Lydia's Penance, page 6
He didn’t know whether to be grateful that no one thought him a nodcock easily trapped in marriage or a lascivious seducer of innocents who had been caught out or to be outraged that anyone could think he’d taken leave of his senses in such an out-of-character and shocking manner. After all, he knew very well that his current reputation was one of a stern man; not cold exactly, but certainly not warm. Not the kind of man who would make a love match for his marriage - indeed, his decision to marry had been decidedly cold-blooded.
Not that he remained entirely cold-blooded about his bride, but she was a very beautiful woman. And rather engaging, if he forgot her machinations. The small glimpses of her naked form that he’d seen in the morning tantalized his memory; some hot-bloodedness was to be expected.
The gentlemen expressed some surprise at his choice over port, one of them calling her a beauty but ‘long-in-the-tooth,’ reminding Isaac of why he rarely socialized outside his immediate circle of friends. If he hadn’t been so desperate to secure a bride rather than suffering through the next Season, he certainly wouldn’t have attended this house party. After sitting next to Miss Stafford through dinner and having observed her charms for himself, it baffled him that any of the men there could be so dense as to dismiss her merely because she was a bit older than the usual run of debutantes. A bit smarter too. Another gentleman called her a bluestocking and complained that she was too well read. Dunderheads, all of them. Although at least he understood why she hadn’t been able to attract a suitor on her own. For some inexplicable reason, apparently the gentlemen surrounding him were extraordinarily picky, and he was receiving the impression they were also a bit intimidated by her maturity and her intelligence.
Well, if empty-headed chits barely out of the schoolroom whose passions consisted of gossip and fashion were what the gentlemen desired, it was their loss. He’d frowned when he’d had the thought, realizing if he followed that thought to its logical conclusion, that would mean marriage to Miss Stafford would be to his gain.
Extricating himself from the drawing room as quickly as he could, Isaac headed determinedly for Miss Stafford’s room. Fortunately, he’d had Glassen locate it earlier and report back to him, just in case there was ever a need. He hadn’t anticipated there being one, but he did like to cover all possibilities, and now he was grateful that he had.
He rapped sharply on the door twice, to warn her, and then swiftly opened it and let himself in. After all, despite the circumstances of their engagement, a nocturnal visit to her room without a chaperone would be frowned upon. It would be expected of them to wait until the morrow when they were properly wed.
Isaac didn’t even want to think about what the starry-eyed ladies downstairs would have to say if they discovered he couldn’t stay away from his bride for one evening. Not to mention his friends. He had never made himself a noodle over a woman before, and he didn’t intend that anyone think he was now.
Although, as his startled fiancé jumped up from where she was sitting at her vanity, brushing her long, honeyed hair in front of the cheval glass, Isaac suddenly found himself feeling quite noodle brained. The door shut behind him, and he didn’t even hear it. There seemed to be a sort of roaring noise filling his ears.
It wasn’t that he was inexperienced. He wasn’t a rake, but he wasn’t a prude either. There had been mistresses, the occasional night at a bawdy house, and yet... he’d never been confronted by a young, virginal woman before in an entirely modest nightrail before. It added an unexpected piquancy to the situation. The material was quite unremarkable, being neither thick nor thin, it skimmed along her curves without emphasizing them, and yet the sedate quality of the cut made it that much more enticing. Her hair hung in waves to her waist, a sheet of gold that his fingers itched to explore, and he was assaulted with the sudden vision of her straddling him, her hair swaying with her movements as she rode him.
No matter that not an inch of her was exposed that he hadn’t seen before. No matter that there was nothing overtly seductive about her dress or her shocked stance. No matter that she’d drugged him and trapped him into marriage. The sight of her, with her wide, gray eyes and parted, pink lips, in that snowy white gown, with her hair unbound and falling around her made his cock swell with inexplicable immediacy. He shouldn’t be attracted to her, and certainly should not have such a visceral reaction to such a modest nightgown, but ‘should’ apparently didn’t mean anything to his body.
“Your Grace!” she said, sounding shocked as her hand went to her throat, clutching at the neck of her nightgown.
He frowned at her. “Miss Stafford. You were not in the drawing room.”
It wasn’t like to him to state such obvious inanities, but he was thrown by his body’s reaction to her. To his surprise, a blush rose in her cheeks, and she looked down at the ground, almost guiltily. From which he surmised she was feeling perfectly fine, she had just been avoiding him. Possibly avoiding their upcoming conversation as well. His determination to spank her firmed. If she was going to marry him she needed to know he would not be pushed around or even guided by her. There could only be one head of the household and it would be him. Manipulations, contrivances, and excuses would not be tolerated.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, I know you wished to speak to me afterwards, but I was... I was...”
At least it seemed as though she couldn’t outright lie to his face and tell him that she’d felt ill or some other excuse.
“Well, I’m here now, and so we shall speak.” He crossed over to bench by the fireplace and sat down, ignoring the expression of shock and alarm that crossed her face.
“Your Grace, I must protest, this is quite irregular,” she said, visibly gulping when he looked back at her sternly.
“So is drugging a man and crawling into his bed in order to secure a marriage proposal.”
The color in her cheeks heightened and she actually looked ashamed. Isaac was fascinated. It was so easy to read her emotions now. Perhaps because he’d knocked her off balance with his impromptu visit? Or because they were alone? He couldn’t quite fathom it, and yet he was sure her reactions were not an act. Even more intriguing, rather than dissembling, she apologized.
“I am sorry about that,” she said, so earnest that she actually took a step forward, before seeming to remember her improper dress and immediately stepping back again. The hand holding closed the top of her nightgown tightened. “It was very wrong of me, and I know that. I... I thank you for doing the honorable thing.”
To say he was confused was to put it mildly, until he realized this might be another attempt to bamboozle him. She’d given him the stick - trapping him into marriage - and was now offering him the carrot - an apology and what seemed like submissive behavior. Of course, she’d already gotten what she wanted, so it must be easy to appear submissively docile now.
They’d see whether or not she was able to continue to do so now that she would have to face some consequences for her actions.
“I’m relieved to hear you understand that your actions were wrong,” he said sternly. “You took advantage of my honor. I would have some recompense for it. Come here, Lydia.” He gestured with his hand; it was unmistakable that he intended her to approach where he sat.
The look in his eyes when he said her name had her quailing. And recompense? What did he mean by that? Her eyes darted to the door, and he snorted.
“Do not think to run. Even if you make it to the door, you won’t make it down the hall, and if any of the servants were to see me chasing after you, it will cause a greater scandal than you already risked. We’ve been remarkably lucky. Everyone thinks the suddenness of our engagement is due to ours being a great love match. I would rather not the whole of England know otherwise.”
Lydia winced. There really was no escape. She doubted she would risk scandal by trying to run, because he was completely correct. The door to the rest of the house was across the room where he could easily cut her off, and even if she, by some miracle, made it past him, she was in her nightgown. It was highly possible someone else might retire early or that the servants would be about, readying chambers for the evening, and there would be no end to the gossip.
Instead, she focused on the one part of his speech that specifically shocked her. “L-love match?”
The wry smile he gave her seemed to invite her to share in the joke, but she was feeling far too unsettled to do so. “Quite so. It seems that we are quite the passionate couple, according to gossip. Lady Chesterfield is masterful at avoiding scandal. Some hostesses would cry foul, all the while glorying in the gossip and the attention, but not her. She can be quite a Methodist when she puts her mind to it.”
“Yes... well... that is... that is...” Lydia floundered, completely at a loss for words. It was truly unexpected is what it was, and yet the Duke didn’t seem to mind. She supposed he thought it better that people think he’d fallen in love with some dowdy, over-age debutante than they know she’d actually tricked and trapped him. A tale of love allowed him to keep more pride than reality did.
“That is neither here nor there,” he said sternly, making her quail. “Come here, now, Lydia.” She swore his voice deepened when he ordered her around, and she fought against the immediate desire to obey. After all, she had no idea his intentions. Yet she didn’t really have a choice either, did she? And considering she’d decided to try and make the best of their marriage, she shouldn’t start by disobeying him before they’d even said their vows.
Very slowly, she walked towards him, her fingers nervously rubbing the fabric of her nightgown. Despite his seated position, as she neared him, he seemed larger and more formidable than ever, a perception assisted by his stern visage as he watched her approach. His gaze held hers and she couldn’t look away. There was something hypnotic about his dark eyes, something that demanded her attention and refused to release it.
Until she finally reached him and his hand snaked out to grab hers, and before Lydia knew what was happening, she found herself in a position she hadn’t been in since childhood.
“Wha-?!” she gasped out the word, feeling as if all the air had left her lungs, pressed out of her by his knees. Her head swam as she stared at the rich carpet on the floor, her hands flung out in front of her needlessly, as he had already stopped her descent.
“I may have to marry you, but I will make one thing clear right now,” he said, his voice much more grim than it had been a moment ago. “You have manipulated me once. Never again. I will tolerate nothing but honesty in our marriage. You will be an exemplary wife and duchess, you will be an example to my sister, and you will never again attempt to manipulate, coerce, or elicit certain actions from me. If you need something, you may ask, and I will decide whether or not you will receive. And if you do go against these strictures, or are in some other way naughty, then this is the reaction you will receive.”
WHACK!
Lydia shrieked. Her bottom smarted and throbbed where his hand had just landed, the sound slightly muffled by the thin fabric of her nightgown. The all-too-thin fabric, really, which felt like it had done nothing to soften the blow, only the noise of it. It had been years since her governess had spanked her, and it hurt just as much as she remembered - perhaps more.
“I suggest you not shriek quite so loudly, my dear, unless you want to encourage an interruption,” the duke said, almost sounding amused.
WHACK!
“Ow! Stop! Please!”
WHACK!
“Stop it! I said I was sorry!”
“I appreciate your apology, but your behavior still demands a penance,” he said sternly as her bottom throbbed, one side more than the other. He’d alternated cheeks, which meant that her right cheek now hurt twice as much as the left. Not that she wanted him to even them out. “I will not tolerate this behavior, nor will it go unpunished, as long as you are my wife.”
WHACK!
Her hands covered her mouth to keep from howling as the hard, flat surface of his hand smacked down on her left cheek. He was not holding back, and could she really blame him?
WHACK!
WHACK!
“Tell me, are you with child?”
“What?! No!” Lydia was absolutely indignant. Despite her current distress, it only took her a moment to realize he thought she’d been compromised by someone else and was looking to hide her condition. “I’m.... I’ve never...”
“Very well, but I needed to ask.”
Not that it stopped him from continuing to punish her, the brute.
WHACK!
WHACK!
Apparently annoyed by her nightgown, the duke yanked up the bottom of it, pushing down her drawers. Suddenly aware of the immodesty of her posture, Lydia cried out wordlessly, her hands flying back to try and cover her already burning cheeks, but he just took her wrists in one hand and placed them in the small of her back, holding her fast.
SMACK!
The small protection of her nightgown was gone, the sound of flesh against flesh cracking through the room. Lydia choked back a sob, trying valiantly not to shriek or scream, mortified at the thought that someone might come in, or even just knock, as she was sure the duke would merely ignore them. She’d be humiliated. Especially because she already knew she would still marry him on the morrow.
Like his preference that society believe them a love match, Lydia much preferred no one know she was being spanked like a child by her irate fiancé.
SMACK!
Tears smarted, dripping down onto the carpet. Lydia wriggled, all too aware of how much larger and stronger he was than her. Her legs kicked, churning as she began to struggle, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get away, but unable to desist... it hurt too much. He stopped spanking her for just a moment, pushing her legs down, and then his calf snaked around them and pushed them down, trapping them in the bend of his knee and making her immobile.
Lydia sobbed.
SMACK!
“Please! I’ve learned my lesson! I’ll be the perfect wife!”
SMACK!
No matter what she pleaded, what she promised, his hand still fell, turning her bottom into two thoroughly roasted, swollen mounds of flesh. As she realized he was unwavering in his intent to punish her, unmoved by her pleas, it came to her that he had every reason to be. He’d behaved honorably, she had not... she’d had no choices left, and so she’d taken his from him, and they both knew it. The guilt she’d been suppressing all day suddenly came welling up and she found herself sobbing over his lap; no longer fighting, no longer struggling... it felt like a release.
It felt like a relief.
Suddenly, she realized the rapid swats against her upturned backside had ceased and the duke was now murmuring that it was over and they could start anew. The idea of a fresh start was incredibly appealing, even if it was delivered with an impertinent hand rubbing her chastened bottom, and Lydia found herself sobbing even harder.
Chapter 4
When he’d first started spanking his bride-to-be, he’d done so with the vague idea that he’d somehow magically know when she’d been punished enough. After all, Arabella howled almost immediately the few times she’d been spanked, and when she began sobbing he knew she’d reached her limit, and he ended the punishment. Lydia, on the other hand, had beared up quite a bit better than his sister, forcing him to keep spanking her to a much darker hue than Arabella’s spankings ever reached. When she’d begun to sob quite piteously, sounding as if her heart were broken, he’d immediately ceased swatting her backside.
The formerly creamy buttocks were now a rich red, practically glowing really. Although Isaac had spanked ladies bottoms just as bright before, he’d always done so while combining the spanking with erotic pleasure. To punish her like this gave him no joy.
“It’s over, my dear,” he murmured, sliding her nightgown down over her hot rump, freezing when his fingers brushed against... wetness? Wetness where he had not expected it... His cock, which had deflated a bit during the spanking, immediately swelled again. His fingers pressed into silky, hot cream, and he heard the little hitching sob in her breath as she began to squirm. “Steady on, Miss Stafford.”
With a few deft movements, he had her turned around on his lap so he was cradling her. The heat emanating off her bottom was so potent he could feel it through his trousers, warming his cock. His heart was pounding in his chest as he held her against it, struggling to gain control of his impulses.
He wanted to carry her over to the bed, press her hot bottom against the sheets, and claim her as his the way he would have if this had been an erotic spanking; but the entire point of this exercise was to give her the opportunity to cry off. Something he was beginning to regret, as - despite the circumstances of their engagement - he was starting to see quite a few benefits to having Miss Stafford as his wife. Not the least of which was that he could keep her under his control, ensuring she never paid such a nasty trick on another man, and he could guide her into proper avenues of behavior. In return, he would have a wife with wit, intelligence, beauty, and, apparently, a delightful reaction to being spanked.
Pressing her face into his chest, she quivered against him, one hand clutching at his jacket. The nightgown she was wearing did very little to hide her body, and Isaac was all too aware of the thinness of the garment. From the way her breathing hitched, he was sure she was overcoming her arousal as much as her tears and the pain of her spanking.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said over and over again. “I won’t do it again.”
“How did you do it?” he asked, his voice a mere murmur as he soothingly rubbed her back, trying to distract himself from his own amorous desires. He was quite sure he could help assist her turn pain into pleasure, but then she might feel obligated to marry him. She might even think he’d actually ruined her.
“T-t-t-he stillroom here. I s-s-s-snuck off during the dance.”
Ah yes, he realized, and that was why she’d had a remedy to hand so quickly the morning after. He’d have to remember to keep her out of his. Arabella had never shown any interest in it, although he had vague memories of his mother spending some time in the stillroom. Given Arabella’s wildness, he should probably feel grateful she hadn’t realized there were such interesting things to be learned there. She certainly wouldn’t be learning any of it now at the hands of his soon-to-be wife.
