Claiming Her Innocence by Ava Sinclair Page A

widow. I thought I could handle him. I was wrong.”
    Penelope began to back away. “Why are you telling me this? I don’t want to hear this.”
    Lady Whitfield reached out, grasping Penelope tightly, turning her suddenly until the smaller woman’s back was against the wall. Her tone was low and earnest as she continued.
    “Because you need to hear this, you innocent little fool. I wasn’t so unlike you. I thought I would enjoy relations with him. He’d prepared me so carefully for them, so masterfully. But he’s relentless—feral, even. He used me in ways no man uses a decent woman. The good feeling you have between your legs when he whispers in your ear? He’ll satisfy that. But it won’t be enough, not for a man like Alton Westcott.” Her fingers dug into Penelope’s arm now. “No. He’ll push his cock into your mouth until you gag, thrust it into your bottom hole after he’s tied you up and whipped you red and raw. Night after night he’ll use you— defile you—until you’re too ashamed to look into the mirror come morning.”
    Penelope felt tears spring to her eyes. “Stop…”
    “Why? So I can live with the guilt of not saving an innocent from the daily shame I feel?” She let go of Penelope, raising herself to full height. “Look at me, Lady Lennox.”
    When Penelope obeyed, she blanched. The look on Lady Whitfield’s face was a familiar one; it was the same harsh look she’d seen on the face of Sister Agnes.
    “He’s making sport of you and everyone knows it! They’re all laughing at you, dear. They know ! We all know! Don’t let him turn you into his whore, Lady Lennox. Save yourself. There’s still time. Stay strong. Leave.” She turned away, looking back over her shoulder for one parting shot. “Stop deceiving yourself. You don’t belong here.”
    Penelope felt as if the room were spinning. Reaching behind her, she placed her hand against the wall as she pressed the other against a bodice that suddenly seemed too tight.
    The festive surroundings and merry crowd that had brought her such joy only moments before now seemed to be mocking her.
    “Lady Lennox, there you are.” A footman approached. “Lord Westcott is trying to find you. He requests your company.”
    “I’m sorry.” She lifted her skirts and moved away. “Please tell him I’m retiring for the evening.”
    Penelope had to restrain herself from fleeing the room. She could still feel admiring eyes on her, but now she perceived laughter in them. Was she really the only one in the room who did not know the nature of this man? As she exited the room, the strangled sob she’d been holding in burst from her as she made for the stairs. What a fool she had been, allowing herself to be lured with comfort, finery, and—yes—her own weakness. She’d allowed honeyed words to lure her away from the truth Lady Whitfield had spoken. She did not belong here!
    In her room, she rushed to the little statue of Virgin Mary. It was cold where it sat against the pane of glass in the frosty window, so cold that the chill of it hurt Penelope’s lips when she put them to the shrouded head of the figurine.
    “Forgive me, Mother Mary,” she said, and then turned to fumble through her dressing table for her rosary. Her hands were shaking as she dropped to her knees, clasping the beads tight against her folded hands.
    When the door opened a moment later, she startled, but it was just the maid.
    “Your ladyship,” Betsy said, walking over. “I was sent to…” She peered down at Penelope. “You’re crying. What’s wrong?”
    Penelope shook her head. “I can’t say. I just need to be alone.”
    “I can’t just leave you alone. I’m your maid. And besides, I’ve been sent to find out where you are. His lordship’s in a state over your absence.”
    Penelope stood, hugging the statue and rosary to her chest. “Please! Just leave me alone!”
    Betsy quietly regarded her mistress, concern on her face. “Please tell me what’s