“If you are not too tired, perhaps you’ll allow me to show you about the place,” he said.
To his pleasure, she cordially agreed.
*** *** ***
Aurelia wandered amidst her new rooms, noting lovely furnishings and delicate knickknacks, and sweet-smelling flowers. There was even a private bathing room designed in the latest manner of invention, with a tiled tub for soaking. But no matter the beauty and wonders, she kept returning to stare at the window seat.
It was not in the bedroom as in London, but in the adjoining drawing room, and it was not truly a window seat. Rather, benches had been arranged before the window, one on either side, and then draperies fixed on iron rods in the plaster ceiling overhead. The draperies framed the benches on all sides, creating a close approximation of her hideaway at the London household. There was still a bit of dust on one bench from where they’d drilled the plaster, which led to an inevitable conclusion. He had had this hideaway created quite recently—especially for her.
Rather than go within and sit, she stared at it from the middle of the room, plucking at the folds of her evening gown. She had felt rather speechless and awed at dinner, at the beauty of his house and the crisp industriousness of the servants, but now, staring at the window seat that was not quite a window seat, she fell a little bit in love with her husband. But only a very, very little bit.
If only she could despise him, but he made it impossible. He made her feel furious and powerless with his demands, and then followed with actions so kind she felt utterly unbalanced. No, it couldn’t be love she felt, but there was something unfamiliar and hot in her chest. Whatever it was, it made it impossible to sit in the window seat in peaceful docility. It made her want to pace, which, unfortunately, was not ladylike.
“Lady Townsend?” Aurelia turned to find a smartly attired maid curtsying her way into the room. “Pardon me, my lady. Lord Townsend wishes you to attend him now. I’ll be pleased to show you the way to his chambers.”
The last thing Aurelia wanted to do was go to Lord Townsend’s chambers and commence this “training” he seemed determined to put her through, but she gathered her courage and followed the maid. Better that than wait here for him to drag her where he wanted her—and he would drag her, she had no doubt.
The maid led her across the hall and tapped at a great, tall door, and pushed it open. Aurelia entered, nerves jarring. The room was dimly lit; flickering candlelight illuminated a large bed and heavy pieces of furniture. It was a male’s bedroom, top to bottom. She couldn’t suppress a shiver.
Lord Townsend stood from a chair by the fireplace, and Aurelia turned to him with her hands clasped before her waist. She stared at his broad chest, and the interesting contours of his jaw and neck, dusted with an evening’s growth of stubble. Her husband. When would she get used to it, the blatant, shocking intimacy of knowing this man?
She could tell nothing from his expression as he regarded her, whether he felt content, or angry, or sad. “Do you find your rooms satisfactory?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you very much for the...” Her voice caught a moment in her throat. “For the window seat.”
“You must have a mouse hole in every home, yes?” At her frown, he approached her. “But I remember you don’t like to be called a mouse. Forgive me.”
Before she knew what he was about, he’d grasped her face and tilted her head back by the chin. She bit her lip, staring up at him. He looked as if he would say something, but then he lowered his mouth to hers in a warm, exploratory kiss. She stood very still as his tongue caressed and encouraged her, teasing gently at her teeth. Without meaning to, she opened to him. Her arms and hands hung in space with nothing to cling to, for she was afraid to touch him even as he deepened his kiss. The hand behind her head delved up into her hair and massaged her nape, angling her just so for his passionate embrace. He tasted faintly of cinnamon and wine.
Was it normal to kiss like this? Was it normal to feel as if one was floating away in some kind of stupor?
He pressed her body to his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Pins clattered to the floor as he brought her hair down, freeing lock after lock, kissing her all the while. She clung to him as if to seek shelter from the very chaos he created in her. Her breasts felt heated, her nipples tight. She was certain she was growing wet in that secret place, and just as certain that he would touch her there and realize it, and thrust his fingers inside and make her feel ashamed before he pressed his hard, thick manhood into her...
She pushed away from him. Not a great push, for she was even now wary of displeasing him. It was more like shying away. She felt cowardly and pitiable as he studied her.
“Are you quite all right?” he asked.
She touched her lips. “I am here as you commanded me.”
“You remember why?” He brushed a bit of hair over her shoulder. “You remember our purpose, the one I explained to you last evening?”
His tone was not the least bit romantic, although his kiss seemed to linger on her lips. “Yes, I remember,” she said. Even though I am not entirely willing, she wanted to add. But it would be pointless to do so. He’d brought her here to his secluded estate for this purpose, and she had no way to get away.
She took a step back. That, at least, he permitted. He unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, tossing the fine garment over a nearby chair, then turned back to face her. Without his tailored coat pulling him together in the image of a gentleman, he seemed dangerously underdressed.
With a flick of his wrist, he rolled up the first of his linen shirtsleeves, then the other, fixing her with a purposeful look. “I don’t want you to become upset when I say this, but I believe it best to begin each evening together with a proper, thorough spanking. I believe it will go a long way in communicating to you the inexorability of your situation. It will focus your attention and render you more eager to perform.”
“What?” Her voice cracked, high and shrill. She backed away from him in alarm, her hands splayed protectively over her backside. “I promise you have my attention. I am trying to be good!”
He caught her shoulders before she could flee. “You must trust me, darling. I know what I’m about in such matters.”
He turned her with firm hands and began to undo her dress and loosen her stays, removing everything but her sheer, silken shift. She trembled, cross, reluctant, frightened even, but along with all those feelings came another shameful surge of hot tension in her breasts and between her legs, in her body’s secret core. It was hopeless to resist him, wasn’t it? His power and his will frightened her, but also, curiously, aroused her. She didn’t want this, and yet in some sense it felt exciting. Which meant that she was barely more proper than a common trollop, or a whore.
Oh, no. She had thought herself better than this. He sat on a chair and was about to pull her over his lap when he noticed her tears.
“Why are you crying, Aurelia?”
She sniffled. “I’m crying because I feel terribly confused.”
He made a soft tsk, wiping gently at her cheeks. “Your confusion is only your mind warring with your body. Let me guide you. Don’t resist me, grasshopper, and we’ll see where we end up. Answer me. ‘As you wish, my lord.’”
She forced the words out, though her voice trembled. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Ah, that sounds very nice. Those are the proper sort of words to say when I give you instructio
ns. Above all, you must be brave and willing to try anything I request. I won’t hurt you, I swear. In fact, you’ll enjoy great pleasure if you get into the spirit of things.”
The spirit of things? What on earth did he mean by that? She found herself guided, for the third time in her short marriage, over her husband’s lap. She felt the whisper of fabric against her skin as he pushed her shift up to her waist, baring her bottom.
“Feet on the floor, yes, that’s a good girl.” His palms brushed lazily for a moment over her naked cheeks, then stroked lower to caress the skin just above her stockings. “And keep those hands out of the way, or I’ll use one of your garters to tie them together and keep them still.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, though she could barely imagine such a thing.
He made a low, pleased sound and landed the first spank. Oh, mercy, she would never get used to such treatment, and he intended to do this each evening, on a formally regimented basis? It defied belief, and yet her bottom stung with the reality of his intent. He spanked her twice on each cheek, pausing in between so she felt his palm rub across her skin. Oh, God help me. After that, he settled into a constant, painful rhythm of measured spanks.
Right away, it was difficult to keep her feet in the position he wanted. Little kicks and cries escaped her, high and shrill in the silence of his room. She wanted him to stop, but she also felt the most confusing sensation of arousal. The heat in her bottom seemed to spread between her thighs, and collect there in a tingly, heavy way. She prayed not to be molested, but her prayers were in vain. He paused in his onslaught and pressed his fingers to her quim. She flushed hot at the slickness gathered there. If he had commented on it, she would have died of humiliation, but he only resumed the spanking, delivering firm, crisp blows in a steady rhythm to her posterior.
“Perhaps you fear these spankings will become repetitive over time,” he said as his palm rained down. “But it will not be so. Very soon I’ll introduce you to other disciplinary implements. A paddle perhaps. A strap. A birch rod or switch, most definitely. A cane can be highly effective but perhaps best left for moments when you are very, very rebellious.”