Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

BENEDICT

I sit in the plush seat nursing a bit of brandy as the others prattle on beside me. If I had given any thought as to what sort of stag night I saw myself having, sitting around talking about a potential blackmailer was not what I had in mind. Granted, the nubile bodies writhing on the stage seem to hold no appeal for me either.

All the men who are married, plus Norhaven for some reason, seem perfectly fine discussing political matters. Redleigh watches the lithe movements on the stage while keeping half turned to us. On the outside, it might seem as if he's doing his best to give us his attention, but I know better.

Even now, all these years later, he keeps going on about that damned scar and his 'beastly' appearance. As if it's not his mannerisms that drive the woman away and not the scratch on his face. Unfortunately, there's no convincing him otherwise, so I refuse to try anymore.

Whiteport heads up the conversation, but every now and then his gaze flits over and darkens as someone gets a lash taken to their skin. I should feel as they do, but deep inside, all I want is to see Augusta beaming up at me, her eager smile pulling me in even deeper. She was right in that it's good we are together, but I don't wish to give her the satisfaction just yet.

Perhaps once we're finally wed.

My cock hardens as I think of taking her maidenhead tomorrow. After that, she will be all mine, and no one else's. Not even blasted Lord Harhall will have a foothold. Though I believe that they were not co-conspirators from the start, I wouldn't put it past the brigand to maneuver this to his favor.

I only have to wait until tomorrow, and all threat of having this gem stripped from me will vanish. My stomach clenches as I take another swallow of the bitter drink. As long as Augusta doesn't do anything foolish, it should go smoothly.

Hopefully, by being with the other wives, she'll find a calmer spirit about herself. As much as I do enjoy turning her bottom a bright red, I hate that she must always find some way to defy me. I long to give her all the pain and pleasure she desires. If only she'd behave.

My knot tingles for a moment as it swells, pressing hard against my breeches. The fact that her body cannot seem to tolerate my brand of love does give me pause for concern. No one else I've played with has ever drifted like that. It's as if her body can only tolerate so much before it fractures apart.

"Are you even listening?" Whiteport asks, waving his hand in front of my face.

The others snicker and jab at each other with their elbows. "He's no doubt thinking of his wedding night," Foxford teases, leaning back with a smug smile.

"As long as it's better than yours," I retort. "All your guests heard her scream. They may have believed she was in the throes of virginal apoplexy, but we know better."

He scowls and tips back his glass. "She was in one of her angry moods, and I simply had to explain to her who was actually in charge."

For a moment, we all go silent as we sit there deep in thought.

"It's the women, isn't it?" I finally ask with an exasperated sigh.

In unison, Blackport, Birchleigh, and Foxford speak out until I cannot discern who says what.

"Oh, completely."

"Utterly."

"Without a doubt."

"Truthfully, though," Blackport muses, his face sobering. "They, well, I should say my wife at least, enjoys the dominance I display over her body. She'd prefer I be in charge rather than not."

"Same with my wife," Birchleigh agrees, his eyes glittering in the candlelight.

"Mine is a conundrum," Foxford sighs, rolling his glass in his hands. "She enjoys it well enough, but still has that stubborn streak that refuses to quit. Granted, she does keep her mischief more toward me and antics within the home. So most of the time the discipline is more in fun than actual correction."

"That's what I hope with Augusta. Though we are not yet wed, I've had to take her in hand in the absence of her brother. Though I do not mind her spirit, I do worry about her lack of care and knowledge. She's been raised to know and understand what's expected of her, yet she does the opposite."

"Is that why you took her here dressed as a lad?" Whiteport muses, looking over his glass.

My face pales. "You know about that?"

"I heard whispers on the breeze. Nothing you should be concerned with. The identity of your guest is well-hidden. The lovely madam did not betray you, if that is a worry. But knowing you have no friends save us and Lord Hardon, I was a bit suspicious. Your answer confirmed it."

I slump forward and rest my head in my hands. "The chit had the sheer audacity to dress as a man and attend a local gaming hell. Has attended God knows how many times."

Foxford whistles under his breath. I can't tell if he's shocked, impressed, or some odd combination of both.

"She certainly is a bit more carefree than she should be. The other wives should have a calming effect on her. That and your fierce hand will, no doubt, steer her in the way of a duchess. How did she take to your discipline? Is she a good match for you?"

"Though I have not bedded her, if that is what you're inquiring, she seems to practically thrive under my harsh touch. In truth, I'm rather concerned about her reactions to me. She is a conundrum. On the one hand, she craves it, but on the other, she cannot handle it. I do not wish to harm her to a point where we cannot return, but if she continues to vex me… I'm running out of options."

Whiteport narrows his eyes and leans forward. "Explain. Is this something a doctor could probably assist with?"

Helpless for the first time since I can remember, I shrug. "I haven't a clue. It's the most bizarre thing. When I strapped her in her brother's study, she creamed all over her thighs and practically came on the spot. When I took a strap to her here, it's as if her soul left her body. She became lethargic and unresponsive. I can't be harsh with her if it harms her so."

The men stare at me for several moments before one-by-one, they begin to chuckle. Eventually, it turns into a mighty uproar until their laughter is so loud and fierce, others look over and shoot us dirty looks.

"Glad to see my burden is so amusing."

Whiteport wipes his eyes as he forces the laughter to stop. "Are you that daft man? I knew you to be an odd bird, but never expected you to be such a cockwomble."

I grit my teeth at the friendly insult. "Explain. What, in my entire speech, would lead you to say as such."

"Have you never had a woman?"

"Plenty," I grind out. "Your point. Make it."

Again, he wipes his eyes. "You're doing your job and doing it well. I've had a few women separate or disassociate while I have my way with them. It's a common thing with playtime of our proclivities."

This time, my eyes widen. "Truly? You're not playing the farce?"

"Truly." He sobers as he looks at me. "Have you honestly never had such a reaction? Given how hard you play, I would have been certain you had."

"No," I cry out. "And if I had, her reaction wouldn't have startled me so. But then, most of the women I play with, it's more of a visceral session. I'm not prone to impact and beatings like you lot."

Foxford snorts. "Given her reaction, I say you should most certainly keep your implements handy. If she's as willful as you say."

"God strike me down if I speak falsely. I fear she's even more errant than your lady duchess."

"I don't envy you, my friend. I certainly do not envy your navigation into the marriage mart. Seems all of us have been froth with such theatrics and missteps. Surely one of us will not be dragged kicking and screaming down the aisle."

"Speaking of," Norhaven grins. "How do you think the ladies fair? Given that we were unaware she was such a card sharp as you just revealed."

For a moment, the mated men pause as their gazes going hazy a bit. They must be checking in on them through the bound. Once Augusta goes into heat and I can claim her, it will make things far easier.

She won't be able to hide from me like she has. I'll know her thoughts, her desires, and be able to follow her every shifting mood. In truth, it will help me keep a better eye on when she needs my firm hand.

Blackport frowns. "Emma seems a bit uneasy, but then, if you betrothed is taking a lot of coin from her, that will make sense. The poor dear seems so eager to please and so reluctant to get into any real trouble. It means I have to fabricate misdeeds to keep her bottom well warmed."

Foxford rolls his eyes. "Teresa, of course, is brimming with elation and mischief, but that's nothing new."

With a grin, Birchleigh tips back his glass. "Catherine is just happy to be winning more coin than losing."

The others groan as I laugh. "Then I shall be victorious after all."

"I fear that it's no use," Birchleigh laughs. "Whether or not his minx in sheep's clothing does indeed deprive our ladies of their coin, you will still need to put at least a thousand into the coffers."

"Ahh, but if she happens to win three thousand off you lot, then that's still two thousand lining my pockets where there was once none."

The somber air shifts a bit as we joke and tease each other like old times. In truth, until this moment, I didn't realize just how much I missed it. The camaraderie is a balm to my soul. More so, now that I know I can face my bride and wedding night without fear of actually damaging the poor girl, I feel almost in a cheerful disposition.

Across the room, Madame Douleur glides over, her eyes scanning the scene before us. It's not unusual for her to make her rounds, ensuring all is done in good fun. However, when her gaze shifts over to me, my stomach sinks. Her lips are tight and thin, as if she's upset.

Seeing as I have not played with anyone since taking an interest in Augusta, her ire cannot be at me. Unless she's sad I'll be depriving her of my coin. But as she slinks over, turning a kind eye at everyone else until she looks again at our group, my insides twist.

Only one person can cause such a reaction… Augusta.

"Gentlemen," she purrs, resting a hand on the back of a nearby chair. "I believe there is a matter which concerns some of you."

Confusion floods my brain as we all look at each other with mirroring consternation. If it's not just me, then it can't be Augusta. Honestly, it was wrong of me to assume she did anything wrong. The poor girl is probably still home, bored with the other wives, I'm sure.

Whiteport clears his throat. "Is there some ladybird in need of a good bit of discipline? These old married men are not up for the task anymore seeing as their leash is tied elsewhere, but Norhaven, Redleigh, or I are happy to assist."

"Speak for yourself," Norhaven murmurs, taking a long swig of ale.

"Never mind then. My brother seems to be in a fit of pique. Shall I assist?"

Again, her lips press together. "I am in need of Portswell, Foxford, Birchleigh, Blackport, and whoever speaks for one Miss Cynthia Campbell."

My stomach plummets to the floor as we all rise as a collective unit. Something must be the matter. Did the house burn down? Did some other calamity befall them?

For a moment, my vision wavers as the worst possible scenarios flood my brain. Did the person sending the ominous letters descend on them en masse? Far too many questions, and not nearly enough answers.

As we stride down the hallway toward a back area hidden from most guests, my nose picks up a very familiar scent. Fucking ginger and spice. What the devil is that scent doing here, especially after I strictly forbade her from ever stepping foot into this place.

Not just her. As we slide into the room, it's clear from the slight forms huddled in the center that it's not only my fiancée in this den of iniquity, but all the other ladies as well.