around the woman in an impulsive hug. It was clear that Penny was surprised, but she returned the gesture quickly enough. And when they separated, Francine looked earnestly into her new friend's eyes. "Will you do me a favor? Will you bring him in here?"

Penny looked around. The seamstress Wendy had disappeared a few minutes ago. Mrs. Mortimer and Lord Redhill were in the front talking. If Penny left, that would mean Anthony and she could be alone.

"All right," Penny said firmly. "But mind he
does
marry you. Won't help anybody if you get with child before the vows."

Francine gasped. She shouldn't have. Of course that's what people would think when she had secret meetings with Anthony. And given what they'd already done, it wasn't a far stretch to imagine getting pregnant. But in truth, she hadn't thought about it. She'd simply wanted to be with Anthony. To talk to him, to touch him, and yes, to be touched and kissed and caressed by him, too. But a baby? To lie with him?

Penny must have seen the confusion on her face, and she paused. "You know how it's done, right?"

Francine bit her lip. She had read things, but they weren't detailed enough. She didn't know
exactly
how it was done.

Penny cursed under her breath, but then got a very stern look on her face. "He puts his
thing
in you. They say it hurts the first time, but that it's wonderful the next time." Penny leaned forward. "Has he put it in you yet?"

"No. We've just kissed. And he's touched..." Her face. Her breasts. "And I want to do it again," she whispered.

"That's how it starts. But listen, there are ways to prevent a baby. I can help you. I can get you some things to put on his thing that will stop a baby." She looked sad. "Babies are wonderful, but they're an awful lot of work. You don't want one early."

Francine nodded. "Can you make a pair of slippers quickly? And put the... things in them?"

Penny nodded. "I'll do them first thing. You can have them day after tomorrow."

"So soon?"

Penny grinned. "I already thought you might want a pair. And I need the money."

"Well, you'll have lots of it because I want a dozen slippers! And walking shoes and boots and—"

Penny laughed and held up her hands. "We'll start with the slippers. And I'll just charge your father for the other things. I'll call it a special leather fee. And whenever you need more of them, you just tell me or Mrs. Mortimer. Say you need the special leather, and I'll be sure to get it to you."

Francine blinked, overcome by the friendship this woman had offered. She couldn't believe how easily they were talking of these things, but it felt as if they'd been friends forever.

"Thank you," Francine said.

Penny grinned, and this time, she was the one who hugged first. Then she quickly stepped back. "Here, you stand over there, by the mirror. Let your hair drop back just like this." She fluffed Francine's hair. "Now, Wendy will be gone for hours, and I know Mrs. Mortimer has some errands to do after she's done with Lord Redhill. I'll make sure to go with her, so you and Anthony will have an hour alone at least."

"An hour!" Francine gasped, already thinking of what they could do in an hour.

Penny giggled. "You stay right here. I'll go get Anthony."

Francine did exactly as she was told as Penny disappeared, but it was a hard position to hold. She was trying to look alluring, but her neck started to strain after a little bit. Her shoulders started to ache too, so she rolled them. Then just as she was doing this—with her breasts lifted and her head dropped back—Anthony stepped around the corner. Worse, she didn't even hear him come in. She didn't notice him until she straightened up, and he was standing right there watching her.

"Oh!" she gasped, as she scrambled to right herself.

"No, don't move. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

He didn't mean to startle her? He spoke so stiffly, as if she were a client or countess or something. He hadn't spoken to her like that since the very first day they'd met. No, not even then, because he'd thought she was just a cook then.

She looked down at her pretty gown and she sighed. "You don't like it, do you?"

He stepped forward, right up where she could see his boots next to her skirt. Then she felt his finger underneath her chin, lifting her face up to his. She went slowly, but he insisted. In the end, she was looking right into the dark intensity of his eyes.

"I think you're beautiful. I always have."

"But you don't like the gown. I can see it in your eyes. You don't like it."

"It's a perfect gown for you," he said, though his tone of voice suggested the exact opposite. "I always knew Mrs. Mortimer would design something wonderful for you. That's why I sent you here."

"I don't understand. I can tell you don't like it."

He sighed. "I don't like it, because now everyone else will know what I know. Everyone else will see your beauty and..." He grimaced. "And just like Lord Redhill says. They'll all think the wrong things when looking at you."

She blinked. "What wrong things?"

His eyes darkened, and his gaze dropped to her lips. Then it slid even lower. She knew it, because his breath shortened and she thought of all the other times he had touched her breasts. She felt her nipples tighten and her blood heat. She heard him groan, and she knew he was thinking of the same things.

She stood up so they were face to face, nearly touching. Nearly kissing. "I don't care what other people think, Anthony. What do
you
think?"

"I think what I've always thought, Francine."

"Wha—"

He kissed her. Not just a kiss, but a thrust and a demand. She didn't even have the chance to finish her question, but it didn't matter. He had taken possession of her mouth, and she reveled in it. Because his message was very clear: he wanted her. And she wanted him.

She wrapped her arms around him, trying to pull him closer. She arched her body into his and wondered how she could get him to do all the delicious things that Penny had been hinting about.

Meanwhile his tongue was like desperate thing, thrusting, touching, taking. His hands were no less firm as they stroked her back and gripped her hips. Then abruptly he pulled away. He used the placement of his hands to push her hips backwards as he gasped for breath. But his eyes were so dark, and his breath was a loud rasp. She couldn't catch her breath, but neither, it seemed, could he.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head.

"Don't speak," he said.

She slowly closed her lips together, but she didn't understand. He was like a madman, the way he stared at her.

"We can't do this. It's not right."

She touched his face. "I want to," she whispered. "I—"

He shook his head and pulled back. It was clear he was trying to gather his thoughts, trying to distract himself from her.

"Anthony—" she began, but he interrupted her, his words disjointed.

"I've been trying to tell you something for days. But we always get distracted into..." His voice trailed away and she knew exactly what he meant. They always started kissing and everything else disappeared.

"You can tell me anything, Anthony," she said.

"I have done something you won't like," he said.

Francine frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't be angry with me," Anthony said, looking miserable. "I took some of your tarts—the ones you gave me in a basket two days ago—and I sold them."

She frowned, not knowing what to think or what he meant. "For the money? You sold them for coin?"

He nodded. It was a quick slash of his chin. "I sold them at a butcher shop. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I had them as I was doing the books. And I let him have one."

"Who? The butcher?"

He nodded. "Mr. Petham. He liked them, and he wanted to see if he could sell them to his customers." He flinched though she hadn't said a word. "I
suggested
he try to sell them. And he did. And he wants more."

"Of my tarts?"

"Yes. Your tarts."

She just stared at him, her blood still pounding from what they'd been doing but her mind was churning. A butcher wanted to sell her tarts? The words didn't make any sense to her.

"Don't you understand?" he rasped. "I have made you into a tradeswoman. I
want
to make you into a tradeswoman. I want you to leave your home and your family. I want you to bake tarts and cakes. I want you to sell them and..."

"Be independent," she whispered.

"Be mine," he returned.

She froze inside. Her entire body went rigid with surprise, but then a strange thing happened. Her belly began to tremble, like a tiny shake deep inside. It wasn't the ache she was so familiar with, but a quiet form of excitement. Then when she tried to fight it, it just expanded. Soon her entire inside felt like it was squirming. Then her knees went weak, and she found herself collapsing onto the bench.

Anthony went with her. He steadied her with his arms, his eyes anxious.

"I know it's not possible, Francine. I know I can't ask you to leave—"

"Are you asking me to marry you?" she interrupted. "And become a... a..."

"A tradeswoman. Yes. Yes, that is what I want."

She closed her eyes. A man—not just any man, but
Anthony
was asking her to marry him. She wanted to say yes. She wanted it desperately. But he knew—just like she did—that her father would disown her the moment that happened. Disown her, sack Anthony, and likely sack Anthony's father.

"You have a sister, too," she whispered. His parents, his sister, all of them depended on her father for food and shelter. "How much money did the tarts make? Was it a lot?"