Chapter Eleven Married Life

Chapter Eleven

Married Life

E lizabeth was glad they were going to August’s country home in Oxfordshire, and not London. If there was gossip about Fortenbury’s snub and Lord Augustine’s heroics in marrying her, she did not want to hear it, or see people whispering behind their hands in parlors and ballrooms.

And, oh, she did love August’s country home. The great mansion with its surrounding gardens and meadows was called St. Pierre. August said he didn’t know why, and had never inquired into why the property had a French name. She thought perhaps it had to do with a long-ago love affair, but she didn’t know if that was her perceptive gifts or pure imagination talking.

She’d rarely visited St. Pierre when she was young but had come to know it better over the course of piano lessons. The grand foyer opened to wings of sitting rooms and parlors, some cozy, some formal. A music hall and ballroom completed the first floor. Up the curving stairs, one could find many bedrooms for family and guests.

Elizabeth’s suite of rooms was aired and ready as soon as they arrived, and she was thrilled to move into it. The space hardly needed renovation, though August had offered her the opportunity to do so. Perhaps new draperies, and a counterpane in pink, her favorite color.

The bedroom was spacious and light with large windows, elegant furniture, and an inviting fireplace. Next door, a paneled dressing room provided room for her clothes. The other side of her bedroom opened to a private salon with a writing desk and upright piano. Had the piano always been there, or had he moved it there especially for her to practice upon?

The thought of it made her blush.

St. Pierre’s indoors were breathtaking, but out of doors was lovelier still. Even in the cold winter months, August’s wild land was alive with calling birds and winter greenery. From the back terrace, Elizabeth could see the rolling gardens and picturesque lake she used to view from the music room’s windows, with its swans and geese, and a small, blue rowboat for venturing out onto the water.

She could not really be blamed for taking the boat out the third cold, crisp morning she was there. She’d always wished to do so when she was younger but had never been allowed. She lived here now; there was no one to tell her not to, or that she couldn’t go alone. How lovely to be a wife and mistress of such a fine property.

She rowed dreamily upon the silver waters, speaking to the ducks and small, glistening fish that darted beside the boat. “Are you cold?” she asked them. “I’m not, in my woolen cloak and warm hat. I suppose the sun warms you when you come to the surface.”

She was having just such a practical conversation with a pair of darting alderflies when she heard her name called. She turned about, fumbling with the oars until she located her husband, glowering and cross, standing at the shore.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he called as she rowed toward the dock. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out on the lake?”

“I would have, but you seemed busy in your study, and I didn’t wish to distract you.”

“The servants couldn’t find you. They searched the whole house.” His frown deepened. “Did you tell no one you were taking out the boat?”

She adjusted her hat, which had gone a bit tilted in her rowing exertions. “I didn’t wish to make extra work for anyone. Your footmen would have felt they had to supervise me, or row about for me, when I can very much row myself.”

“My footmen would have insisted upon helping you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What if you’d gotten out to the middle of the lake and grown too tired to row back? Or found the boat was leaking when you were far off from shore?”

She gave him an arch look as she drew alongside the dock. “I’m no weakling, August, and this little boat seemed in perfectly good repair. It’s lovely, really, just like everything here.”

He held out a hand to help her from the boat. His grip seemed unnecessarily tight.

“Are you angry?” she asked, although she knew he was. “Am I late for luncheon?”

“Quite late. We’ll dine and settle this afterward.”

“Settle what?” The look he gave her made her equal parts anxious and excited. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. You can’t just disappear, worry everyone, and receive no consequence. The water is ice cold at this time of year. If you’d fallen in…”

“I can swim, you know. I’ve swum in my parents’ lake a thousand times.”

His gaze darkened. “Do you think this an appropriate time to argue with me?”

Elizabeth walked a few steps behind him, partly because he was walking so quickly, and partly because she was scared. Her husband was very angry. What would happen after luncheon? Was he going to lecture her? Ban her from the lake?

Or would he spank her?

Considering his proclivities, the third option seemed the most likely.

She was forced to sit and fidget through luncheon, only able to pick at the delicious offerings. Every so often, she looked up to meet his gaze, perceiving there a distinct disciplinary intent. Well, she’d known the sort of man she was marrying. But she hadn’t thought his predilection for spanking would affect her quite so soon.

When their uncomfortable luncheon was over, she stood and brushed her hands together in a businesslike manner. “Well, I suppose I must go tidy up the Cornflower Parlor before Rosalind arrives for her visit this afternoon. The wallpaper in there is hand-painted, isn’t it? So pretty. I planned to reorganize the shelves to make room for my books and embroidery—”

“You may certainly do that,” August said, “after we’ve had our talk.”

“But…Rosalind…”

“Is coming for tea, which is several hours from now.” He intercepted her as she made for the door and steered her toward his study.

“What if she arrives early?”

“The talk I have in mind will not last very long.”

Perhaps if she was docile and apologetic, she would only receive a lecture. She faced him as he closed the study door, her head bowed and hands clasped before her.

“I am so sorry I took the boat out in such an impulsive manner, without letting anyone know my whereabouts. It was foolish now that I think about it. I’ll never do such a thing again.”

He gave her an arch look, his lips pursed.

“You’re an intuitive person, Elizabeth, intuitive enough to know you won’t get off so easily.” His piercing hazel eyes bored into hers. “You’re married now. You must remember that your actions affect others.”

“Of course, I know that. I just didn’t stop to think in my haste to take out the boat. It’s such a beautiful day…”

“Even on beautiful days, you must behave responsibly.”

He went around his desk, covered with the papers he’d been perusing when she’d decided not to disturb him, then unlocked a drawer in the cabinet behind it. He drew out a dark-colored, imposing wooden paddle, about ten inches in length and four inches wide. He sat in a nearby chair and beckoned her with a finger.

Elizabeth didn’t like the look of the intimidating implement. She parted her lips to protest, but his expression made her close them tight again.

Docile and apologetic. It was still her best strategy at this point.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, August, but I’m sure you wouldn’t wish to spank me merely for my innocent exuberance.” She took a step backward. “My desire to enjoy nature on a fresh midwinter day.”

“Elizabeth, come.”

“I’ve adored St. Pierre’s lake since I was a child.” Her voice rose in insistence. “I’ve wanted to take out that sweet little rowboat as long as I can remember—”

“Elizabeth.”

“Now that I know your wishes on the subject…that I am not to move freely about my new home without informing the servants…” That sounded impertinent. Docility had never been her particular strength.

“If I have to come get you, darling, it will go worse for you.”

She swallowed hard, realizing she was not to escape this disciplinary paddling. Well, she’d been spanked by him before and survived it. She sighed and crossed to his chair, and lowered herself over his waiting lap, wishing this was the other closeness between them, the closeness where he stroked and caressed her, and made her feel good.

From the looks of his stout, varnished paddle, this would not feel good.

He tugged up her skirt, bunching it at her waist, and after a slight pause, undid her pantalettes’ drawstring to expose her bottom.

“Must I be so naked?” she pleaded. “What if a servant comes?”

“They won’t. Not when they hear the noises coming from this room.”

He tapped her exposed cheeks with the paddle; it made a distinct, upsetting noise that would indeed keep any servants away. She squirmed, overtaken by a sudden panic, but he held her fast across his lap.

“Darling, I’ve hardly started. You will behave yourself and take your punishment properly.”

She bit her lip against a reply, a retort that would anger him further. She wondered how properly he would take a spanking with a scary paddle.

“What we don’t want is for you to forget yourself again in some state of ‘exuberance,’ Elizabeth. Do you understand me? That is why you must be punished—so a permanent lesson is learned.”

“I’m permanently certain I won’t go on the lake alone again. You needn’t do this; I don’t need it!”

“I’m your husband now, and it’s my job to decide what discipline you need.”

And since he was an avid proponent of spanking, just like his friends…he would always err on the side of more discipline, rather than less. She was doomed.

He gave her a few more taps with the paddle, warming up her cheeks. It did not hurt, not yet, but she knew it would, and she dreaded this slow build to the real punishment. Just hurt me and get it over with , she wanted to cry.

Thwack.

The paddle seemed to answer her agonized thought. The blow connected with solid force, and she cried out at the sudden, stinging pain. Before she could gather herself, August landed a second thwack . She threw back a hand to protect herself from a third blow, but her wrist was promptly caught, her hand dragged away from any self-protective capability.

“Ow. Oww! ” She windmilled her legs, trying to escape the pain, but he merely gripped her harder and continued his onslaught. “ Owww. Please! I did not expect marriage to be this way. You ought to be nicer to your wife.”

“You ought to stop kicking your legs.”

“I can’t help it!”

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack!

“How long will you paddle me?” she cried.

“As long as I think you need it. As long as it takes you to submit to this lesson without all this wriggling and complaining.” He stopped to let her catch her breath. “Perhaps I’ve been remiss in teaching you my expectations as it comes to discipline. A penitent wife does not fight and struggle. A penitent wife accepts her spanking, however long it is, and thinks how she can do better in the future.”

“I’m trying.” A sob escaped her. “It’s just very, very hard.”

August stared down at his wife’s tensing arse cheeks, thinking how very, very hard he was. If she wasn’t in such torment from his paddling, she’d have noticed his erect cock prodding against her hip. At some point, he must allow himself to admit what his couth resisted: his friend’s little sister had a delectable backside, and he loved spanking it.

It was so round, so firm, so very punishable . None of the girls at Pearl’s had had an arse like this—tensing, responsive, so pristinely pale it showed every mark nearly upon impact. When he’d been her piano teacher, her friend, he hadn’t bared her arse when he spanked her, but now, it added an excruciatingly pleasurable layer to the act of discipline.

And gave him many wicked and lecherous thoughts.

This was a real punishment, of course. He intended to paddle her pale arse scarlet. She’d behaved without consideration, disappearing onto the lake without informing anyone where she was going. She must not do that again. She would not do that again, not after he taught her the error of her ways. It was a necessary punishment, but also quite stimulating.

For him.

He resumed paddling her, using enough force to make it hurt, but not enough to damage her delicate backside. He was not a monster, just a pervert. Each time he connected with her exposed cheeks, color bloomed deeper, while she writhed, resisted, and tried to pull away.

“Be still,” he reminded her. “I’ve told you my expectations.”

“I’m trying, but it hurts terribly!”

“Poor thing.” His sympathy was real, as real as the spanking she was receiving, not that she wanted to hear it. She wanted to hear they were done, that the paddling was over, but he sensed she was not there yet.

“Ow. Ow. Owww. ”

Each spank brought a dramatic cry. As long as she resisted, she wasn’t really learning. He was patient. He could paddle her at this intensity for a long time, really redden her bottom without harming her. He knew these things. She didn’t.

Poor thing indeed.

“Oh, it hurts,” she cried. “Please. Please! I’m sorry.”

Her cheeks tensed and squeezed together as if that might protect her from his onslaught. He decided he would put some hot, stinging ginger between those cheeks during her next punishment. All the tensing in the world wouldn’t protect her from that.

After two more solid minutes of paddling, he stopped to give her a rest.

“How much longer?” she asked. “Please, when will it end?”

“You know when it ends. When I feel you have learned your lesson.”

“I have.” Her muffled wail made him smile, though she didn’t see it. Her face was pressed against his leg. Shame? Anger? Fear? She probably felt all those things.

“I did not think you could be so cruel,” she said as he studied her reddened arse, thinking lustful thoughts.

“It’s not cruel to teach your wife a lesson. You are learning a lesson, aren’t you?”

“Yes! I promise. Please, let me go.”

“If you’ve learned your lesson, you must show me,” he said gently. “You’re still complaining and resisting.”

He rubbed the paddle over her afflicted cheeks just to feel her tremble. Would she learn? Would she submit to him? He could go for another half hour, tormenting her without really hurting her, although she wouldn’t like it.

He sighed loud enough for her to hear him, and began again, delivering steady, crisp licks. At last, after another squirming period of resistance, she stopped fighting him so hard. She ceased kicking, and eventually went still across his lap.

Still, but not quiet. The more she accepted her punishment, the harder and louder her tears flowed, which was to be expected. Accepting punishment was different than bearing it…he could feel how hard she struggled to be good. He rewarded her compliance by putting the paddle down. Her bottom was a deep, uniform red.

He loved the sight of it, God help him.

God help her.

She’d taken a good paddling and learned something about their nascent marriage: when it came to discipline, he was in charge of how, when, and where. He was in charge of how long, based on her reactions and whether he thought his message was getting across.

“Stand up,” he said, righting her and setting her before him. “No, don’t do up your underthings or put down your skirt.” He made her gather her skirts at her waist, then turned her toward the wall with a light push.

“Go stand in the corner with your bottom exposed for a few minutes. Think over why you were punished and what you’ll do differently next time. I’ll tell you when your corner time is over.”

She gave him a tearful, somewhat baleful, glance before complying. Of course, he’d never manage to spank all the spirit out of her. He didn’t wish to.

She moved to the corner behind his desk, near the window. Now and again, she looked out at the lake as she stood, shifting from foot to foot. After a few minutes of watching her fidget, he relented. He could only admire her reddened arse cheeks so long without losing his control.

“Rearrange yourself, sweeting, and come here.”

She gingerly pulled up her pantalettes and fastened them at her waist before letting her skirts down. She dashed away the last of her tears, putting on a brave face as she walked to his side. He pulled her into his lap, holding her close. She held herself stiff at first, avoiding his gaze.

“I didn’t like that,” she said. “It was a real spanking this time, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, a real spanking.”

“I liked the playful ones better.” She shifted on her bottom. “The ones you used to give me at piano lessons.”

He stifled a smile against the top of her head. “You can have those types of spankings again, any time you like.”

“Hmph.” She shook her head, turning her face into his waistcoat. “I never want another spanking.”

“I’m sure you feel that way right now.”

He ran fingers up her back, to the bare curve of her nape, then into her smooth, black hair. A few locks of her upswept style had come loose during her spanking; he tugged one between his fingertips. She was so trusting, so sweet. If she knew the things he wanted to do to her… Her “real” spanking had barely touched the need within him.

He didn’t know how long he could hold off.

She was his wife now. He had a right to her body. So far, he’d petted her, excited her, kissed her between her trembling thighs, but to do more was to risk his careful restraint.

“Look at me,” he said, and she raised her head. “I hope you have a good visit with Rosalind later today.” He brushed aside the last traces of tears. “And I hope the two of you manage to stay out of trouble.”

“Hmph. I suppose we shan’t go on the lake.”

“You may, if you are supervised. Or, if you would like a worse paddling, you may repeat this morning’s actions. That’s entirely up to you.”

She slid off his lap with a pained exhalation and gazed into his eyes. A hint of shyness. A hint of obstinacy he hoped never disappeared, even after a thousand spankings.

“I don’t want a worse paddling,” she said. “The one I had was quite enough.”

“Good. Perhaps we can row on the lake tomorrow,” he said, meaning to make peace. “The two of us, with a footman to help push the boat out.”

“I can push it out. I’m strong enough.”

“You might be.” He raised a single brow. “But don’t go alone again. The same with the fields and forests. No long walks without a maid and footman to accompany you.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it. “Yes, my lord,” she answered with delicious pique.

He stared at his wife’s pouting lips, picturing unwholesome things he might subject them to. He hadn’t imagined she’d tempt him so much.