My Naughty Minette (Properly Spanked 3)

She didn’t know if it was the embroidery that made her cross, or whether she was naturally drawn to needlework when she was out of sorts. She only knew that she mainly plied her needle when she was angry, which perhaps explained why all her monograms came out looking a mess. She was angry at herself and August, and her brother, who had not solved anything the way he normally did. He had stayed for tea and made polite conversation, and then left her with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered admonishment to “Be a good girl.”

“Blast,” she muttered as her needle slipped. She fluttered the handkerchief in irritation so the candles guttered and almost went out. At the same moment, there was a knock at the door.

Minette turned as August entered the room. He was in shirtsleeves, with no coat or cravat. For the thousandth time, she thought of their night at the Townsends’, and the way he’d looked in the morning before he’d hurriedly dressed. Broad shoulders and bronze skin, defined muscles, and that masculine part of him she couldn’t forget. That was what he looked like all the time under his clothes, as much good as it did her. He hadn’t come tonight to romance her. She could tell at once by his shuttered expression, and his rigid stance.

“May I speak with you a moment?” he asked.

She looked back at her embroidery. “Of course.”

Now she felt cross and shy. And nervous. He peered at her design as he sat beside her on the chaise, being careful of her dressing gown.

“You need more light,” he said.

“No, I don’t. If it looks awful, it’s a lack of talent, not candles.”

Goodness, that had sounded very cross. And she’d just put in a crooked stitch because of his nearness, and the intensity of his gaze. She laid the handkerchief down in her lap and faced him with all the bravery she could muster. “I apologize once again for my behavior earlier. For going to visit your...well. I understand now that it was very foolish and ill-advised. She didn’t really teach me anything, except to be sensual and open, which I am not very good at.”

“You shouldn’t have gone.”

“Yes, I know. Although I am curious about the books.”

“You’re not going to read the books. They’ll be returned to Esme tomorrow.”

“Oh. I had rather hoped—”

“No.”

She gave a soft sigh and pulled at the edges of the ivory silk square. “Very well. And I suppose you may still spank me if you believe I deserve it. I shouldn’t have run away from you earlier. I’m a terrible coward when it comes to such things.”

His eyes looked more black than hazel as he regarded her in the dim light. “Why didn’t you go with your brother?”

“Go where?”

“Leave. Go. Why do you stay here with me?”

How impossible he was. Handsome or not, he was brainless. “I stay here because I’m your wife. I belong here with you. Everyone will talk about us if I go live with Warren and Josephine.”

“Everyone’s talking about us anyway.”

She turned a bit away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I didn’t come to scold you again, or spank you. But Minette... Look at me.” She somehow managed to raise her eyes to his. “There shall be no more visits to Esme, or letters, or correspondence. You’re not to look at any more volumes of a lewd sort. It’s not proper for a lady.”

“Esme told me that you read them. That all gentlemen do.”

“Minette.” His voice held a warning note. “Do you understand? Or do you need that spanking after all?”

Hmm. If he spanked her, at least he’d be touching her. But oh, it would hurt. She picked up her embroidery and attempted to look adequately chastened. “I understand. No more lewd volumes. Whether you read them or not.” She was poking at him. Pushing at him as clumsily as she pushed her needle through the fabric. “It doesn’t matter anyway, what I know or don’t know about such matters, if you see me as a sister and nothing else.”

“I’ve asked you for time,” he said. “I’m sorry if you’re frustrated.”

Frustrated? She’d loved him as long as she could remember, had enjoyed one night of passion in his arms—well, mostly enjoyed it—and was now trapped in a platonic marriage, taunted by his nearness, his sensual lips, his deep hazel eyes, his tall and virile body. Frustrated was not a strong enough word. She gripped her embroidery frame harder.

“It’s nothing to do with you,” he went on. “Please understand it’s my own sense of discomfort. I do think of you as a sister, a young woman who needs protection from villains like me.”

“You’re not a villain.”

“I can be.” The way he said it gave her a chill. “I don’t want to be. Which is why I wish to leave you alone for now.”

“Forever?”

“I don’t know.” He leaned closer with an apologetic expression. For a moment she thought he might kiss her, but he only looked sideways at her work.

“What are you stitching there? Is it a dove?”

She grimaced. “It’s supposed to be an A for Augustine. But it’s become such a mess, I suppose I’ll have to undo the entire thing and start over.”

“If you do, make it a B. I won’t be Augustine much longer.”

Oh dear. His father’s illness. “I wish there was a way to fix him,” she said, looking up at her husband. He didn’t seem sad, only resigned and perhaps a little closed off. Minette thought to herself, I wish there was a way to fix you. She stabbed the needle into the cloth just to have something to do, since she couldn’t embrace him the way she wished. “I shall work a B for Barrymore, then. How strange to call you Barrymore instead of August.”

“And you’ll be Lady Barrymore, when you’ve just gotten used to being Lady Augustine.”

She bit her lip, saddened by the dull acceptance in his voice. “Why must we lose people we love? I wish there was no sickness or sadness in the world, or hunger, or people who are in pain. I wish everyone might be happy and warm and well fed, and content. Sometimes I think I have a difficult life, but I don’t. Your poor father, and you and your mother...” Her embroidery work blurred with the effort not to cry, and she jabbed her needle right into the pad of her finger with regrettable force. “Ouch.” She hissed and shook the injured digit.

“Be careful,” said August.

At least she believed that was what he said. She wasn’t sure, because right afterward he took her finger and drew it to his lips, and brushed a kiss across its tip. His lips felt warm and soft, and his touch so infinitely tender.

And gone too soon.

He let go of her finger and considered her handkerchief again. “If embroidery is not your talent

, have the servants do it,” he said. “Or commission some monogrammed handkerchiefs in town, if you’d like them for gifts or whatever.”

She looked down at her lap, feeling dejected and ashamed. “I wanted to embroider some for you myself. So you would have something of mine. Something special. Don’t wives do those sorts of things? I mean, anyone can buy something already made.” She shrugged and looked back at him. Thank God she had managed not to cry. “Perhaps I will go into town and find some grand ones embroidered quite perfectly. When I’m so awful at making things, I haven’t much choice.”

“Make me one with an M,” he said in a rough voice. “For Method. I’ll use it no matter what it looks like.”

“Everyone will laugh at the clumsy embroidery.”

“I don’t care.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry or joking or simply tired of her. His color was high, and his expression cloaked as ever. “All right then,” she said. “I’ll make one for you.”

“Thank you.”

“It shall make me feel very much like a wife. And I am happy to be your wife, no matter if you need more time to get used to thinking of me in that way. I’ll try to be patient.”

“Thank you,” he said again, with curt formality. “I suppose I’ll leave you to your embroidery and go to bed.”

She stood when he did, and stared up at him with her frame and needle clutched to her chest. “Will you give me a good night kiss? You could do it as if I was your sister. I wouldn’t mind.”

He gave a strangled kind of laugh and rubbed his forehead, and gazed at her again in that mysteriously intent way. He had enthralled her with that gaze so many years ago, and he still enthralled her to this day.

“Please.” She was not above begging. “I think it will help me sleep better. A chaste kiss and embrace.”