Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Cure for Agitation

 

 

Our departure from the Mivart the next morning is tinged with some sadness for me. I have so enjoyed the private and indulgent intimacies which Thomas and I have shared at this place, that leaving its majesty is a wrench. I am certain that my husband notices my quiet demeanour, and yet he says nothing on the subject until we find ourselves back in the carriage. Side by side once again, he pulls me close against him as the horses pull us away.

“Thank you, Thomas,” I begin, turning to see his strong profile as I break the tangible silence between us. “The last few days have really been more than I could have ever hoped for.”

His face softens at my words, and he turns to me as he replies. “Lydia.” His voice is soft and warm, and resonates deeply within me. “You are so welcome. I also have had the most amazing time on our bridal tour.” His left arm snakes around my body, resting against my hip. “I know you are fretting about our trip to Cranningford. Is there anything I can do to help you relax?”

There is something in his tone which startles me, and makes the butterflies within me rouse from their recent slumber. “I cannot think what would help,” I sigh, suppressing the strange attraction I have found in his question. “I suspect that only a good experience there will quell my anxiety.”

He rolls his tongue around the insides of his mouth, the look of it stirring something deep within my core. “I am certain that you are right,” he agrees, his eyes drilling into me. “A good experience will help to alleviate your concerns, and yet—I wonder if there is more I can do for you now?”

Our eyes connect at his curious suggestion, my innermost muscles clenching in a peculiar reflex. “What could you do, Thomas?” I ask.

Even as the words leave my lips, my brain is whirring into activity, and I think I know what he has in mind. The dark, delicious look in his eyes reinforces my original notion. “I can take you over my knee, Lydia, and draw your mind away from your woes?”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he speaks, and all at once my heart begins to hammer beneath my gown at the excited realisation of what he has suggested. “A spanking, Thomas?” I say breathlessly.

His smile widens, turning into a broad grin. “We have quite the journey,” he answers matter-of-factly. “There is plenty of time for our pleasure.”

I squirm reflexively against the bench, my mind considering his delectable proposition.

“Do you recall that I took you over my knee once before in this carriage?”

His mischievous voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look to his handsome face at once. “I do, My Lord,” I reply, my voice already trembling at his naughty proposal. I find that I seem always to refer to Thomas this way whenever I am aroused by his domineering presence, a fact which I note he also seems to enjoy.

“You were disagreeing with me that day, I think?” he says, his tone somehow teasing.

I nod eagerly. “I was disobedient, My Lord,” I reply. “I often am…”

The atmosphere in the carriage shifts almost palpably at my final words. Thomas moves to meet my eye, as though he wants to see my expression, my consent for the fantasy which we may be about to play out. “You are indeed, My Lady,” he says, his voice brooding with sensual desire. “What is a husband to do?” His dark brow cocks at the question, daring me to answer him.

“I need correction, My Lord,” I say, my voice breathless with excited anticipation.

“Correction?” he asks wryly. “What type of correction should I deliver, do you think? What do you need, Lydia?”

A low gasp leaves my lips at his question. He wants me to say it, I realise. Thomas wants me to vocalise my needs. “I think that I need to be spanked,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper.

The smile on his face is utterly devastating, and I draw my thighs together in a reflexive response. “Then spanked you must be, Lydia,” he says flatly, patting his lap beside me.

I look to him, my face full of uncertainty. “Now, My Lord?” I ask.

“Right now,” he says authoritatively. “Place yourself over my lap this instant!”

The change of tone makes me move, and in a matter of moments I am drawn over his lap, the skirts of my gown and petticoats thrown over my bodice for good measure. The hand of my husband roams my bared behind, tracing invisible lines over the punished area.

“Lydia.” His voice is low and firm as his fingers probe the dark place he had claimed the prior evening. “You are to be punished, a form of correction for your ungainly behaviour.”

“Yes, My Lord,” I pant, tensing as the digits make contact with that tender place.

Thomas’ hand leaves my bottom as I answer, and I ready myself for what is to come; a punishment which will surely feel real enough, but exists only as a pleasurable fantasy between us. The first strike is hard, and yet it feels sensual as it lands upon my already tender skin. The second strike connects with both cheeks, catching my sitting spot and my obviously wet sex. His palm lands against my bared behind again, as one, two, and then three swats berate me. A succession of further strikes land against me, creating a warm area which he strokes between slaps. He spanks me soundly, pausing to massage my cheeks. I am breathless with desire at the treatment, my core bursting with arousal at my ignominious punishment.

As each strike lands I realise that he is right; face down over his lap in the moving carriage, Cranningford is now the furthest thought from my mind. With the pain and the pleasure of the spanking, Thomas has done more than distract me; he has set my mind free. A groan leaves my lips as I thank him, and I find that I love him even more now than ever before. The knowledge that he understands me so well, and can deliver what I need, makes me heady with lustful emotion.

Within a few moments I am right on the brink, my excitement reinforced by the stimulation to my throbbing nub, caressed with each new impact to my bared bottom. “Oh, Thomas, I…” I begin, the words spluttering from my mouth as the latest swat winds me.

“I know,” he replies, his voice warm with passion. “Climax for me; I want to feel your pleasure.”

His words are somehow enough to topple me over the edge of the precipice, and my body convulses, almost on command. As the waves of intensity rise, he slips a welcome digit inside my wetness, riding the surges with me. Slowly I come down from the high, but the warm, euphoric feeling spreads over me like a veil of calm.

Cupping my sex in his left hand, he draws me upward with the assistance of his other arm. I move to straddle him wordlessly, his left arm snaking to my waist to hold me in place whilst his right hand unfastens his breeches. There are no explanations about what is to transpire, only the glorious knowledge that I am going to have him inside me again. He frees his organ quickly, and although the sight is lost beneath my skirts, I can feel it throbbing obediently at my thigh. My gasp is instinctive, the sheer size of him once again startling me, but one look from Thomas settles me in an instant.

“Climb on top of me, Lydia,” he commands in that soft, brooding voice which I have grown to love so much.

I hesitate, suddenly unsure. In all of our exquisite lovemaking sessions until now, it has always been Thomas on top of me, and in control. Never have I been in charge of proceedings this way, and now the idea fills me with trepidation.

“I do not know what to do, Thomas,” I confess, searching his face for the reassurance I need.

He smiles, leaning forward to find my lips with his commanding mouth. “Slide me inside you,” he whispers, his eyes drilling into me with searing sensual intensity. “I will guide you, my love.”

I nod, not wanting to displease him. Shifting my weight on his lap, I position the head of his shaft to find its place at my wet core. He stares carnally into my eyes as I slowly move onto him, pushing my weight south against his hardness. The sheer intensity of the undertaking overwhelms me. Being in charge of such an intimate act and seeing the pleasure it brings us both is empowering, and yet still, I yield to Thomas’ every word.

“That’s right,” he tells me, smiling as he watches me. “Ride me, Lydia. Push yourself up and down my length.”

I do as he says, marvelling in the sensation, and how different this feels from our previous encounters. From this position my sweet spot receives constant stimulation, rubbing against his groin each time I move myself back down upon him.

“You are so beautiful,” he purrs, using his right hand to loosen the fastenings at the back of my gown. With a sharp tug at either sleeve, the bodice of the dress pools at my waist. My breasts, now liberated, begin to move of their own accord with each thrust of my own hips. His eyes light up at the sight of me, the appreciation I see there pushing me deeper into our personal hedonism.

Settling into my own rhythm, I begin to gain confidence. I arch my back, enabling my body to take even more of Thomas, reaching back to his knees to take my own weight. In doing so, the power shifts between us, and Thomas begins to resume control of the situation. I can feel the length of his organ sliding slowly in and then out of my wetness, and oh my, the feelings are divine! With my arms now taking the burden of my body weight, his hands are free to roam and within a moment they are at my breasts. His palms massage them roughly, before his fingers find my pebbling nipples, pinching and teasing them as I gasp aloud. He smiles at the sound, watching my face as he pulls both nipples forward. I am torn at the sensation; processing the pain, and yet simultaneously revelling in the pleasure it brings. The act sends me lurching forward toward Thomas again. All at once his arms capture me, and I see him grin as his mouth claims me aggressively. Now we are both moving, me squirming on top of his length, and him controlling the long, measured thrusts as he claims me over and over.

The speed of my climax is breath-taking, the waves rising so fast that I can barely even call out. The motion of the carriage, the risk of our being seen, and the relentless intrusion of his organ whip me into an unprecedented frenzy of desire. I climax right there as I straddle him, shattering into a thousand pieces around his throbbing length. He splinters right after me, and I see his face dissolve into his own ecstatic torment.

We remain together, our bodies entwined inside the carriage as it travels onward. I am breathless, and suddenly soporific, enjoying the heat of Thomas’ body as I lay against his clothed chest. The touch of his hand at my hair brings me back to life. “That was glorious, my love,” he purrs.

I raise my head and smile at him. “Thank you for spanking me, My Lord,” I say, offering his organ another long clench.

His arms draw me forward, taking my head in his hands as his kisses me passionately. Our tongues dance sensually as our ardour begins to calm. Pulling away, he offers a wry smile. “You are welcome, my love,” he says. “You know I will always be here to deliver what you need.”

Thomas raises me gently from his lap. I gather my skirts, whilst he helps me to pull the bodice of my gown back over my torso. I resume my place at his side and watch as he fastens his breeches once more.

“We have a long journey, my love,” he says, embracing me with his left arm. “Why not rest a while?”

The idea sounds blissful, so I do not resist his suggestion. I lean my head against his shoulder, my eyes already closing as the warmth of his body and the motion of the journey lull me into a deep slumber.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Return to Cranningford

 

 

When I rouse the sun is already low in the sky. I feel Thomas at my right, and turning to see him, I smile, remembering our most recent coupling.

“Are you rested now, Lydia?” he asks, his voice low.

I nod as I reply, “Yes, Thomas, and thank you.”

His left palm squeezes my shoulder gently. “We will soon be at Cranningford,” he explains.

I cannot help the tension which automatically sweeps through my body, and I know he notices it. “Will you speak to Lord William?” I probe tentatively.

“Yes,” he replies firmly. “Although I am not decided about how and when I will do so. Let us see what opportunities present themselves.”

I nod, the anxiety gnawing at my belly.

“Try not to worry,” he says, laughing gently at my bleak expression. “You are safe, and remember that we are here to celebrate after all.”

I smile, acknowledging that he is right. “Of course,” I say. “I cannot wait to celebrate your first birthday as my husband.”

He winks at me, his expression salacious. “Oh, really?” he asks, his tone sardonic. “And what, I wonder, will my wife do to help me celebrate?”

I giggle, and the sound is unexpectedly nervous. “Anything her lord and master desires,” I answer.

Thomas shakes his head at me slowly. “You, My Lady,” he says, drawing himself against my side, “are incredibly naughty, and in line for another spanking.”

My heart skips a beat at his tone, and almost at once I feel the moisture pooling between my legs.

“Now, Thomas?” I ask, uncertain if I really want to know the answer.

He laughs. “No, not now,” he explains. “We are nearly arrived, and it would not do to arrive with my wife bared and over my knee.”

His tone is jovial, but for some absurd reason the idea he presents is as arousing as it is startling. He looks into my eyes, reading my expression. “But soon enough, I promise that your naughty rear will be warmed by my palm again…”

He nuzzles into my neck, and I smile at the prospect as we sit together, curled into an embrace. We watch Cranningford loom on the horizon, the sight growing larger as we near it.

As the house draws close, the sense of anxiety in me grows. Yet it is not until Lord William appears at the grand doorway that a wave of nausea suddenly overwhelms me. Thomas eyes me, offering me a quiet nod. As our eyes connect, they offer me enough reassurance to make my feet move from the carriage; I am with you, Lydia, they say, trust me. He drops to the gravel below, offering me his hand as I venture into the cold November air.

Lord William descends the steps, holding out his hand to greet his old friend. “Thomas!” he calls cheerily, “how lovely to see you again. How is married life suiting you?”

Thomas shakes his hand, before sweeping me into his left arm in a strong embrace. “It suits me very well,” he says, his smile delicious as both men turn to look upon me.

“Of course it does,” smiles Lord William, coming toward me. I resist the urge to move away, held fast by Thomas’ left arm at my waist. “Welcome back to Cranningford, Lady Markham.”

He takes my left hand in his own palm and grazes the back of my knuckles with his lips. I draw in a deep breath, averting my eyes from the scene playing out before me. “Thank you, My Lord,” I reply, drawing my hand away as fast as etiquette will permit.

My discomfort apparent, Thomas pulls me away. “May we come in out of the cold?” he asks, already moving toward the steps.

“Of course!” says Lord William. “I will have Mannington arrange your luggage when your footman arrives.”

We enter the lavish home to find Lady Helena waiting for us at the foot of the staircase. “Thomas!” she drawls. “Here is a sight I thought I might never see!”

She is upon us in seconds, sashaying her way to my husband and holding out her hand for him to kiss. He does so with a smile. “Helena, you look delightful, as always. Now, what is this sight which you see?”

She smiles, turning to address us both as she replies. “Thomas Markham, a married man!” she exclaims, “and it is you, My Lady, who has captured him. Bravo!”

I flush at her words, but manage a smile. Something about her excitement is infectious. “Good day, Lady Helena,” I say as means of reply.

“You are both most welcome,” she says, holding out her right arm to embrace her husband who has already come to join us. “It is an honour to be the first to host Lord and Lady Markham.”

“Indeed,” agrees Lord William. He pauses, and I feel the weight of his stare on me. “What a pleasure it is to see you both so happy.”

Unable to meet his eye, I turn to Thomas, feeling his hand tighten at my waist. “Thank you,” he says, looking Lord William directly in the eye. “We truly are.”

There is a moment of silence as we all absorb his words, and then he speaks again. “Is everything in place for tomorrow, Helena?”

She smiles, oozing eagerness as she replies. “Of course it is!” she squeals. “You know my parties are legendary, Thomas! And now we will be able to introduce your wonderful new wife to all of our friends!”

He smiles, pleased with her answer. “Lydia and I are most grateful for all of your efforts.”

The door is drawn open at that moment, and we all turn to see Lucy and Buckton arrive in the doorway. The sight of her draws a smile to my face, although all at once I also feel concern. Although I may now be safe with my new husband, what of poor Lucy? I must not allow her to be left to the whims of William Pembroke! I look instinctively to Thomas, hoping that he understands the look in my eyes.

“Shall we take a drink in the drawing room before supper?” asks Lord William.

Thomas takes a small step forward. “What a marvellous suggestion,” he answers. “But first, please allow us to change after our journey. Travelling can be something of a tiring challenge.”

He turns, those green orbs drilling into me as he concludes, and reflexively I feel my cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment.

“Indeed,” muses Lord William from my left. He looks from Thomas to me, perhaps deducing what may have transpired on the journey here, but thankfully does not press the subject. “Mannington!” he calls the butler, who has come to greet Buckton. “Please ensure Lord and Lady Markham’s cases are sent to their rooms at once.”

“Yes, My Lord,” says Mannington from behind me.

“Rooms?” enquires Thomas, with a cocked brow.

Lord William laughs, the sound echoing around the large hallway. “We thought you might need the additional space, old chap,” he chortles by means of explanation.

Thomas eyes him, fighting the urge to smile. “Hmmm,” he replies. “Thank you, but Lydia and I will be sharing my old rooms during our stay.”

Nothing further is said on the subject, and I am glad of it. I do not wish my private life to become the subject of general conversation, and given the friction between Lord William and me, the whole topic makes me uncomfortable. I move away from Lord Pembroke to Thomas’ right side, and wait for him. Together, we ascend the staircase, walking hand in hand in the direction of the rooms which we had taken on our previous visit. We find ourselves in the long corridor, approaching the two doorways at either side of its end. Thomas opens the handle of the left door—the one in which he had previously spanked me with his crop—and gestures for me to enter.

The room is exactly as I recall it; a mirror image of the one I had stayed in across the corridor. The linen is fresh, the bed dressed in an extraordinarily luxurious silk cover, and a glass vase of beautiful flowers greets us on the dresser.

I walk toward the edge of the bed, turning to face Thomas.

“What is it, my love?” he asks, prompting me to speak the issue which burns at my tongue.

“It is Lucy,” I admit, pleased to be able to divulge it. “Last time we were here the staff downstairs disclosed to her that Lord William likes to make advances to the maids. I am concerned that he may force himself upon her.”

“What a gentleman does with his own staff, Lydia, is his own business,” he says, and I stiffen at his tone, which sounds almost admonishing. “But I do not want Lucy to feel uncomfortable. She is here to serve you, and has the right to be secure. I shall ask Buckton to watch over her during our stay.”

I nod, biting my lip. “Thank you,” I reply, holding on to the edge of the bed as our bags arrive.

Thomas takes Buckton outside into the corridor, presumably to discuss the matter of Lucy’s safety. In turn, my maid joins me in the bedroom, hastily unpacking my gowns and other possessions.

“How are you, Lucy?” I ask, watching her as she works.

She turns to meet my eye as she replies. “I am well, thank you, My Lady. Although I must admit that being here again does make me rather nervous.”

I nod in agreement as I approach her. “I know,” I say, trying to soothe her. “His Lordship is right this moment asking Mr. Buckton to look out for you during the duration of our stay.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, the relief evident in her young eyes.

“I do so appreciate you, Lucy,” I say softly. “You have been such a support since I arrived at Markham Hall.”

“You are the Lady of Markham now,” she answers with a beaming smile. “And I am proud to serve you.”

I squeeze her hand gently, before moving away to allow her to continue her work. After a moment she turns again, beckoning to me with her hand. “Oh, My Lady,” she says urgently. “I purchased the item which you asked for, and it is wrapped and ready.”

I smile. “Excellent, thank you again,” I reply. “Can you leave the item somewhere for me to find tomorrow?” I turn, assessing the room behind me. “Perhaps in the dresser by the side of my bed?”

She spins to see the small piece of furniture to which I refer, and nods her head cordially. “I will do so once you are at supper, My Lady,” she says, smiling.

By the time Thomas returns, Lucy has my outfit for the evening prepared, and I excuse her with Buckton to make their way downstairs. Thomas has taken to helping me dress since our wedding, and I am pleased for the time alone with him again before our supper with the Pembrokes. I pull the chosen silver gown over my body, and turn to find my devilishly handsome husband eyeing me carnally.

“Can you please fasten my gown, My Lord?” I ask demurely, my heart pounding with the combined lust and anxiety which rages inside of me.

He advances toward me, his pace full of predatory intent. “Well, of course, My Lady,” he replies, his hot breath nuzzling into the back of my neck.

Securing the dress, he snakes his arms across the front of my body as he speaks. “I would like for you to relax and enjoy this evening,” he says evenly.

I twist my neck to the left to see his face. I can see his expression is serious and yet I can barely believe his words. Relax? How can I relax when we are here at Cranningford, and he is yet to even address the issue with Lord William?

“I think it will be a difficult task to relax, Thomas,” I say in response.

“I do not doubt it,” he says, planting a chaste kiss on my left cheek as he walks away. “Yet I ask that you try. I have vowed to deal with William, and I will do so. In the meantime, I want us to enjoy supper. William and Helena are my friends, and once this issue has been resolved, I would like for them to be your friends as well.”

A silent gasp leaves my lips and I turn to eye him. “Friends, Thomas?” I practically spit out the words, the old defiant Lydia suddenly resurfacing. “How can you presume friendship with a gentleman who made me feel such discomfort?”

His face relaxes, and he fiddles with his dark cravat as he moves back toward me. “Very well,” he relents, reaching for my hand. “Perhaps friendship is too high a hurdle to jump? I know that you are nervous, Lydia, and I swear that I will always protect you, but once I have put William in his place, I do hope that we can move forward from this?”

I nod, knowing that he only desires harmony between the people who share his life, and I inwardly berate myself for my obnoxious tone. “I understand,” I say, “and I am sorry if I was disrespectful.”

Thomas presses himself against me, grinding his groin into my middle. I mewl reflexively as his masculinity hardens next to me. “I accept your apology, but as I recall, you are already due a spanking.” His voice is a deep, low promise. “I will be more than happy to reacquaint you with my crop, my love.”

I shudder at his words, but raise my eyes to meet his intense gaze. “You must do as you will, husband,” I say, deliberately meaning to test his mettle.

His eyes accept my challenge, and at the same time his arms pull me into a hard embrace. “I will, my love,” he growls, “but first, we are invited to pre-supper drinks.”

Chapter Forty: Lady Helena

 

 

Supper passes without a hitch, the tone surprisingly genteel considering my anxiety. The saddle of venison is delicious, and Thomas permits me to indulge in one glass of red wine with the meal, a fact which Lord William does not miss from the other side of the table. As dessert is cleared away, Lady Helena rises from her place, excusing us ladies from the dining room. I drop my napkin onto the table, turning to look at Thomas before I leave.

He rises from his seat and moves toward me, planting a lingering kiss against my cheek. “Look after my wife, Helena,” he says, his eyes never leaving me as he speaks. I have the distinct feeling that now is the time he intends to confront Lord William with what transpired in his absence last time we visited Cranningford, and the butterflies in my belly lurch at the idea.

Lady Helena dances her way to my side, pulling on my right arm as she replies. “Of course I will, Thomas. Now, put her down and let us away!”

He smiles and nods, watching as she drags me playfully away. I follow her as we leave the dining room and make our way into the music room. I am pleased to avoid the drawing room where my previous encounter with her husband had taken place, but upon seeing the old grand piano, I am flooded with memories of my previous experiences at the place.

“Madam,” I begin. “I do not which to offend you, but I hope that you will not require me to play this evening. I feel quite exhausted from travelling.”

She turns to me as she finds her seat, and smiles as she sits upon the leather chair. She shakes her hand dismissively. “There is no offence,” she says glibly. “I can well remember the exhaustion of a bridal tour—let alone what it must have been like with Thomas!”

I inhale deeply at the familiar tone she takes, but bite my lip, saying nothing which is likely to be deemed impolite. Her footman moves forward, refilling Lady Helena’s glass with wine, and then pausing to offer me another.

“No, thank you,” I say, declining the offer.

“Oh, go on, dear Lydia!” she exclaims from her seat opposite me. “Please enjoy a drink with me. You can be sure that the men will do so next door.”

I consider her words, and then—after a moment of reflection—I nod to the footman, consenting to a small glass. He moves away, leaving us to our drinks by the large fireplace.

“I know we are not friends, Lydia,” begins Lady Helena, her voice shrill in the quiet of the room. “Yet I hope that in time, we can be?”

I smile, taking a sip of the wine to overcome the awkwardness I feel. “I would like that, My Lady,” I say. “I must confess to not having enjoyed so many friendships since I moved from London.”

Her smile widens at my admission. “Then you must allow me to look after you!” she calls, her voice taking on an almost sing-song quality. “And please, Lydia, do call me Helena. Should you need any guidance or advice regarding matters of marital concern, then please do not hesitate to contact me?”

I flush, uncertain how I should respond. “I am not sure that Thomas would appreciate me doing so,” I answer after another sip of from my glass.

She laughs at my reply. “You will soon have the measure of Thomas,” she assures me. “Whilst he will seek to possess you as his wife, he is clearly mesmerised by you, Lydia—any fool can see that.”

I look to her beneath my lashes, watching the outline of her fair hair against the backdrop of the fire. How beautiful she looks in the firelight, her face radiant as she seeks to offer me counsel. In this moment, I can see why both Lord William and Thomas have been drawn to her in the past. Emboldened, perhaps by our new intimacy, or perhaps by the wine, I decide to take Lady Helena up on her offer.

“May I ask you a question… Helena?” I hesitate over her name, but conclude to do as she has asked of me.

She stills, her back straightening with obvious curiosity. “Of course, my dear,” she replies. “We ladies need to stick together.”

“I have heard talk of your parties, and how wild they have been?” I present my case deliberately, watching her expression as she hears my question.

She smiles, as though recalling some salacious detail of the past. “What have you heard?” she asks congenially. “Many of my parties have become legend in these parts. I must confess, Lydia, I am not known for my modesty or decorum!”

I have to smile at her honesty; never before have I met a woman so proud of her improper reputation! “I have heard stories of the wanton behaviour which has thrived in them?” I probe, tempering my language, yet offering just enough to pique her interest.

“Is that what Thomas has told you?” she laughs, and I inhale, fighting the streak of envy which surfaces as she refers to my husband with such obvious tenderness. “Lydia—yes—the balls which William and I have thrown here have been nothing short of scandalous, my dear! Of course, nobody in society should speak of such things, and yet I know that they do; I hear the tongues wagging, and I feel the weight of the stares when we venture from Cranningford.”

I take another drink, gulping down rather too much of the fine liquid as I listen to her admissions. “Does it not trouble you?” I ask, genuinely interested in her response. “After all, a lady’s reputation is everything in England?”

She smiles again, and though genuine enough, it suddenly demonstrates her years of experience. She always appears so youthful, and yet I suppose Helena must be at least ten years my senior. “It did once, perhaps…” she concedes, turning her gaze into the flames. “But age has taught me that I need only please two people in life, Lydia. Can you guess who those people might be?”

I straighten in my own seat, manoeuvring my sore bottom against the velvet upholstery. “God, and the king?” I answer, genuinely uncertain about to whom she refers.

Her abrupt laugh indicates that I have chosen incorrectly. “Goodness, no, my dear!” she exclaims, looking back to me with glee. “I need only please my husband, and if he is content, then myself.”

I am surprised at her statement, but also intrigued. I have never really considered life this way before, but since arriving at Markham Hall only two months ago, just about everything about my perspective has changed.

“I have shocked you,” she says, more as a statement of fact than a question.

“No,” I answer quickly as I drain my glass. “No, I think I do understand…”

She tilts her head at me, as though she is contemplating something. “May I be honest with you, Lydia?” she asks eventually.

“Please do, Helena,” I answer, fiddling with the exquisite cut glass in my hands.

“When I first met you I knew instinctively that Thomas would want to have you. You are everything he would desire; you are young, and beautiful of course, but more than that you are astute, and no doubt challenging at times?”

I shift in my place again, a little overwrought with her analysis of both Thomas and me.

“Furthermore,” she continues, “you have your father’s estate, and your husband will be able to claim it as his own. You were quite the catch.” She pauses, the weight of her gaze falling upon me once again. I feel those blue eyes surveying my form under the silver gown, and as I catch her eye I am sure I see something akin to desire. “You must allow me to confess that when we first met I did not share Thomas’ positive appraisal of you, and when I heard of your match, I believed it to be hasty and unwise…”

I tense at her critique, uncertain where this line of analysis is taking us. “And now?” I ask, raising my head to look at her profile.

Her face softens reflexively. “And now I see that I was wrong. Thomas is so happy—we can all see that. And you, Lydia…” She hesitates, finishing her wine and devouring me with her crystal blue eyes. “You are quite fascinating.”

“Am I?” I say, raising my right brow at her statement the way my husband does when I am in trouble. All of a sudden I am empowered by the interesting dynamic between us. Lady Helena, it seems, could become more than just a confidant to me; she could become an advocate. Other than my interactions with Lucy, who—as my maid—may only have limited access to my thoughts and opinions, I have been without a friend. The thought that Helena could really become that person bolsters me.

She rises from her seat. My gaze follows her long legs as she strides to where the decanter of wine sits waiting. She collects it from the dresser, stalking toward me with clear intent.

“Oh, you most certainly are…” she says, a wicked smile on her face. “Let me refill your empty glass.”

“I probably should not,” I begin, although she has already begun to pour the burgundy liquid from the flask into my glass.

“Nonsense,” she says. “Thomas should not mind. You are an adult now, his wife—still on bridal tour, and about to celebrate his own birthday!”

I nod, watching her fill her own glass before resting the decanter by the fireplace and taking a seat on the chaise immediately to my left. We are now little more than a few feet apart.

“In times gone by, Lydia,” she says, “I should have liked to have you myself.”

Her words make me pause. Even though my instincts had suspected such a thing was on her mind, I have never until this moment heard a lady say so. I feel my face colour as I reply. “I did not know such things transpired between ladies?”

My answer is feeble, and I expect a mocking response, so it is with some surprise that I see a soft smile light her lips. “Well, of course you did not,” she replies. “It is not something they encourage young ladies to think on. Our pursuit is, as you know, the quest for a suitable husband, and indeed I am all in favour of this. But I also believe that there are other desires to sate…”

I take a deep breath, and say nothing for a moment.

“Goodness, has my candour offended you, Lydia?” she asks, her voice etched with genuine concern.

“No, no!” I assure her. “I am merely thinking on what you have said, and it reminded me of something. The last time I was here you told me that Thomas would seek to govern me, do you recall?”

She sips at her wine, and nods as she answers. “I do, and I presume that he has done so?”

My face is burning at her directness, and yet there is something altogether liberating about the whole conversation. “Yes,” I reply, finding the strength to meet her potent gaze.

“And you enjoy it also? To yield and be soundly spanked as he deems appropriate?”

I assess her as she speaks, seeing her sparkling eyes and her fine, pale skin. This conversation, I realise, is singly the most peculiar I have ever experienced, and yet it is somehow compelling to meet a lady so unlike the usual ones with whom I have been acquainted. I nod at her question, barely believing my openness. “Yes, I do seem to,” I answer, “although the fact still bemuses me at times.”

She laughs, a soft sound which bounces over the flames. “We must permit them to have their way in some things,” she says, waving her free hand in the air as she speaks. “Men like William and Thomas need to possess all that they own, my dear, and that includes us, their wives. It does not mean he will love you less for it. On the contrary, he will love you all the more. You will become the anchor to which he can never sail from, and he will adore you, but you must always keep your faith in him.”

I nod. “I think I understand,” I say. “Thomas has introduced me to so many new things. Things which I would have considered debauched and improper, and yet now…” I pause, stumbling over my most frank confession.

“Now you have found untold pleasure in them?” she probes, finishing my statement for me.

I flush, and yet cannot suppress my smile as I answer. “Yes,” I say, my voice raspy at the realisation. “Yes, I have…”

Her smile widens. “How fabulous that is to hear,” she replies. “Too many women in our positions seek only a good marriage, but not one which will satisfy them. Ladies of our class can, in my opinion, benefit from both…”

“I had not considered it,” I confess. “Yet I see that you are quite correct, Helena.”

“Well, of course!” she laughs. “You will find that I often am!”

I join her laughter, sincerely cordial toward her honesty, and finding her company far more comforting than I would ever have imagined. It is then that the gentlemen return to my mind, and I recall what it is that they are discussing right at this very moment. I tense, realising that any bad feeling between Thomas and William is bound to cause friction between Helena and me.

“What is it, Lydia?” she asks, rising into a sitting position on the chaise at my expression.

“I have remembered something,” I say, apparently unable to prevent complete disclosure from Helena this evening.

“What do you recall?” she says impatiently.

I pause before I answer. “I think I know something of the discussion to which Thomas and Lord William will be having now, and I fear that there may be discord between them, and perhaps between us?”

This catches her by surprise, and all of her attention is on me at once. “How so, my dear?” she demands. “They are the oldest of friends. Whatever is it that could cause such disharmony?”

“Me,” I whisper, my voice full of resignation. “I fear that I could…”

Chapter Forty-One: William’s Contrition

 

 

The atmosphere in the music room changes perceptibly at my admission. Helena’s blue eyes bore into me in the most invasive way, her mind processing what I have said. Then all at once she relaxes, stretching her long legs out on the chaise again. “You must share this news with me,” she says, her voice soft, yet demanding. “Whatever it is, I should rather be prepared for the torrent.”

“I do not wish to give you cause to dislike me,” I begin. “Especially after we have got along so well this night?”

She turns to look at me. “Do not underestimate me, Lydia,” she says. “I am a woman of the world. There is little you can say which will shock me.”

I nod, yet am still reluctant. After all, how would I feel if another lady had accused Thomas of such inappropriate behaviour? Her gaze though, is insistent, and I know that I must answer. “Something transpired the last time I was here at Cranningford,” I begin, “between Lord William and me.”

I watch her closely as the news settles over here. She nods slowly at my words, her eyes dissatisfied, yet she says nothing, allowing me to go on.

“We were in the drawing room, and he…” I pause, closing my eyes as I recall the instance to which I speak.

“What did he do, Lydia?” she asks, her tone rather curter than it had been previously.

“He pressed himself against me,” I say, hearing my voice falter as the words spill out. “He told me that Thomas and he always share things, and implied that I would be one of them.” I raise my eyes to meet her gaze. “Nothing else transpired,” I offer quickly, “but it was sufficient to make me uncomfortable, and soon after I departed.”

She nods her head. “I recall,” she says. “It did seem rather an abrupt departure at the time. Now perhaps, I understand…”

“Please,” I continue, holding out my hands and nearly spilling my wine. “I swear to you, I did nothing to encourage Lord William’s attention.”

“Of course not,” she laughs, finishing her glass in one long drink. “My husband needs little invitation. He is as they say, a lady-killer, always looking for his next conquest.” Her tone is low, and has a derisive quality to it that makes me shudder.

“I am sorry,” I say in little more than a whisper. “I did not know things were this way.”

The smile that reaches her lips is unsettling. “This is how things are always,” she says. “This is marriage, my dear!”

I shake my head slowly. “It is not how things are between Thomas and me,” I counter. “I am his only love.”

She looks at me in an almost maternal way. “For now…” she agrees. “Of course at this time there is great passion between you. Your marriage is young, and you are hungry for each other. In time these feelings will fade, and you will fill them with different things. One may be other people to share in your desire?”

I swallow hard, suppressing the defiance which swells in me. I should like to tell Helena that things will not be this way between Thomas and me; that we will work hard to be true and satisfy each other, but something about the look in her eyes silences me. There is a genuine sadness there, and although fleeting, the expression makes me want to be her friend, rather than her opponent.

“Will you permit me to ask about your marriage?” I ask, my voice full of hesitation.

Her eyes are on me again, and she nods consent. “I will,” she concludes.

“Does Lord William have many other lovers?” I enquire, conscious of how personal the question is, but somehow needing to know how things really are in the Pembroke relationship.

“At times,” she says, the warmth returning to her eyes. “There are often occasions in which he will take another woman, or invite one to share our bed.”

I gape at her explanations. “To share your bed?” I exclaim.

She smiles. “He knows I have desire in this direction,” she says. “But he also permits me to garner the attention of other men too, if I so choose.”

I cannot help but baulk at this. “And it does not concern him?” I almost hiss at her, “that his wife is intimate with other men?”

“He is accepting,” she says, “just so long as I come to heel when he commands it.”

“It seems incredible,” I whisper, holding the glass to my lips, but unable to take a drink from it.

“Perhaps,” Helena muses, “and yet still it is the truth. And so your admission does not surprise me, dear Lydia. Yet I am sorry that William made you feel uneasy. I am certain that he would not have wanted to achieve that.”

I am startled by Helena’s confessions, and yet still I feel warmth toward her, and I am pleased that she does not seem to hold resentment toward me about Lord William’s behaviour.

“I have been torn about the matter,” I confide, “and yet I know it is important that he and Thomas speak about it. I suppose that ignoring past actions will not help to create a more prosperous future.”

“Let them do so,” she says kindly. “They will settle any quarrel that they have. We can still remain friends, my dear, whatever the case?” She rises from the chaise and offers me her right hand, which she presses against my left wrist.

I smile at her, my head swimming from the combination of her words and the warmth of the wine. It is at this moment that the door to my right flies open, and Thomas and Lord William stride into the room.

“My, my, what do we have here?” Lord William’s voice permeates the room, and both Helena and I turn to look at him.

Helena saunters toward her husband, the picture of casual desire. She circles him in an unhurried way, ensuring that she has the attention of everyone in the room before she speaks. “Welcome, gentlemen,” she says leisurely. “Lydia and I have just been sharing some tales of married life.” She pauses to look upon Thomas, her eyes twinkling.

He looks upon her, unfazed by her brazen display. “Heaven help us,” he chortles, “what have you been filling my wife’s head with?”

She laughs. “I have only been telling her what a wonderful husband you will be!”

Thomas turns to me, clipping his thumbs into his coat pocket as he moves toward where I am seated. “I hope that Lydia is aware of this already,” he says thoughtfully. His left hand passes behind my neck, and I feel his thumb begin to stroke me. The sensual act stirs the lust inside me, curling the feelings into a tight ball.

“I am,” I answer softly. “I truly am.”

“And what have you two gentlemen been discussing in our absence?” Helena’s pitch is shrill, and once again we all turn to her.

“I am pleased that you asked,” says Lord William, moving forward past his wife. “Thomas and I have been talking, and he has brought to my attention a rather unpleasant issue.”

“Oh?” says Helena, feigning ignorance, although I suspect we both know what might be about to come next. “And what unpleasantness is this?”

“Can we all be seated?” asks William, throwing his arms out in an open gesture.

There are nods of consent from Thomas and Helena, who both find places to sit. Helena resumes hers on the chaise, leaving space for her husband to join her, whilst Thomas pulls up a tall, high-backed chair to my right. Sitting almost directly opposite me, Lord William clears his throat, once again taking control of the conversation.

“Helena, I am afraid that the unpleasantness concerns myself and Lady Lydia.”

The tension in my belly increases at his words; the lust I had felt earlier combining with the terror at what he may be about to say. Beside me Thomas shifts, and I feel his left palm against my right hand, the warmth comforting me in the most fundamental way.

“Am I the only one here who does not know to what you speak about?” asks Helena.

I look to her, marvelling inwardly at her performance. Had I myself not confided the news to Helena just moments before, I would never have believed that she was privy to it.

“Be calm, darling,” says Lord William, patting her lap affectionately. “I will endeavour to explain.”

Helena lets out a theatrical sigh. “Of course, my love,” she says, “please continue.”

“Thank you,” he says, his tone serious. “You must all allow me to confess what transpired when Lydia was last with us, and Thomas had been called back to Markham to tend to the countess.”

“Please, go on, William,” coaxes Thomas to my right. He squeezes my hand gently, sneaking a small glance in my direction. I offer him a weak smile, trying to calm the raging anxiety which is rising within me.

William rises from the chaise, apparently unable to stay seated, despite his plea to the rest of us. He stalks behind Helena, toward the fireplace, resting his hands on the marble mantel. As he turns the expression on his face startles me. He seems genuinely anguished. “I am sorry to say that I made unwelcome and unsolicited advances upon Lydia.” He looks to me directly as he moves forward. “Lydia, please—if you have it within you—you must forgive me. I have behaved incorrigibly.”

I bite down on my lower lip in an almost reflexive way, feeling the weight of all three gazes upon me. I turn to Thomas, as though I am unable to meet the eye of the man in the centre of the room. “Have you discussed the matter?” I ask my husband.

“We have,” he answers, “and as you see, William has not only admitted his err, but seeks to apologise and gain your forgiveness on the matter.”

I turn back to Lord William, who has moved back to the side of the chaise. “Are you really regretful, sir?” I ask him.

His eyes widen just a fraction as though he cannot believe I have asked him this. “Of course, My Lady,” he says, and then to my horror, he falls to one knee in front of me. “It was wholly wrong of me to try and take advantage of you. You made your feelings clear on the subject, Lydia, and still I pressed you on the matter.”

“It was wrong of you, Lord William,” I say, my voice low and surprisingly calm considering the torrent of emotions I am feeling.

“What did you do, William?” asks Helena from beyond her husband.

William flinches, and shifts to look upon her. “My darling,” he says slowly. “I sought to make Lydia my lover, but I know now that this was inappropriate and mistaken.”

“William, how could you?” gasps Helena, still playing her part to perfection. “Lydia was but a child when she last came to us. A maid, and clearly emotionally bound to Thomas. You had no right to presume you could take her.”

“The matter has been discussed at length,” interjects Thomas from beside me. “William’s behaviour was improper, and he knows it. He also knows the strength of my feelings on the subject. Further to this frank admission and apology, he has promised to never presume such a thing again. Whatever the history of the three of us, Lydia is now my wife, and I shall permit no other man to love her.”

Helena nods, rising from the chaise. “Of course, Thomas,” she says, coming to stand beside Lord William, who is still on his knees. “I am certain that William understands this now, do you not, My Lord?”

“I do,” confirms Lord William, his face sullen.

“Lydia,” says Thomas to my right. “William must know—as must we all—can you forgive him for his behaviour?”

I look from him, to the couple in front of me. My head is spinning, reeling from the numerous events which have transpired this evening. I am stunned by the frank display of contrition by Lord Pembroke, and yet I wonder deep down if I can really forgive him. I know that I will be reluctant to ever find myself in a room alone with him again. Still, I know I must offer clemency, for Thomas’ sake as much my own, and so I gather myself to pass verdict on the kneeling lord before me.

“Of course,” I say, my voice sounding uncertain even as I speak. “Of course I can forgive you, Lord William. We must all try to move forward from that day…”

Lord William stands, towering over me as he smiles. “I am a fortunate man indeed,” he says, reaching for my left hand and drawing it north to meet his waiting lips.

I inhale sharply at the sudden contact, a sound which I know is not lost on my husband, who rises from his seat and pulls me up with him. “Excellent,” he says, linking the fingers of his left hand into my waiting palm. “I second the words of my beautiful wife. Let us all try to move forward, and bury this ghost.”

Helena, still standing beside her husband, claps her hands together excitedly. “Let us have a toast to celebrate?”

I hear Thomas laugh, and turn to see him shaking his head. “Not on my account,” he says. “Besides I think Lydia and I have consumed enough wine for the evening.” He gestures towards my now empty glass, resting on the floor by my feet.

“Now, you must not blame your wife for that,” explains Helena, smirking. “I simply insisted that she must join me for another drink!”

“As I suspected,” replies Thomas. “And now I must insist that we retire. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”

We bid our goodnights, and make our way to the door. I follow Thomas into the darkness of the hallway, and allow him to take me to bed.

Chapter Forty-Two: Into the Darkness

 

 

“Can your mind rest a little easier now that William has proffered a sincere apology?”

Thomas fires the question at me as soon as he closes the bedroom door, turning to face me as I stand before the bed. I think for a moment, contemplating just how sincere Lord William’s apology had been, but choose not to press the point with my husband. My priority now is that he and his friend are at peace, and that Thomas can go on to enjoy his birthday.

“Yes, I think so…” I begin, but evidently I choose the wrong words, and the scowl on his face tells me so.

“You think so?” he repeats, his tone menacing. The sound makes the ball of tension in my belly furl into an even tighter knot. “What would have improved the experience for you?” he asks, moving from the door to where I am standing.

I let out a deep breath at his approach, my hands immediately drawing to his chest as though he has ordered it. “There is nothing,” I say, gazing up into his eyes. I know he will pursue the point until he knows my mind. “It is only that I am unsure whether to trust Lord William’s words, but I freely admit that I do not know him, and so I defer to your knowledge, My Lord.”

The use of his title stirs something within him, the resonance apparent on his face. His brow cocks instinctively, and his full lips part. I watch his face eagerly, enjoying the opportunity to observe my husband. His right hand rises to my hair and begins to unpick the fastenings in place there. Golden tresses fall loosely to my face around me.

“You will defer,” he says softly, his eyes drilling into me with intent. “And to ensure your peace of mind, I will make certain that I am always around to protect you.”

I smile at the idea, our eyes locking once more. “Thank you,” I whisper into his face, which is just a few inches over mine. “I truly am pleased that the matter has been settled without a quarrel between you.”

“As am I,” he says, stroking the side of my face with his thumb. “But it was time that William was put in his place on this issue—you, my love, take precedence now.”

My heart flutters at his words, but I push back, drawing his hand away as I lean into his body. The move takes him quite by surprise, and the look on his face is secretly pleasing. “No, My Lord,” I reply, meeting his eye again.

“No?” he enquires, standing his ground against my body.

“No,” I murmur. “You take precedence, My Lord.”

His eyes shimmer with delight at my statement, and I feel my heart accelerate at the rush of emotions between us. The fingers of his left hand are in my hair in an instant, applying just enough force to control me, moving my head to his desired angle. “Lydia,” he growls, in an almost painful expression of his lust. “I desire to have you so much, yet I know we are both weary from our travels and the long evening.”

I gasp at the intensity in those green eyes, the passion evident from them in even the weakest candlelight. “You must take what belongs to you, My Lord,” I whisper, goading him into action. “Particularly when the sunrise brings your own celebration?”

His fingers tighten in my curls, causing the waves of desire in me to rise. “You know this idea of a birthday celebration is little more than a ruse for our hosts to arrange a ball, my love?”

I smile. Of course I have been aware—birthdays are rarely celebrated in society—but as a male heir, Thomas has as much claim to one as anybody, save the king regent himself. “I do, yet you may still enjoy it?” I answer just as his mouth finds the exposed skin of my neck and nuzzles there. “Oh, Thomas…” I murmur, quite unable to keep the desire I feel within the confines of my body.

He grins in response, bringing his head back to meet my eye. “Yes, I suppose I may do,” he says, a wicked look in his eye. “But first, there is the matter of once again possessing what is mine?”

I cannot take a breath at this comment, my tender core clenching at the words.

“And, also the matter of the additional glasses of wine which my wife chose to indulge in whilst I was with Lord William?”

His voice is low, and yet teasing, so I search his face for clarification. “I apologise,” I offer in haste. “I had no real desire for the extra wine, and yet Helena was so persuasive…”

“Yes, she can be,” he agrees, smiling at my desperate attempts to redeem myself. “I am pleased to see that the two of you are getting on so well now.”

“Yes,” I blush, recalling some of our candid conversation. “She is most certainly an interesting lady.”

“Indeed,” he laughs, but his expression becomes sterner as he pulls my head back ever so slightly. He manoeuvres me toward the edge of the bed and the wooden post, before leaning his body against my own. “I realise that I did not specifically forbid you to drink more wine, but I am still a little maddened to find that you did so without my permission. You know already how I feel about this subject. I control the alcohol you drink, and I should at least expect you to ask permission before you choose to indulge.”

My heart thrums loudly within my chest, threatening to burst from its walls with each new beat. “I am sorry,” I whimper, a feeling of genuine regret consuming me.

“I know you are,” he replies, his lips moving so closely to my own that I feel them grazing my skin. His hot breath washes over me, and the feeling of his soft stubble at my jawline is intoxicating. “And yet…” he pauses, pulling back and assessing me properly. “This is a real infraction, Lydia, and as such there must be a real consequence. I think it is time that your beautiful skin meets my crop again.”

Instinctively I flinch at the suggestion. It had been in this very room that Thomas had introduced me to his crop, and the memory of the hurt is still fresh in my mind. Clearly the look of horror on my face is evident, and his expression softens as he speaks again. “You must trust me to punish you, and know when to stop, my love.”

I relax, finally able to draw in another breath, but all at once the need in me furls tighter. It is inexplicable, and quite impossible to explain, but at this moment I want to yield once more; I need to become his—to satisfy him—and in doing so I desire for him to push my boundaries. “Yes, Thomas,” I say, the words slipping from my mouth like water from an upturned glass. “I trust you to deliver my punishment.”

His eyes widen a fraction at my response, and a look of devotion sets into his expression that I have never seen before. “My love,” he says, his voice rasping with need. “I will never abuse the faith you have in me.”

I nod, feeling myself tremble under his touch. “Yes,” I mumble, “but please, Thomas…”

My words fade away, and in truth I have no clue as to what I would ask anyhow. He presses his lips into a hard line, once more drawing my head backward and devouring my nape with his aggressive mouth. The sensations make me heady, and I know that my core is already wet with need for him. He moves back, our eyes meeting as his hands begin to claw at the fastenings of my gown.

“Let us rid you of this,” he purrs sensually as he loosens the final string. I watch—a passive observer—as he tugs the gown from my shoulders, releasing the swell of my bosom, and finally persuading the garment to pool at my feet.

“On to the bed,” he commands softly, and wordlessly I glide from my slippers, scurrying left to climb on top of it as he has asked. “Kneel,” comes the next instruction, “facing the tub, with your knees splayed and your arms behind you.”

I follow his words to the letter, feeling absurdly exposed and yet undeniably excited at my new position. He moves from my eye-line, and I know that he has gone to retrieve the crop. The mere idea that he has brought it with us on our bridal tour sends a new flood of arousal from me, the implement now as much the tormentor of my fantasies, as well as my nightmares. I kneel, my breathing ragged and my nipples tightening with anticipation.

“Lydia…” His voice is like a sensual torment itself, whirling around my body and enveloping me from his place at my rear. “Do you understand why I am going to use the crop on you?”

I twist to the left to try and see him. Somehow I need the reassurance of his face to comfort me. Sensing my wish, I feel the weight of him on the bed behind me and all of a sudden his clothed body is pressed up against my nakedness. His arms snake around me, his hands feeling the weight of my breasts as he speaks. “Look straight ahead, my love, but tell me—do you understand?”

I swallow, splaying my ribs against his embrace. “Yes,” I blurt out. “I need to be punished, but Thomas, you must allow me to confess that I fear that crop.”

The heat of his breath is against the left side of my neck, planting firm kisses there, and steadying me as I endeavour to control my own panting. “I know,” he says after a moment. “You are most brave for confessing both your needs and your fears. I will do my best to navigate them. For your part, my love, you must do exactly as you are told. Can you do so?”

I nod, catching my breath in an attempt to keep my emotions from unravelling.

“Tell me, Lydia,” he purrs, pressing the point.

“Yes, Thomas!” I reply, hearing the emotion in my voice.

He kneads my breasts at my response, gently at first, before massaging them more roughly. I relax a little into the exquisite sensations, allowing them to distract me from what is to come.

“I should like to bind you, Lydia,” he says from behind me, “and perhaps to gag your sweet mouth for the duration?”

I tense at the words. “Gag me?” I ask, my hesitation obvious. “Why, My Lord?”

He presses himself forward, so that his face appears over my left shoulder. I risk a side glance to catch his expression.

“You have always found pleasure when you have yielded to me,” he whispers, eyeing me intently as he speaks. “To be bound and gagged whilst I punish and claim you will serve only to heighten each sensation, and help you to surrender more completely. I believe that you will fervently enjoy it… but you have to trust me?”

It is my turn to eye him now, and I know I do so wildly as his words spin around my mind. “I do trust you,” I reply.

He nods, a small smile forming on his lips as he ducks back out of view. “Very well then,” he says. “We shall proceed. I will use only my softest cravats to bind and gag you.”

I shift my weight, all at once unable to keep still as I hear his small movements from behind me. The feeling of the silk at my wrists is next, as he draws one on top of the other, and secures them with a tight knot. I flex my fingers instinctively, but find there is ample room for them to move without restraint. The effect of the bondage is almost instantaneous and quite unfathomable. Almost as soon as I realise that I cannot move my arms, I desire to do so, pulling on and writhing against the cravat in the most animalistic way. The desire within me feels as though it may peak already, and Thomas has barely even begun to play.

“Settle down,” he chides me in a teasing way. I feel his body pressing hard against my bound limbs, his legs straddling either side of my own, and then his long arms come into view. Dangling from his right hand is yet another cravat, black silk this time, and he catches it in the other hand, flexing the material as he draws it toward my face.

I watch it coming toward me like a storm I know I cannot shelter from. “Thomas,” I whimper, and he pauses when the fabric is just an inch from my mouth.

“Hush, my love,” he soothes. “Trust in me to know when to bind and when to lash, and when to pleasure…”

I still, drawing in one last deep breath through my mouth before the material slides in between my teeth. I feel him secure it at the back of my neck, and then it is done. I am gagged and bound, and kneeling naked on the bed as my husband backs away to look upon me. He stalks from his side of the bed, round past my left to stand before me. He strips away his coat and shirt as he does, nearly tearing at the buttons as he discards it. I ogle his body wildly, seeing his organ straining hard against his breeches, and yet I am too embarrassed to meet his eye. What must I look like, I wonder—gagged and bound this way?

“Oh, heavens,” he growls from beyond the bed. “You are absolutely magnificent, Lydia…”

His words are perfectly timed, and they give me just enough strength to lift my face and look at him. His expression is something like ecstatic torment, caught between his lusty appraisal of me and his desperate need to execute his plan. Knowing I can say nothing to either agree or differ from his view, I struggle against my binds futilely, feeling the sweet frustration at my predicament building within me.

Seeing my battle, he moves back behind me, collecting the crop from the side of the bed as he passes. “We may do better to begin with my palm,” he says wistfully. “Lower yourself, Lydia, to the bed. Use your thighs to allow you safe passage down.”

Breathing hard, I nod, splaying my knees wider as I slowly lower myself to the soft covers below. I press the right side of my face against the bedding, my eyes searching the new vantage to my left, but finding little more than the locked door in the half darkness, between the two dark shapes of the bedposts. I kneel this way, my body bound and folded, my emotions curled tightly into a waiting ball of desire. Thomas shifts behind me, and I know he is on the bed, although I can make out very little of his form until he moves to my left. He kneels at my hip, using his left hand to push my bound wrists slightly higher up my back, and exposing my bared and vulnerable behind to his waiting palm.

The sound of the first impact is loud, and the feeling nothing short of wonderful. I squeeze my eyes closed, allowing the sensation to wash over my bottom. I find I have been spanked so much recently that the feelings are near instantly delightful, my sex throbbing and wet with impatient need for each impact. Where I once was naive, I am now expectant, braced for each swat with an improper desire. I wonder how long it shall be before I find myself a connoisseur of his erotic spanking. As with recent punishments, my mind relaxes with every strike, and I soon switch off from the issues which press upon my consciousness, instead thinking only of my submission to Thomas, and the pleasure building between my legs.

I breathe hard against my gag, the silk now wet with my uncontrollable drool. I picture myself, and how I must look to him, and I know I am a humiliating mess. Nonetheless I yield, accepting each new swat with a quiet acquiescence, drawing strength from the heat and the passion I find in my punishment. I have already lost track of the swats when he pauses, his fingers stroking first at the warmed, punished skin of my behind, before dipping into my needy wetness.

“Goodness, Lydia!” exclaims Thomas, and my eyes open to find him smiling at me, his grin salacious at the revelation of my stark arousal. “It would seem you enjoy the binds and the gag?” he asks, arching that brow at me again as he inches toward my face with his hardness clearly apparent.

I moan through the gag at him, the sound more guttural a noise than I have ever heard from my own mouth before. It seems to please him, and he leans over me, gently stroking my golden curls away from my face. “Just wait until you have tasted my crop,” he promises carnally. “I vow to claim you in the most deeply passionate way until you are screaming into that gag.”

My eyes widen at his promise, but before I can force a response through the silk, he has gone, stalking his way around to my waiting bottom. I try to catch my breath, aware vaguely of what is to come, and yet too damn excited to build the necessary fear about it. The bed shifts behind me, and I feel the lightest touch at my left hip. I breathe noisily, waiting for the feeling of the crop against my skin, the feeling of the binds and the gag serving only to reinforce the notion that I belong to Thomas, and I am his to tie and lash as he chooses.

I stir as the fingers at my hips disappear, and briefly make out the tell-tale sound as the implement whips through the air behind me. As it impacts against my waiting bared bottom, I yelp into the silk. The sting is intense, perhaps more so than I recalled, but I am already so needy with desire that the flames are quelled by my husband’s digits as they stroke the wet folds below the strike.

“Very good,” he purrs at my response. “Good girl, my love. You take my crop as your punishment, and then you shall have your reward.”

I think I whimper something into my gag as a response, but the sound is lost as the next strike of the crop detonates against my waiting backside. I cry out again, the pain almost intolerable, and yet still I find myself pushing back, silently demanding more. Thomas meets my needs with a further five strikes, each landing in a new place, the final one of which nearly connects with my slick lips. I envision my bottom, the pale skin already warmed by Thomas’ palm, now striped pink by the licks of the crop in his hand. I ball the fingers of my bound hands, readying myself for the next impact, and secretly hoping that it will strike against my throbbing sex. As though he reads my mind, Thomas lands the strike there, the impact connecting with my wetness perfectly, and sending a rush of arousal up and down my taut body.

This time my cry resembles more of a moan of pleasure than pain, and at the sound Thomas drops the implement, launching himself against my quivering arousal with his hot and hungry mouth. There is simply no holding back now. I push myself back against his face, revelling in the sensation of the hair at his chin against my sensitive flesh. His hands claw at my warm and punished bottom, prizing me apart as he devours me, his tongue lapping at my sweet spot over and over, until there are just no more sounds to articulate into the silk at my mouth. There is no hope, the exquisite stimulation of the bondage and his lips pushing me beyond the brink. I am undone! Falling free, I convulse steadily onto his waiting tongue, my body limp with spent desire.

By the time Thomas shifts behind me, a part of my mind is floating in the space around us. I crane my neck, peering back into the candlelit darkness, to see my husband there, his organ freed and proudly waiting to claim me. “Hold still, Lydia,” he rasps, manoeuvring himself into position. “I must possess you right this moment.”

The tip of his length is against my wetness, and with one smooth motion he pushes deep within me, eliciting a long gasp from my gagged mouth. Yes, I think, as he withdraws slowly before slamming himself back into my core. This is what I need. Fill me up, My Lord; possess me! In all of the experiences we have shared so far, never has our connection felt as deep and intimate as it does now.

Slowly he presses himself into me, moving his body forward and around my own, so that he cocoons every inch of my exposed nudity. My bound arms are now nestled tightly between our bodies. His lips find the bare skin of my face, and they caress my cheek as he continues to plunder me from behind. I strain my neck to greet his mouth, willing the gag to be gone so that I may return his kisses, but utterly unable to shift the material, bound and covered as I am.

I feel the tension in his body heightening, and slowly he raises his chest away, using his strong arms to hold his weight as he makes shorter, more insistent thrusts into my sex. I groan at each welcome intrusion, gladly surrendering to his will as I have done all the way along. As his hardness comes crashing down into me, I hear the sounds of our combined passion and the feeling of his testicles slamming against my trembling nub. Again and again he plunges into and against me, each sensation overwhelming me as it fills me up. It is then that his body stills as the pressure of his impending pleasure bears down on him.

“Oh, Lydia!”

The growl comes from over my head, but I am too consumed with his penetration of my body to respond. Instead, I force my hips backward, applying yet more force to his threatening orgasm. I peer behind me, finding his face in the shadows and I watch him come undone. The strong, dominant man who has sought to cherish, correct, and protect me unravels beautifully before my very eyes, barely able to catch his breath as his pleasure detonates. Slowly he relaxes, his body resting lightly against my bound form as he uses his forearms to support his weight. I settle against the covers, watching him come down from his euphoria in an almost sleepy state. As he finally rouses, I find his satisfied face searching my own.

“How are you, my love?” he whispers.

I blink up at him, still unable to articulate through the sodden fabric secured tightly at my mouth. He smiles, surmising my predicament, and then still resting over me and inside me, he unpicks the knot at the back of my head with his right hand. With the bind removed, his left hand eases the silk from me. I open my mouth, flexing my lips. “Thomas,” I begin breathlessly. I sound tired and emotional, and reflexively he kisses me, his tongue snaking its way inside my mouth. I taste the scent of my own arousal on his lips, and I moan at the sheer impropriety of the deed, recalling how tremendous his mouth had been.

He pulls away, drawing back and away from me. Gradually the binds at my wrist are loosened and he liberates my arms, drawing them slowly back to the bed next to me. My limbs feel heavy as I regain control over them, the flesh tingling as the blood flow is permitted to resume in its normal way. Wordlessly Thomas collects me from my place on the bed, and places me down against one of the soft pillows, withdrawing the bedding from underneath me and using it to cover up my cooling skin. I watch, spellbound, as he stalks the length of the bed, before removing his breeches and remaining garments, and climbing in next to me. He opens his arms for an embrace, and I scurry toward him, feeling the sanctuary of his naked form against my own.

“What just transpired between us, Thomas?” I ask dreamily.

He chuckles lightly at my question. “I think you know, my love,” he says, kissing the top of my forehead.

“Well, yes,” I admit. “Yet it was more than that, wasn’t it? It felt more…?”

“I think each time we love each other it feels a little more?” He offers the explanation whilst leaning on his right elbow, looking down upon me.

I consider his words, but find that they do not sufficiently explain the breadth of what I feel. “I think it was the crop…” I confess, burying myself into his chest as the admission leaves my lips.

“Yes,” he breathes into my hair. “You did seem to enjoy it more this time?”

I sigh, the sound resonating deeply within me. “It is wondrous—and awful—all at the same time?” I risk a glance up to his face, as I offer my account.

“I will never deliver more than you can handle,” he promises.

I swallow at his sensual expression. “I know,” I whisper.

“It seems,” he says, drawing himself down so that we are now eye to eye. “That you are more and more relishing my darkness, Lydia?”

“I relish every part of you,” I reply, but then seeing his expression I stop. “Yes, I think you are right,” I affirm.

He kisses me once more, the act a sensual connection between us. “The more I push you in that dark direction, the more you respond, my love,” he says, his eyes boring into me.

“The more you push me,” I correct him, “the more you make the mundane seem unpalatable.”

The last thing I remember is the sinful look on his face as I slip finally into a satiated slumber.

Chapter Forty-Three: The Clearing

 

 

I wake the next morning, gently roused by the light flooding from behind the pale fabric of the drapes. I roll to my left to see Thomas sleeping soundly, and I take just a moment to indulge myself, enjoying the look of his peaceful, handsome face. Memories of the previous evening inundate my mind, the sensual carnality of our passion making me blush. Was that really me: the bound, gagged, wanton recipient of the crop? Apparently it was, and there is no denying the pleasure the riding implement wrought from my tightly wound body, despite its intended use as a punishment. I muse on the idea from the serenity of the bed. My last comment to Thomas remains the truth; something has been done which cannot be undone. I have entered the darkness of a world from which I cannot—and do not want to—retreat from.

My eyes assess the sleeping gentleman beside me. He is the one who has taken me into this new world. He has rescued the defiant and naïve little lady who wandered into his home, and made her a woman. Yet more than this, he has offered her something new; something which differentiates her from the masses. Love, pleasure, and punishment, all combined into one heady mixture.

I slip from the bed in silence, seeking not to not disturb Thomas until I am ready. My limbs feel heavy as they come to life, my bare behind inflamed and still slightly warm from its punishment the night before. I skip around the edge of the oversized bed to find the small gift which Lucy had acquired for me, still hidden in the bedside drawer. I make my way back to my bedside, leaving the gift in place under my pillow as I make a short visit to the next-door bathroom.

As I return to the bedroom I find my husband, awake and once again leaning up on one elbow. He watches me as I make my way to the bed, his eyes alight as he appraises me. “Good morning, my love,” he purrs.

I smile as I climb back between the sheets at his side. “Good morning, My Lord,” I press myself against his lips, offering him a warm kiss, “and may I be the first to wish you the happiest of birthdays.”

He smiles, pulling me into him, against his body. His hands grab at my backside, rubbing my cheeks tenderly as I shift my weight to mount him.

“How is my wonderful wife this morning?” he asks, between kisses. “Does this behind need some further attention?”

I nuzzle against him as his fingers explore my tender skin. “It is your day, Thomas,” I say with a sigh. “Think of me as a mere vessel for your pleasure…”

My tone is teasing, and yet I mean some of what I say. I do seek to bring my husband pleasure on this special day.

“Well, well,” he replies, lazily, shifting his weight and rolling me onto my back. “There is an offer which I cannot refuse!”

I gaze up to him, smiling, and it is then that the small, wrapped gift under my pillow comes to mind. I reach for it, his gaze following my hand to see what awaits there. “What is this?” he asks, that brow rising into its involuntary arch with the enquiry. He rolls back to my left side, freeing me to collect the package.

I shift so that our noses are aligned, and present it to him with a smile. “It is a small gift from your wife,” I murmur, pressing it gently into his torso.

His face widens into a grin as he attacks the brown paper packaging. “Lydia,” he replies, looking from my face to the gift. “This is such a surprise! There was no need for this.”

I watch him, genuinely happy as he rips the paper to reveal the luxurious silk inside. His fingers find the delicate fabric, drawing it from the wrapping and running the crimson fabric between his digits.

“I hope that it pleases you?” I whisper, watching his reactions closely. “I suspected that I rather ruined the one you used to bind me on our wedding night?”

He laughs gently, a sound which never fails to warm me. “A new cravat?” he reconciles, tracing a line over it with one of his long fingers. “Lydia, it is fabulous, and such a wonderful colour, thank you!”

“I know it is not much,” I explain, feeling suddenly as though the gift is too meagre an offer. “But my opportunities to purchase have been somewhat limited of late.”

He shakes his head at me, causing his thick, dark hair to shift unevenly over his handsome forehead. “That is nonsense,” he murmurs, lunging at me and pressing his hot body into mine. “This is perfect, and I love it.” He flattens himself against me, drawing my arms over my head with his left hand and pinning my wrists in place. “Thank you,” he murmurs, grazing his full lips over my waiting mouth.

My body responds to his presence in its usual reflexive way, my nipples beading under his chest, and the urge between my legs building. “I must confess,” I whisper breathlessly. “I have little experience in how to attend a gentleman on his birthday. I hope you will guide me, My Lord?”

The expression on his face is sheer debauchery as he dips his head to kiss me. “Rest assured, my love,” he purrs as our lips part. “I will always be here to guide you…”

He smiles, and as our eyes connect, I can already feel the head of his manhood nudging against my inner thigh.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later we arrive at breakfast to find our hosts already waiting for us. They greet us with broad smiles, Lord William rising to shake Thomas’ hand as he approaches. “Good morning, old friend!” His tone is bright and upbeat, and for the first time I wonder if I have misjudged him. Perhaps his apology last night really was genuine?

We sit, taking tea as Lord William discusses the plans for the day. My eyes are drawn toward the tall windows behind Helena. The grey November weather has, for once, cleared to produce a breezy yet sunny day for Thomas’ special day.

“Lydia?”

Lost in my thoughts I had not been listening to the conversation, and so I miss Helena’s statement. I turn my head to meet her eye, sheepishly making my apology. “I am so sorry,” I begin. “What were you saying?”

Lord William laughs at my response, winking at Thomas as he speaks. “It seems that you have rather exhausted your wife, my friend?”

The heat rises to my face in an instant, and I look to Thomas’ smiling face.

“It is not of my doing,” he answers, putting down his teacup as he raises his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “I swear she had hours of sleep!”

“Oh, do stop jesting!” says Helena, admonishing both of the men at once. “Lydia, my dear, I was merely saying that as well as Thomas, we also have a small gift for you.”

“For me?” I ask, astonished, and wanting to put the previous comments to the back of my mind. “But surely it is only Thomas who should be treated today?”

She flushes, visibly excited as she rises from the table. “Well, William had wanted to wait, but I am just too animated this morning!”

She darts from her place to a small dresser at the edge of the large, ornate dining room.

“Helena,” warns Lord William, his voice much lower than normal. He looks to his wife, sending her a cautionary gaze.

“Oh, do hush, William,” she replies, dismissing his tone with a flick of her wrist. “We intended to do this before supper, no?”

“Yes,” he answers, sounding exasperated. “But not at breakfast, my love!”

The three of us watch as she rummages in the dresser, producing two packages in her hands. “I know,” she says, approaching the table again. “But I do so want to see their faces now, William… It will be worth the spanking!”

I gasp at her comment, and both Thomas and Lord William burst into laughter. “Oh, you are a wanton woman,” says William, grabbing her wrist as she places the packages on the tablecloth.

She reaches down to kiss her husband, and I sneak a sideways glance to Thomas, who watches them with obvious affection.

“And so…” she says, moving away from Lord William, and skipping toward where Thomas and I are seated. “These are for both of you. Please, do open them!”

She places a package in front of each of us. I eye them carefully, noticing that Thomas’ is somewhat larger than my own.

“This is so unnecessary, Helena,” laughs my husband to my left, “but thank you both.”

I nod in agreement. “Thank you,” I concur, my hand reaching out to brush against the packaging. It is a dark brown paper, similar to the sort which my gift to Thomas had been wrapped in.

Thomas collects his gift from the table in front of him, and looks to me. “Shall we open them together?” he asks.

I smile in response, picking up the small package in front of me and slowly beginning to unwrap the paper. Thomas is ahead of me, ripping the paper from his package with uncharacteristic haste, and I pause to see what is inside. He holds the contents out in his hand, and to my surprise I see that it is a large crimson mask, like the sort you might see at a masquerade ball. The piece is quite beautiful, and the attention to detail is astonishing.

I shift my attention to Helena, who sits smiling at her place opposite us. “Go on, Lydia!” she implores me. “Open yours.”

I comply without further hesitation, pulling my own mask from the paper. I hold the smaller, more ornate piece in my hands and consider its presentation; the material interlaces silver flecks on a predominantly gold mask. It is truly beautiful.

“They are wonderful,” says Thomas beside me. “Is there something we should know with regards to the ball this evening?”

Helena squeals like a small child, clapping her hands together. “Yes!” she exclaims, “tell them, William!”

Lord William laughs at her response, taking her hand in his large palm to settle her as he answers. “As you may well have now presumed,” he begins, “we have planned a masquerade ball in your honour, Thomas. And since neither of you were privy to our plans, Helena has taken the opportunity to arrange these for you.”

“Do you like them?” she probes, her tone eager for affirmation.

My gaze travels once again to the mask in my hands. “They are quite superb,” I reply. “Thank you.” It is then that I consider the decoration; the gold hue will match perfectly the gown which we had prepared for this evening. “How did you know which colour I would wear?”

“You must forgive me,” says Helena, her eyes smiling. “I knew that you travelled to Ripley before your last visit, so I took the liberty of contacting Mrs. Pemberley, who kindly advised me of your intended look.”

“Of course,” I say, stunned by her initiative. “How clever of you!”

“Indeed,” says Thomas. “I wonder what else clever Helena has planned for tonight?” he remarks wryly.

His tone grabs my attention, and I shift in my seat to face him, the movement inadvertently agitating my punished behind.

“You remember the last masquerade ball we hosted?” says William from across the table.

“I do,” replies Thomas, putting down his mask and taking a sip of his tea. “Do you plan a similar event?”

“Oh, this will be far grander,” comes the reply, “and surely more iniquitous…”

Thomas chuckles into his teacup. “I am a married man now,” he says, shooting Lord William an accusing look.

“Of course, we understand that,” answers Lord William sincerely. “And let me be clear, no one shall have to partake in anything which they do not wish to. Yet, you must allow the rest of us to play in your absence?”

Thomas studies the gentleman in front of him with a smile. “Indeed I do,” he says, nodding his head. “You can all play, and I will be the happiest gentleman in the place!” His right hand reaches for me, finding and encircling my small left wrist.

Lord William follows the movement with his eyes. “Of that you may be correct,” he says, smiling.

A little disconcerted by recent events, I finish my breakfast quickly, pausing only to make small talk with the excited Helena. Once the meal is concluded, Thomas and I take our masks to our room, where I am met by Lucy, who is already preparing my new gown for the masquerade ball in the bedroom which was previously my own.

I take the opportunity to share the news with her, showing her my new gift. She smiles, taking it from me as she offers her usual reassuring word. “I am sure His Lordship will ensure that you are neither harmed nor shamed, My Lady,” she says as she busies herself around me.

“Yes, of course, you are right,” I say, wandering to the window.

“And you will be the belle of the ball in this ensemble!” she continues.

I turn to assess the outfit, now hanging proudly on display. Lucy is right—it is absolutely beautiful. “Are you well, Lucy?” I ask her, suddenly recalling my anxiety from the previous day’s arrival.

She nods, as she walks toward me. “Yes, thank you, My Lady,” she replies. “Things feel calmer since we were last here, and Buckton has been on hand to look after me.”

My ears prick up at the last comment. Something about the way she has said his name makes me wonder if Lucy is not quite sweet on Buckton. I give her an enquiring look, but she says nothing as she continues her work. At that moment the door to the bedroom opens, and Thomas is revealed in the doorway.

“Shall we take a walk whilst the sun is out?” he says, addressing me at the window.

Lucy falls into a curtsey at once, bidding him good morning. He smiles, gesturing for her to rise. “Thank you, Lucy,” he says, before stalking across to where I stand. “Lydia?”

He offers me a small wink as he approaches, and I feel my core liquefy at the look in his eyes. “How lovely,” I reply, trying to suppress my arousal. “Lucy, do you have my shawl ready?”

“Of course, My Lady,” comes the reply from behind Thomas. “I will fetch it for you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, transfixed by the towering Adonis who stands before me. Thomas seems happier and more relaxed than I have seen him since we left London, and the sight of him seems to quite take my breath away.

We depart a short time later, arm in arm as we cross the lawns and head toward the large wooded area to the east of the house. The wind is suitably high-spirited for the time of the year, and yet even its best attempts do not dampen Thomas’ mood.

We enter between two ancient trees, their branches providing something of a windbreak. The roots though prove to be somewhat treacherous, and more than once Thomas has to catch me as I lose my footing. At length we find a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees, but with enough sunlight to warm the area. It is here that we pause, Thomas pulling me at once into a hard embrace.

“I should like to thank you for making my day so special,” he says, giving me one of those looks that makes me clench my tender muscles.

“Your day is far from over, My Lord,” I say playfully. “I hope that it can continue to please you?”

“It will,” he replies, tugging me at the waist and drawing our hips together. “I know because I am going to have you again and again, anywhere and everywhere I please.”

I inhale sharply, totally unprepared for his statement. “Yes, My Lord,” I murmur, watching as he lunges gently at my neck, planting kisses at the nape where he so loves to caress.

“That is the correct answer,” he breathes, between kisses. “You, my love, are my perfect gift—a wife who is as worthy of me out of the bedroom as she is within it.”

I gasp as his mouth roams to my chest, the stubble of his face tickling my soft skin as he goes. Using both of his hands he grasps my bosom, pushing my breasts together inside my soft gown and planting his mouth in the space between them.

“Thomas!” I gulp, stunned and yet excited by his behaviour.

“I want them bared,” he growls from my chest.

“But, My Lord,” I begin, “we cannot…”

Yet his hands are already behind me, loosening the fastening of my day dress and tugging the fabric from my shoulders. It collects at my hips, and without the protection of my stays, leaves me bare from the waist up, apart from the security of my shawl which still hangs loosely over my shoulders. Being exposed in this way in such a public place is shocking. I am absurdly vulnerable, and yet for all of my defencelessness, there is that part of me which is eager for more. Not waiting for my consent, Thomas continues, massaging my breasts together as he had done before, and pushing his face into them whilst his thumbs find my nipples, already pebbling from the temperature in the clearing.

“You are delectable,” he tells me, pausing to lift his eyes and look up at my face, which no doubt portrays the confusion I feel on the subject.

“But, Thomas?” I say, breathless at the sensations he is creating.

He stands, but continues to handle my breasts, his fingers shifting so that they tweak and pull at my nipples roughly. The feelings, though rather painful, elicit the most shameless excitement from my body, which once again betrays me with its need.

“Yes, my love?” he asks me, the wind catching his hair as he towers over me.

“What if we are seen?” I say.

“Who will see us here?” he enquires, pinching my buds a little harder.

It is then that I realise his motivation for our walk had been for this to transpire. It is what he had intended all along!

“And even if they do,” he continues. “You are mine, Lydia, and if I choose to play with these glorious breasts in the woods, then play with them I shall…”

I want to melt into his hands, his words making me feel giddy and unsteady. “Thomas, please,” I begin. “When you do such things, I want you to make me yours again.”

He grins, his smile wicked. “Oh, I will, my love,” he replies. “Today you will offer me every hole you have, and since I have already had the pleasure of one, it is time I took another…”

I eye him wildly, bewildered at the statement, but his right hand rises gently to my mouth, stroking my lips gently. “Down on your knees,” he orders sensually.

I look at the ground around me. It is mainly grassy, yet there are some patches of muddy earth. “Here, Thomas?” I gasp. “But, my gown?”

“To hell with your gown,” he growls. “I will buy you another, or maybe I shall make you go without one at all? Now, do as you are told, before I strip you and spank you!”

His tone is firm, sending shivers of excitement through my body as I stare at him, aghast. I respond after a moment, looking to his face as I move gingerly to my knees in front of him. My breasts, bared and stimulated by his torment, hang free at my chest, and I watch, hypnotised as my husband frees his proud organ from the front of his breeches.

“Take me in your mouth, Lydia,” he commands me. “As you have done before.”

I kneel up, clasping the side of his shin with my left hand as I assess his length. Clearly already aroused, it throbs just beyond my mouth, every inch of him needing to be satiated. I part my lips, breathing in the scent of him as I close my mouth around his head. The moan which leaves his lips is incentive enough to continue, and boldly I push myself down his shaft. I move until I feel him hitting the back of my throat, the sensation producing reflexive tears. The patch of dark hair I find skims my nose before I draw back, seeking his face for approval.

“That is heaven, my love,” he says, as his right hand finds my head. Those long digits move in between the strands, undoing all of Lucy’s effort in little time. Buoyed on by his words I take him once more into my mouth, feeling his hardness as I tease the end with my tongue. His fingers tighten in my hair as I continue, pushing himself deep inside of my mouth. Thomas begins to find his own rhythm, thrusting of his own accord into my waiting lips. The whole time I remain on my knees, compliant and bared as he pleasures himself in my mouth.

I lose myself in the act, the taste of him suddenly the centre of my entire world. I had no idea how brazen I could be until this moment; even my past spankings in his carriage are not able to rival this experience of outright, shameless audacity. The groans from my husband grow louder, and it is then that I notice his thrusts into my throat have become more adamant. I baulk a little at the new intensity, seeking to draw away just a little, but his hands hold my head firmly in place. The unspoken message is clear; that I belong right here, on my knees in the dirt whilst I offer him pleasure. I know I should be appalled, but based on the growing wetness at my core, there is no denying the way this debased treatment makes me feel.

The growing passion mounts until all at once it peaks, his climax hitting the back of throat with unexpected force. I pull away out of instinct as my mouth fills with his hot fluid.

“Swallow as best you can,” he purrs from over me, and as my eyes search north they find his own penetrating stare, watching me as I do my best to comply.

He stands there, steadying himself against me as he rides the waves of his pleasure. Finally, able to move back a little, I use my tongue to lap at him as I swallow the remainder of his seed. The taste is as I had recalled, only rather sweeter than before. I marvel at the many ways there are to pleasure a gentleman, even right here—in the woods!

Thomas sinks to his knees, catching me off guard as his face comes back into view. “That,” he says, tucking himself away as he refastens his breeches, “was utterly marvellous, Lydia!”

I blush at the compliment—a somewhat ridiculous reaction when you are bared and on your knees in the clearing at Cranningford. “Happy birthday, My Lord,” I say, just as his lips come crashing against mine.

Chapter Forty-Four: The Pleasure Rooms

 

 

It is sometime later when I find myself curled against Thomas in our huge four-poster bed. The memories of our earlier debauchery swim in my mind, as though they are distant recollections, not the reminiscences of just a few hours ago. I watch the light slipping from the window, listening to the comforting sound of my husband’s heartbeat as I recollect our arrival back to the house. I was fortunately dressed again by this point, but much of our transgression must have been obvious from the condition of my day dress, which was soiled heavily by the grass and mud in which I had knelt.

Embarrassment stirs in me again, and I shift against his body, rousing him from his own thoughts. “Are you well, my love?” he murmurs, lifting his head to look down upon me.

I shift my face so that I can see him. He looks relaxed and gleeful, as well he might—and yet I cannot deny him the pleasure he desires, on this of all days. “Yes,” I whisper, with a nod of my head. “I was just thinking about our walk earlier.”

He smiles, knowing at once to what I refer. “Mmmm,” he answers, “we must walk there again soon. You looked most becoming on your knees in front of me.”

“Thomas!” I say, suppressing the natural blush which rises to my face. “You must not say such things!”

“Nonsense,” he replies flatly. “On the contrary, these are things which a husband should say to his wife.”

I sigh, not wanting to disagree. “I am pleased that you enjoyed it,” I say bashfully, and he grins at my response.

“My love, claiming your mouth is as near to heaven as I am likely to get,” he replies with a wink.

I smile. “You are truly incorrigible!” I say, but I cannot help but laugh at his expression.

“Guilty,” he replies, and his grin broadens.

“What will happen this evening at the ball?” I ask, wanting to change the subject away from my own ignominy, and yet also genuinely curious about what is to come.

He glances down at me, tucking his left hand behind his head. “I am not privy to any of the arrangements,” he confesses, reaching down to stroke my hair with his free hand. “But knowing William and Helena, it will be a glamourous affair, to be followed with every conceivable act of debauchery that you may imagine.”

I gaze up at him, wide-eyed.

“In fact, in your case, my love,” he continues, “there will be many more acts than you can imagine.” He ruffles my hair playfully as he chuckles.

“You mean there will be carnal acts?” I ask, half-disgusted and half-enraptured at the prospect.

“Certainly,” he says with a nod. “I suspect many acts will be on show this evening.” Seeing my face, he pauses and looks into my eyes with a new severity. “Worry not though, Lydia; you will not have to see or do anything which causes you concern.”

I squirm at his words; an automatic response to the mental image he presents. “I confess that I am intrigued,” I reply, “yet I know I shall find some things shocking…”

“Our ideas of what is outrageous can often bend over time,” he muses out loud. “For instance, I should think a few months ago that you would not have imagined yourself accepting my crop? Or on your knees in the woods, either?”

“Indeed, I would not,” I concur with a smile.

“And you see, when you are ready, your boundaries can shift. I would never expect you to participate in any of the events William has planned for this evening, my love,” he leans down to brush his lips against my forehead, “yet there are a great many things which I should still like to share with you…”

Something about this tone stirs me, or perhaps it is the words he chooses. For whichever reason, I shift, pressing myself further up his chest so that I may look upon his face more easily. His expression is calm, yet brooding, and I suspect he has dangled this latest information in front of me as a deliberate lure. “There are?” I ask him, daring to look him directly in the eye. “May I ask to which things you refer, Thomas?”

He smiles, knowing I have taken his bait. “I am not certain that you are ready to know, my love,” he replies, watching me carefully.

I squeeze my lower lip between my teeth, feeling my insides twist at his statement. Is he daring me to ask for more? “I think I am,” I whisper. “I should like to know and share everything which interests you, My Lord.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut as though he is swallowing down something painful. “Everything, Lydia?” he repeats, as his lids flicker open to reveal his thoughtful green orbs. “What if not everything you find out is decent and virtuous?”

His gaze is intense, and the butterflies within my belly flutter blindly around me. “I should still love you, Thomas—whatever I find out.” My tone is so breathy that it is barely audible.

He swallows, and I feel his weight shift below me as he rises up onto his elbows. I find myself now resting against his toned stomach, and I raise my eyes to look at him, suppressing the carnal urges which spring into my mind.

Ignoring my expression, he tilts his head back against the pillows stacked behind him, and continues to stroke my hair as he explains. “I know I have told you some of what transpired when William and I were younger men. You know that we were wild, and not always the respectable gentleman we might have been?”

“Yes,” I reply, not wanting to interrupt him.

“Well, yes, we hosted the scandalous parties, and the debauchery that went on there was decadent and entertaining, but really they were just a façade for what we really enjoyed.”

“A façade?” I say, my curiosity fit to burst. “A façade for what, Thomas?”

He looks down at me, his stare penetrating me as though it pierces my very soul. “A fascia designed to conceal what really thrilled us. Not the lavish spectacle or the voluptuous ladies, but the darker things…”

My heart is pounding in my chest as I answer him. “The spankings, and the bondage?” I ask with a squeak.

“As an appetiser, yes,” he says with a dark smile. “But our desires were much darker than that, and the balls gave us opportunity to select ladies who were willing to surrender to them.”

I am astounded at his admission, and for a long moment there is silence between us. He gazes at me, and although our eyes do not connect, I can feel the weight of his stare. “How long did this go on for?” I ask eventually.

“Many years,” he answers. “Until my father passed, and I inherited Markham. William and Helena wed a short time later, and after this we spent less time together. I began to grow the estate and manage the household the way I saw fit.”

“You started spanking the maids?” I say, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to slot together in my mind.

He nods. “Yes. Of course it was necessary to allow those who could not abide my changes to move on, and allow those who could work well within the new system to begin.”

“Like Lucy?” I say, the words really more of a statement than a question.

He smiles as he replies. “Precisely.”

“You have given all that up now though?” I say. “These darker events?”

“I have given up the structure of them,” he answers with a sigh. “But the desires are instinctive, Lydia, and I cannot live without them. That is why I run my home the way I do.” He pauses, his eyes drilling into my own as he goes on. “That is also the reason I was so drawn to you, my love. The first time I spanked you I knew I had to have you.”

His lips form into a smile as he recalls the event, and for a moment I join him, remembering my shame and indignation. He is right; that had been the moment—the start of my carnal awakening and my fascination with my new guardian.

“You most certainly have achieved that, My Lord,” I say.

He laughs, the sound loud and hearty. “Yes, you are right,” he chuckles. “I have, and I have relished every instance with you, my sweet thing. You have changed everything; you have given me purpose and direction.”

He draws his arms around me, holding me as though I am a most precious object. “Will you tell me which things you would still like to share?” I ask, my voice tentative and unsure.

“If you are open to the notion, my love, then I should like to show you instead?”

I shift my head to gaze upon him. “Show me?” I repeat.

“Mmmm… Back at Markham Hall. I have rooms which are designed for the purpose.”

This latest information sends me reeling, and I move completely, shifting to a seated position by his side. “Rooms, at Markham Hall?” I exclaim. “I have never seen anything of the sort.”

“Well, of course not,” he says, smiling up at me. “You have barely seen any of the place, but they are there. For my private use only of course. There are also similar pleasure rooms here at Cranningford…”

“I…” I stutter, aghast by the information. “I never knew.”

He smiles, frustratingly calm at my utter bewilderment. “Not many people do, my love,” he admits, “and I tell you only now because you are my wife, and I trust you implicitly.”

“Who else knows of these rooms, and what went on in them?” I ask, lowering myself to face him more easily. “Helena?”

He nods. “Yes,” he confirms. “William shared the rooms here with her after they married. As to others, all those who ventured inside were sworn to secrecy.”

“Who were they, Thomas?” I enquire. “Was there anyone special? Was this Lady Brooks one of them?” I know it is jealousy which rears in my voice, and yet somehow I am unable to control it.

He shifts his weight, eyeing me as he replies. “They were just lovers, Lydia. There was nobody special; there never was—until you…”

I reel at the news; the mental image of my husband involved in debauched acts with these unidentified lovers stirring peculiar emotions within me. “But if these ladies mean so little, how do you know they will keep your secret?”

His face is calm as he answers. “We had mutual understandings. Each comprehends my expectations, and each has sworn to comply.”

“And you trust them?” I enquire, my tone becoming increasingly indignant. I hear it in my voice, and I know that Thomas does too.

“In part,” he replies. “I consider that most have as much—or more—to lose than I do if they choose to divulge the secrets we share. Ladies, in particular, do not wish for their reputations to be tarnished.”

“Of course…” I whisper in a gasp, falling from my elbow, flat onto the bed below me. I take a moment to collect myself, considering his words. “Thank you for sharing the news with me,” I say with a sigh.

He leans in toward my body, his voice low and predatory. “I know that this is a scandal, my love,” he purrs, “but do not think your tone will be overlooked. One more outburst, and I will take you over my knee, do you understand?”

I swallow hard, the look in his eye sending energy bolting through my body. “Yes, My Lord,” I say in a hasty whisper.

His tone softens at my atonement. “So, then,” he continues, his gaze searing into my left cheek. “Will you allow me to show you?”

My breath quickens, and I turn my head slowly to meet his gaze. “I will do,” I reply. “When we return to Markham Hall?”

“When we return,” he confirms with a large smile. “In the meantime, I have a birthday to celebrate, do I not? It is not every day that a newly married gentleman turns twenty-nine years old…”

All at once he is over me, his long limbs mounting me, and then settling in between my outstretched legs.

“We have hours until the ball,” I reply, tipping my head to find his lips already grazing my jawline. “How would you like to celebrate now, My Lord?”

His face appears back into my eye-line again. “I should like to ravish you again,” he says, his warm breath vibrating over my skin. “I would like to claim you, and watch you unravel in front of me.”

I smile, watching the curve of his cheekbones as his face dips to kiss me. “You vowed to take every part of me today,” I whisper, my breathing erratic at my brazen thoughts. “Thus far you have claimed me here…” I take his wrist, and move his hand to the side of my mouth, “and here,” I continue, drawing the same hand down to the moisture between my legs. “Where else would you like to possess, My Lord?”

The smile on his face is devilish, and splinters the ball of energy within me. “Lydia,” he croons. “I just adore how bold you are becoming!”

I giggle, my eyes closing reflexively as his eager mouth nuzzles at my nape.

“Mmmm,” he purrs. “Let’s get you out of this soiled dress, and then you will submit to my every dark whim, my love…” He rises to his knees, already reaching my gown.

“Yes, My Lord,” I answer, blinking up at him. “I am yours…”

Chapter Forty-Five: Masquerade

 

 

Hours later the ball called in Thomas’ honour is in full swing. The assembled guests are a dazzling array of finery; expensive gowns and suits matched with jewels, feathers, and of course each accessorised with a glamourous-looking mask. My own gown, which Mrs. Pemberley had made so beautifully, is the talk of the party, as is my recent marriage to Thomas, whose birthday we are all here to celebrate.

I have been introduced to literally dozens of Thomas’ friends, all of whom appear to be ecstatic to join us on his special day. The rooms at Cranningford are bright with candles, costume, and colour, each alive with an array of new faces and voices.

There is a light supper, before we move onto the music room to dance. Helena has organised a number of simply wonderful musicians; a pianist and two violinists, all of whom seek to entertain the invited ladies and gentlemen. There is a rather sensual game of blind man’s bluff, and as the wine flows, the invited tongues soon loosen. A collection of ladies in the far corner amuse themselves with laughter, and are soon joined by their host. Lord William swoons over them, accompanied by the glamour of his wife, whilst I sit close to Thomas on the over side of the room. I am thrilled to see my husband relaxed, and yet thoughts of the pleasure rooms to which he earlier confessed still press upon my mind. More than that, I cannot shake the image of him entwined with other ladies, perhaps even some who may be present at the ball this evening!

“What are you thinking?” he murmurs into my ear, clearly perplexed at my expression.

I have learned that it rarely pays to tell Thomas an untruth, and so I am resigned to be honest. “I was musing on our conversation earlier,” I begin. “Thinking of you with all of these anonymous ladies…”

He smiles, his expression wryly amused. “Your envious side is showing, my love,” he laughs.

“I admit it,” I say with a sigh. “I have no defence, apart from my great love for you, Thomas.”

He pulls me closer. “Do you wish to know of each of them?” he whispers under the melody from the strings across the room.

I shake my head. “No, My Lord,” I reply. “I am just imagining them, and how affected by you they must have been.”

He laughs again. “As I have told you, my love, there was no one serious; no promises and no betrothals.”

I snuggle against him, daring to graze his mouth with my lips. “For you perhaps,” I reply. “Yet I bet at least one of them harboured feelings for you?”

The look on his face is sardonic, and he dismisses my idea with a shake of the head. “There is only one woman who harbours feelings for me, my love,” he croons.

I giggle, relaxing at his answers, and pleased that we can speak of these things. There is a moment of silence as we sit close together, and observe the interactions of the guests around us. In the far corner, I watch as three of the younger ladies with Lord William begin to undress. Soon enough their fine-looking gowns pool at their ankles, their pert bosoms revealed, although their masks stay in place at their faces. I turn to my husband, who watches also from my right side. He looks astoundingly handsome in his party ensemble, his red mask perfectly complementing his new cravat, which he insisted upon wearing.

Seeing my interest, he leans into me again, planting a kiss at my lobe. “Things are just about to get exciting,” he whispers, his thumb running an invisible line down my naked back, above the cut of my gown. “Shall we stay and watch?”

I nod, breathless with fascination. The sight before me is remarkable, and as I survey it two unknown gentleman join the fray, stripping to the waists as they approach the ladies, three of whom are now fondling and caressing one another. I look closer, putting down my glass to give the scene my full attention, and it’s then that I notice Helena, bared in all her beautiful glory, as one of the gentlemen suckles on her large, round breasts.

“Helena!” I gasp in a whisper, turning back to Thomas. He shifts from his seat to stand behind me, his arms pulling me north as they snake across my body to hold me closer.

“She is beautiful,” he agrees, finishing his drink. “But her light can in no way hold a candle to you, my love.”

I twist my head to find his mouth, pushing myself back against his hard body. My behind and sex ache with need, and despite Thomas’ frequent use of them, it seems that I just cannot get enough.

We stand together, watching the show of nudity and pleasure unfold before us. It is surely the most indecent thing I have ever witnessed, and yet with Thomas pressing against me, all I can think about is their pleasure. Envy consumes me once more; not for the acts, or the participants, but for the joy each of them experiences. I want it for Thomas and myself, in our own private, sweet, and debased way.

As Helena falls softly to the rug below and takes the hard length at her lips into her mouth, I squirm at the passion playing out. Beside her Lord William takes one of the ladies over his knee, spanking her in a soft and playful way. At the same time, three other couples entwine, their bodies connecting in intimate ways and contorting into beautiful shapes. Their shadows, cast by the numerous candles lit around the room, mould together into a sensual show against the dark walls.

“Thomas…” His name leaves my lips, the sound desperate.

“Yes, my love,” he answers, his left hand massaging my breasts from within the confines of my new golden gown.

Something about the sight of the scene is overwhelming. I am stunned by the look of it, much less disgusted than I should be, and far more caught up in the web of fascination.

“This is too much to bear. How can one witness such things without getting caught up in the waves of carnality?” I twist to see him, pressing myself against his evident hardness.

“The task can indeed seem impossible,” he murmurs, staring down into my eyes. “You can either let the wave drown you, or you can ride it, my love. Which would you like to do?”

Acting on impulse alone, I lurch forward, nearly knocking the glass from his right hand. “I choose to ride it, My Lord…” My voice has taken on some unearthly, guttural sound, and I barely recognise it.

Thomas, clearly surprised at my proactivity, smiles as he regains his footing. He puts his wineglass down by the side of the dresser, and pulls me into a hard embrace. “Then ride it you shall,” he growls, the reverberations of his tone making me shiver with desire.

He kisses me, his lips hungry and aggressive as his tongue claims me in its trademark sensual style. “I do so adore you, Lady Markham,” he whispers, sliding his hands down to my tender bottom and pulling me up to his waist. I hook my legs around him instinctively, grinding my body against his throbbing organ which strains beneath the fabric of his breeches.

Behind me I can hear the groans of the fornication as it plays out. The sounds and scent of carnal love are everywhere, filling my ears and my nostrils as though I were in a dream. “Thomas, take me to bed—please,” I beseech him.

“Tired already, my love?” he teases, offering me a broad smile.

“I want you,” I say, breathless with the weight of the feelings which consume me. “It is ridiculous just how much I want you.”

“I know,” he smiles. “It is the same desire which I have held for you for so long. No matter how much I have of you, there can never be enough, Lydia. I can never have enough of you.”

He shifts from his place against the wall, carrying me with apparent ease to the door. The sounds of the thrusting and the groaning grow weaker as he strides across the hall, mounting the stairs two at a time in his pursuit of our bed. When we finally reach the bedroom I am frantic with desire; I need him inside me.

He lays me down, those beguiling eyes smiling as he strips his clothing, and throws the length of my skirt to one side, splaying my legs wide apart. “I hope,” he groans, sliding his now enormous hardness into my wet, empty core, “that every birthday can be as wonderful as this one, my love.”

Chapter Forty-Six: Dark Passions

 

 

We arrive back at Markham Hall late on the eleventh day of the month. The weather turned grey again the day after Thomas’ birthday, and the rain has not ceased since then. The damp, bleak outlook though does not reflect the mood in the carriage as we pull back into the grounds. There are the expected feelings of happiness which any couple returning from their bridal tour might experience, and yet there is something more—an unspoken anticipation about what is now to come.

I peer from the carriage window, surveying the architecture, and marvelling at just how much this place has come to feel like my home. Gregory meets us from the carriage, updating Thomas on a number of matters which have arisen since the day of our wedding. The grounds, it seems, require some attention, and the countess had left a note for her son upon her departure some five days before now. He and Thomas go briefly to the study to discuss matters, and for one moment I am left alone to enjoy the splendour of Markham Hall. I breathe in the smell of the hallway, my head swimming with the many memories I have made at the place already. I pause to rest my eyes upon the impressive stairwell, feeling Thomas coming to stand behind me. I turn to acknowledge the oil lamp in his hand.

“Lady Markham will now reside in my chambers,” he instructs his butler. “Ask Lucy to move her important possessions there, although she may still use her old room as she chooses.”

“Very good, My Lord, My Lady,” replies Gregory, ushering the other staff away. “We shall leave you to get settled. Please call if you require a late supper, and I will inform the kitchen.”

Together we ascend the stairs in silence. Thomas leads, a step ahead of me as his right hand reaches back to clasp my palm. I know without asking where it is he is taking me. It is the place which has been on my mind since he revealed his dark secrets to me on the afternoon of his birthday; the pleasure rooms.

The labyrinth of corridors, to which I thought I had become acquainted, seems infinite, and in the end I resign myself to being lost. Just as I am compelled to enquire as to our whereabouts, we make a left onto a long hallway. Thomas holds the lamp aloft, and I see that there are three doors on either side, the end lit by a small, dark window.

“Is this it?” I ask, my nerves catching in my throat.

He nods, tightening his grip on my hand as he turns to me. “Behind each door is a room prepared for the types of play I have previously enjoyed. I do not want to overawe you, Lydia, but you are welcome to see them all—or less—if you prefer?”

I shift my weight left to look at my tall, imposing husband. I can positively feel the energy radiating from him, but I am not sure if the feelings are founded in nerves or arousal at being back here.

“I want to see them all,” I say, my voice sounding impossibly small in the large hall. “Will you show me?”

He nods, and my anxiety builds as he turns toward the first door on our left. He reaches into his pocket, pulling a heavy collection of keys into his hand, before walking forward and slotting the first length of metal into the waiting door.

I stand in silence, watching him. I can feel the constant drumming of my heart, once again betraying my feelings, and I swear that Thomas must also be able to hear it. The door ahead opens, and he turns to me, holding out his right palm. “Come, my love. This is where the real pleasure begins…”

I step inside the room, with Thomas just behind me. The air inside is musky and filled with dust, the evidence of its lack of use apparent. Thomas moves behind me, closing the door and striding to a tall window to our left. He draws back the drape with ruthless force, tearing the fabric apart, and flooding the room around us with what little moonlight is not obscured by the clouds outside.

My eyes scan the place, searching for anything which seems obscene or immoral. They fall over a large wooden bench which has centre stage. It is just about waist height, and appears to be well-made, with rounded edges and soft contours. On each of its lower corners large loops of rope hang free. Each seems to have been made into a slip knot, the sort which will secure as desired, but be easily released when necessary. I take a deep breath as I absorb it, clenching the muscles at the summit of my thighs as I imagine what Thomas could do to me here…

To my right I find a dresser, in the same light wood as the bench. There are a number of implements sat on top of it, my eyes making out some type of strap and a further wooden article, which is long, flat, and quite wide at the end.

Thomas walks back toward me, watching me absorb my new surroundings. “This was one of my favourite rooms,” he says sensually.

I look into his hooded green eyes. “Did you spank ladies in here?” I ask, blushing at my own question, and hoping that the shadows will save my embarrassment.

He smiles, obviously aware of my rosy hue. “Yes,” he agrees, “but play included many more articles than just my hand. All sorts of impact play were practised here. As you have learned with my crop, there is much pain and pleasure to be garnered in this way.”

I gulp at his words, watching as he moves toward the dresser of implements. He collects what looks like a small flat paddle—the sort which a child might use to hit a ball with—and he moves back toward me. His advance is slow and deliberate, watching my responses as though he imagines I will bolt for the door at any moment.

“This was one of my favourites,” he says, drawing my right hand out and placing the paddle onto it.

I look down upon the implement in my hand, using my left fingers to touch and turn it. The thing feels lighter than the quality of the wood suggests, and I survey it with interest. The whole time I can feel the intensity of Thomas’ gaze upon my face, and after a moment I look up to find his enquiring expression.

“I do not know what to say, Thomas.” I admit, feeling foolish in the extreme.

He smiles. “You do not need to say anything, my love,” he says, moving forward toward me. “I merely want to show you.”

I turn my head, glancing once again at the bench. Something about it is compelling and I find myself drawn toward the thing.

He follows my gaze and I see him smile from the corner of my eye. “Ah, you like my spanking bench?” he asks wryly.

“Yes,” I begin. “I… I have never seen anything quite like it…” I find that my feet are moving toward the bench even as I answer him, and sure enough he follows me, so that we are both now less than a foot away from its end.

My fingers graze the edge of the bench, and I am pleased that it feels as soft and rounded as it looked from my place by the dresser. Thomas moves to the right edge, smiling as he watches me. “What are you thinking?” he asks. His voice has taken on some lower, more carnal quality, as though he very well already knows the answer to that question.

“I am thinking how exhilarating and terrifying it must be to be secured here, waiting for you to deliver whatever punishment you see fit,” I reply. My voice is remarkably calm, considering the brazen answer which I have just offered him.

He reaches for me, his long arm crossing the distance between us with ease. Placing the lamp down on the surface of the bench, his left fingers stroke my jawline, before coming to rest under my chin. My eyes flutter shut reflexively at the unexpected contact.

“Is it the bondage that you like?” he probes, his obvious interest evident in his tone, “or is it the spanking which you crave?”

I eye him boldly, watching the excitement growing in his fabulous green orbs. “My Lord,” I reply. “I think perhaps it is both?”

The laugh that escapes his lips is dark; a sound which should be foreboding but seems only to stoke the flames of my desire. “You were truly destined to be my wife,” he chuckles, and all at once he moves, making his way lithely round to where I am standing. His arms are around my waist already, the left hand holding me firm as the right one searches my chest, neck, and face, eventually turning my chin to look at him.

“Thomas,” I say; my plea is urgent and yet I know he can hear the fear in it.

His eyes are dark and penetrating. “What do you need, Lydia?” he asks me as his lips dip into my nape. I arch my back as his mouth grazes my exposed neck, hearing the moans the sensations elicit from my own mouth. “Tell me…”

“I need you…” I beseech him, twisting my face to meet his eyes.

“And you shall have me,” he assures me, his tone loaded with sensual authority. “But I want to hear it from your sweet lips, my love. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

I squirm at his words, shifting my weight and trying to pull away from him. His left arm though holds me easily in place. “Why, Thomas?” I say desperately. “Why must I say such things aloud? You know what they are already, surely?”

His smile is voracious, sending a dark thrill through me. “I know, yes,” he affirms. “Yet I want to hear the desires from you. Being able to admit what you need is not a sin, Lydia. On the contrary, it is essential for my understanding of you to grow.”

I sigh, resigned to what I know I must do. “I should like for you to bind me here, and spank me, please.”

The words are out in a hurried rush, my face looking down to the bench below us. He laughs again, and I am filled with indignation as I turn to him. “I did as you asked!” I cry out.

“I should like for you to tell me, and not the bench, my love,” he purrs, those hot lips caressing my nape once again before his eyes come to rest upon me.

“Thomas!” I am exasperated. “Please, will you bind me and spank me here?”

His eyes devour the blush in my face as he answers me. “With pleasure, my love,” he replies.

His limbs are gone from me, and within a moment my gown is unfastened and pooling at my slippers. As he offers me his hand, I step out from the fabric and allow him to guide me to the edge of the bench. I remain still as he removes the lamp, placing it on the floor to the right hand side of the other end of the bench. Next he wanders to the dresser and opens a long drawer, pulling from it a scarlet blanket, which he opens out and drapes over the bench. I watch him in silence as he comes to stand next to me again.

“You are exquisite,” he growls, taking my ample breasts into his hands and manipulating my beading nipples between his fingers. “Place yourself over the bench now, and I will secure you there.”

He shifts out of my way, revealing the scarlet-covered bench to me in all of its glory. Tentatively, I shuffle toward it, straddling the end as I place myself over its unrelenting surface. My limbs hang close to its four corners, my legs splayed helplessly wide. Thomas gets to work at once, moving to my right ankle. I feel the loop of rope pass over my foot, and the odd sensation as it tightens against my skin. He moves next to my left ankle, and all at once I find that both of my legs are secured. As he shifts to the front of my body, I test the ropes behind me, pulling both of my feet apart as best I can. I find that they draw a few inches away, but will move no further.

By now Thomas is standing by my head, and I shift my neck to see him as he crouches before me. He takes my left wrist, raising it from its place hanging against the wood, and resting it against his leg as the rope is slipped over it. Once it is secured, he replicates the action with my right wrist, before coming to kneel back in front of me.

“Here you are, my love,” he says, running his fingers from my right wrist, and up along my arms to my shoulders. I relax under his touch, hearing myself exhale as his hand traces the line back to the left wrist. “You are tied to my spanking bench, secured tight, and quite helpless.”

My breathing accelerates as his words illustrate my new powerlessness. I am practically panting as he continues. “I am going to spank you, first with my palm, and then with my paddle. I am not spanking you as part of any punishment, my love,” he explains. “This act is just for our mutual pleasure. Do you understand?”

“Yes, My Lord,” I reply, my breath raspy and desperate.

“Before I begin,” he answers. “Tell me, are you well? Can you feel your toes and fingers?”

I wiggle all four extremities at once, before nodding my head, my left cheek now pressed against the soft cover. “Yes, My Lord.”

“Good,” he says, trailing his digits over my behind and down the inside of my right thigh. Then all at once, his fingers disappear, and my bound, exposed body is left alone as he moves into position behind me.

The atmosphere in the room shifts somehow. I feel myself quite literally relinquishing control to my husband, yielding to his will and surrendering to him. The ropes at my wrists and ankles make this capitulation real of course, but the transition takes place in mind. By the time his palm lands on my bared bottom, I am utterly breathless with desire. I want this spanking; I need it—I need for My Lord to punish me, own me, and possess me.

His hand lands multiple times, the sounds of the strikes echoing around the near-empty room. The impacts sound severe, but in actuality the force is not overwhelming. Rather, each swat warms my behind, and the momentum of his palm landing creates its usual magic, the force pushing my hips into the cover and exciting my already needy nub.

The strikes continue, and I absorb them, calling out on occasion, but on the whole allowing the pain to wash over me like a sensual melody. I pull against my ropes, allowing my restriction to heighten my excitement. Not being able to move does something amazing to my mind. Yes, I want to surrender, but being tied down means that I have to. I have no choice but to yield to Thomas, and the reality sets my mind free. My eyes close, and I slip into a dreamlike state, feeling the weight of his palm against my bared behind as he spanks me soundly.

I do not know how long the spanking goes on. My usual cues regarding time are lost to the shadows of the evening and the exquisite sensations of the pain and bondage. At some point I become aware that Thomas is moving, the sound of his footsteps garnering my attention to the right. I press my left cheek into the cover, watching him as he chooses the appropriate implement from its place. As he returns I eye the paddle, all too aware of my current helplessness as he makes his way behind me. There are no words, and I hear nothing until the flat edge of the thing lands against my exposed bottom.

“Oww!” I call out instinctively. The change of tack and the sound of the thing makes my response inevitable.

Thomas pauses, and I hear him move over me. “How is it, my love?” he asks. His voice sounds pained and heavily laden with his own arousal.

“It is quite different from your hand,” I manage, feeling my heart racing as I speak.

“Is it too much?” he probes, circling me as he makes the enquiry.

I already know the answer before I speak it. “No. My Lord,” I reply, my tone adamant. “It is not.”

Satisfied, he returns to his original place and resumes, the paddle connecting with my flesh a moment later. I soak up the impact, mewling a little, but otherwise concentrating on how the strike feels, and what the tremors do my excited sex. As the spanking continues, Thomas begins to pick up the pace, the smacks now coming hard and fast. At this point I have little time to muse on the sensations, be they pain or pleasure, and instead I find myself pulling futilely against the ropes at my limbs, as the sound of my own spanking echoes in the air around us.

I wince as he delivers the twentieth strike, and brace for what I assume will be the next. I am surprised therefore to find that there is a pause, and then the sound as the wood of the paddle hits the floorboards below. I strain my neck to peer behind me, but all at once the feeling of Thomas’ hands at my hips makes me still. He loops his fingers beneath my pelvis and draws my body backward, forcing the ropes at my wrists to tighten as my bottom is raised in the air. One of his hands holds it there, keeping me in position, whilst the fingers of the other explore me.

Gasping, I process what I can feel. At least two digits slide gloriously into my wet, needy core, his palm cupping the underside of me as he slowly and deliberately pleasures me this way. With his hand holding my hips still, and my binds still securing me to the bench, I have no choice but to remain in place, the recipient of his magnificent and undivided attention.

“I want you to climax for me, Lydia,” he growls from behind me. “Push yourself back against my hand and find your release…”

The command is low and sensual, the words goading me as his fingers drive a satisfying rhythm beneath my legs. I open my mouth to reply, but only a small moan leaves my lips. I am caught in that same erotic contradiction; the frustration of the bondage and the indignation of the spanking, combining with the sheer ecstasy that his hand provides. As my pleasure builds, I feel his hot breath at the apex of his thighs. All at once his palm is replaced by his mouth, his tongue lapping at my throbbing excitement as the prickles of his recent hair growth stimulate my sensitive skin.

I jerk at the new sensations, feeling his arm tighten at my pelvis. Gasping, I writhe like an uncontrollable animal, for some reason resisting the intensity of the action. His tongue though, is insistent, and he laps at me over and over; his mouth commanding me as his fingers continue to drive into my wet channel. It is then that the sensations become too much and I am toppled over the precipice of pleasure, my muscles contracting around his digits as Thomas laps at my climax.

For a while we are still, Thomas motionless between my legs as I ride the waves of my pleasure. My body, convulsing at the intensity of my arousal, yearns for his manhood to dominate me, and as his fingers withdraw, I feel his hardness against my warmed flesh.

“I am going to have you, Lydia,” he purrs.

I strain to my right, and can just about make out the view of his glorious nakedness as he stands behind me, readying himself at my rear. As his erection plunges into my core, my head falls forward, a soft groan leaving my lips. He rides me, driving into my wetness at his own leisurely pace. Grabbing at my hips, he shifts his weight. I feel him climb on top of the bench, kneeling over me as his body cocoons my bare flesh. With his breath warm at my neck, he thrusts into me, purring at me as he loves me in the most carnal way imaginable. I sense his climax approach, his rhythm shifting into that shorter, more adamant insistence, until he groans into my right ear.

His weight presses into my back, his manhood convulsing inside me as his lips caress the back of my neck. “Lydia…” he croons, wrapping himself around me.

I twist to my right, returning his kisses. “Thank you, My Lord,” I murmur into the stubble at the side of his face.

Our eyes connect, and at the moment I am totally overwrought with the emotion I feel for this man. The connection we have is singly the most exquisite thing. It seems he has come to know me in virtually every way possible. I never believed that a marriage could be this way, and I muse at how lucky I am to have found such a guardian…

Recovered from his climax, Thomas withdraws from me, moving lithely to untie my binds. As I am finally freed, he helps me from my position at the bench, before pulling the cover from its place and wrapping it around my cooling body.

“Let me take you to my bed, my love,” he whispers, moving his body against me as his lips graze my mouth.

“What about the other pleasure rooms, My Lord?” I ask dreamily.

He smiles at me, suppressing a chuckle, as he plants a soft kiss against my frame. “Perhaps tomorrow, My Lady?” he offers. “Remember, we do have the rest of our lives to indulge in all of our deepest, darkest fantasies.”

Our eyes meet, my own smile encountering his glorious face as I cuddle against his heat. Then, without a word, he swoops to lift me, holding me effortlessly in his arms as he bends to grab the oil lamp. He strides from the room, pulling me close as he secures the door, before we head back down the corridor. The hallway is now in virtual darkness, and I snuggle against him as he carries me in his strong arms.

“You are right again, My Lord,” I murmur into his shirt as we move.

He twists to look down upon me, wrapped up in his arms. “What am I right about, my love?” he asks.

“That room really is all about pleasure,” I say, gazing up into his deep green eyes to see his response.

He grins, pulling me closer into his embrace. “Lydia,” he purrs. “I promise you, this is only the beginning.”

Epilogue

 

 

“Revenge is a confession of pain.”

—Latin Proverb

 

Fifteen hours later, some twenty miles away, two ladies sit taking tea in the drawing room of the stately mansion house.

“Thank you for your letter, and how kind it is of you to invite me once again, Countess,” says the young, attractive lady, sipping from her expensive teacup.

“It is such a pleasure to see you again, Lady Elizabeth,” beams the countess. “These last weeks have proved quite taxing, and it is wonderful to see a familiar face.”

Lady Elizabeth Brooks says nothing for a moment, tilting her head as she absorbs the older woman’s words. “I have heard about Lord Markham’s marriage,” she replies, risking a glance at the countess. “You must be pleased to know that he is now settled into matrimony?”

The countess raises her chin, looking into the hazy November light through the large window. “I would not say pleased,” she answers, turning to glance at Elizabeth’s knowing face. “This marriage is not what I would have chosen for my son, or for my late husband’s vast estate…”

There is a moment of silence as both ladies take their tea.

“And yet the nuptials are done?” says the younger lady, her voice full of resignation. “So there is little choice but to accept Thomas’ decision?”

The older lady smiles, her thin lips stretching into almost a sneer. “There is always a choice, my dear,” she murmurs, placing down her cup onto the wooden table beyond her knees. “I believe there may be a way to shatter the illusion of this happy marriage.”

Lady Elizabeth’s interest is piqued, and she too puts down her cup, placing it on the floor by her feet. “How so, My Lady?” she asks.

“You know my son better than most, my dear,” she replies, eyeing the lady in the chair opposite her. “You are, I believe, one of his prior admirers, Lady Elizabeth?”

The younger woman barely flinches, her natural dark curls dancing at her chin as she turns to nod at the countess. “I am,” she concurs. “Although, as you imply, I am only one of many…”

“Yet I know he had feelings for you, my dear,” insists the countess. “He spoke of you often, before the arrival of his new ward…”

“Really?” answers Elizabeth. “That does not sound like the Thomas I recall—how queer! What, may I ask, do you have in mind to do, My Lady?”

The older lady smiles, her eyes cold as she continues. “It is my belief,” she says, “that the intimate information you have about my son could very well be his undoing.”

Elizabeth chuckles, her tone dark as she replies. “You should like me to reveal Lord Markham’s darkest secrets?” she laughs. “To what end, My Lady? How will this terminate the marriage?”

“I seek not to break it,” she tells the younger woman, “just to tarnish the happy couple.” The smile of the countess deepens as she enjoys Elizabeth’s response. “I know my son,” she says coldly. “With some gentlemen the application of pressure will make them focus. With others, the same application will cause them to fold. Thomas’ demeanour falls into the latter group, Elizabeth. If you were to reveal his secrets and humiliate him, I believe it would be enough for him to buckle…”

“May I enquire why you would like to see Lord Markham buckle?” asks Elizabeth, her tone pointed. “He is, after all, your only son and heir, and—whilst I have no love for the marriage—the union will secure your bloodline?”

She pauses, looking to the countess for a response. The older lady sits listening, her expression stony. “That is a private matter, my dear,” she replies, her face unyielding. “I am sure you understand? But I believe that together, we may both benefit from my plan.”

“So,” says Elizabeth, taking stock of the countess’ words. “You merely want to hurt him? You would like for me to cause a… scandal?”

The countess nods, reaching forward to drain the last of her tea. “It seems Thomas forgets to whom he owes his good fortune. Markham Hall was his father’s legacy, yet he has run it into the ground with his newfound conventions. He will rue the day he did not listen to his mother’s advice.”

“And you would offer me good favour if I were to… help you in this way?” asks Elizabeth. “A scandal like the one you seek would make a good marriage for me almost impossible.”

“My dear,” says the countess. “I know I ask you to speak of indelicate things, which could ruin your own reputation. I will grant you every favour I can offer in return for your time in this matter. I have a personal settlement from my late husband, and have already written to the legal gentleman who handled the earl’s estate, to see what can be done to compensate you.”

Lady Elizabeth rises from her seat, walking slowly to the window as she considers the countess’ proposition. “If these legal concerns can be settled to our mutual satisfaction, then I see no reason why I should not assist you, My Lady,” she replies, turning and offering her a smile. “His Lordship offered me little recompense, and even less affection. As such I have no loyalty to him, but you, My Lady, have offered me solace and friendship. Perhaps it is time that the truth of these matters be told?” She pauses, running her long fingers along the edge of the ornate dresser by the window. “I have heard that confession is good for the soul, and the good Lord knows, My Lady, that I have quite the story to confess…”

 

 

The End

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More Stormy Night Books by Felicity Brandon

 

 

Submission at The Tower

This is not a love story. This is the story of the hunger inside of me which must be fed before it consumes me entirely…

After a chance encounter with a handsome stranger introduces her to The Tower, an institution that trains women in submission, Janie McClusky is irresistibly drawn to the place. But admittance comes at a price, and soon enough Janie is utterly bare and fully on display, blushing crimson as the men at The Tower thoroughly explore her body, bringing her pain, pleasure, and shame as they see fit.

As Janie’s training begins, there is one man among the group who seems to know her own needs better than she does, and before long she finds herself yearning and even begging for his touch. But if she relinquishes control completely to this captivating stranger and allows him to break down her remaining defences, will there be any coming back at all?

 

The Viking’s Conquest

When she is left all but alone to defend her family’s castle against an army of battle-hardened Viking raiders, nineteen-year-old Princess Aurelie of Donrose fights valiantly but is soon overcome. After her capture by the tall, handsome leader of the northmen, Prince Anders, she is carried away along with the rest of the spoils of conquest.

Anders makes it clear to the princess that she is now his property, to do with as he likes, and he takes pleasure in stripping her bare and putting her on display. When she defies her new master, Aurelie quickly discovers that Anders will not hesitate to spank her soundly, but to her shame the painful, humiliating punishment leaves her deeply aroused.

Bound and helpless yet burning with desire, the princess finds herself longing for the bold, dominant warrior to take her hard and thoroughly, and when she surrenders to his mastery of her body the pleasure is more intense than she would have ever thought possible. Aurelie’s submission to Anders grows more complete with each passing day, but when her brothers arrive with an army to seek vengeance against their old enemy she must make a fateful choice. Will she remain loyal to her family and her people, or come to the aid of her Viking prince?

Felicity Brandon Links

 

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