Bad Kitty (8 page)

“Please…” she groaned.

“Will you go with me to the church?” He worked his finger in and out, driving up hard to grind his fist against her bottom. Her hips swayed with the motion, further inflaming her clitoris.

Her channel clenched with need.

She cried out when a hard slap landed on her backside. Too much. This was too much. The sensations of his finger up her hole and the sting of his palm on her bottom were overwhelming.

Her pulse slowed to a steady, thick throb and she wondered if she refused him, if he would shove his big cock in that same sensitive hole. The hand that had slapped her traveled up her back and then his fingers entwined in her chignon. He pulled. Hard.

Kitty’s head came off the bed, her back arching impossibly, lifting her backside for even deeper penetration. She yelped.

“I will end this torture if only you will acquiesce.”

Kitty melted when his free fingers swept her aching folds, teasing her. She tried to rock back against his hand but the way he was holding her prevented it.

“Say yes and I will pleasure you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Her stomach tightened. Her breathing quickened. “Yes, damn you! Yes!”

At once he released her hair. Her head fell to the bed. But none of that mattered as he shifted between her legs, pushing them wide apart with his knees. One hand latched on to her hardened clitoris and he pummeled her anus with the other.

Kitty’s knees went weak as she felt that now familiar sensation building, cresting, and then, “Oh God in heaven!”

Her body went limp as bliss shattered her from the inside out. Peace. She sighed.

But her peace was short-lived. He hoisted her over his shoulder, jerked her gown down to cover her still-spasming bottom and carried her down the stairs to his awaiting horse.

* * * * *

The wedding was a complete and utter disaster. Kitty had never been more miserable in her life. Dressed in the simple, rumpled day gown she had been wearing when Bram had stormed into her room, she had recited her vows, fully aware of the fact her drawers were still lying in a discarded pile on her bedroom floor.

Her aunt and uncle had looked on, their faces red with shame.

When the vicar had asked Bram if he had a ring, Kitty had expected him to dispense with that part of the ceremony. Instead Bram had produced a gargantuan ruby, which he had slid onto Kitty’s hand with trembling fingers.

The ring was stunning but Kitty had been absorbed with Bram’s reaction. Why was he trembling? Because he was so angry? Because he had rather been doing anything in the world besides marrying a strumpet who had lied to him?

Kitty bit her lip, her mind drifting to her article as Bram tersely recited his vows. He would be furious when it hit the papers. Livid. Doubtless he thought she had infiltrated his service staff to ensnare a husband. Nothing could be further from the truth but here she stood, wearing the ring of a man she had sought to destroy.

“You may kiss your bride,” the vicar said without emotion.

Kitty turned to Bram and lifted her gaze to his. She expected him to crush her against him and devour her mouth as he had the morning before. Instead, he brushed a hasty, cold kiss across her lips, snatched her hand in his and dragged her from the church.

There was no carriage to whisk her away. Only the monstrous horse on which Bram had brought her here. He hefted her onto the saddle and then climbed up behind her. Without a word, he dug in his heels and rode the animal hell-bent for leather toward his estate.

The closer she came to her new home, the sicker inside she became, and by the time he halted the horse at the front steps of his home, Kitty was filled with fear.

Bram slid her down the horse’s side and she stumbled to right herself as he easily leapt down beside her.

“She is my wife now,” Bram told the footman. “You will address her as Lady Wiltshire.”

“Yes, my lord,” the uniformed boy said with a low bow before he took the horse’s reins.

“Inside,” Bram said curtly as he clasped Kitty by the elbow and ushered her up the stairs and into the open door.

No one seemed more surprised than Mrs. Bush and, despite her own trepidation, Kitty took wicked delight in the old woman’s sneer.

Bram gave her the same instructions he had given the footman but Kitty could tell the normally austere housekeeper struggled to hide her shock.

“I will send one of the footmen for her things,” Mrs. Bush managed to say.

“That shan’t be necessary. She won’t be needing her things.”

Kitty gaped at Bram. What could he possibly mean by that statement?

“Make sure she gets a bath,” he said, and with that, he strode away.

“Follow me,” Mrs. Bush said and started up the stairs.

Numbly, Kitty climbed the stairs behind her. Her life had turned upside down in a matter of days and nothing was ever going to be the same. She was married to a man she hardly knew—a man whose reputation she would make worse by her article—a man whose touch inflamed her body beyond comprehension.

Kitty recognized the door to Bram’s room as she followed Mrs. Bush past to the next door. Mrs. Bush opened it to reveal a suite of such opulence, Kitty could not stifle a gasp. The room was decidedly feminine with its floral wall covering, paintings of sprawling gardens and delicate furnishings. “This is lovely,” she said, feeling suddenly small and inadequate in the luxuriant surroundings.

“The Duchess of Blakemore had it decorated,” Mrs. Bush said, pinning Kitty with a knowing look.

Kitty cringed as she recalled Bram’s tryst with the duchess in the garden. Mrs. Bush was baiting her and she knew it.

“She is…or rather
was
…a frequent visitor here,” Mrs. Bush said snidely. “But I imagine she’ll be back…once the master tires of you.”

At first Kitty shrank—but then she remembered she was no longer playing the part of a servant and that she was married to a titled heir. She lifted her chin. “You’ll do well to remember your place, Mrs. Bush.”

The older woman snorted. “Did you bring your lady’s maid with you or shall I send one?”

Kitty had never had a true lady’s maid. She bit her bottom lip, knowing Mrs. Bush was taking another stab at her. “Send Alice.”

“Alice?”

“Yes, Alice, from the kitchen.”

Mrs. Bush laughed. “You’ll not want that little bawd to serve you unless you are looking to keep your husband occupied elsewhere.”

Kitty narrowed her eyes. “I am not interested in your opinions, Mrs. Bush. Send Alice.”

Mrs. Bush inclined her head and left the room.

Kitty hugged her arms to herself and gazed around her rooms. Any woman should be pleased to be in her station. Kitty was miserable.

Her eyes swept the gold, floral-printed coverlet with its intricate embroidery and matching tester lining. A blush pink settee was situated by the hearth, over which hung a massive painting of white peacocks in a garden.

The more Kitty took in the decided touch of a woman in her new rooms, the sicker she became inside. This was wrong. She did not want to be married. Not to Bram or anyone else.

But she was, and there was little she could do about it.

However, now that she knew he was innocent of ruining Rochford’s daughter, she should pen a quick letter to her publisher to retract the story she had written as Alistair Allenby.

A quick search of the mahogany secretary yielded pen and ink and Kitty sat to write the letter before Alice arrived to prepare her bath. And then the thought occurred to her that she could not trust this information with a servant. Servants were known for prying and gossiping. Word could not get back to Bram about this. Not ever.

She would simply have to take it to be posted herself.

The letter office was less than a mile away. She could make it there and back within the hour—long before Bram missed her.

After she finished the letter, she stole through the servants’ hallway and out the side door. No one would ever know she was gone if she hurried.

But Kitty had only made it halfway down the long drive before she heard hooves thundering toward her. She did not have to glance back to know it was Bram. He would be furious if he read her letter—and read it he would!

Her heart pounded as she drew up her skirts and raced toward the hedgerow, throwing the letter into the thick shrubbery just as Bram bore down on her.

Breathless, she whirled, fearing the massive beast would trample her.

Bram’s expression was black. “Where do you think you’re going, my good lady wife?”

She could never tell him the truth. “Back to my uncle’s,” she blurted, unable to think of another excuse.

His eyes darkened. “He won’t have you, and
I
won’t have you blackening my name any further than it already is. Now turn around and march your arse back to the manor.”

“Not until I get my things,” she added, hoping he would at least allow her to return for her belongings.

Bram straightened in his saddle. The horse snorted as if its master’s foul mood were contagious. A wicked smile spread across Bram’s face and he walked the horse an impossible step closer.

Kitty spun to get out of the beast’s way but when she did, she felt the sharp sting of Bram’s riding crop on her bottom. “I told you that you would not be needing any of your belongings,” he said.

She gasped and shot him a hateful look while she rubbed her offended anatomy.

“To the manor,” he ordered. “Move or I shall make you pull up your skirts so that I can swat your bare bottom while you walk back.”

Kitty’s clitoris heated at the thought of it but there was no telling how many curious servants would see her backside displayed while Bram thoroughly spanked her with his crop. Still, the idea of exhibiting herself sent tendrils of desire through her limbs.

Anger vied with the craving to be dominated. When he was like this, it was difficult not to challenge him, not to drive him to tear down her exterior and assuage that yearning between her thighs. Still, now was not the time. If she put up a fight, he might notice the letter she’d hastily hid in the shrubbery.

“Very well,” she snapped as she started back toward the manor.

After he passed his horse off to a footman, he followed her to the door, but instead of escorting her to her chamber, he took her elbow and led her to his study. Terror rose as he drew her behind his desk. He pushed on one of the wall panels and the bookcase swung open to reveal a dark, narrow hallway.

Panic surged.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

“To make certain you won’t try to run off again.”

Kitty’s pulse pounded as she looked down the hallway with dread. She swallowed thickly. “What is this place?”

“The bridal suite,” he said with a sarcastic edge as he ushered her in front of him.

Kitty stumbled as he urged her along but his tight grip on her elbow kept her upright.

When they arrived at the end of the hall, Kitty gaped. She was in a chamber—no, a dungeon—lit dimly by torches. On one wall hung chains. A small bed was pushed against another wall, and Kitty gasped at the sight of black sashes tied to the posts. Various other items lined the shelves on a third wall and although she had never seen such things before, Kitty knew they were devices designed to inflict exquisite tortures.

In the middle of the room was a raised dais. It looked, to Kitty, like some sort of stage designed for…
spanking
. A smooth, rectangular block was positioned in the center and Kitty knew, without a doubt, she would soon be naked and on her knees, with only that block to support her as Bram punished her. Manacles tethered to chains were fastened down with big bolts at each corner of the dais. Kitty’s cream gathered at the thought of being chained there and at Bram’s complete mercy.

“Take off your dress,” he said tersely.

Kitty’s pulse rioted. She stared, shocked. “Here?”

“I won’t have you running off again.”

Kitty laughed, trying to hide her fear. “Do you propose to keep me naked for the rest of my life?”

One black eyebrow arched wickedly. “If need be.”

He snatched her dress at her hips and yanked it upward, chemise and all, pulling it just over her head and then twisting it so the sleeves caught her arms. She stood facing him, completely bared with the exception of her stockings and slippers, her arms trapped behind her head. A slight tug backward caused her to arch toward him.

At once, her nipples tightened and swelled.

He pushed his knee between hers and pulled her closer so that she was riding his thigh. “Now, you will be a good Kitty, won’t you?”

Another twist of the fabric caused her breasts to brush the rough brocade of his vest. Kitty moaned, relishing the coarse graze to her nipples and the heat emanating from his thick thigh.

“Won’t you?” he purred again.

There was no use in fighting. She wanted to give in to what her body craved. “Yes,” she whimpered, wanting more.

With a twist she was free of her dress but he spun her around so that she had to brace herself against the wall to keep from falling. A sharp swat landed on her buttocks.