Chapter Text
“Your Majesty,” Anthony greeted deferentially, bowing. “It is an honor that you would grace us with your presence.”
Penelope, who was standing next to him greeting their guests for Francesca and John’s wedding, curtseyed, but stayed silent.
“As you should be, Viscount,” the Queen replied. “I would not miss the wedding of my sparkler for the world. Nor…” she paused and stared then down, “the opportunity to see for myself that all is well within Bridgerton House.”
Anthony smiled tightly and closed the gap between them. “All is well, I assure you,” her husband affirmed, stepping closer to her side and holding out his elbow for her to slip her arm around. “Is it not, my dear?”
Penelope ignored her jackrabbiting heart and shifted close to Anthony. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she agreed. Pen made herself continue shuffling until she was fully against his side and then patted him on the chest with her free hand. “We have never been happier.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she studied them. The seconds under her scrutiny felt like hours and Pen wasn’t sure their ruse would work until the Queen smiled enigmatically and said, “Good.”
~z~
Penelope was forced to stand and sit in close proximity to Anthony for the duration of the festivities. Despite their statements to the Queen, things between them were not as amicable as they’d led her to believe. They’d overcome much of their reticence to be together over the past few months, but they still didn’t touch much at all.
The distance they maintained was a necessary evil. Trust was still sorely lacking in their relationship. Although Anthony remained sober, his sobriety contributed to his reluctance to be close to her. He didn’t trust himself around her and she still didn’t trust him. Although they were united for a common goal, they were like two players on parallel paths trying to reach it at the same time rather than a pair working towards it together.
Whenever Penelope glanced toward the dais where the Queen sat, she got the impression that Charlotte knew it, too. The distance between the two of them in the pew at the ceremony was too wide for that of a happily married couple. Since Anthony only sat down after he walked his sister down the aisle, Penelope believed they covered it well. However, perhaps she was mistaken? For, now that they were at the wedding breakfast, she had a chance to survey the crowd and got the impression that the rest of London was as skeptical over their reconciliation as Her Majesty.
“Anthony,” she whispered, leaning toward him until her shoulder was brushing his coat sleeve, “you must dance with your sister.”
Anthony, who’d been rather intently focusing on his meal, froze and glanced down at her. “What?”
Penelope tilted her head up to look him in the eye. She pasted a smile on her face for the benefit of their audience and repeated herself. “You must dance with Francesca so that we can dance afterward.”
He furrowed his brow. “But we do not dance at wedding breakfasts,” he countered. “Surely you know that.”
Penelope angled herself more toward him and rested a hand on his thigh. Anthony immediately tensed at the contact, but did not jerk away. He was holding onto his knife so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, though, which was counterproductive to their goal, so she laid her other hand on his sleeve and rubbed, murmuring, “Relax,” in his ear.
When he did, though only infinitesimally, Penelope continued speaking, “I do, husband. But we must dance if we are to succeed today.” She tilted her head toward their guests and added, “Do you not agree?”
At her inclination, Anthony broke eye contact with her to skim the crowd around them. The muscle under her hand flexed when he tightened his hold on his knife again, indicating to her that he’d seen the same skeptical gazes she did. He sighed and let go of his fork to cover her hand with his on his arm. “I do,” he agreed solemnly despite the polite smile on his face.
~z~
Penelope spent the rest of the meal wondering why she was able to remain calm during their conversation. Whenever Anthony came near her or initiated contact, she felt as though her heart was going to beat out of her chest and got so lightheaded that she wanted to swoon. However, when she leaned into him, her physical reactions were far less intense. She was able to curb both reactions significantly.
Maybe that was the answer…. She needed to take control of the interactions in their relationship rather than her husband. If she led and he followed, could they find contentment in this marriage they were stuck in?
~z~
When Anthony invited his little sister to dance, everyone was confused. However, Francesca, who had a soft spot for her brother, took the unexpected invitation in stride. Penelope watched from the sidelines with a smile on her face while the siblings danced with grace, lost in their own familial world. They conversed quietly as Anthony led Francesca through the steps, clearly comfortable in each other’s space. Whether that was attributable to their familial relationship or the hours upon hours of dance instruction they’d received over the years, Penelope didn’t know. But it was a joy to watch Anthony so at ease in his role.
Penelope was musing over how wonderful of a father he would be, a thought that popped into her mind unbidden, when the song ended. She clapped lightly along with the rest of the guests and couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat when he released his sister and made his way over to her.
Penelope fought to quell her nerves by focusing on the genuine smile on his face. She hadn’t seen one of those since before they were married and, for some reason, that saddened her. Anthony was never a particularly happy person, especially since taking over the estate, but he’d never been quite so miserable as he was since they entered into this sham. With each step Anthony took in her direction, his genuine smile faded more and more until it was replaced by the polite mask he’d worn all morning. His hand, when he stopped and held it out to her, was shaking slightly. The evidence of his nerves was imperceptible to the crowd, but a blatant red flag to her.
He’d wronged her. That much was true. But what she did now was up to her. She could choose to be angry about it for the rest of her life or she could attempt to genuinely move on from it. For better or worse, they were chained to each other for the rest of their lives. Did she really want to spend what was left of hers walking on pins and needles every day? Or, was it time to put the past to bed and look toward the future on her terms?
~z~
NOW
Penelope caressed Anthony’s cheek and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was quiet and gentle, a physical manifestation of the love they held for each other. Neither Penelope nor Anthony tried to deepen it; instead choosing to allow it to conclude in its own time. Afterward, Penelope rested her forehead against her husband’s and breathed him in. The essence that once made her nerves spike with the merest whiff now soothed her in a way no other could. Anthony had become her best friend and closest confidante, as well as her anchor.
She knew that she was as grounding of a presence in his life as he was in hers, but moments like this tended to upend his equilibrium. The shame he felt over that night never managed to abate completely despite her reassurances that all was well now. Penelope had to reach him through the fog enveloping his mind before he shut down and was tempted to seek comfort and distraction at the bottom of a bottle.
Penelope pecked him on the lips one more time and backed away. She extricated her fingers from his and reached for the sash on his robe. When her second hand met her first one there, Anthony put his over hers. “What are you doing?” he questioned.
Since his legs were spread, Pen shook off his grip by letting go of the sash and dropping her hands. When she placed them both on his bare thighs and stroked his skin, Anthony groaned and closed his eyes. “We can’t,” he breathed.
“Anthony, open your eyes,” Penelope commanded, ignoring his words in favor of inching her hands toward his body’s very obvious confirmation that they could indeed. Her husband tried to clamp his legs shut, but the action was fruitless with her blocking the way. “Penelope,” he begged, opening his eyes, “Please.”
Penelope poked her tongue out of her mouth and licked her lips. “Please what? Keep going?” she asked, slipping them down to his inner thigh and grazing his erection with the tip of her middle finger. “Or stop?”
Her husband’s chest was rising and falling more rapidly, muscles of his abdomen twitching with each shaky breath. His eyes, full of trepidation and self-loathing moments ago, were now as aching with want as his cock. “I don’t kn…,” Anthony panted as his hips jutted toward her of their own accord and his hands gripped the cushion of the settee.
Penelope ignored his white knuckles in favor of his sword. She fisted it in her hand and pumped languidly. Anthony’s breath hitched in response. “Tell me husband,” she demanded with a squeeze. “I need your words.”
“Keep… going…” he stammered, jaw clenched. One hand briefly lifted from the cushion, but he fisted it again and forced it back down before it made contact with her.
Penelope bit back a smirk at the tenuous grip he had on his control after a simple touch. She pulled back his foreskin with her thumb and swirled her nail over the liquid bubbled on his tip. Anthony muttered a quiet “Fuck,” and broke eye contact to throw his head back. Penelope watched his throat work and had the urge to kiss the hollow of his neck and brush against the little tuft of hair that grew just below it. Unfortunately, it was too far away and she couldn’t reach it without leaning into his space. So, she settled for licking his abdomen where the panels of his robe separated above the sash holding it together.
Anthony jerked, surprised. His hips started to thrust, urging her to speed up. Penelope followed his cue and pumped him faster. She kissed and nipped his torso and cupped his balls to work him into a frenzy that would obliterate whatever rational thought he had left. His legs crashed against her hips and clamped on like a vise as he used the hold to push himself more deeply into her hand and chase the climax he so desperately desired.
Penelope preened internally at her power and abandoned his stomach to wrap her lips around his cock. The strangled gasp Anthony made when she enveloped him in her mouth made her pussy clench. Penelope was dripping with the desire to mount him and take what she needed to fill the emptiness, but settled for a quick swirl of her fingers over her clit instead. Fingers now coated with her slick, Penelope returned her hand to Anthony’s balls and massaged them. He must have felt a difference because he halted mid-thrust and rasped out a gravelly, “Stop.”
Penelope released his penis with a pop and looked up to find him staring at her the way a lion stares at a gazelle he intends to devour. Anthony, who had been reclined since throwing his head back, sat up. He lifted his hands from the seat and hovered them by her shoulders. He would not touch her intimately without her consent. Not now, not ever. But she could tell he was desperate to do so. The question was silent, May I touch you?
Penelope nodded and Anthony immediately responded by hooking his hands under her armpits and hailing her up his body. His cock was wet with her saliva and dampened her chest on the way up. Anthony licked his lips and latched onto the moist skin, making Penelope shiver when his tongue lapped at it. The growl he made over her reaction was feral and had her moaning in his arms. Penelope straddled his lap and settled her knees on the settee beside him. She arched her back and twisted slightly to indicate she wanted him to shift his attention to her breast.
Anthony chuckled and did as she bade, using his nose to move the silken panel of her robe out of the way. The material receded like the wave of an ocean and her husband wasted no time pulling her nipple into his mouth. He sucked on it like it was his favorite sweet and he was savoring it. Penelope whimpered and writhed in his lap, putting her drenched pussy in contact with his hardened length. Reflexively, she ground against him, craving relief from the ache building inside of her.
Anthony’s hands traveled from under her arms to her hips. They rested there and squeezed, a reminder of their presence, before one turned inward. It kneaded the layer of fat on her abdomen, left over from her pregnancy, and continued down to cup the inside of her thigh. His fingers brushed lightly over the skin there in tantalizing back-and-forth motions until Penelope pressed forward with a husky, “Please.”
Anthony obeyed the one word command with alacrity and swept over her mound of curls in a featherlight touch on his way to parting her folds. Penelope gasped when his finger met her swollen bud and pressed with the perfect amount of pressure to elicit a whimper. “So wet for me,” her husband whispered, blazing a trail of kisses from breast to her throat. “Tell me what you want, baby.”
Anthony’s hand stayed still, suspended between her pussy lips as he nuzzled the space where her shoulder met her clavicle. Penelope’s death grip on his shoulders eased when the hand displaying her wedding band, once a symbol of her forced captivity but now a token of their affection, crept downward and encircled him. “You, Anthony,” she panted. “I want you.”
Her husband pulled his hand from her center and dragged it upward over her belly and chest. His fingers were sticky and left a line of slickness in their wake. “Then take what you need,” he commanded, bringing them to his lips, locking eyes with her, and sucking them in his mouth. The intensity with which he licked them clean nearly had her coming on the spot, so Penelope tightened her grip on his cock, lifted herself up, and slammed down hard. They groaned in tandem at the fulfillment the action provided. Anthony smirked around his fingers, gave them one last lick, and put his hand back on her hip.
Her hips were her neutral zone, a place where he could hold her without trepidation until she guided him to what was next. His fingers dug into her skin, but he didn’t try to move her. The only indicator of his impatience besides his labored breathing was the twitching of his cock against her internal walls. Penelope cupped his cheeks with her hands and leaned forward to kiss him for his restraint. This kiss, unlike their last one, was sloppy and wet. She attacked his lips with abandon and he reciprocated in kind. Teeth knashed and tongues clashed as they feasted on each other. Penelope linked her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. His robe had fallen open, baring his chest to her, and she relished the feeling of his skin against hers.
Anthony’s grip on her hips slackened and he wrapped his arms around her back, drawing her into his embrace. His hands worked their way up her body until one was splayed over her shoulder blades and the other was tangled in her hair. The uninvited movement was a sign of his body’s biological response to their intimacy. Rather than shunning it, Penelope welcomed it, grateful that he was beginning to let go after their hesitant start.
His grip on her hair tightened and she moaned into his mouth at the pleasure-laced pain. “Tony…” she gasped.
“Penelope,” he rasped back. “Fuck.” He broke the kiss and pulled, craning her neck. Anthony dipped his head and feasted on it where her racing pulse was beating. She stiffened, not out of fear, but sensory overwhelm. Her husband, though, couldn’t tell the difference and immediately stopped and tore himself away from her. His breathing was ragged and his fists were clenched as he turned his head away from her in shame. Inside of her, his member began to soften, making Penelope whimper in protest.
Anthony reclined against the back of the settee and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Finish it,” he whispered in a tired, defeated voice.
Penelope sighed and lifted herself off of him. “I physically cannot find pleasure if you’re in pain,” she answered.
Anthony’s strangled sob at her words, so similar to the ones he spoke on that night, broke her heart, so she leveraged herself on her knees and leaned over him. Penelope forced his hands off of his eyes and held his wrists taut. “Look at me,” she ordered. When he didn’t obey, she said it again, more forcefully. “Anthony. Look. At. Me.”
His eyes opened reluctantly. Penelope frowned at the sight of the tears pooled in them. “I was enjoying myself. I want you to know that. I tensed up because you were causing me pleasure, not pain.”
Anthony glanced away from her and stared blankly in the direction of the low-burning fireplace. Hating to see him dissociate like this, Pen repeated herself. “I was happy, husband. Do you understand that?”
He gave her an almost imperceptible nod, but didn’t look back at her, and Penelope knew that it was time to leave him be.
She’d lost him tonight.
She just hoped she’d get him back tomorrow.