Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

AUGUSTA

M y body quivers as his fingers dig into my midsection. When I proposed marriage, it was in jest. I merely got caught up in the moment and frustration. Now, I'm not so sure. Being this close to him, feeling the heat of his breath upon my skin… I feel just as hot as when the fires licked at my heels.

Between my thighs, that insistent bundle of nerves pulse, demanding I touch myself. No other male has driven my lusts to this height. One thing is for certain, he's not good for my sanity. Unfortunately, that only makes me want him even more.

What could my brother possibly have against him? What on earth would make him want to cast Portswell away when he smells so intoxicatingly divine? Granted, I'm sure my brother isn't moved by the scent of another male. ‘Twould be odd to have that as a factor.

My mind melts, scattering all thoughts as he leans forward even closer, as if he wants to meld his body with mine. Just as quickly as the sensations wash over me, however, he steps back, putting distance between us. My body screams as he denies me what I so desperately long for.

Even if my mind and heart are not in complete accord that he's the suitor for me, my body wants him. That much is clear. Turning, I study his face, noting the blackness in his gaze. An odd scent surrounds me, as if the clove part of his base smell turns darker, spicier.

"You know not what you ask for, Lady Hunt," he grinds out, sliding his fingers under his cravat to loosen it. "I should not be here with you, let alone punish you."

"Please," I beg, my soul rending at the idea of my poor friend suffering in my stead. "I'll do anything."

"Again," he growls. "You do not understand."

Confusion muddles my brain as I shake my head. "I ask for a punishment. What else is there to know? I've been birched by my brother before. Such a horrid experience, but one I'm well familiar with. Would the butler do worse than that?"

"No. But I would."

My heart stutters for a moment as I place my hand on my chest. "What would be worse than a birching?"

"I will ask you this one last time. Whatever your answer is, it will stand. Do you wish to find out?"

Guilt nearly chokes me as I think of my lady's maid suffering the birches, or worse, on my account. "Please, Your Grace. You must punish me. I beg of you. Allow me to find absolution."

His fingers flex as he looks at me, searching for something I cannot fathom. "Very well then. You will do as I say, exactly as I say. Understood?"

The deep timber of his voice rushes through me, causing more of that infernal liquid to gather. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to dissipate the ache, but it only makes it worse. Resisting the urge to groan aloud, I stand as prim and proper as I can, even though my insides feel as if they are about to combust.

He strides over to the other side of the desk and pushes my brother's chair out of the way. "When your brother birched you, how did he do it?" I go to open my mouth, but he holds up a finger. "I want every little detail. I want to know what you did, why you did it, and every moment of your punishment."

Heat licks my face as I grip my fingers together. "It's rather silly, really. In all honesty, I don't quite feel as if I deserved to be punished."

"Hmmm. But for this infraction you do? Curious. Is it because it was your sin alone and not shared with another you cared about?"

I duck my head, refusing to meet his gaze. "It was an accident. Soon after our parents passed, I was climbing the large tree on our property-"

He holds up his hand. "Climbed a tree? You?"

Attraction turns to irritation as I plant my hands on my hips. "You know full well I'm capable of such. When I was younger, I was all over the trees in our yard. You and Greyson both had to climb up and gather me."

"Well, yes," he sputters. "But you were a child. You mean to tell me, as a grown woman, you're still frolicking about like a common urchin?"

"I'm only eighteen. Not all that much older."

With a sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. "What possessed you to climb the tree?"

Pain lances my heart as I think back to that dark time. Thankfully, as the memories fade, so does the hurt. It's not completely gone, but I can at least revisit past moments and still retain my breath.

"I wanted to be somewhere alone, where no one could find me or bother me. I wanted to be close to the sky so I could speak with my parents. I figured the closer to the heavens I was, the easier it would be for them to hear. I didn't mean to be out that late. I didn't mean to worry him so… He was as wroth as I've ever seen him."

Portswell grips the desk so hard his knuckles turn white. "And he struck you in anger?"

"Oh," I cry out. "Oh no. You misunderstand. He was angry, to be sure. But he waited until the anger had passed. We had a calm, rational discussion, and if I'm being honest, I felt wretched that I caused him even a moment of anxiety. It's only now that I look back on things I can sort of laugh at the whole situation."

"And the punishment?"

"He felt birches were the correct implement. Apparently, Father used them on him as he was growing up. My poor brother fumbled a bit as he had me stand at the desk. That one, right there."

"And your state of dress?"

I blink up at him, confusion muddling my senses. "You cannot expect me to remember what sort of clothes I wore. Why, I fear they aren't even with me anymore. No doubt they've either become worn out or reside at our country estate. That is, if I even still fit them."

Absently, I stroke at the top of my dress, where my breasts swell above the fabric. His eyes follow my movements with far more interest than I ever dared to imagine. Could it be he finds me enticing even if it's just a scant amount?

"I've grown a bit since then. Filled out a bit more."

"I see." His voice is deep and gravelly, sending shards of pleasure down my spine.

"Besides, it's not as if Alphas care all that much of a woman's garments. What an odd question to ask."

He chuckles for a moment before regaining his composure. "That was not quite what I meant, but your answer tells me everything I need to know. What I'm enquiring after is far more memorable than if your dress was made of muslin, taffeta, or any many colors that exist."

"Muslin? What do you know of muslin?" Despite the gravitas of the situation, I find myself bemused that the man even knows the word.

"I don't deal in the fabric, if that is what you're asking, but remember, I do have two sisters and a mother. Such things are freely discussed around the breakfast table."

"Ahh. I should have known. Not nearly as exciting as the alternative."

"And that would be?" He raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking in a ghost of a smile.

"You could be a smuggler. A purveyor of only the finest goods."

"So you think me a pirate? A rapscallion?" This time, there's no hiding the grin on his face.

I answer in kind, giving him a smile of my own. "You could be. You're certainly secretive and reclusive enough."

"That, I am," he agrees, stroking his chin. "And you're stalling."

"That, I am. In truth, I remember the sharp pain as he struck me."

"Your dress did not soften the blow?" He quirks his head to the side, as if listening for a silent answer.

Again, my face heats up as I duck my head. "I was forced to hold them to my body. And seeing as I was just in my morning dress, there wasn't all that much to keep me safe."

"I see. Well, my dear. I do my punishments a bit differently. You will stand at the desk and reach over, gripping the opposite side. Do so now."

As best as I can, I get into position. Heat rushes up my arms as they strain and burn with the effort it takes to hold on to the other side. My breasts smoosh into the wood, forcing my stays to rub against my sensitive nipples.

A soft groan, so slight I barely hear it, escapes my lips and fogs the surface of the desk below. It's agony lying here as the duke rummages through the drawers. Not because of the discomfort of my position, but because I'm aware of just how imposing he is, as well as his mastery over me.

The humiliation of leaning over like this isn't lost on me. Any number of servants could walk in and see me about to be punished. What would they think? Not that any of them should ever know, and not that I should care, but it does make me keenly aware of how I'm in supplication to him, awaiting his judgment.

Eventually, he stands up straight. I crane my neck to watch him loosen his cravat and pull it from his shirt. With that one motion, everything in me clenches. I don't understand it, and yet, it makes me crave him all the more. My mouth dries even as a bit lower, I'm far more scandalously wet.

He places the scrap of cloth onto the desk and slides it toward me with two fingers. "I will be a bit harsher than your brother. Not only did you put your reputation and honor at risk, but you also put your life at risk. I cannot allow you to think that is a good notion. I will not gag you unless you think you need it. Can you take your punishment with quiet dignity, or will I have to restrain you?"

His breathing deepens a bit as he asks that last question. By now, his eyes are pitch black. From what I understand, for an Alpha to look this way means heightened emotion. Normally lustful in nature. That is, if the men I've listened in on are to be believed. Is there a chance I might win him over still?

"I'm waiting. I will have your answer, Lady Hunt."

"Please," I croak out. "If you're going to humiliate me by punishing me like my brother, you might as well use my Christian name. That is, since you do consider me a sister, after all."

It's dangerous to bait him in this way, but some perverse need wants to see his reaction to my words. Somehow, his eyes dilate even further until no hint of light brown shows. Even curiouser, the front of his trousers tent, bulging in the front.

I dare not question after this affliction, seeing as he will probably be mortified to speak of it. It's rather alarming seeing as it's in the same region where I throb down below. Perhaps we both suffer from the same ill effects just in different ways.

If only I paid more attention to the men around me. But then, I didn't often allow my gaze to stray past their vests. There was nothing of import to me down below. Now, I can see I am far more wrong than I ever have been.

Silence continues to stretch between us as Portswell continually balls up the cravat in his fingers, only to release the bit of fabric back against the wood. With slow, aching precision, he attacks the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling up one then the other.

His muscles clench and bunch with each movement, drawing my gaze to the thick, strong veins running the length of his limbs. The virile display he puts on for me makes my body scream out in wanton desire. It doesn't matter that a punishment causes him to reveal his body to me. I'm simply grateful to revel in it before he takes me in hand.

"Ask me again."

My mind blanks as I blink up at him. I find I cannot remember the tenor of our discussion before he scattered my senses. "We were having a discussion?"

"I believe it was your request for what I should call you. You really wish for so intimate a connection before I punish you?"

My mouth dries as I watch his throat bob with emotion. "Please, call me by my Christian name?"

"I that a question or a request? You sound hesitant and unsure."

Clearing my throat, I try again. "Call me by my Christian name."

"If that is what you wish, little Augusta." Hearing my name on his lips makes my insides twist until I fear I cannot breathe. "But whether I call you by your Christian name or not, it will not save you from the wrath of the tawse."

He slaps the leather down against the desk with a solid thwack. I stare at it, my mind puzzling through the sensations it might wield. No one has ever used one on me before. It doesn't seem all that menacing. Not at all like the bundle of birches.

"And this is the fate Lydia would have suffered? Truly?"

"Oh no, my dear little sister, by proxy. She would not suffer nearly as much as you will."