The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

He nodded. “A good question. It is quite possible that I lose a good deal of my flawless technique, not that you would notice, since you want me so badly. I have considered this and discovered that it makes me smile, even laugh. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“Since I have never even observed this flaunted technique of yours, I don’t know if laughter is strange or not.”

He sat forward, knowing he was going to goad her but good. “Well, you see, dearest, you are so utterly, well, I do hesitate to use so uncomplimentary a word, but it applies perfectly here and I wish to be honest. You are very easy, Helen. Compliant and submissive also apply. Perhaps even docile? There is no challenge to you at all. I have but to look at you with just a dollop of interest in my eyes, and you begin licking your lovely chops. I kiss you—all it takes is just a meager little kiss—and you’re ready to hurl yourself on your back and pull me down over you.

“You have, in short, given me no reason to assay a bit of my masterful technique. It is a bit depressing, all this utter easiness of yours, and it presents no challenge at all, and I do not believe one should be wasteful with one’s abilities and talents.” He sighed. “But, dearest, since I admire you so much, I am trying to adapt.”

He waited. He enjoyed the waiting, anticipating what she would do. He loved her outrage, and that was just what she delivered to him. Her face was flushed, her eyes glittered, and her lips became a thin line with cream on them. He wanted to kiss her silly, taste the tree-bark cream, but he merely sat there, his fingers steepled. He wasn’t about to unsteeple them and let them touch her, anywhere. He waited.

Then she looked him straight in the eye and said, “You are right about all of it. I am a creature with no will or control at all. It is very possible that any man could make me feel what you do. What do you think?”

He stared at her. He began to quake with his own outrage, which was filling

him to overflowing, making him want to yell. “You,” he said very calmly, “are a blockhead, Helen. You don’t know anything. I plucked you out of the provinces and taught you how easy you are, but only with me. No other man who plucked you would find you remotely easy. You would probably knock anyone else across the room.

“It’s true. You’re an idiot. If you weren’t, you would realize that I am the only man in the world who can make you feel easy and compliant and willing to do just about anything I wish.”

She yawned. “Well, Spenser,” she said, “now that I ponder it, I have come to the conclusion that all those wild feelings you made me feel never really existed. I think they were probably not much of anything. At the most, they were accidental, on the very edge of meaningless.”

“That is truly what you think?”

“Oh, yes. Certainly.” She snapped her fingers. “Nothing at all.”

“I am so glad you said that.”

He rose, pulled off his boots, looking over his shoulder at her. “Soon, perhaps you will do this for me?”

“Perhaps,” she said, and he shook. It was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do, but he made himself hold steady.

“Then,” she said, “I will spit you on the end of my father’s sword.”

He heard the excitement in her voice, saw the excitement in her eyes that she couldn’t hide from him. And perhaps, there was just a dollop of fury at him because he’d made her helpless. Ah, the woman had been fashioned by a beneficent God just for him. He began whistling. He walked in his bare feet to the windows and pulled back all the draperies. Brilliant sunlight splashed into the room. He looked over at her and smiled. “You know, my sweet, I’m coming to grasp all your precious little peculiarities.”

He sat down beside her. He leaned over and began to pull open the ribbons of her nightgown. He saw the pulse pounding in her throat. His own excitement, he discounted. If he acknowledged it, he just might end up making love to her as he had the other ten times: fast, hard, and demented. No, he was set on his course. He was going to punish Helen, not love her silly, at least not yet.

He pulled apart her nightgown, baring her breasts. “Ah, now I can take the time to appreciate all the bounty you are offering me.”

“You pig. I haven’t offered you anything.”

He lightly touched a fingertip to her mouth, then he leaned down and kissed her breast. She was trying to hold herself stiff as a board, but it wasn’t going to work. Well, perhaps for another ten seconds. She trusted him implicitly, he saw it in her eyes, and so she was able to enjoy herself completely. And this was exciting her, no way to hide that, at least not from him.

It helped that he had his britches on and that he had made a vow to his face in the mirror not an hour before that he wasn’t going to take her, not once, until she was married to him. He might want to slit his wrists, but he would hold firm. “Now it is time for your punishment. Since you’re tied down and can’t attack me or distract me, I will give you a taste of my incredible technique.” He heard her suck in her breath even as he began kissing her breasts and caressing her until she was nearly beside herself. Then he drew back and ripped her nightgown open all the way to the hem. He peeled it back. Her legs were spread, her arms above her head. All of her exquisite white self was displayed right before his eyes. He raised his face to the ceiling and said a prayer of thanksgiving.

He looked at her up and down, humming softly, even as he raised his hand, let it hover over her belly a moment, then leave. Her breath hitched. He rose and walked to the tea tray he’d left on the small marquetry table in front of the fireplace. He poured himself a cup of tea. He sipped it, then walked slowly back to her. He stood beside the bed, a teacup in his hand, looking down at her.

“Spenser.”

“Yes, my sweet?”

She was breathing hard, her breasts heaving, a lovely sight, beyond what he could have imagined, actually, and that came as a bit of a surprise. She was trying to lift her hips.

He said, “That was stage one of your punishment. Did you like it? Appreciate its subtle magnitude? Applaud its name—not quite ecstasy?”

She just stared up at him.

He set down the teacup, sat beside her again, and leaned down, kissing her white belly. She heaved and moaned. He smiled painfully against her soft flesh, and whispered, his breath hot, “Now stage two.” He moved down until he was lightly cupping her with his hand. He raised his head and looked down at her.

“Spenser.”