Claiming His Wife (Domestic Discipline 4)

roximity of his wife, he wondered what she had meant by calling him a lying bastard. Grimacing, he acknowledged that this was not the time to ask. If he'd wanted to know, he should have said something before her spanking. Because, as far as he could remember, he'd never lied to her about anything, ever.

Chapter 5

Cynthia was bored. Which, in and of itself, was not unusual, but she did take exception to being bored when she was at a dance. Looking wistfully over at the floor, filled with whirling couples, she wished she were one of them. Instead, she was trapped within the Countess' circle, all of whom wanted to know every detail about the upcoming wedding.

There were even more of them than usual to flutter over her, as people had been pouring into Bath once they'd received their wedding invitations. Most of them had made it a stop on their way back to their estates, following the Season. Eleanor had told her that the wedding certainly wouldn't empty the capital, but it would tempt quite a few of the ton to depart earlier than they normally would. Unfortunately, that just meant she had to be at the Countess' side for what seemed like endless rounds of interminable introductions and bland, socially acceptable interactions.

She glanced over at her fiancé, who already knew everyone and didn't seem to be held to the same strictures. No, he was able to speak with his friends, visit the refreshments table, and even dance if he wanted. Although if he did dance with one more flirtatious beauty, fresh from London, Cynthia was not going to be responsible for her actions. After all his threats about her talking to other men, she would have thought he'd be more circumspect with his own attentions.

Granted, his friends were also dancing with women other than their wives, but Eleanor and Irene were also on the dance floor, and the moment the music ended Edwin and Hugh were back at their sides, reclaiming their women. Only Grace wasn't dancing, and that was because Alex was looming over her and glaring at any man who dared come within two feet of her. Going by the increasingly irate expression on Grace's face, only the fact that they were in public was keeping her from exploding.

Really, she should just accept one of Lord Brooke's many invitations to dance. It was obvious that he wasn't going to let his wife dance with another man until she danced with him first. Cynthia had even seen the scowling lord shake his head at Hugh when he'd begun to approach.

If only she could do the same with her own fiancé.

Cynthia scowled at him across the room, where he was talking with some blonde beauty that was practically clinging to his - oh... that was Eleanor on his arm. Well, that was alright. But still. Shouldn't the Earl have asked his fiancé to dance at least once? Perhaps he was too scared to approach the gaggle of women around his mother, but that didn't mean that Cynthia should have to pay the price for his cowardice.

"Excuse me, my lady," she murmured to the Countess, "I must visit the retiring room."

"Of course, my dear, hurry back," the Countess said, smiling benignly. She was fully decked out in all her best clothing, a glittering array of gold and ruby red, guaranteed to attract attention. Obviously, she was in alt over finally having her eldest son about to be married. Bemused, Cynthia hurried away, sliding between the ladies and nodding inanely as she passed.

In her own dress of dark rose pink, edged with cream, Cynthia knew that she looked quite attractive tonight. The color matched her nipples perfectly, which made her feel wonderfully naughty, even though no one else was aware of it. Well, the Earl might be, but he certainly wouldn't say anything even if he realized.

As she made her way across the room, the frustrating man materialized at her elbow.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Cynthia scowled up at him, not at all intimidated by his low, threatening voice. "Anywhere but back there," she said, jerking her head back towards where his mother was standing holding court. The Earl's lips twitched as he almost smiled. Ha. She knew he had a sense of humor in there, even if he did tend to present his stuffiest side to her.

Well, stuffy when he wasn't baring her backside, turning it bright red and then putting his... well. Now her own cheeks were starting to match her dress as she looked up at him. It wasn't like her to be easily embarrassed, but she couldn't think about him doing that without blushing.

"You, of all people, shouldn't be left unchaperoned for even a minute," he said, taking her hand and putting it on his arm. Since Cynthia didn't actually need to use the retiring room, she didn't protest.

"Then you can chaperone me," she said, smiling up at him with such saccharine sweetness that she knew he'd be suspicious. She'd noticed that he was always the most wary of her when she was behaving correctly. It set him on edge. "After all, you seem unable to go more than a minute without a female on your arm, it might as well be me."

The Earl's eyebrows raised and a little gleam entered his eyes. He really was devastatingly attractive. "Jealous?"

"Hardly," she said, airily, blatantly lying through her teeth. It had surprised her, actually, how possessive she felt of him. The good news was, she knew that he was just as bad and she intended to use that. "There are quite a few gentlemen who would be eager to make up for your neglecting me."

They changed direction with a suddenness that almost made her stumble, but the Earl caught her with his arm around her waist, his grip tight, as he maneuvered them towards to the doors to the outside. Silent, imposing, and completely in control, he ushered her out into the night. The darkness was broken up by the lights throughout the gardens, a few shadowy figures moving in the distance along the less well-lit pathways. Couples, who were searching out intimacy.

Leading her onto one of those darker pathways, Wesley was filled with satisfaction that he no longer had to worry about her reputation. Betrothed couples were always given a certain amount of leeway, and with the wedding day looming so close, they'd be given even more. No one would look askance, as long as he married the chit, and Wesley had no intention of changing his mind about that.

Wesley knew that once they were married, the rakes would be hovering... waiting. His soon-to-be wife was exactly the kind of treat they'd like to indulge in, with her sensuous curves and eager passion; if he ever made the mistake of letting her become a bored matron, they would pounce. However, Wesley had no intention of ever allowing that to happen. For once, he was fairly certain that Cynthia was one of the few women in the world who would be able to satisfy his baser urges and his need to indulge in them on a very regular basis.

Right now he was suffering, waiting for their wedding night, but he knew it was going to be worth it. Keeping her in line was a full time job; he certainly hadn't wanted to risk leaving the house to find a willing woman, only to return and find that she'd run rampant in his absence. Although, if he were being entirely truthful with himself, he would admit that the attractions of other women had paled after meeting Cynthia anyway. He wanted her, very badly, and trying to find a substitute didn't hold any real appeal. Wesley was experienced enough with women to know that a substitute never appeased him.

Waiting for his wedding night would be worth it.

In the meantime, he'd enjoy stolen moments, like he was about to right now. Judging the current pathway they were on to be dark enough that no one would be able to immediately discern their identities, Wesley pulled her off the gravel and pushed her up against a tree. Cynthia squeaked, but before she could speak or protest, his mouth was on hers in a possessive, passionate kiss. A conqueror's kiss, meant to dominate, to claim.

His senses thrilled as she softened against him, opening her lips to invite him in, her hands pressed against his chest but not pushing him away. Trapping her, his hands planted firmly on either side of her body, the bark of the tree digging into his hands, Wesley kissed her with all the expert knowledge of a degenerate rake. Cynthia melted against him; he could practically feel her submission to him as he pressed his body against hers, his cock digging into the softness of her stomach.

Nipping at her full lower lip, he raised his head slightly, glaring down at her in the dim light.

"No other men, baggage," he said, his voice darkly serious.

Cynthia glared back up at him, not at all cowed. "No other women, my Lord," she retorted tartly.