Chapter Fourteen Between Us

Chapter Fourteen

Between Us

A ugust was gone when she woke the next morning. She reached to touch him but found only emptiness.

“He’s gotten up early to work in his study,” she told herself, but it was Sunday, and he was not likely to be at weekday tasks.

She felt achy, both in her body and her heart. They’d been so close last night when they’d made love for the first time. They’d seemed magically connected for precious moments, then she had to open her mouth and say the F word.

She’d only meant to reassure August she understood. She hadn’t read his thoughts, at least not intentionally, but she’d felt a push-pull emanating from him and guessed what it was about. It was hard to love someone, then change course and love another, especially when that person had been thrust upon him in an emergency marriage.

A marriage of convenience, truly.

Now she’d mucked up everything. She could always be counted upon to do that. If they hadn’t already been married, she’d have found herself jilted again, she was sure of it. That thought made her glum, so she stayed in bed longer than she was used to, until the maid tapped on the door and asked if she wished for a luncheon tray.

“I will come down,” she said. I will face him , she told herself.

But he was not in the dining room for luncheon. A footman said he was taking lunch in the modeling room, and offered to show her where it was.

“That’s all right. I know where it is,” she lied. She would know soon, anyway. She was sure she could find him because her heart needed to be near his.

She wandered down the hall past the ballroom, to the music room, then beyond it. At the very end of the corridor, she found a door ajar, and knew he was there. She knocked softly, then louder when she got no response.

“I don’t need anything else,” he said. “Or is there a problem with Lady Augustine?”

His face appeared at the door, relaxing somewhat as he saw her.

“There’s no problem,” she said.

“Oh.”

“A footman told me you were at work in your modeling room, and I decided to find you.” She peered over his shoulder. “I was curious.”

He chuckled. “Curiosity is one of your more abiding features.”

His chuckle reassured her that she was not unwelcome after the tension between them last night. Easy moods were one of August’s most abiding features, fortunately for her.

“What sort of modeling are you doing in here?” she asked, looking into his brightly lit workshop. “Sculpture? Topiary?”

He laughed again and led her to the counters along the chamber’s walls. Natural light streamed through a line of windows, falling upon dozens of wooden miniatures. Various fine-handled tools were strewn about.

“Goodness, August,” she said. “Have you made all these?”

“Yes. Carved them. It’s been a hobby for some years.”

She remembered, like something from a dream, receiving trinkets made of wood when she was a young girl, small nesting dolls or painted swans at birthdays and holidays. Her parents had fussed over the masterful workmanship; she’d never realized until now who must have carved the things.

“You didn’t show me this room when I moved in,” she said, standing in the middle of the chamber. “Should I be here?”

“You’re welcome to be here. It’s just a mess.”

It was a mess, but an organized mess. There was a huge table in the center of the room with wood and woodworking tools, sawdust, and brushes, and another counter along the far wall with varnish, paintbrushes, and paint. There were shelves of finished figures, animals and people of all types. She walked along it, amazed. One shelf held several models of manor homes, including a small rendering of St. Pierre, with a detailed carriage and team of horses out front.

“Honestly, I’ve never seen such handicraft.” She touched the carriage, astounded that the wheels moved on carved axles. She turned back to him in wonder. “How do you manage to make them so small, when your fingers are so massive?” Her face went hot at his look, and she dropped her gaze. “I—I imagine it must take a great deal of care.”

“It does.”

She moved past the shelves and work benches, mostly to hide her burning cheeks, then paused beside a high table dotted with sanding paper and painting supplies. There were more figures there, some painted, and some appearing to wait between coats.

“Those are more recently finished,” he said.

“You’ve quite an imagination.” She leaned down to look at a ferocious dragon, and a two-headed beast she thought might be from a mythological tale. She was about to ask which tale when she noticed the knight, rugged and armored, painted in shades of silver that seemed to bring him to life. Just beyond the knight stood a damsel with long black hair and a regal purple gown, and a gold crown set with the tiniest, most sparkling jewels she’d ever seen.

Did he own the same book of Arthurian legends? Did he also dream of ancient love stories and heroic tragedies?

“Is this you? The knight?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s not anyone specific.”

She tapped the princess. “This could be Felicity, with her royal trappings.”

She didn’t know why she said it. Because he’d abandoned her that morning? His answer was curt. “It’s not meant to be Felicity, or anyone in real life.”

“Princess Guinevere?”

“If you like.”

She reached to pick up a hawk, smooth and yet unpainted. She turned it carefully, marveling at the detail in the wings and feathers. “Is it all right to handle them?”

“You already have,” he said. “But it’s all right.”

“Goodness, August. Who taught you such skills?”

“I taught myself. My first attempts were not very impressive, but when you apply yourself to something, you can get better at it.” He shrugged. “I find woodworking quite meditative. Very soothing and still, compared to my life’s other activities.”

She made a soft sound. “If you had marble, you could make a statue good enough for the museums.”

“You flatter me.” He took the hawk from her hand, pinning her with a look. “Why did you pick this up? This particular one?”

She looked at the great many figures upon the tabletop and shrugged. “I don’t know. I find raptors interesting. They’re so fierce and majestic.”

He turned it over in his hand, tracing the bird’s tiny, pointed beak. “I started this hawk in Wales, Elizabeth. The evening after we walked in the woods, and you saw the fires no one else saw. The night you came to me in such distress.”

She remembered that night, and what he’d done to her bottom with the switch. Not that she hadn’t wanted it, as much as it hurt her. “Oh. I didn’t notice it then.”

“I had put it away by the time you arrived.”

She glanced up at him, a sideways look. “What do you wish to say? That I’m using my ‘powers’ again? I did not single out this hawk for any esoteric reason.” She took it back from him and placed it among the others. “And I wasn’t reading your mind last night. Honestly, I can’t do that. I was reading your expression. You look that way when you think about her. You always have.”

“Because I’m in love with her?”

“I… I don’t know.”

His gaze darkened. “Perhaps I was thinking about loving you.” He picked up the purple-clad princess she’d noted earlier, the one beside the stately knight. “This could be Felicity,” he said, showing it to her. “Or it could be you. You both have black hair.”

“Are we that interchangeable?” she murmured.

His laugh did not sound amused.

“I will never be as Felicity was to you,” she told him. “I understand that.”

“You understand nothing,” he said in a clipped voice, “for someone reputed to be so perceptive. Anyway, it’s neither of you. It’s just a woman I carved. The tragic Guinevere of Arthur’s tale, or your mother Guinevere. Why don’t you choose, for I don’t care.”

“You pretend you don’t care.”

“I’m too unrefined to be skilled at pretending. You must know that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are we having a fight, my lord?”

“Again, you’re the perceptive one. What do you think?”

“I think you’re being very prickly, perhaps because I’ve invaded your personal hideaway without invitation. I’m happy to leave.” She turned on her heel and made for the door. She should not have intruded to begin with.

But before she could reach the door, he caught her and turned her toward him. The kiss he imparted felt harsh, an assault rather than affection. She pushed at him, but he held her close until she ceased to resist. His embrace gentled then, a slight bit. It still did not feel comfortable. When he released her, she felt out of breath.

“What do you perceive of that?” he asked.

“Stop speaking of my perceptions.” She stamped her foot, though it made little noise in her soft-soled slipper. “I’ve no doubt it irritates me as much as you are irritated by talk of Felicity.”

“If you know it irritates me, why do you persist in bringing her up?”

“Because… Because I…” She thought, and realized there was no good reason for it, except for her insecurities. “I’ll try to stop doing it.”

“If you don’t, I shall spank you for it. An unpleasant spanking, not the fun sort.” She stared at his lips as he gestured between them. “There are two of us in this marriage, you and me. That’s it. Felicity is not a part of it. Not in any way. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Perfectly. If that’s what you say.”

Again, she made to leave. Again, he stopped her.

“I’ll show you tonight that it’s just between us, Elizabeth. Whatever it takes, I’ll show you.”

“Very well, my lord.” She could not hold his hot gaze for very long. This was an August she didn’t know well, as much as she’d intentionally piqued his temper. “For now, I shall have a walk outdoors, if you’ll grant me leave.”

He released her, giving tacit assent.

“Oh, but I must inconvenience your servants to accompany me. What a bother.” She wondered how far she could push him. His expression showed she was close to the line.

“My servants are at your command,” he replied curtly, “and I’ve explained my preference in the matter. I’m certain you will comply. You are an intelligent woman, darling.”

She left, wondering if that was true.

Intelligent? Perhaps, but not always wise.

*

August knew he should not visit her that night. His feelings toward her—his sexual feelings—felt jagged and hot as lightning, particularly after their tussle that afternoon. And making love to her the night before had whetted an appetite he’d pretended was dull.

But it was not dull. His attraction to her was avid, emphatic, and perpetual. His fantasies grew more lurid each time she smiled at him or tossed her dark hair. The real problem was, she would deny him nothing he wished for, and he knew it.

The reserve must rest in him, and it was not there.

He should not go to her this night.

But he did, at the accustomed time.

He knocked and entered to her soft “Come in.” She awaited him in one of her ridiculously innocent white nightgowns. He must buy her something more daring when they moved to London for the Season…something black or gold. Something red. Something striking and risqué. Of course, word might get back to her father or brother that he was buying clothes for a mistress.

His mistress was history. He never even thought of her, could barely remember her name. What he’d felt for her was a scant iota of what he felt for Elizabeth.

She tore her gaze from a book opened in her lap. “August, come look. I thought of this today in your modeling room.”

He strode to the bed, resisting the urge to strip off his robe, toss the book aside, and fall on her. “What’s this?” He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted the volume, and read the spine. “ The Legends of Arthur the King . Is this from my library?”

“No, it’s my book from home. Mama and Papa gave it to me as a gift years ago.” She took the volume back and turned to an illustration of a knight in dark pencil. “Doesn’t this look just like the knight you made?”

“Indeed, it does. Is this Arthur or Lancelot?”

“It doesn’t specify. It might be one of the other knights.”

“I see.” He took it from her, closing it and setting it on the side table. “Perhaps we can discuss Arthurian legends later. I’d like to talk about our conversation earlier today in my modeling room.”

“Goodness.” She forced a smile. “I still can’t get over how talented you are.”

“That’s not what I want to discuss.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate indeed.” He must not become sidetracked by her wide eyes, her pouting lips. “I’ve wanted to spank you all day, Elizabeth, for antagonizing me and making me cross.”

“I didn’t mean to do that. If I even did.”

“You did.” He must be stern with her. “What do you deserve as punishment?”

“Nothing. You’re being rather unfair.” She lowered her head, then looked back at him in accusation. “You antagonized me, too.”

“We exchanged cross words, but most of the trespasses were yours.”

Of course, her main trespass had been throwing Felicity in his face again. She knew he didn’t like it. He lifted her, blasted nightgown and all, and forced her resisting figure over his lap. “I don’t mean to quash your spirit, darling, but you must have a care in our relationship. You mustn’t bait me and…speak of her.”

“How can I not?” she said, pulling her gown down even as he hiked it up. “How can I not speak of her, when she was such a part of your life?”

“Because I’ve asked you not to! I’ve asked it more than once.”

He collected her flailing arms at her back and landed a spank over her pantalettes, then removed them from her squirming bottom and tossed them across the room. “You’re no longer to wear any pantalettes to bed. Ever.”

“Why not?”

“Because I forbid it. Because they get in my way when I want to punish you.” And fuck you. And drive a big, smarting plug of ginger into your naughty arsehole.

“You can’t spank me now ,” she protested. “Not here in my bed, as I’m preparing to sleep.”

He disproved that misguided theory with another series of smacks upon her pert cheeks.

“I’m your husband now.” Smack. “That means I can spank you wherever and whenever I see fit, whenever I think you need it.” Smack. Smack. “We’ve discussed this already.”

“Such domineering tactics won’t change my behavior.” She cried out as his palm connected again. “In fact, it will only make me antagonize you more.”

He paused, rubbing his palm across her heated arse. “So, you admit you antagonized me?”

“I admit nothing. You were cross this morning, too. Very cross and prickly. Ow! ” She kicked her legs as he landed several stinging spanks in a row. “Perhaps I was a bit impertinent this morning…” she admitted, voice trembling.

“A bit?”

He felt her body tense as he increased the tempo—and velocity—of blows. Now and again, a wail escaped amidst her agonized huffs of protest.

Surely she understood that only drove him on.

“I won’t speak of her again, then,” she cried when he stopped to rest his hand. “I’ll never say her name. I won’t say anything to you at all, forever, if you wish.”

“You know that’s not what I wish.”

His fingers curved around one reddened buttock. Her breath hitched as he dipped a finger between her pussy lips. He wanted to see if she was wet.

She was.

I should not be spanking her right now. I want her too badly.

“I want you to speak your mind, Elizabeth, whenever you please. But when you cross a line…” Smack. “I’ll spank you for it.” Smack. “You know very well where that line is.” Smack. “Though I’m happy to continue spanking you if you choose to feign ignorance.” Smack. “Lord knows I enjoy spanking you. You enjoy it too.”

“I don’t!” She tried to twist away from the stinging blows. “Not at all.”

He paused with a growl of derision. “So you continued coming to piano lessons with me to learn music, and not to be spanked?”

“Yes. I mean, no.”

He could point out how wet she was, but that would be uncouth. Instead he began to belabor her bottom again, while she tossed about and made more noises that had him going hard. Smack. Smack. Smack. Her arse was so round and supple, so fun to punish.

“Oh, August, please, my bottom’s on fire,” she begged. “You’re hurting me. You’re humiliating me.”

You do not know humiliation yet. He left off spanking her to squeeze her bottom, then spread her arse cheeks open with his finger and thumb. She went still, hiding her face against his leg. He imagined his innocent minx was in full blush.

“Next time you are impertinent,” he said, “I shall have a footman bring a width of ginger to push into your bottom hole, to sting you and really make you kick as you’re spanked.”

“No.” Her voice was muffled, her face still hidden. “You wouldn’t.”

“You’ll soon realize I would.” He released her spread cheeks, musing. “I must remind the gardener to double next season’s greenhouse crop.”

She wailed as he began again, spanking her in a way to keep her just at the edge between pain and true torment. He wanted her to like it—she did like it—but also not like it. He wished her to be hot and aching in more ways than one when he fucked her mere moments from now.

“ Oww . Please. I can’t bear much more.” She tried to free her hands, to cover her heated arse cheeks, but he wouldn’t let her. “Fortenbury would not have been like this,” she cried. “Spankings at bedtime instead of love play…and horrid threats of ginger. He would have been more of a gentleman.”

It seemed to him she asked for more punishment, with yet more impertinence. Throwing Fortenbury in his face? What was that if not a challenge? He set her on her feet and strode to the door, to summon a footman in the hall. By the time he returned, she looked very pale, rooted to the spot where he’d left her.

“I told you, earlier today, that I would show you,” he said, working to govern his temper. “That I would show you what is between us.”

“August—”

“The two of us.” He stepped closer, gesturing between them. “You and me. No one else. Not Felicity or Fortenbury or any other interloper whose goddamned name begins with the letter F.”

Her eyes went wide at his profanity, her breath coming fast. She reached back to rub her bottom through her white gown. Her expression communicated shame and reckless outrage in one. “I did not mean what I said about Fortenbury.”

“That he would be kinder than me? More of a gentleman ?”

“I know. They were silly words.”

“Ridiculous words, honestly. A gentleman does not leave a lady at the altar.”

He saw her flinch and regretted saying it. Reminding her. He did not utter the opposite truth, that a gentleman would rescue a lady left at the altar. He did not have to. She was here, now. His wife. His .

He pitched his voice to stern reproof. “We both know you would have been miserable with Fortenbury.”

“Yes. I’m sorry I said it. I was angry about the spanking.”

“Go stand in the corner for a bit, to collect yourself,” he said, pointing a finger. “That’s right, with your gown held up at your waist.” Once she turned from him, he gave up all pretense of discipline and just stared at her gorgeous, exposed arse.

Good God. He was so hard for her, so fucking hard . His cock throbbed from the submissive way she held her hands together, staring at the wall. He forced his voice to steadiness.

“While you stand there, darling, perhaps think about the future consequences of silly, impulsive words.”

He perversely hoped she would be silly and impulsive forever, so he could spank her forever. She shifted on her bare feet as silent minutes passed. Now and again, he heard a sniffle.

He was going to lose it. He had to master his darker urges. Tonight was meant to be a lesson—that she must not disrespect him, yes. That was part of the lesson. But the other part was that he wanted her and only her. Not Felicity.

He wanted her like he wanted air. He wanted to spoil her, please her. Torment her. Make her cry. As if on cue, the footman knocked at the door. August went to fetch the platter containing a knife and a healthy ginger root, shaved into a thick, flanged plug at his direction. He took up the knife and quickly worked it further, feathering the plug’s surface to release the maximum flood of juices to irritate his impertinent wife’s arsehole.

She would not like this.

But perhaps, a little, she would.

“Corner time is done. Come here.” When she turned, he beckoned her, holding the ginger aloft.

“You cannot mean to…”

Her voice trailed off, because of course he meant to. He could see the calculations in her countenance. Beg for mercy? Pointless. Try to run away? He would catch her. Try to reason with him? In matters of discipline, he did what he wanted. She must realize that by now.

In the end, she came to him and accepted it when he pulled her back into position across his lap. He flipped her hem up a second time and parted her tensing arse cheeks.

“Must you do this?” she asked in a tremulous whimper.

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid it will hurt.”

“It won’t hurt,” he said. “But it will sting.”

“Oh—” She pulled her hand away from his, to cover her bottom. “Won’t it hurt g-going in?”

He recaptured her hand, holding it tighter. “If you resist, it might. If you relax and accept it, it will slide in without much trouble.”

This was more of the continuum, to put smaller things in her arsehole, then build to less-small things, then larger things, because he dreamed of fucking her there one day. It would be difficult, it would take time and training, but he knew it was possible. If she could accept random spankings and smarting ginger, she could accept more…and more…

Arousal engulfed him as he pressed the ginger against her tight, spasming hole. A tease, a torment. She gave an aggrieved whimper as he slowly breached her. In and out, deeper each time. She was a ball of tautness, moaning softly until he succeeded in shoving the narrow plug all the way home.

“There now. It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

She shook her head, quivering all over. “It doesn’t hurt. But I feel…embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“It’s such a…private…place.”

“All your private places are mine now, to do with as I wish. Do you understand me? Answer me. Yes, sir. ”

“Yes, sir,” she said, squeezing on the plug as he prodded it deeper a few times. Lovely. She was unbearably lovely. He stroked her hair and let her accustom herself to the intrusion—and the growing discomfort.

“It feels hot,” she said, plaintive. “Oh, I don’t like it. It stings.”

“It’s supposed to.”

He began to spank her again, as hard as he had before, only now she jerked and squeezed on the ginger in her bottom and suffered the resulting irritation.

“Oh. Oww. Please.”

She kicked and struggled, but to no avail, for he just held her tighter. When her hand flew back a second time, he caught her arm and trapped her fast . Smack. Smack. Smack. He spanked her with the ginger in her bottom until she was out of breath, until her squirming reached a fever pitch, then stopped to caress and squeeze her arse.

“Do you hate it, Elizabeth?”

“Yes,” she answered softly, but it was not a real yes.

He slid his hand over the ginger, shoving it deeper, moving it in and out. Her hips moved too, in a tight, jerking rhythm. He traced lower between her legs, to her pussy, finding it copiously wet.

No, she did not hate this. She didn’t hate any of this. He shoved a finger inside her soaked pussy, roughly, not gently, and used his thumb to work the ginger in her arse at the same time. The noises she made…the stifled, agonized groans…

Fortenbury never could have made you feel this way , he thought. And that would have been a shame.

With a growl of forceful desire, he turned her in his lap, brought her upright to face him, and parted his robe to unleash his jutting cock.

“Are you…putting it inside me again?” she asked.

“Yes. Deep inside you.” He brushed her tousled hair back, noted her trembling lips. “Darling, it should be easier this time.”

“W-will you go slow?”

“Yes.” He positioned her over his swollen cock. “Trust me. Let me inside you.”

Ah, God, it killed him to go slow. Carefully, he drove in bit by bit, pulling her down upon his thick organ, impaling her. Her wetness eased the way. She whimpered as he seated himself as deep as her body allowed.

“All right?” he asked, with what little breath he could muster.

“I’m all right,” she said. “You still feel very big.”

And you still feel very tight…

He lifted her, then plunged inside her again. Careful. Don’t be rough. The feel of her hot pussy enveloping him… it drove him to madness. He threw back his head, teeth clenched in sensitized agony, as she clutched the front of his robe for purchase. He knew he shouldn’t grip her waist so hard, but he needed to surge inside her, shove himself inside her, as deep as he could possibly go.

He forced himself to release his grip moments later, only so he could pull her nightgown up and off. He sucked at her bared breasts and carried on fucking her, biting her nipples to feel her squeeze on his length.

“You understand now?” he hissed against her ear. “You understand what’s between us?”

“Oh, August. Yes, please!”

He didn’t know if she meant yes, please, I understand , or oh please, fuck me harder . He knew whenever he shoved the ginger deeper, she shuddered and squeezed her pussy on his cock. He splayed his hand over her hot arse and fucked her with the ginger plug as he fucked her with his pulsing member.

“It stings,” she cried, her breath hot against his ear. “Oh, August. Ohhh. ”

And the ohhh was a sound of ecstasy as she reached her crisis. He was not done, could not be done with her yet. She writhed against him as he fucked on, not sure he would ever get enough of her. Her cries rose to a second climax a minute or two after the first, and then, finally, he came to his own completion, so intensely and sensationally he feared he might die.

She collapsed against his chest, spent. He supported her, holding her close, even though every muscle and joint in him felt ready to dissolve. He stroked her hair, parting the fine, fragrant strands that hung down her back and curled into waves at the end.

Mine. My wife. All mine.

As sanity returned, as his racing heart slowed, guilt washed over him, stemming his elation.

What on earth had he just done? What kind of degenerate demon was he, to visit such perversities upon Elizabeth a mere day after he’d taken her virginity? She could still be sore and tender from that experience, and he’d just fucked her hard and deep—with ginger in her arse.

“My God. Elizabeth…”

“Yes?” She lay against him, breathless. Vulnerable. Infinitely trusting, though he couldn’t imagine why.

“Elizabeth… Darling…”

How could she trust him? Rest in his arms this way? He’d been right to hold off fucking her for so long. He shouldn’t have taken her virginity yesterday. If he had any honor, he would never touch her again.

“August.” She sighed his name, twitching her hips.

God help him, he wasn’t capable of resisting her. No chance.

But he must guard his control going forward, hone it to a fine point to prevent himself from harming her. Because having more of her, more of her body, more of his perversion, had not satisfied him. It merely made him burn hotter, burn wilder with the desire to consume her completely. He mustn’t hurt her, despite the violence of his hunger.

“August. You told me I liked this rough sort of love play,” she murmured, her lips at his ear. “And I denied it, but…” Her voice hitched a little. “I’m afraid I do. I do like it.”

“Oh, darling. You mustn’t be afraid.”

“I don’t know why.” She sounded afraid. “Why do I like it when you spank me? When you join with me so fiercely?”

“If I knew the why of any of these things…” He shook his head, pressed his forehead to hers. “It doesn’t matter, sweeting. The why doesn’t matter. Only that you trust me and you are all right. Are you all right?”

“Of course. Yes. But…” She gave a soft laugh. “The ginger still burns.”

He loved that it still burned. He loved that she still squirmed from it, little tension lines deepening between her green eyes. He was a sadist, truly.

But somehow, by some miracle, Elizabeth didn’t mind the suffering he visited upon her. He would never have imagined he might find a wife so suited to him, and that that wife would be his friend’s little sister. It seemed wrong, but it felt so right.

“I need you again,” he said, shrugging off his robe and pushing her down on the bed. “I’m ready again, now, and I need you.”

She surrendered without argument.

He was a monster. A beast. He left the ginger in.