5
On the other side of the bullet-scarred mansion, Lady Penelope heard nothing of the music but an occasional, resounding chord. She sat at her dressing table, brushing her long, golden hair and waiting. Finally, a solid hour after she'd sat down to touch up and make ready, the sleek young noblewoman grew impatient. Rising, she made for the balcony, meaning to have a look outside. Needless to say, that was when he appeared, quietly entering through the unlocked sitting room door. As it was far too late for nonchalance, Penelope smiled, extended her hands to him, and came gracefully forward.
"I'm sorry," he said, taking her proffered hands in his own. "I would have come sooner, but there's so much work to do."
"Hush," she replied, placing a light hand to his lips. "You're more than forgiven." Then, a trifle mischievously, "How much do you miss me, up there all alone?"
"A lot," John admitted quietly. Her smile warmed, grew more inviting.
"Show me," she told him.
Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her with a rough, explosive passion that quite drove the breath from her body. Then, pushing the silk dressing gown off her shoulders, he brought his mouth to her neck, to the soft hollow at the base of her pale, arched throat. Clutching at the back of his head, she gave herself over entirely, only just British enough to whisper,
"Do be a dear... and lock... the door. No sense disturbing... the entire household."
It was a long time before John left her, drowsy-warm and deeply satisfied, to return to his own room.
"Tomorrow?" she whispered, lifting a hand to him as he rose and dressed himself.
"If I can." And he kissed her again, every bit as intense and ferocious as before.