Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

G erard passed a restless night, and the morning found him feeling discombobulated.

He had not meant to kiss Seraphina in the manner that he had during dinner. He had only meant to teach her a lesson. Show her that he was still in charge, in spite of the loose rein he had given her. He could not have said what had happened, to make him plunder her mouth the way he did.

The feeling of his controlled slipping and sliding out of his grasp had been disconcerting and the only thing he could think to do to get it back was leave. Of course this was not something he could explain to Seraphina. He did not think that it was something he needed to explain. She was not entitled to his thoughts and feelings.

But he could concede that perhaps he had been a bit… abrupt at their meeting in the morning. He did not like to feel cornered or confronted, especially by a woman he hardly knew. He was taken aback by her presumption, bewildered by her gall.

How was she audacious enough to confront him about such a thing?

Such a shy and retiring girl as she had been when they met, seemed to have grown into a grasping and impertinent woman. Gerard was not sure what to do about it. He had no doubt that his wife was extremely upset with him and was not surprised when he found that she had left the house.

He went into the dining room in search of a cup of tea and found his uncle at his breakfast.

"Well, good morning to you," Uncle Erasmus said with a flick of his brow, "I understand both you and your wife have been out and about early."

Gerard spared him a look. "Is that a crime now?"

"No, no. You are free to do as you please of course, but I would have thought that with her husband in residence, Her Grace would spend more time attending to you rather than gallivanting about the city."

Gerard snorted. "And what would you know about what wives get up to?" he asked.

"When a man is troubled, it is his wife's duty to soothe the troubled beast—" Lord Astor began.

Gerard shook his head emphatically. "Kindly do not speak about my wife. Our behavior is none of your concern."

Lord Astor looked put out, but he did stop speaking so Gerard took it as a win. To placate his uncle's pride, Gerard decided to sit down and have breakfast with him. They ate in silence, both reading a morning paper, and occasionally reporting to the other whatever interesting tidbits they might discover.

"London is obsessed with gossip and appearance." Lord Astor said, shaking his head. "It is a very different proposition from Irondale."

Gerard gave him a sidelong glance, "Why does it worry you? Do you mean to throw your hat in the ring and challenge for a bride, after all these years?"

Lord Astor laughed. "Not at all. I leave that to you. However, it would be wise of you to socialize. That is the best way to strengthen your connections."

"I know that, Uncle Erasmus," Gerard said in a long-suffering tone.

"Good. Perhaps Her Grace can use some of her entertaining skills to host an event in your honor."

Gerard just rolled his eyes and shook his head at his uncle's persistence. A footman stepped in the room tray in hand. "You have received a letter, Your Grace," he announced as he held out the tray.

Gerard peered at the paper sitting in the middle of the tray but did not recognize the writing. He picked it up and broke the seal, reading the invitation.

He looked up at his uncle. "We have been invited to a ball."

Uncle Erasmus's face lit up. "That is excellent."

Gerard snorted shaking his head, "I have no intention of attending. What a waste of time that would be."

"You cannot be serious. It is the perfect opportunity to see and be seen. You must take it. For the sake of the duchy, if not your own sake."

"We are not in such dire need of attention, Uncle Erasmus. We have done fine without it for the last year."

"I guarantee you the ton will have questions, and should you not appear to them, they will take it upon themselves to answer those questions. Trust me, you do not want nasty rumors floating around about you. Especially if they're not true."

Gerard laughed. "Questions? What questions? I went to school with these people, they knew my father, they knew my uncle, and they know me."

"They knew your father as a military man—sharp and aloof. They knew your uncle for a recluse, and they certainly did not expect you to inherit his title. You, they have known as a rakehell, who disappeared into the country once you inherited a title leaving your new wife in the city. Do not try to tell yourself they won't have questions."

"Well, I am not obliged to answer them. And hearing you put it like that makes me want to attend this ball even less."

"Sometimes our desires are superseded by duty, my lad."

Gerard loved his uncle. Erasmus was the younger brother to his late mother, a poignant yet vibrant reminder of her. He had taken Gerard under his wing, when he felt lost and adrift after his mother's death. But sometimes he felt like his uncle still saw him as that lost eleven-year-old, and not the adult that he was.

With a long sigh, he turned his attention to his meal.

Having alternated between Uncle Erasmus, hovering anxiously over him and his father, training him as if he was a soldier, Gerard had learned to adapt quickly and pivot his behavior as needed.

When he was with his father, he was a soldier. When he was with his uncle, he was a child. But when he was with his friends, Dorian and Leo, he could let all that pressure go and just live, wildly and free.

As a result of his upbringing, he sometimes wondered if he was truly an individual or simply a collection of paternal expectations he could never quite live up to.

He knew he could not afford to fail the duchy. Too many people relied on its largesse including his uncle, his wife and his myriads of dependents from tenants to workers. The thought of failure terrified him—so much so that he was sometimes frozen with it.

He had no energy left to contend with a wife's needs. There too, he felt like a failure.

Of all the lessons he'd learned in his life, his father's training of him to always have control, never lead with emotion and maintain strict discipline was the most deeply ingrained. It was only natural for him to pull on those lessons when facing his most daunting task yet.

If he could control the workings of the duchy, if he could control his wife, then everything would be fine.

Perhaps he hadn't given it enough thought before he married Seraphina. Perhaps he had been wrong not to give them time to get to know each other. To really get used to the prospect of marriage. But he had been thinking about fulfilling duty and not the reality of having a wife on a daily basis. He could admit that he was not as prepared for that assignment as he could be. His mother had died when young, his father had imparted no lessons on how to treat a wife. His uncles were both bachelors.

If he was honest, he had no idea how to proceed with Seraphina.

What's done is done now. But until I know how to proceed, it's best to keep my distance.

His sleep was still fitful, and he woke up feeling unrested and irritable. He had heard as Seraphina came in the day before, just before supper time. In a gesture of annoyance at her prolonged absence, he elected to have supper at his study desk.

The fact that she did not seek him out was a source of further annoyance to him.

This morning he had watched as her lady's maid made up a tray to take up to her chambers. Clearly, Seraphina would not be joining them for breakfast. Thankfully, Uncle Erasmus kept his counsel to himself. Gerard did not think that he would be able to take another rant about his marriage.

After breakfast, he went to his study in anticipation of the arrival of his steward, Mr. Johnson. He was gratified that the man was on time, and they were able to get down to business right away.

"How is the harvest? Have you managed to get all the wheat in?"

"When I left there were two acres of land still left to go, but I anticipate that by now they should be finished and the wheat on its way to the distillery."

Gerard nodded with satisfaction. He was quite sure that the quality of whiskey they were producing was at least commensurate with any that came down from the Scottish Highlands. The project was his brainchild, and he was quite happy with how it was going.

"We also had a calving the day after you left. A young bull."

"Excellent. That means extra milk for market."

"Indeed, sir," Mr. Johnson smiled. "The ice house is proving very useful in enabling us to keep the milk fresh for longer, although Mrs. Fitz urged me to tell you of her intention to make a batch of cheese with the stored milk."

"I would have thought she had enough on her plate running the household. Surely, she will not have time to produce cheese in commercial quantities."

"She feels fairly confident that we can do a fair trade around the village."

"Mmm," Gerard said skeptically. "We shall see. Now, shall we get down to the books? I noticed a slight discrepancy between income and expenditure on last year's rent collection. I have not been able to identify the source of this discrepancy. Are you able to explain it?"

Mr. Johnson bent over the books, squinting at the numbers, as he mumbled to himself.

Finally he straightened up, "I'm not sure, Your Grace, but I believe it may have been due to the wave of influenza that swept through the tenants who have their properties near the river. Some may have come up short on the rents and you very graciously agreed to roll them over to the next financial year."

Gerard frowned.

He remembered the wave of sickness that had afflicted some of his tenants, but he could not remember what he had decided to do about it. He could not imagine that he had said that it should roll over to the next year.

He pointed to the books, "Make a note Mr. Johnson, that that debt is forgiven. We do not need to burden them additionally when they have been very consistent on payment."

"Yes, Your Grace." Mr. Johnson ducked down, writing briskly.

He then presented a report on the other properties in Gerard's portfolio. It seemed as though everything was going smoothly, which in itself was worrying. He did not like to think that anyone could be hiding anything from him.

"Did you visit each property personally, or did you merely receive a report?" he asked his steward.

"I have managed to visit about half of the properties. I intend to visit the other half before the end of summer."

Gerard nodded, clapping him approvingly on the back. "Good man. I shall await your report."

Mr. Johnson smiled. "Yes, Your Grace."

"You are excused. If you're hungry, I believe there is still breakfast being served."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I came first thing from the stagecoach. I could certainly use a hearty breakfast."

Gerard rang the bell, and a footman came in. "See that Mister Johnson gets some breakfast and a chamber in which to rest and freshen up," he told the man.

With the last nod at Gerard, Mr. Johnson left with the footman.

The duke was just thinking of going out for a walk, when the mail came in. He decided to look it over in case there was anything that needed an urgent reply before he left the house.

To his surprise, there was a bill from a modiste.

After their talk, Gerard had assumed that Seraphina would at least refrain from spending money while he was in residence.

He reached for his bell and rang it irritably. A footman appeared in moments. "Send for my wife please," he said imperiously.

The footman bowed. "Yes, Your Grace." He hurried off as if sensing the urgency of Gerard's anger.

Gerard paced up and down as he waited, the invoice in his hand.

It took Seraphina more than half an hour to appear and in that time Gerard's anger had grown into utter rage. He whirled around to face her as she stepped in the room, her hair meticulously coiffed, wearing a morning gown of cloudy grey, and tiny pearl earbobs in her ears. She looked very well put together, which further angered him.

He brandished the invoice in her face. "What the hell is this?"

Her brow furrowed, as she blinked in confusion. "How should I know?"

He glared at her, before thrusting the paper into her hands. She unfolded it and then read it. "Oh, it's the invoice from the dressmaker. That was fast."

His eyes narrowed. "The invoice from the dressmaker. Why do you need so many new gowns?"

"They're not for me. They are for my sister. She's coming out this year."

"Is that a fact? And has she no father to pay for her clothes?"

Seraphina gave a deep sigh, tilting her head to the side as she gave him a look. "My father is not in a position to help Tessa at this time. You, on the other hand, are. She is your sister-in-law, why would you not want to help her?"

"Perhaps I would prefer to be asked first," Gerard yelled.

Seraphina flinched. "I did mean to speak with you about it, but you were simply not approachable."

He growled, "And when pray tell did you try to approach me?"

"I came to you yesterday morning, and you were curt and dismissive."

"So you decided to punish me with a shopping spree?"

"Of course not. I already meant to get my sister those clothes," she said boldly, her chin jutted out in challenge.

He grabbed her jaw, cupping it tightly in his big hands, and squeezed it. She made a sound of distress.

"It seems," he gritted through his teeth, "that you do not know your place. I'm afraid I shall have to punish you for your insubordination."

"I-I b-beg your pardon?" Her eyes flashed at him in anger.

He smiled grimly, "You heard me."

"What do you mean to do?"

For the first time he could see fear in her eyes. It filled him with conflicted feelings; while he wanted Seraphina to respect him, he wasn't sure the he wanted her to be afraid of him.

He pushed her up against the wall, letting his eyes travel along her long neck and down the neckline of her dress to the dark shadowy place where her cleavage converged.

The creamy swell of her breasts looked soft and malleable. He felt as if he could lay his head upon them, and they would cradle him better than any pillow. But that wasn't what he wanted at the moment. He bent forward slowly, reveling the way her eyes followed him, filled with a mixture of fear and curiosity. He buried his nose against her neck, breathing her in, before nipping at her skin.

She jumped, trying to jerk away from him, but he still had a firm hold on her jaw. He moved his hands downwards, following the shape of her, from jaw to neck to shoulders before closing his hands on her arms.

She was panting shallowly, her pale skin flushed, bosom heaving. He wondered if she was aroused or terrified. The very thought had him swelling in his breeches. He massaged her arms, leaning in again and fixing his teeth on the skin of her neck. He sucked a bruise into her skin, listening to her whimper with something like delight.

When she tried to move, he tightened his hold on her arms, wordlessly telling her to keep still.

He lifted his head to look in her eyes. "I will give you one chance to choose your punishment. Will you be spanked, or would you prefer returning all the gowns that you bought?"

She gave him a defiant look. "You don't scare me."

He grinned, "Oh, don't I? Then why would you bother to say so when nobody asked?"

She blanched, her skin going pale before filling with color.

"Will you choose, or shall I choose for you?" he asked in a low voice.

"Spank me," she said, her voice hoarse.

He gave her a smile. "As you wish."

He picked her up very suddenly and she squeaked in surprise. Slinging her over his shoulder, he walked over to the bench and sat down. Then he swung her around and placed her on his lap.

She screamed, her arms flailing. "What are you doing?" she squealed.

He laughed. "I am doing as you asked."

He caught hold of her gown pushing it up to expose her bare legs and then her bottom. She began to squirm and struggle, murmuring incomprehensible words of anger. "... me alone…" he heard, but he paid her no mind.

He slammed his hand down on her bottom and then squeezed hard. "Stay still," he ordered even as she squeaked and jerked away from him.

He spanked her one more time. "I said stay still."

Finally she seemed to have heard him and stopped squirming.

"All right, twenty hits on each buttock should do it. I want you to count for me," he said.

"Go to hell!" she cried angrily.

"The more you stretch this out, the longer it will take. Now will you count for me?"

She let out an angry sigh. "Fine. I will count."

"Good girl," he said before spanking the right side of her bottom hard enough to make it redden.

She squeaked and jerked in his lap, but he held her down effortlessly with one hand as he waited.

"O-one," she said, unable to hide the excitement in her stutter.

"Good," he said and then spanked her left bottom cheek.

She cried out, before saying, "T-two!"

"Ah, ah." He raised a finger, "That was the first on your left cheek."

She stared at him in puzzlement for a minute before she understood what he was saying. "Oh. One."

"Good girl." He spanked her on her right bottom, his hand stinging with the force of the blow.

She gasped, "T-two."

"Very good."

He continued to spank her, first one cheek and then the other, enjoying how her flesh reddened and swelled. She would not soon forget. There was something about her gasps though, that sounded more than pained. When he reached ten spankings, he spread her legs slightly, running his middle finger up and down the parting of her flesh.

She was wet.

His brow furrowed as he thought about what this might mean. She made a whimpering sound, and he came back to himself, spanking her on the right cheek, then pausing to wait for her count.

"E-E-Eleven," she whispered.

He spanked her left cheek and then plunged his middle finger into her wetness. She moaned and spasmed.

"Number?" he asked.

"El-eleven."

"Good."

He continued to spank her until they reached twenty. By then she was panting shallowly, her legs spasming now and then. He caressed her bottom, rubbing it gently to soothe the burning, before he began to massage, his fingers brushing occasionally against her swollen wet nub.

She squirmed in his lap, giving out helpless moaning cries now and then, as if unable to keep them in. He pressed down harder, using strength to massage her buttocks, but brushing only lightly, against her inner flesh—enough to arouse, but not to satisfy.

Her body began to undulate against him, as she spread her legs wider in invitation. He was as hard as a rock, but he knew he would not be taking her up on her offer.

This was meant to be a punishment, not a reward. And even if he ended up punishing himself, he was not about to relent.

"Touch me please," she murmured into his lap, practically pushing her buttocks into his hands.

He slackened his grip so that he was merely loosely placing his palm on her flesh. She groaned in frustration—he could sympathize with the sentiment. His own body was burning with the lust. But his stubbornness trumped all. He was teaching her a lesson, and he would have stop until she had learnt it.

Slowly he pushed her off his lap. She dropped to the floor, letting her gown settle around her, even as she stayed crouched looking up at him with hungry eyes. They drifted down to his groin, noting the tent in his breeches. She licked her lips as if she had seen something extremely delicious and his hips could not help but jerk forwards, drawn towards her like a magnet.

He stopped himself and got to his feet. "You've learned your lesson. You may go," he said.

She knelt before him unmoving, shoulders rising and falling as she panted, her eyes staring into his face in disbelief.

"What?" she whispered.

"You've taken your punishment well. You can leave now." He gestured towards the door.

She shook her head slowly, mouth parted, and her hands trembling. "I…" she said and then trailed off uncertainly.

Gerard took a breath. "Very well then. I shall leave. I was going for a walk anyway. Please do not give me a reason to spank you again. You will not like it as much."

She just blinked up at him. With immense resolve, he grabbed his cane and walked stiffly out of the room.