Pleasing the Colonel (6 page)

“Oh…” She looked flustered and glanced down at her dress. “I… I guess I spilled a little on my dress,” she stammered.

He pursed his lips. “Who else is down there?”

She hesitated and looked like she didn't want to tell him.

“You promised me the truth, remember?”

She nodded and swallowed. “Violet and Jane,” she confessed. His house staff. Probably down there gossiping about the family. He was disappointed that Miss Downy would join them. Actually, he was surprised to find that he felt almost hurt about it.

“Tell me again what
you
were doing down there,” he said grimly.

She took a deep breath and then spoke in a rush. “Well, Julie stopped by my room after putting the children to sleep and invited me down. I agreed—I didn't really know what to expect. I quickly realized my mistake but it took me a little bit to extricate myself politely.” She gave him a pleading look, which melted all his irritation.

He hid a smile. “I see,” he said mildly. “Then I don't need to tell you that it is entirely unseemly for you to be in my cellar with the staff?”

“No, no. Not at all. I understand that completely, Colonel, and I apologize.” She looked relieved.

“Very well. Good night.” Somehow, as she turned to go, his hand moved of its own accord to deliver a sharp slap on her backside. He froze, realizing that he certainly should
not
have done that. She had frozen, too, but did not turn to look at him. She started toward the door, only turning back when she reached it. “Did you require assistance in the kitchen? Shall I make you a cup of tea?” she asked.

He could feel his ears growing hot. “Thank you, Miss Downy, that won't be necessary,” he said stiffly.

She curtsied, and he could swear he saw a slight smirk playing on her lips as she turned to go. He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. What on earth had caused him to do such a thing?

* * *

“The weather actually looks nice enough to walk today,” Miss Watson observed at the breakfast table.

Mandy felt like rolling her eyes. Miss Watson only went outside when the weather was the perfect temperature—not too hot, not too cold, no wind, no clouds that looked like they might rain. “Are you sure?” she intoned, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “I think there might be
one
tiny cloud in the sky.”

She couldn't help it. Her sensitivity to Miss Watson's moods had increased since they'd arrived at the country manor and now she found herself readily at the defense every time the lady opened her mouth. Indeed, between being on the defense of Miss Watson's barbs and trying to avoid any criticism from the impossible-to-please Colonel, she was becoming quite high strung herself.

Her only escape was in walking and she took advantage of being in the country by going on long, solitary walks in the afternoons, enjoying the fresh air and nature. She had received a letter from her sister Anne that day, forwarded from the London apartment. Though Anne didn't complain, she could read between the lines enough to know that she was not happy at all in her new position. She sounded extremely lonely and homesick. Mandy had been more resolved than ever that she should have employment in case her sister's did not last, so she'd sent off a few letters of inquiry about governess positions. If the Colonel was going to dismiss her after her probationary period, she needed to have options.

As she walked that afternoon, the sky grew overcast. The Colonel had said at lunch that she ought to skip her walk in case of rain, but determined to have her only peace, she'd gone anyway. Now it seemed he had been right. She hunched her shoulders as the first drops began to fall. She was still a long way from the house. When the rain started to fall steadily, she stopped and huddled under a tree to wait for the precipitation to abate. Instead, the sky opened up in a drenching downpour, and the tree she'd chosen to huddle under offered little protection. With a sigh, she gave up trying to avoid getting wet and started walking again, keeping her head ducked under the pelting drops. The sound of the rain hitting the tree leaves and the puddles on the ground was so loud that she didn't notice a horse and rider approaching until they had ridden right up to her.

“Miss Downy!”

She looked up in surprise. “Colonel!”

He reined in the stallion and turned the large horse around so that his left side faced her.

“What are you doing, riding in the rain?” she asked in astonishment.

“Looking for you!” he exclaimed and she felt a rush of guilt that he had felt it necessary to come and rescue her. She should have listened to his advice on the weather. Would he hold it against her that she hadn't?

He reached down and caught her around the waist, easily lifting her to sit side-saddle in front of him. His strength took her breath away—he was a large, muscular man. She sat stiffly, too surprised to speak. His arm was wrapped around her waist, his left knee supporting her legs. He drew her closer to him. She had never been so close to a man in her life. But that wasn't true—there was the time when he held her after the whipping. And when he'd protected her from falling rubble during the carriage accident. Thinking of both those incidents gave her an unusual fluttering feeling in her low belly.

“You're freezing!” he accused.

She was shivering—there was no denying it. She stammered, “No, I'm fine. But thank you for coming for me, I am truly grateful.” She didn't feel courageous enough to look over her shoulder at him, considering how close his face was to hers.

“You're welcome. Curses, you're really cold. I should have brought your cloak. Here, lean into me and see if you can't gain some warmth that way.”

Slowly, uncertainly, she leaned her back against his large chest, relaxing into his form and the motion of the stallion as he loped back. Her wet dress and petticoat stuck to her skin, providing no barrier at all to the heat of his flesh, which felt exceptionally warm against her chilled back.

“Is that better?” he asked, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath. His voice was low and rumbling. She had found it gruff before, but now it seemed deeply masculine—the embodiment of male strength and virility.

“Yes,” she managed to say, realizing she left the “sir” off and wondering why it sounded so right. His arms felt solid and strong encircling her as they supported her and guided the horse at the same time. It was an odd feeling—despite the awkwardness of riding in such close quarters with a man she should not be so near, she felt comfortable—safe and cared for, somehow.

At dinner that night, Miss Watson chided her for walking. “I can't believe you went for a walk when you knew it might rain.”

“Not all of us feel like sulking about in our rooms all day just because we're in the country and not with the London
ton
,” she snapped. She had spent a cozy afternoon drinking chocolate and watching the rain run down the windows with the children, but now Miss Watson's words nettled her.

“Enough.” The Colonel gave the command softly, hardly looking up from his plate, but it had the effect of freezing her in her place. Her eyes flew to his. He gazed back with a tired expression.

“Forgive me,” she murmured.

When the meal was finished, the Colonel said, “Miss Downy, in my study please.”

Her heart quickened. Was he angry that she'd walked when he'd warned her not to? Or was it about snapping at his sister? Dread prickled across her skin as she followed him into his study.

It was much like the study in his London apartment, and a massive oversized walnut desk stood in the middle, with two wooden chairs facing it. There was a velvet covered settee and a plush sitting chair off to the right. He sat down behind his desk and indicated that she should sit in one of the chairs across from him. She sank into the seat, fidgeting with her silver locket and looking at him expectantly.

He just sat and regarded her for a moment. Then he said, “Miss Downy, I realize that you were not welcomed with the appropriate level of warmth and friendliness by my sister during my absence.”

She was stunned. She had never expected any acknowledgment of the kind.

“I was hoping that she would come to it on her own, but if it would make you feel better, I will require her to apologize to you.”

“Oh, I—uh, no, that won't be necessary,” she stammered, feeling her face grow hot. She suddenly felt quite silly for harboring resentments. She remembered how she'd complained that night of the carriage accident, and felt certain the Colonel remembered her bitterness.

“I want you to know that I have spoken to Lucinda about her behavior.” He was silent a moment, regarding her. She opened her mouth to thank him, but he waved her to silence. “She has been making an effort all week, but now it seems to me that
you
may be the problem.”

Mandy found she couldn't breathe. She felt a wash of hot and cold run through her body. She could not speak.

“Living with the two of you has become unpleasant for me. I can't enjoy my meals in peace without feeling tension and hearing waspish comments. It must stop.
Immediately.
Is that perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she choked, her mouth feeling dry, disappointed that she had displeased her employer again.

“Good.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a ruler.
Oh no.
Her eyes widened, fearing she knew what he had in mind. “I spanked Lucinda and I'm going to spank you, too,” he said matter-of-factly.

She would have gasped if she were able to breathe at all. Instead she made a tiny little squeaking noise. The Colonel stood up and walked calmly to the settee, where he sat down.

Chapter Four

“Come here, Miss Downy.”

Miss Downy had stood when he did, but now looked as though she were rooted to the spot as she stared at his position on the couch, probably realizing that he expected her to lie across his lap for her spanking. She made another tiny unintelligible sound.

“Come. Now,” he said firmly.

She obeyed him, walking over and stopping to stand before him, looking doubtful. He offered her his hand and guided her across his lap, helping her situate a small pillow under her upper body for comfort. He pulled up her skirt and petticoat and blinked, overcome by the urge to caress the soft skin underneath them. He squeezed his eyes closed and shoved the thought firmly away, arranging the skirts in a business-like manner, out of the way.

He could sense that she was holding her breath, her entire body stiff, listening. He was starting to regret having her over his lap. He'd chosen it because he meant for the punishment to be mild, but she wasn't his wife and this position put her so very close to him, her soft flesh pressing against his hard thighs in an intoxicating manner. It was impossible to be unmoved by the sensuousness curves presented precisely for his chastisement. In fact, it was pure, delicious agony.

Well, all he could do was mete out the punishment as properly as possible and get it behind them. He picked up the wide wooden ruler and brought it down sharply across the low center of both her cheeks. He continued striking, watching as she flinched and squeezed her cheeks together. He brought the ruler down in the same place a dozen or so times, knowing it would really cause the burn to set in. The lovely governess was really squirming, still squeezing her cheeks and trying to hold herself stiff as a board.

He paused and gripped her bare thigh—the one closest to him—and pulled it toward him, parting her legs so he had better access to strike the tender flesh there. She gasped and he realized she must feel quite vulnerable with her thighs parted, as it showed the sweet little pink slit of her sex. He paused to take in its full glory.
Oh Lord.
He shook his head and tried to clear it, bringing the ruler down on the back of her thigh.

He brought it down again and again, trying to ignore the way his body was responding to the beautiful sight of her bared and undulating bottom. She wriggled and writhed in a vain attempt to get away from his stinging blows. He held her waist firmly, but her hips still managed to dance about, bucking and twisting as she cried out. Her wriggling over his manhood was unfortunately causing him to become more than a little aroused.

Like an idiot, he stole another peek at her sweet little sex and could swear he saw moisture glistening there. Her writhing stilled and he feared that she could feel the stiffened member below her. He pushed her hips away from his, moving her closer to his knees, where she was not as stable. His arm couldn't hold her waist as securely this way and he knew that she could probably throw herself off his legs if she wanted. He brought the ruler down on her reddened bottom even harder and faster now, hoping to distract her from his arousal. Or distract himself by applying himself to his task.
Or something.

When her bottom had turned a deep red, he stopped. He wanted to rub those cheeks for her, to show his appreciation for the way she submitted to her spanking, but of course that wouldn't be proper. Instead, he smoothed her skirts back down and lifted her to standing, then guided her to sit next to him on the couch. She had shed a few tears, but more than anything she appeared completely flustered. She hissed a bit as her full weight came to rest on her tender backside. He handed her his handkerchief, which she used with enthusiasm, hiding her face from him.

He thought he saw her eyes dart a glance at his lap, but fortunately, he'd distracted himself enough that his shaft was no longer tenting his pants. They sat stiffly next to one another as she recovered her ragged breathing. He turned to her and cupped her chin, lifting her face to his. She looked terribly vulnerable as she met his eyes and it emptied him of any sternness—real or feigned. He wanted to hold her and comfort her and tell her she was forgiven. But again, he couldn't.

“From now on, if I hear either you or Miss Watson snipe at the other, I will bend you
both
over my desk and strap you soundly. Is that clear?” The words he spoke were stern, but his tone was quite mild; he couldn't bring himself to treat her harshly.