My Naughty Minette (Properly Spanked 3)

“What do you think?” she said. “I’m crying.”

“You’re faking,” he snapped. “Those are false tears. But that can be remedied.” He took her arm and pulled her inside. The footman shut the door behind them with an unsubtle bang as August pulled her across the library to his desk. It was her turn to ask, or rather shriek, “What are you doing?”

He sat in his chair and threw her over his lap. “I’m doing what I’ve wanted to do ever since I woke up a week ago and found you in my arms.”

Oh goodness, this wasn’t the outcome she’d hoped for at all.

“I won’t cry anymore if it upsets you so,” she said, trying to squirm off his thighs. “I can be perfectly quiet if I try. I’ll go up to bed, silent as a mouse.”

“You had your chance to go to bed silent as a mouse. Instead you stood outside my library door and treated the entire household to your ridiculous histrionics.”

He flipped up the skirts of her dressing gown, brushed aside her shift, and brought his palm down hard against her bare bottom. He spanked one cheek and then the other, hot, sharp slaps that made her yelp in alarm. “Oh, please, you can’t spank a bride on her wedding night! I believe it’s against the law.”

But then she remembered that Lord Townsend had spanked Aurelia on her wedding night, and that any man in England might spank his wife whenever he wanted to. “I’m sorry,” she said instead, trying a different tack. “I ought to have gone to bed, but I wanted to tell you—oh—ow!”

The more she talked, the more he increased the intensity of his spanks. She threw a hand back to cover her smarting bottom. “Please! Please stop!”

“Move your hand.”

“I can’t.”

“Move your hand, or I’ll spank you with your paddle and it will feel considerably worse.”

“It’s not my paddle,” she said peevishly.

“It has your initials on it,” he replied. “And I can see why. I asked you very clearly to go up to bed and let me finish my work. Instead you’ve annoyed me until I have no choice but to discipline you. Now answer me. Do you want a paddling or not?”

Tears welled in her eyes at his heartless scolding. His hand rested on her scorched skin, warm and large. It reminded her of his touches, his caresses. He had been happy to caress her when he didn’t know who she was. “I don’t want the paddle,” she said, sniffling.

“Then move your hand. You won’t be warned again.”

The paddle looked evil, but August’s hand was pretty awful too. She jerked and squiggled as he resumed her punishment. No matter how she struggled, he only collected her tighter, spanking her steadily all over her bottom until the whole of it throbbed. The only way she could stop herself throwing her hands behind her was to make them into fists and press them to her mouth. Tears of indignation flowed down her cheeks.

“This is the worst wedding night ever,” she cried as she kicked at an especially smarting blow. “And you are the meanest, most horrible husband in the world.”

“That’s probably so,” said August. “Because I won’t tolerate stubborn and annoying wives.” He paused, and then Minette felt a whoosh and an explosion of fresh, stinging pain from the paddle.

“Nooo,” she screamed. “That hurts too much.”

She looked over her shoulder to see him regarding the implement with admiration. “It does pack a wallop. Do you need any more spanking, or have you finished being naughty for the night?”

“I’ve finished, I promise.”

He put the paddle down and hauled her to her feet. She could still feel the rectangular outline of the paddle across her bottom cheeks. Worse, she couldn’t seem to stop sniffling and crying like an infant. He tipped her face up and made her meet his gaze. “You’ve had that coming to you, young lady.”

It upset her to be lectured like a child. She wasn’t a child. She was his wife, and she wished to be treated as such. She wished he might kiss and embrace her, and fondle her, and do those outrageous things he’d done to her Hallowe’en night. She wasn’t a ‘young lady.’ She was a woman. A woman who didn’t appreciate being spanked on her wedding night.

“I’ll go to bed,” she said in a trembling voice, “if you’ll come with me.”

He stared back at her, his face set in authoritative lines. “I’ll come with you, but I won’t stay.”

“Then I won’t go.”

Something in his gaze flickered. “You are very brave to say that just now.” Before she knew what he was about, he’d swept her up in his arms the way he’d done that day when she was terrified of the dog. She wasn’t terrified of dogs anymore. No. She was more terrified of loveless, sham marriages, where one party stayed in the country while another stayed in the city, and everyone gossiped about them behind their backs. It appeared she had entered into one of those marriages. And when August went to London, he would probably go visit his lady of the night, and pay her to do the things he wouldn’t do with her.

But I’ll do them for you. I would do anything you wanted.

August carried her up the wide staircase and down the series of corridors, while Minette tried to think of the words that might thaw him. She was considered a gifted conversationalist, but she came up empty this night. She felt so very frustrated and tired, and oh, her bottom hurt. She laid her head against his chest, against the soft, fresh-scented silk of his waistcoat, and cried a few more tears before they reached her far-flung room.

A footman—a different one now—opened the door for August to proceed through it. Once inside, he passed through her dressing room to the bedroom and tossed her on the bed. He sat beside her, but not in a fond way. He sat on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees. He also looked very frustrated and tired.

“You must understand...” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is the way things have to be right now. I need time, Minette. I have a lot of other pressures, a lot of things going on. My father’s very sick and he’s not going to get better. I have duties in London. I have fences to mend and preparations to make.”

“Preparations for what?”

“My father’s death.” He said it in a very hollow way.

She wanted to comfort him, to embrace him, but she was terrified he’d push her away. So she only stroked the side of his arm, up and back, in a tentative gesture. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry your father’s going to die. I never really knew my parents so I don’t know what that feels like. Very bad, I suspect.”

“It does feel very bad, and you needn’t be there in the middle of it, trying to be my new wife with sadness all around. Give me some time to get used to everything that’s happened, please, darling. Give me a little space.”

“If that’s what you want,” she said. “I love you, August. I always have.”

He let out a sharp breath. “Why? Why have you loved me for so long? What do you even know of me, Minette?”

“I know enough. I know that I love you,” she said staunchly. “Please, let me come to London. I won’t addle you, I promise.”

He placed a finger over her lips. “I know you won’t mean to addle me, but you will. I’ll send for you when things have calmed down, all right? I’ll see you at the holidays, at least.”

“The holidays are six weeks away,” she said past his finger. She wanted to bite it, he made her so furious, and if he gave her another of those chaste forehead kisses, she believed she would fly into a rage.

But he didn’t give her a forehead kiss or any sort of kiss. He squeezed her hand and pressed his cheek to hers, then stood

and walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

Chapter Six: Inquietude

London was dreary as hell in mid-November. So dreary, in fact, that August occasionally questioned his decision to leave Minette in Oxfordshire, but at the end of it, he had no choice. Barrymore House was already full to bursting with his father’s illness and his mother’s grief. He wasn’t sure the mausoleum walls of their town residence could expand enough to contain Minette’s chatter and liveliness, and if she came here, she would expect him to sleep with her.

Which he couldn’t possibly do.

He tried to imagine it sometimes, tried to move his mind past his childhood memories of Minette, and his brotherly regard for her. If he thought about it enough, perhaps it would wear down those uncomfortable, incestuous barriers, but no. The uncomfortable, incestuous barriers were still there.

Damn him. He had no idea how he’d get heirs on her. The two of them would eventually need to have children, so at some point he’d have to overcome these reservations. Just pick a night with no moon, and have her creep within the bed curtains...

She was easier to spank, because there were so many reasons to spank her. The marriage, first of all. Colton’s censure, for another. Priscilla’s powerful father had sent August a scathing note letting him know exactly what he thought of his manners. Now Priscilla would be out again next season, at every social event, and every time he saw her, she’d heap guilt upon his head. She’d whisper things about Minette, who was too sweet and good-natured to fight back.

He stood and walked out of his study to the back of the house, and the balcony that flanked the entire floor. He needed air. Maybe he needed Minette. He wasn’t sure. He’d been a week now without her, and he hoped she’d gotten over her anger at being left behind. He’d written to her the day he arrived, a polite and cheerful note for his polite and cheerful bride, sending his wishes that she was well. She’d never written back.

He thought he might go see Esme. Warren wasn’t in town to complain about it, and August could easily skulk in through the back door. Esme would take his cares away for precious moments. An entire evening. He’d never gotten his birthday favors, by God. A breeze blew, strangely warm, with only the slightest chill of autumn. Sun shone on his face as he squinted through his lashes. No, he wouldn’t go see Esme. Maybe someday, but not yet. His mind wasn’t in the right place, and his manhood had taken a blow this past week, when he’d mistaken innocent Minette for that serving maid. Blast, but he ought to have known.