Chapter Eleven
TO HIS CONSTERNATION, his heart was not as black and impenetrable as Alastair would have preferred, and Millie’s words had struck an oddly tender part. He had not discovered the darker side of his desires in the same manner as she. He had begun to find congress with the regular strumpet or opera dancer a trifle uninspiring. After Katherine had introduced him to Château Follet, a new realm of indulgence had opened to him.
He knew not what he would have thought of himself if he had harbored such inclinations before his introduction to Château Follet. He doubted he would have been as critical of himself as Millie was of herself, but hers was a superior character. He had sensed it, and though this new part of her was a shock to him, he still stood by his initial assessment of her qualities.
He would never have suspected her capable of a wicked prurience, but her response to this discovery of herself was quite what he would have expected. Here was an upstanding young woman who attempted to live up to the expectation of family and society. These lustful and naughty proclivities must have come as quite the horror to her, and were he a man better skilled with words, he would have assured her there was naught to be ashamed of. But finer speech did not come readily to him.
So he kissed her.
Her lips were soft beneath his. He held the side of her head as he moved over her mouth. At first, perhaps too startled, she did not move. She put a hand to his wrist but did not pull him away. He brushed his lips over hers several times before lifting his head to view her.
Her eyes, glistening with tears and the remnants of the port, were wide. He had never before taken note of the soft brown coloring in her eyes. It was quite a lovely hue. And though the flush across her nose was perhaps not so complimentary, the redness would dissipate when she was done weeping.
He groaned to himself. He was going to regret this. Greatly. But for him to retreat now would deal an unnecessary blow. The night had been difficult enough for her.
“What—what do you mean?” she asked, quivering. Her eyes possessed the same glassy brightness that most of her sex had after a kiss.
“You’ve a wish to indulge in the offerings of Château Follet, do you not?”
“Y-Yes.”
“We are both of us without partners.”
She continued to stare at him rather stupidly.
He sighed. “As I do not trust anyone with your honor, I will assume your introduction to Château Follet myself.”
She was silent.
“Of course, if you would rather not…”
He half hoped she would balk and force him to rescind his offer, but she did not, and remained in thought.
“As we are cousins,” he added.
“Not by blood,” she said, lowering her eyes, her hand still upon his wrist.
Hell and damnation. He could not recall a more absurd attempt than what he had just engaged. But Millie might yet come to her senses. The port would wear off…
She looked up at him. “It is a strange offer, but you are both gracious and kind, Alastair.”
Her countenance had brightened, and he was pleased to see it. He returned a wry smile. The adjectives of “gracious and kind” had not been applied to him before—not by the intelligent and reasonable. Relief waved over him. She had come to her senses.
“I am sorry your evening was not what you had wished,” he said.
“But, thanks to you, it may be salvaged in part.”
He blinked.
“Did I mistake your offer?” she asked when he said nothing.
“I thought you meant to decline it.”
“No! I meant to accept it. Unless…you did not mean what you said?”
“Not at all,” he replied gruffly. “I merely thought you had perhaps found it too awkward a proposition.”
“It seems you find it awkward, my lord.” She withdrew her hand from him. “You need not worry, Alastair. I will not compel you. I know I am not the most comely of maids.”
A stronger oath went through him. He grabbed her and crushed her to him. She emitted half a yelp before his mouth descended upon hers, his lips harshly roving over hers. His hand went into her coiffure, yanking her head back by the hair.
“If we are to proceed, I will have none of your impudence,” he growled. “You will abide by all that I say. Failure to do so will entail punishment. Do you understand, Millie?”
Her eyes were wide, but she nodded. “Yes, Alastair.”
“You may address me only as ‘my lord.’”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You may expect no leniency from me merely because you are my cousin and new here.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“But you will have the use of a word that will serve to protect you from that which you find too much to bear.”
“If you wish it, my lord.”
“It is required for all those who wish to play at Château Follet.”
“What is the word, my lord?”
He looked at her necklace. “Pearls.”
“Pearls. Thank you, my lord.”
She was a quick student. He supposed he should have expected no less. His pulse quickened.
Whirling her around, he bent her over the edge of the table. His hand still entwined in her hair, he held her in place. “Ever been spanked?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“By that stable hand?”
She nodded.
He shook his head. A goddamn stable hand.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked.
“I did, my lord.”
“You may or may not enjoy the spanking I am about to administer, but, regardless, you will thank me when done.”
“Yes, Al—my lord.”
He released her hair and stood back to unbutton his cuffs and roll his sleeves. She remained where she was. He untied his cravat and used the neckcloth to tie her hands behind her back—tight. He would either deliver all that she had hoped for or deter her from ever returning to the château.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Without ceremony, he threw her skirts over her hips and was surprised to find a most charming derrière. The buttocks were fuller, as were her thighs and the rest of her, but they were still shapely and pleasant to behold. He put a hand to one cheek, palming its smooth softness. The blood seemed to course more strongly through him.
God help him. He should not be doing this. Not with Millie.
He shook his head. From whence did this bothersome conscience appear? Rather, what did he care? The chit wanted what the château offered.
“Alastair?” she voiced.
He slapped her rump. The contact made a delightful sound. “My lord,” he reminded her.
“Yes! I meant ‘my lord.’ What am I to expect, my lord?”
“You will know what to expect when I give the command.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Ignoring his qualms, he picked up a satin mask and secured it over her eyes.
“The deprivation of sight enhances the other senses,” he explained.
“Very good, my lord.”
From the table, he selected a feather duster and brushed the plumes over her arse. She giggled. He twirled the feathers against her.
“Oh God!” she laughed.
She was ticklish then. For some reason, he had not expected that.
"My lord—"
"Do you require your safety word already?"
She shook her head. "No, no.”
He continued to brush the feathers across her derrière. She groaned and shifted a little on the table. With her hands behind her back, she could not prop herself up. Thus the full weight of her upper body rested most uncomfortably upon her breasts, pressed into the table.
"Please…" she said, trying to suppress the giggles as he drew the feathers along the backs of her thighs.
"Only the safety word can cause me to desist."
"It is only…I did not expect…it tickles…"
"What had you expected?"
"I hope you will not be lenient merely because I am your cousin."
"I said I would not."
She gasped when the feathers touched the area between her legs.
"This will prepare you for what is to come."
"I am ready."
Surprised by her eagerness, he lay down the duster and looked at the implements upon the table. She had gotten naughty with a stable hand. Perhaps the crop would be familiar to her. Picking up a crop, he slapped it against his thigh to test it. She jumped at the cracking sound.
“Perhaps you will be more partial to the crop,” he noted before slapping a buttock with it.
She grunted. He had not struck her hard.
“Where is your gratitude, Millie?”
“Is it customary to voice thanks for everything?”
By way of answering, he smacked her other buttock with the crop.
“Thank you!” she replied.
The crop struck again. “My lord.”
“Thank you, my lord!”
He caressed the curve of one cheek. The flesh was beginning to warm.
“Had enough?” he asked.
“Enough? I thought we had just begun?”
“You desire more?”
“Well…yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes! My old governess could deal a heftier spanking.”
Alastair could hardly believe his ears. Had she just insulted him?
She had. He could not allow himself to be outdone by any member of the opposite sex.
Fisting his hand tighter about the handle, he whacked the crop against her with a proper show of force. When she cried out loudly, he feared he had been too harsh.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Her voice sounded almost of a purr. He walloped the other cheek with equal vigor.
“Ah! Thank you, my lord.”
Despite the dim lighting, he could see the blush across her arse. He adjusted the stiffness at his crotch.
“Do you recall your safety word?” he inquired.
“Pearls.”
“Do not hesitate to speak it.”
“I will not. Pray, continue.”
Continue? She wanted more? His head began to swim, but he supplied her with several more lashes. One blow landed heavily, eliciting a wail. She drew in a haggard breath.
“Thank you, my lord!”
And then he caught it. The scent of her arousal.
The blood throbbed in his veins. He looked more closely at her thighs and saw the glisten of moisture. Damnation. The spanking had made her wet.