To Tame a Countess (Properly Spanked 2)

“Are you comfortable?” he asked. “Are you sure you won’t have another cake?”

“Oh, no. I’ve had quite enough. You know, my digestion is not what it was. I make it a rule not to overindulge.”

He had counted nine cakes upon his aunt’s plate at one point, but he gave a delicate and concerned tsk, and wished that she should be feeling better soon. After that, they fussed with chairs and place settings so she might not be too much in the sun. When she settled, she gave a great sigh of contentment.

“Indeed, one cannot fault the Duke of Arlington for his elegant garden parties,” she said in her warbling voice. “His Grace’s events are strictly upper crust.”

“Yes, Auntie. Of a certainty,” Warren agreed. The matron’s line of vision did not include the front lawn, where a grabby game of Blind Man’s Bluff was underway.

“And you, young Warren,” she said, turning to him. “I must say you’ve turned out very smartly. Your mother would have been proud of the man you’ve become.”

“How kind of you to say.”

“She would have liked your new wife too. I heard from Lady Fairglen that your countess grew up an unclothed savage in the jungles of Africa, but I told her straight away that I’d not believe such nonsense, nor allow her to repeat it to anyone else. ‘No,’ I said to her, ‘my nephew would never marry such a woman, even if she is a baroness.’ She is a baroness, isn’t she, dear Idylwild?”

He twitched at his hated given name, but he supposed his aunt had the right to use it. “She is the Baroness Maitland, it’s true. Her holdings are near my land in Oxfordshire. And I assure you, she was raised to English ways, although her parents were inveterate travelers.”

“I cannot fathom what inspires proper English people to strike out and travel to such godforsaken places, when they might stay safely at home.”

“I suppose it’s plain English grit and our society’s glorious history of exploration.” He said this with a straight face.

His aunt shone with approval at this bold announcement. “Well, I suppose there is much to be said for good English gumption. I cannot see your lady’s suffered for her absence. She’s obviously as cultured as you or I.”

Warren accepted this compliment on his wife’s behalf with true gratitude, for it meant society was coming to accept her as he’d hoped. Josephine was well on her way to earning the regard of her peers. She played her part perfectly, having pleasant conversation with the younger set of married ladies, mingling about and smiling as he’d encouraged her to do.

He wished to go to her, but he was rather entrenched with his dowager aunt. He looked around and met August’s gaze. He made a subtle gesture—help me! In their wilder days of wenching and drinking, they’d developed an entire silent language based on degrees of glaring and secret flicks of fingers or wrists, or angles of their heads. August came obediently over to ask Warren if he would like to make the acquaintance of Lord So-and-So, and he agreed that he would very much like to meet this completely made-up fellow, and so he had the excuse he needed to bid farewell to his aunt and her aged friends.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” said Warren, when they were far enough away. “How goes it? Did Arlington bribe you to come here?”

“No. I came for the cakes and tea, of course, and the scintillating conversation.”

“As bad as all that, eh?” Warren frowned. “I suppose your china doll is here?”

“Yes, she is.” His words gave no hint of his deeper feelings toward Lady Priscilla, either positive or negative, so Warren dropped the subject. They moved onto less fraught topics: August’s new horse, recent debates at Parliament, and all the notable goings-on at their favored gentlemen’s club. Warren was vaguely aware of guests strolling about, children laughing and shouting, and young ladies flirting with their suitors in the breezy, idyllic garden. Minette paid particular attention to a ginger-haired chap, cheering him on when the active game of Blind Man’s Bluff game gave way to an even more active cricket match. Then he realized he hadn’t seen his wife in some time.

“I say, where has Josephine gone?”

“Lost her again, have you?” August chuckled. “Not sure these wives are worth the trouble.”

“Oh, they are,” Warren said, looking around. “With any luck, you’ll understand one day. Blast.” He turned back to his friend. “I’m off to find her.”

“Need help?”

Warren shook his head. “Not this time. She can’t have gone far.”

Even so, it took him twenty minutes to locate her. He couldn’t very well shout for her, or charge about asking if anyone had seen her, and so he had to stroll around in a perfectly casual manner until he saw her rum pink gown peeking from behind a Greek temple folly down one of Arlington’s paths.

He went to her, calling her name when he was close enough. “Josephine. Are you hiding?”

“No.” She emerged, looking sheepish. “Well, yes. A little.”

“Is there such a thing as hiding ‘a little’?” He took her hand and squeezed it in a fit of pique. “You worried me. I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

“I’m sorry. I know Arlington is your friend, but I couldn’t bear it any longer. Everyone is so snobbish and affected in manners. The women’s prattle…” She shuddered. “Warren, you can’t understand how cloying it is.”

“I certainly can. I sat with my aunt and her friends for nearly an hour, for you, Josephine. To have them on our side.”

“Our side? Are we at war?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps we are.” He let go of her hand and leaned against one of the smooth marble columns. Inside the miniature temple, Arlington had installed a whipping pole, along with a chest of aromatic oils and equipment to punish naughty ladies in the manner of a lewd Greek god. Warren might have done so to Josephine, if they weren’t within yards of polite society.

“It’s not the thing, to go wandering off during these sorts of functions,” he said. “It makes you look sullen and impolite. It invites others to gossip and wonder what you’re up to. It’s one thing to go off with other ladies, but you mustn’t stroll away alone.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you do it? Townsend and Aurelia found themselves in an unwanted marriage after going off alone into the woods.”

She gave him an arch look. “So did we.”

Warren straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “All the more reason not to go off by yourself. Someone might see it as an invitation and join you here and make inappropriate advances, and nothing you could say or do would save your reputation.”

“Of course my reputation is all that matters.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. Why must she make him out to be the ogre? They weren’t his rules, and it wasn’t his fault they had to attend these parties. “I thought we agreed you were going to make a go at society. That you were going to give it a chance.”

“I have.” Her voice sharpened, rising with the color in her cheeks. “I’ve been trying but it’s so tiresome. It never ends.”

“The season ends in August, Josephine. It’s not much longer. A few more weeks, and the social whirl will die down. Come, let’s return before someone sees us quarreling out here.”

“We wouldn’t be quarreling if you’d only let me have a few moments in peace to collect myself. But, apparently, that is not permitted.” She gathered up her skirts and flounced ahead of him, onto the path toward the house.

Again, he considered dragging her inside the temple and fixing her to Arlington’s whipping pole, but it would only fuel gossip when he returned her to the company all rumpled, with tears in her eyes. He caught up with her and took her hand. After a small battle of wills, she permitted him to place it upon his arm.

“Behave yourself, for God’s sake,” he muttered. “You’ve been doing so well.”

“I’m tired of doing well. I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of talking about recipes for lemon tarts, and fashions from Paris, and which damned ball is t

he one to be invited to this week.”

He arched a brow at her rough language. “Perhaps we ought to head home, if you find the company so tedious that you must curse.”

“Are you going to spank me there?”

“I believe you’ve earned a spanking, yes.”

“For cursing?” She blinked at him in outrage. “You curse all the time.”

“It’s not only the cursing. You promised you would try to behave as a proper lady and countess. You promised to let me help you.”

“I don’t like the way you help me. Your spankings hurt, and they don’t work to change me anyway.”