Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

He did not answer my question, but once we reached the bench, he placed one foot upon it then bent me over his knee.

"How dare you? Unhand me!" I hissed through gritted teeth. Shouting from the rooftops would have been preferable, but drawing attention to myself or my indecorous situation was unthinkable.

"It is obvious that you, my little Yankee girl, need a lesson in manners, which is precisely what you are about to receive." Thereupon, the brute swatted my upturned behind.

I can only be thankful for the many layers of my gown because, although shocking, the swat was not painful. "You spank like an old lady. Or a British gentleman. 'Tis hard to tell the difference."

Perhaps lessons in keeping my mouth shut were not out of the question.

A rustle of fabric, and my skirts flipped up over my back and mussed my hair. I struggled against what he intended, particularly irritated over the damage to my coiffure. Two maids had spent an inordinate amount of time arranging my free-spirited locks to meet Mrs. White's specifications. She would not be pleased to see me return to the dance floor with my hair out of place. As she liked to say in response to nearly every question, "It simply is not done."

A cool breeze blew across the slit of my pantalets. I inhaled sharply in response to my exposure to the night air, as well as a stranger, in such a manner. His hand cracked down on my barely covered backside. I gasped with the impact.

"I bet that did not feel like a spanking from an old lady." The cocksure gentleman adjusted my torso for a better angle and landed another swat on my bottom.

"I do not know what you people here call a spanking, but my grandmother spanks harder than that."

Why could I never learn my lesson?

Usually, my manner was not so contrary. Of course, I did not often encounter men who excited my ire so profoundly, either.

I must have had a similar effect on the man who imprisoned me over his knee because he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me closer to restrain my movements, and proceeded to lay into my buttocks in a manner fit to make any grandmother proud.

I lost count of the number of times the swine's hand landed on my upturned cheeks, but he struck repeatedly. My delicate flesh warmed quickly under his assault. I kicked my feet in an attempt to impede his efforts, though rather than slowing him, my resistance made him laugh. "You are quite the little hellion, Yankee girl."

"Stop calling me that." My jaw clenched in anger and resolution.

"Since you have not told me your real name, what choice is there?" Although he exerted himself thoroughly in my punishment, which continued unabated, he spoke as calmly as if he were reading the news.

I am not proud of this, if asked directly to verify its accuracy, I may not be so honest in the future, but I shall confess it here.

While teetering across his knee, I worked up an impressive amount of saliva, which I then projected onto his shoe with both accuracy and delight.

He paused in his efforts to scorch my rump, set me on my feet—my skirts thankfully fell back into place over my throbbing bottom—then stared down at his sputum-adorned shoe.

He bit his lip. For the second time in as many minutes, my own sanity came into question.

I stood next to him, gasping for air because my position across his knee, as well as my own trepidation over the consequences of my actions, had made it difficult to fill my lungs sufficiently.

My captor's hand rested gently on my arm, while I scanned the terrace, considering the possibility of escape. But before I could take action, a familiar voice called me.

"Miss Hancock! There you are. I have been quite frantic in searching for you." Mrs. White, red-faced from exertion coupled with brandy, huffed and puffed in my direction. She took firm hold of my arm. "Hurry, now. You are to dance the next with the Duke of Amherst. He is the prize catch of the season, so you must be on your best behavior."

Stunned she would speak so in front of the oaf who had dragged me onto the terrace in the first place, I peeked around to read his reaction to her words, but he had vanished.

Had the whole thing taken place in my imagination? The burn in my tail end indicated it had been all too real.

I straightened my skirts and patted my hair in preparation for my new dance partner. The bully was gone, along with my thoughts of him.

As we approached the dance floor, the bitter widow squinted at my coiffure and tsked in dismay. "Honestly, Sarah, how did you manage to get your hair into such a frazzle already?"

There was no way to explain to her how hanging upside down over a man's knee made it challenging to maintain one's hairstyle, so I was grateful when she took her attention away from me to focus it on our hostess, Lady Waterford who presented my next partner. "Miss Hancock, please allow me to introduce his grace, the Duke of Amherst. He is most eager to make your acquaintance."

I curtsied like a trained pet, as was expected of me. Glancing up from my lowered position, I stared straight into the smirking face of…Duke Spanked My Rump.

He bowed and gave me a dimpled, devilish grin. "I am pleased to meet you, Miss Hancock."

Unsure of how to answer, yet determined not to let my irritation show, at least not to anyone other than my unwanted partner, I simply nodded in reply before he led me to the dance floor.

I waited stiffly by his side, resolved only to engage with him as mandated by the dance. He had other ideas and turned into quite the chatterbox.

"I apologize for not escorting you back inside, but I feared the reaction of your chaperone might have been unpleasant for both of us." He rubbed his hands together as though they were cold, which is ironic considering the heat they had inflicted upon my tender bottom.

"How thoughtful of you." I glared at him to make my disdain clear, then pointedly turned away from him.

"Had we been found alone together, the scandal would have been sufficient to force a marriage between us," he leaned low and whispered in my ear. The heat of his breath and the sensation of his nearness was quite unsettling and he caught me unawares.

I gasped. "Marriage? Is it not bad enough that you manhandled me, but now you add threats?" My body heated and I was grateful when he stood erect, keeping his unnerving whispers to himself.

"Manhandled? You said I spanked like an old lady." I would swear there was a tone of humor in his voice which made me turn to look at him again.

"You do spank like an old lady, at best. I referred to the manner in which you hauled me away from polite society in an attempt to damage my reputation."

"I believe I did put a little bit of sting to your ‘reputation.'" The bastard had the audacity to wink at me.

"Besides"—he took my small hand and enveloped it in the same hand that minutes before had assaulted my derriere—"I had to attend to my blemished shoe. I certainly could not dance with the most eligible young lady at the ball with spittle on my footwear, now could I?"

His dark gaze held mine. Despite my wish to tell him what he could do with his shoe, the words did not come, my mouth went dry. The dance had begun and I stumbled over a simple step.

His arm encircled my waist and righted me. The pressure of his touch created a strange sensation in my lower regions. One I had never experienced before. Presumably, it was extreme revulsion because what other reaction could such a lout inspire?

He did not miss a step. Several young ladies watched him with admiration. Being a fair and just young lady, I examined him dispassionately, deciding he was a most attractive man— on the outside. But what must the character of such a bully be?

Thankfully, our time together ended. Lord Puffington claimed me for a second dance. This pleased me very much, and the evening ended well, particularly when Duke High and Mighty sat out while I took the floor with Lord Puffington.