RulingPassion (11 page)

“Indeed he is, my lord. And he is a very good friend. But no
more than that to me. He has no part of my heart, and he deserves better than a
wife whose greatest love will always be given elsewhere.”

“Rosalind…” He carried her hand to his mouth and kissed it.
“You must not think—”

“Shhhh.” She put a finger over his lips. “We will not talk
of that now. Later it will have to be resolved, and it will. Now is ours.” She
removed her finger and put her mouth where it had been.

They kissed like two starving people finding a sumptuous
banquet set before them, and made love, hard, quick and fierce, before dressing
hastily and going down to dinner.

Later they made love again, quieter and longer, never
guessing that the next day would bring them to a small crisis in their relationship.

Chapter Twelve

It came early in the day, shortly after they rose, while
they were dressing.

Jeoffrey looked at the stack of clothes going down to the
laundry since it was midweek-day, then pulled his last clean shirt from the
wardrobe. He stuck an arm into it and emitted an incoherent, but decidedly
unhappy, grumble.

“Is aught amiss?” Rosalind asked while pulling on her own
shift.

“Aye. The shirt feels like a board and scratches like a
patch of thorns. I know not why they cannot get my clothes softer. Rosalind, I
would like you to take care of doing my laundry yourself,” Jeoffrey said. “They
always leave my shirts hard, and my hose so stiff they near to stand up on
their own.”

She stopped and hoped she’d misunderstood. Her heart
suddenly pounded. Maybe if she didn’t respond, he’d think she hadn’t heard and
forget about it.

He didn’t. “Did you hear?” he asked. “Pray, indulge me and
see to my laundry yourself. It would get done the way I would prefer.”

“My lord,” she said. “I shall be glad to speak to the
laundry maids about it and suggest they change the way they do things.”

“I have tried it already. One day I get things the way I
want, but the next time it is right back to the way it has always been. If you
do it, I know it will be right.”

“Jeoffrey. I cannot.”

“What?” He put down the shirt he was holding and turned to
her. “Why not?”

“I cannot. Ask me aught else.”

“I need not aught else right now.” He frowned. “I need only
that you undertake the washing of my things yourself.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?”

Her heart raced as she thought about the time Sir William
had relegated her to his laundry and the horrible things that had happened
there. She’d felt so degraded. But she didn’t want anyone to know how low she’d
sunk. She couldn’t talk about it, even with him. It would make it too
real
.
If no one else knew, she could forget it had happened.

“I cannot. Please do not ask it of me.”

He stared at her. “Then pray explain why ‘tis such a
problem. Are you too fine a lady to dirty your hands in that way?”

She drew a couple of hard breaths. “Perhaps so, my lord.
There are some things a lady just does not do.”

“Even if I ask? Even though you promised me your obedience?”

“My lord—”

“I cannot accept it,” he said. “But I will give you the day
to reconsider your answer. Know, though, that I cannot let your refusal of a
direct request to go unanswered.”

As harsh as his words were, something in his expression
begged her to accede to his wishes.

“I understand, my lord.”

He still stared at he with the pained look. “Rosalind, if
there is something I should know or understand, pray tell me.”

“I simply cannot do it. That is all,” she answered. “Would
you punish me before the household for my refusal?”

He considered for a moment. “Nay. This is a private matter
between you and me, and does not involve them, so this discipline would be
private.”

“What would…?”

He looked at her and walked over to the pile of clothes
ready to be taken to the laundry. “One stroke of my belt for each item here.”
He bent down to the pile and counted them. “Eleven things.” He straightened up
and sighed. “I will ask later whether you chose to do them yourself. I will
expect an honest answer.”

“And you will get it, my lord,” she said. “I hope you know
you can depend on that, at least.”

He looked at her, saw the plea in her eyes, walked to her
and pulled her into his arms. Her cheek brushed against the soft blond hair on
his chest. “Aye, I know you will answer me honest.” He moved her so that he
could look into her eyes while his hands framed her face. “I wish you would
answer me differently.” He kissed her quickly, then turned, pulled a clean
shirt over his head and left the room.

The prospect of having to answer to him later hung over her
like a dark cloud for the rest of the day.

It was a day when many small things went wrong. Papers got
lost, ink smeared all over one of her diagrams of who was to be placed in which
room, the maids came up short on towels for the guest rooms, and another
response arrived that necessitated yet another shuffling of room assignations.

To the good side, she received two messages from merchants
she’d contacted indicating they’d listen to her proposals on renegotiating
their trade agreements.

Once she’d written her replies to those, she fetched
Jeoffrey’s clothes and her own down to the laundry room. Rosalind had decided
she’d see if she could accede to his demands. Perhaps she could do as he wished
and handle his laundry herself. But when she walked into the room, the smell
and the humidity hit her like an ocean wave, rolling over her until she felt
faint and nauseous. She nodded to the women there, dropped her stack of
clothing on the pile to be washed and made a hasty exit before she disgraced
herself by collapsing on the floor. Dark spots floated across her field of
vision.

Once outside the room, she stopped and leaned against the
wall, braced by the feel of the cool stone in the basement hallway, until her
head cleared enough that she felt she could make it up the stairs. Perspiration
felt cold on her skin. She was still shaking by the time she reached the next
floor, so she stopped by the kitchen and begged a small measure of wine from
the cook to brace and restore her.

She wasn’t happy with herself. She didn’t like to think she
was so weak she couldn’t force herself to do a nasty job to fulfill the promise
she’d made to Lord Jeoffrey. She dreaded the thought of his punishment. Even
more than that, though, she hated to disappoint him in anything. She valued his
high regard too much.

The day dragged on.

Dinner took forever, though she was able to eat very little.

Sir Philip teased her about over-working and looking pale
but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but agree. Jeoffrey didn’t appear
to be enjoying himself any more than she was. He sat and glowered at the group,
answering questions or comments directed at him but volunteering nothing.

When it was over she followed him to their quarters. Her
footsteps were heavy with dread and cold sweat beaded on her chest, making her
clothes cling.

He was struggling with a lace on his shirt that had tangled
into a knot when she entered the room. His fingers appeared to shake a little.

“Can you get this for me?” he asked.

Her own hands were none too steady as she worked out the
knot. She stared at his throat as she worked, admiring the fine lines, firm
skin, and graceful play of the muscles there. Once the laces were freed, she
stepped back. He put a finger under her chin to raise her face. Their eyes met.
In the depths of his she saw love, care, concern, but all held tightly beneath a
stern consideration.

“Rosalind? Did you do as I requested this morning and see to
the laundering of my things yourself.”

Her voice shook as she answered. “Nay, my lord.”

“Why not?”

“I…I just could not, my lord. I could not.”

“Would you care to explain?”

“Nay. Please my lord… Pray do not ask me again.”

“Then you know what must happen next?”

She lowered her head so he would not see the tears starting
to form. They owed as much to the expression she saw in his
eyes—disappointment, confusion, hurt—as to her dread of punishment. “Aye, my
lord.”

“Disrobe, then, and stand at the edge of the table.”

She removed her clothes, folding them and laying them in a
neat pile on the chair. Nude, and oddly embarrassed about it, she walked across
the room and stood where indicated by the table.

“Lay forward, across it, and grab the far edge with your
hands. Do not let go under any circumstances.”

The polished surface of the table was cool and slick against
her breasts as they pressed down on it. She saw him retrieve his other belt
from the wardrobe and was relieved. The one he’d worn that day had a metal tip
on the end. The one he pulled out now was wider, almost four fingers wide, and
heavier, being made of two layers of leather sewn together, but it bore no
ornaments other than the buckle. She watched him fold the buckle into his hand
and let the remaining length swing loose. When he drew his arm back, pulling
the strap behind him, she closed her eyes.

“Prepare yourself,” he warned.

Moments later she heard the whizzing sound of the strap
cutting through the air and then a loud crack as it landed full across her
bottom. She stiffened, gasped loudly, and dug her fingers into the wood of the
table. The sharp ache of the strike hit her first, but as the leather fell
away, leaving its mark, a sizzling burn settled in, spreading fire down her
legs and arms. It didn’t have the sharp, clawing sting of the birch, but a
deeper, harsher ache and burn.

The pain was just starting to settle down when he struck
again. It hit higher and harder, drawing a loud sob from her as her body jumped
again. She managed to hang onto the edge of the table by locking her fingers in
place and refusing to let them release, even when the pain slammed into her and
rolled through her in agonizing waves. The tears began to leak from her eyes as
she panted and moaned.

The lashes came faster, covering her derriere with fire,
then working down along her thighs. Some of the strokes were so hard and sharp,
she nearly jumped up and ran. But she hung on and kept hold of the table,
though she very much wanted to rub her flaming bottom. The pain grew and grew.
Her sobs and moans grew to squeals, then to shrill shrieks and finally to a
full scream as the strap slashed across the sore flesh right at the crest of
her derriere once again, re-igniting the fire of former strokes and adding its
own heat. She writhed frantically and began to plead and beg him to stop,
though her words were so broken up by sobs they were barely coherent.

She heard him say, “One more.” Then the world exploded in
anguish as the strap raked over the same sore area yet again. She screamed. Her
body arched into a taut, tense curve as she fought the unbearable pain, then
finally fell down on the table again, wriggling frantically.

Then his arms were around her, plucking her from the table.
But her fingers were locked so tightly around the edge, he had to pries them
gently from their hold, opening them one at a time until she let go. He picked
her up and carried her to the bed, where he laid her down on her side. He lay
beside her and she rolled over so she could put her face against his chest
while she sobbed.

He cradled her gently against him, patting her hair and
rubbing her back as she cried and cried. “I am sorry,” he said. “ I am sorry I
had to be so hard on you.” When she continued to weep, he said, “Shh… Please…
Was it that bad? I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you that much.”

When she finally began to calm somewhat, he moved her so
that he could see her face and wiped away the tears remaining on her face. “Did
I truly hurt you so much?” he asked. “It was not my intent. I just wanted you
to know you could not disobey without consequences.”

“Nay, my lord,” she said on a long sigh, interrupted by a
sobbing hiccup. “It stung, but it did not hurt me
that
much.”

“You screamed.”

“Aye. For a few minutes, the pain was hot. And my feelings
were high. I could not contain it. You did me no great injury, however.”

“Why then do you weep so now?”

“I was…” Her voice broke and tears threatened again. He
waited while she fought for control. “I was afraid, and I could not bear it.”

“Afraid? Of me? Or what I would do?”

“Nay, my lord.” She had to swallow hard. “Afraid I would
disappointed you. That you would no longer care for me.”

Surprise widened his eyes. His arms tightened around her
until they threatened to squeeze the breath from her. She didn’t complain. It
felt wonderful to be held so close and so secure.

“Rosalind, have I not told you the time I have spent with
you has been the happiest I have ever known? Think you I would cast you off
because one time you defy me? Have you no more faith in me than that?”

“I do not…I do not have the experience to know what to
believe. I did promise to obey you, and I failed to keep the promise.”

“And accepted the penalty for it,” he said. “Rosalind, you
did not disappoint me. Surprised me, for certain. Concerned me, because I fear
there is more behind this than you are willing to tell me.” His smoky gray eyes
look dark, shadowed by worry and doubt.

On the side of him where she lay, his hair was darkened by
her tears dripping onto it and wetting it. She touched the strands, pushing her
fingers into them.

“Aye. There is… My lord, Jeoffrey, I shall try to tell you,
but I…I find this hard.” Oddly though, when she started to talk, she discovered
something about what had happened in the last hour had freed her from the
binding imposed by Sir William’s attempts to degrade her. “While I was in Sir
William’s…captivity, he forced me to work in his laundry—as part of his effort
to convince me that being his lady would be a more desirable choice.”

She went on to describe the conditions there, and the foul
treatment she’d received at the hands of the other servants, as ordered, she
had no doubt, by Sir William himself. Though she still shuddered remembering
it, in the protection of Jeoffrey’s arms, she felt safe in admitting it had
happened and how it had changed her. While she talked about the degrading
things that had passed, a small doubt crossed her mind as to whether he would
be repelled on hearing it. Then she recalled his words about trusting him.

“I took your clothes to the laundry myself,” she told him.
“I told myself it could not truly be so bad and I would be able to do it. But
as soon as I smelled and felt the damp air in the room, I grew dizzy. I nearly
fainted.”