Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy 1)

No. She’d avoided him as much as she could to this point, but her choices were at an end. She was married to Lord Wescott because he’d swept her away at the inn with his capable virility. He’d made her his marchioness, so she now outranked her parents and siblings, even as her dreams of novelty and adventure were ended. She would be a proper English wife to a proper English peer, and that would be her life forever after. She didn’t even know the man, not really, and here she was in his house.

Her prison, more or less.

She barely noted her surroundings, although her new suite of rooms was luxuriously appointed with flowers and furnishings, and candles that barely smoked. The bed was soft and inviting, the fireplace warm, and the adjoining dressing room larger than her entire suite of rooms had been in Vienna. All her clothing and personal items had already been set out and organized by Lord Wescott’s bevy of efficient servants, so she might decide what must be packed for their journey to Oxfordshire.

She had nothing to complain about, except that she’d been forced into a marriage she didn’t want, because he’d taken advantage of her so easily. He stripped her of her virtue like she was a mere plaything, so she must marry him and let go of her freedom, her singing career, and the chance to perform and travel. He’d taken away all her hopes and dreams. Just looking at him brought intense feelings of regret, anger, and shame. She wished he would not come to her, but he’d said that awful thing about starting tonight. Starting tonight, we shall make the best of things.

It was the second time he’d said they would “make the best of things,” but she didn’t care for that sentiment. She would rather blame him and hate him, and mourn for all she’d lost. Now she would become exactly like her mother, stifling in a marriage she didn’t want to a man she’d never really loved.

And that man had a lawful right to her body. Her mother had touched briefly on that topic, had told her she must perform her “marital duties” once she and the marquess were wed. Ophelia had hinted that she needed more information, but her mother’s lips had wrenched closed as soon as she spoke of it. “I would think you already know enough,” she’d said under her breath.

Her mother and father had argued about her after the marquess came to offer marriage. She’d heard their shouting through the walls, and all the servants had, too. Her Mama said she’d “fallen” because she’d been too sheltered, and her father yelled she’d been too long away from polite society, off training at that “damned opera school.”

But her music school had been strict and proper, her Viennese chaperones unbending in the pursuit of proper etiquette. She’d hardly had a chance to talk to the other girls, much less a gentleman of Lord Wescott’s age and experience. No one had ever spoken the slightest word of what a man might do to a woman after he comforted her from a nightmare. If they had, she might not be in this situation.

Now she was fallen, and married, with everything in her life gone awry. When her husband knocked, she pulled the sheets and blankets up to her chin, her fine silken sleep gown tangling between her trembling legs. If she didn’t speak, perhaps he would go away.

“Ophelia?”

Of course he wouldn’t go away. His voice came through the door between their bedrooms, and then he appeared, tall and forbidding. Mr. Jack Drake, the Marquess of Wescott. Her husband. He walked toward her bed, clothed in a robe of dark, embossed silk. It made his hair look darker, his shoulders wider and more intimidating. His eyes moved over her huddled form.

“Are you cold, Lady Wescott?”

He used the new title to remind her they were married, that he had power over her. She felt threatened, and did not answer him. She wished there were more candles. She wished it wasn’t night.

“What do you think of your new rooms?” he asked. “Of course, we’ll leave for the country soon, but this is my favorite house to use in the city. Have you settled in? Is the bed comfortable?”

He sat on the edge of it, watching her, expecting an answer. She clenched her fingers on the blankets and managed a bleak, “Yes, my lord.”

His lips curved in a taunting smile. “Come, Ophelia. You’re not afraid on your wedding night, are you? The one bright spot in this hasty marriage is that we’re known to one another, at least in this way. You can’t be afraid of something you’ve already experienced, and, I daresay, enjoyed.”

Enjoyed? She’d barely known what he was about that night. Perhaps she’d found some pleasure at the end, but that was when she was caught in his spell, before she realized how very badly he’d behaved toward her.