To Tame a Countess (Properly Spanked 2)

“Not much has been done upstairs,” Mr. Hargrove said, as she stared upward at the polished, refurbished chandelier. “Lord Warren expressed a wish that you might choose your favorite rooms, and decide on chambers for guests, and dressing rooms, and a nursery.” At this last, the older man blushed. “We were not expecting your visit for a couple more weeks.”

A couple more weeks. Warren had planned to bring her here at the end of the season, had expected to. He had known all along things wouldn’t work out. The idea both comforted and devastated her. This beautiful, small property. He’d made it livable for her, not just livable but lovely and grand.

She swallowed hard. “Lord Warren is not with me. I decided to come earlier.”

As she said it, she heard the sound she had strained so long to hear, the sound of hoof beats through the open door. There was shouting and a ruckus in the newly paved courtyard. As she moved to the front of the house, she heard Lord Warren berating the London servants.

“If I want you to take my wife somewhere, I’ll goddamn tell you as much,” he bellowed. “She may be Lady Warren, but I’m the master of the house.”

She put a hand to her lips. Tears threatened again. He’d come after her, but oh, he was so angry. She watched as he stalked around the side of the entryway. His boots and breeches were covered in dust, his coat only half done up. He looked disheveled as he kicked through the neat beds of flowers and faced her.

Sun slanted across his features, and in that moment, she saw the tiger’s eyes in his gaze. She saw the protector in him plain as day, so she could only stare in bewildered recognition, wondering how she’d never noticed it before.

“Won’t you come inside?” she asked when she found her voice. “Won’t you come see? It’s so beautiful, what you’ve had them do.”

His glare drilled into her. Despite her fear at his obvious fury, she felt a hot and awful joy.

He crossed his arms over his chest and let them down again. “I don’t trust myself not to abuse you if I come inside.”

She spread her fingers on the newly installed door frame. “I know you would not abuse me.”

“But I’d spank you awfully hard. No, perhaps I really would abuse you this time. I’m feeling rather at the end of my tolerance.”

The servants disappeared, every one of them. The bustling business of the lord’s arrival had transformed into a tense and lonely silence, with only the two of them to untangle their affairs. She could barely raise her head to look at him.

“You cannot continue to run away from me,” he said after a long moment. His voice held steady but his blue eyes blazed. “I told you last time that it couldn’t happen again.”

“I didn’t run away. I told you I was coming here. Why, you had it prepared it for me.”

“Had it prepared—?” He blew out a breath. “It was to be a surprise. I wanted you to have a home you could be proud of, a home we could share. I thought perhaps we could spend holidays here, or have secret getaways from the larger manor. I thought we could bring our children when the weather was pleasant.” His voice rose along with the color in his face. “I wanted to make you happy. I’ve tried to make you happy.” He took a step closer, emotion contorting his features. “My God, why did you leave me? Why do you hate me when all I want to do is help you?”

She reached out to him, terrified of his anger, but more terrified at the vulnerability in his gaze. “Won’t you please come inside? You must see what they’ve done. It’s too magnificent.”

The blaze in his eyes darkened to a fire. “Certainly, I’ll come inside with you. If that’s what you really want.”

*** *** ***

Warren worked to master himself as he followed her into the manor. After his drunken night, his shock at her departure, and his wild ride here, he was not at all sure he would treat his wife with proper respect.

But she hadn’t treated him with proper respect. He gave a cursory glance around the bottom floor, at the staircase and gleaming floors, and the tall windows admitting ample light. He was so angry with her, so furious. How dare she invite him inside this house like a bloody queen, when he was the one who’d restored it?

For her.

He’d restored it because he wished to please her and make her love him. He wished her to feel more worthy in society, being in possession of a fine home. Little good his efforts had done. He took her arm and drew her into the westernmost parlor, which was the most private, and firmly shut the door.

She pulled from him and backed away, no longer the gracious queen of the manor.

“You’re afraid now? You invited me in,” he said. “You might have kept me outside. This is your land and your property.” He flung the words at her in an immature tone.

“I didn’t want to keep you outside.” She stood by the window, her hands clasped in front of her skirts. “You’re my husband. I wish us to be civil.”

“You weren’t civil last night. Come here, Josephine.”

She turned her head the slightest bit. It seemed a pitiful and yet erotic gesture. He was frightening her, and worse, he meant to. “Come here,” he repeated in a louder voice.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do what I ought to have done last night, and what you surely deserve today. I’m going to spank you until you can’t sit down.” When she didn’t come, he went to get her, pulling her resisting form to a nearby chair. He sat and flung her across his lap. “You remember the last time you ran away?” he asked in a hard voice, tossing up her skirts. “What happened to you then?”

“No,” she cried. “Don’t do this.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.” He corralled her wrists and held them against her arching back. “I thought that punishment would have been harsh enough to prevent a repeat performance.”

He began to spank her, sharp, stinging blows meant to teach a lesson, or perhaps only disperse his emotional pain. He ought not to be spanking her in this mood, but he didn’t know how else to proceed without falling into a pile of brittle-edged pieces.

“I didn’t run away,” she gasped, crying out at each firm smack. “I didn’t.”

“You did.” He gave her another volley of wild wallops. “You snuck away in my carriage like a thief in the night.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me go. You wanted me to be better, but I won’t ever be better. Ow, ow, ow!” Her bottom was flame red already, reminding him of the severe strapping he’d given her the last time. And what had it changed?

“Please, don’t,” she cried again, struggling to get away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve failed you time and again.”

He paused, sucking in a breath. Failed him? He wasn’t so certain now who had failed whom. He released her, pulling her upward into his lap. Oh, Josephine, what do I do? Where do we go from here? She smelled of sunshine and flowers, and everything he needed. He buried his fingers in her hair and pressed his lips to her breasts, her shoulders, her throat. She held onto him, wincing as he twisted his fingers in her curls.

“Damn you,” he whispered. “God damn you.” He kissed her, a punishing kiss, violent and feral. It was a kiss to reclaim her, to subdue her. He wanted to lock her in a tower until she understood how much he loved her. How to make her understand? Not through force and anger, and constant recrimination. What a blundering arsehole he’d been.

He broke away and pressed his cheek to hers. “I never wanted you to leave. Never, not in a thousand years. I love you. No matter what I say, no matter what I do. God, I’m an idiot.” He spread his hands on either side of her face, cupping her cheeks between his palms. She had been so brave; she had tried so hard to please him in so many ways. “You haven’t failed me, Josephine. I’ve failed you. I’ve tried to make you into something you’re not, something you should not be. I’ve watched you struggle and be very unhappy, and I kept pushing you anyway to be what I wanted, when you are already magnificent and unique. I wonder if I haven’t been as bad as Stafford, causing inj

ury to you.”

“You haven’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t say such things. You saved me when you married me.”

“No. I’ve hurt you.” He brushed his palm across her round, pert bottom cheeks, now sore with the evidence of his temper and will. “I’ve hurt you time and time again. Someone ought to save you from me.”

She put her head down against his shoulder, and he realized she was crying. He shoved her face against his neck, punishing himself with the heat and moisture of her tears, the very evidence of how much he’d damaged her. He could have cried too, for all the pain he’d caused. “I’ve been selfish and demanding,” he muttered in a self-reproachful litany. “I’ve punished you for things that aren’t your fault.”