Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

E vangeline caught her breath as Hugh picked her body from the ground and flung her over his shoulders.

The force of impact shocked her, but past the surprise of it all, she felt the flare of victory.

Finally .

This was what she had been craving all along.

He strode to the library and shut the door behind them. The armchair she had been half putting out her back dragging across the floor was beside the fire once more, and he put her down beside it.

"Now you'll learn what it means to defy me," he said. "Remove your clothes."

"Excuse me?"

A grim, cold smile flitted across his face, at odds with the twin flames in his eyes. "You heard me."

"You expect me to do as you command just like that?"

"Would you rather I did it for you?" He cocked an eyebrow. "I won't be gentle."

Aware that her morning dress was one of her favorites, she turned and presented him with the back. "Unlace me, please."

"How formal," he murmured, doing as she had asked. His fingers grazed her spine, and she shivered. "Now turn around."

She did as he commanded, feeling absurdly cool in nothing but her shift. His eyes were darkness and flame; she felt like ashes.

"What next?"

"Next, I want you to remove the remainder of your clothes." The smile he gave was wolfish. "I know you are an expert in that by now."

Well, she had certainly been attempting to claim his attention. She supposed she was glad she had succeeded. But something about his tone, the danger there, made her wonder if she had misstepped. Misjudged the situation. Made an error in thinking she might have the upper hand.

He owned half the north, and now he was looking at her as though he owned her too.

The thought made her breasts ache and heat gather between her legs. Perhaps he would touch her again. Really, that had been her goal, both to punish him and to compel him to touch her again. As she needed.

When she finally stood before him naked, he took his time looking her up and down. He, she noticed, had removed no clothes, and he sprawled in the armchair as though he had all the power in the world.

"Good." His voice was quiet, a mere rasp in the silence. She felt it as though it had brushed against her bare skin. "Now come here, my little wife. Let me show you the result of your foolishness."

Her legs trembled as she obeyed, allowing him to take her wrist and draw her ever closer until she knocked against his knees. Then, in a feat of strength that alarmed and near frightened her, he brought her up and over his knees, holding her there for a long moment. Her chest was braced against the arm of the chair, her legs across the other side, and her backside was plump in the middle of his lap.

A frisson of anticipation ran through her.

"You"—he delivered the first stinging slap—"have made a mockery of my rules, Evangeline."

She recovered her breath, the pain melting into something entirely hotter and more delicious. Her skin burned where he had struck it, and she wasn't sure if she dreaded him doing it again or craved it.

"You drove me to it," she said.

He struck her again, this time harder. "Only the weakest of men blames his shortcomings on another."

She bit her lip, understanding her role was to remain silent and accept the punishment as he delivered it.

But even as she acknowledged that, she couldn't help herself from saying, "Am I to ignore your shortcomings?"

"For that," he said shortly, delivering another slap to her other cheek, "you have added five to the total."

Her buttocks were already burning. She squirmed. "How many is the total?"

"You will address me as ‘sir' when you are in this position." He spanked her again, and again.

Dampness grew between her legs even as she muffled her cries in her hand.

The duke took her hair in his hand and raised her head. "Well? What do you say?"

"Yes, sir," she gasped, eyes watering.

"Good. This is what you deserve for flouting my commands."

He delivered two more punishing blows, targeting the exact same spot each time.

Pain flared, white-hot, and impossible to ignore. With it, the ache between her legs grew stronger.

"And for thinking you can hold power over me."

But she did—even now, splayed like this as she was on his legs, she could feel the effect she had on him. His arousal pressed into her, and she knew that he was deriving as much pleasure from this as she was. Perhaps more.

The thought made her shiver again.

"If I decide to take you, the way a husband takes a wife," he said, his voice a growl, "then I will choose to do so, independent of your actions. Do you understand me? I am not some fish to be baited; a lout with no control over himself."

And yet he was doing this to her. Provoked by her actions.

Was this the same as losing control? She wasn't sure, but she did know for certain that she was utterly powerless in his hands.

"How many are left, sir?" she asked, crying out as he delivered yet another stinging slap.

The pain spread, until it was a peculiar kind of agony, the kind where she was not certain if it was truly pain at all.

Nothing had ever been like this. A potent mix of pleasure and pain so intertwined that she could not be certain where one left off and the other began. It was probably a wicked thing to be so aroused by something so brutal, so primal, so aggressive and cruel, but she could not help the response of her body.

"Three more."

In an unexpected gesture of tenderness, he ran his palm across her sore, aching skin. Her limbs were loose now, relaxed like water as she gave herself over to everything he had planned for her.

"Do you think you can take that, Evie?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I will take everything you have to give."

She might have imagined it, but she thought he groaned under his breath as he spanked her the three remaining times in quick succession. Then all was silent but for her breathing, short and sharp, and the crackling of the fire.

Even in May .

The thought was quickly cast aside by the languidness of her body, the liquid ache between her thighs. Before, she had thought she wanted, but now she was an inferno, burning to the touch, desperate for him to lay his hands on her.

"There," he said into the silence. "Should I leave you to think over your punishment?"

Her only response was to moan, pushing her bottom in the air in the hopes he might touch her again.

Something about the beatings had made her more animal than human, running on instinct alone.

"Tell me what you would like," he said, and ran a finger along her seam, cursing under her breath. "You're dripping, Evangeline."

"Call me Evie," she managed.

"Excuse me?"

"You called me Evie. Please do it again."

He stroked her again, and her legs quivered. "Very well, Evie. We both have a right to be addressed the way we desire."

He slowly pushed a finger inside her, and she arched, quivering and needy, dissolving into nothing but a pool of want for him.

"Please," she repeated.

"What would you like?"

"This. Sir," she added, remembering his command from before. "Like you did in the carriage."

"Ah, but you would like me to finish you this time, correct?" Would you like to know that pleasure?" With her still front-down across him, he parted her legs so he might have better access. "Would you like to fall apart in my arms and know truly what I can do to you? What I can coax from you?"

"Yes. Please."

"Very well. I think I have punished you enough for today." His hand caressed where he had so recently been striking her. "You will wear the bruises from my hand."

The thought was so possessive, so erotic, she almost lost her head. "Do you like that, sir?"

"I like it when you wear the proof of my ownership," he said, his voice lower and rougher. "I would like it better if you wore them where others might see, but not everyone is like us, Evie. Not everyone derives pleasure from pain."

She gasped as another finger joined the first, crooking against her walls until he found a place that brought her the most pleasure. "No?"

"No. Many women would be screaming and trying to escape by now if I had beaten them like that. They would have come to fear me." His other hand reached around now to close about her neck. "Are you afraid of me, Evie?"

Even when he had demonstrated his strength to her in a multitude of ways, she had never been afraid of him. Never feared he would take out his anger on her in a way that she would despise. The time in the carriage had been a memory of pleasure for her. The thought that he might touch her at the dinner party was a heady one, even if she hated how flustered he made her so very easily.

That had been her goal: to prove that she could fluster him, too.

"Never afraid," she said, grinding herself against his fingers. If she could just appease him, he would give her what she had been craving. "I am not afraid of a little pain."

"You are wet for me, Evie. Do you know what that means?"

"It means I am aroused," she guessed.

"Yes. It means you enjoyed what I did to you. The pain awoke something inside you. That same thing, that same pleasure is in me, too. I like hurting you."

His hand withdrew from her and glided smoothly over the burning skin of her buttocks, leaving a trail of moisture behind. "Does that shock you?"

"No," she said honestly. She had already known that—she had felt the evidence of his desire under her. Could still feel it now if she wiggled. "I already knew."

"Clever girl," he murmured, plunging back inside her with his fingers.

She knew, instinctively, that this was not all intimacy had to offer. There was still more he was holding back. But with his hands on her, fingers inside her and thumb moving against her folds in insistent circles, she found she could not concentrate on that fact alone.

"I like to see you like this," he said. "Squirming for me. Say my name, Evie."

"Hugh."

"Again."

"Hugh," she moaned, the heat building inside her. Everything was sensitive, so much. "Please."

"What would you like, love?"

The endearment seared through her. "I want what you denied me the last time."

"Is that so?"

"Please." She writhed under him. "I can't bear it if you deny me again."

He laughed, bending over her even as his hand worked her beyond all endurance. His breath was not against her back. "Beg me again."

"Please, Hugh. I just want it."

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

" Yes ."

He pressed his palm against her core and finally, the heat swelled through her, taking over. Her back arched off his lap as the pleasure broke across her like a cresting wave. This was the sensation she had been searching for, even though she hadn't known what it was until that moment.

His hand continued between her legs until the waves of pleasure diminished and she collapsed, limp and wrung out.

Hugh removed his hand from between her legs and from around her throat. His palm rubbed soothingly across her back, and after everything—the spanking, the forceful way he had brought about her pleasure—this gentleness, this tenderness, was everything she had needed.

Gently, he flipped her around onto her back, so she was looking up into his face. His hand cradled her cheek, and she leaned into the caress.

"Good girl," he said. "You just need to make sure you behave."

"Mm." She closed her eyes, content. "I'll be good if you continue to do this."

He tensed a little under her, enough that she opened her eyes to see a shadow pass across his eyes. The hand on her cheek moved.

"You should put your clothes on again," he said, his tone brusque.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Enough."

Bared as she had been—as she still was, naked against his clothed body—she hated the sight of him closing himself off to her. "Tell me."

His eyes reminded her of a hawk. "There's nothing to discuss."

"You still want me." She shifted against the bulge in his breeches. "Perhaps we could?—"

"You know what sort of marriage this is," he said.

"Convenience."

"Precisely."

"Does that mean you have to stop yourself from…" She frowned, trying to find the words. "What does that mean to you?"

"It means that you should be mindful of the reality." He gave her a little push, not unkindly but making his feelings known. "This is not a marriage we entered with thoughts of lust."

"Perhaps not, but must that mean we may never entertain them?"

His eyes were very dark. "No," he said at last. "That does not mean we do not entertain them. But it would be better all round if we did not."

Her body still humming from all the wonderful, terrible things he had done to it, Evangeline watched as Hugh straightened and walked to the door, leaving her to dress alone.

Before he left, his shoulders hunched as though he regretted his decision, even as he saw it through.