Taming Maria (7 page)

'Oh! Ouch!
Stop it! No more...' she protested. Ignoring her, he administered
four further blows in rapid succession. Maria let rip, calling him
every vile name she could think of, but he continued in that
painful punishment till tears ran across her face and dripped to
the floor and she begged for mercy.

'Shut up!' he
commanded, increasing the pressure of his palm connecting with her
sore hinds, adding to the rose-red hue.

'You bastard!'
she shrieked.

This outburst
did nothing but add to her pain. She jerked as he hit her again,
and then he drove a hand between her legs, finding her throbbing
bud and massaging it rapidly. Desire added to her torment, but he
withdrew that tantalising frottage, adding further stinging slaps
to her red backside.

She bucked and
threshed without avail, unable to escape his firm hold. His
erection was like a solid staff behind those restricting breeches
and the very fact that he was excited made her ache with
unsatisfied passion. It was on the tip of her tongue to beg, not
for release of her person, but for him to continue rubbing between
her legs until she exploded into climax. But her pride refused to
allow this. What right had he to treat her thus? She used her
knuckles to pummel his leg.

With an oath
he tumbled her from his lap unceremoniously, standing over her as
she crouched there. 'Behave yourself, Maria, do as I tell you and
we shall get on well enough,' he said crisply.

She raised her
tear-filled eyes and was surprised by the expression on his face.
He had enjoyed disciplining her! There was no shadow of doubt. It
was betrayed not only in the way he was looking down at her, but in
the symbol of arousal that still tented his breeches. Her guardian
lusted after her and she did not know whether to be glad or
sorry.

'Go to your
aunt before the party and she will advise you on your attire,' he
ordered briskly, then stalked to the door and left the room.

Maria was in a
state of shock. It was not so much what Damien had done that was so
upsetting, but her own reaction to it. Her bottom stung and,
squirming around and staring at it in the mirror, she could see the
imprint of his palm. To her horror she found she was becoming
excited, dampness bedewing her pubic floss.

The marks were
a tell-tale sign of her humiliation and she was careful to keep the
area covered as much as possible when, shortly after his departure,
Arabella came to her, saying, 'Let me help you choose something to
wear tonight. Your guardian wants to be proud of you, my dear. This
is an important occasion. You will be meeting some of his friends
and taking your place in society.'

Maria wondered
if Arabella knew what had happened, as Sarah and Emily prepared
her. She and Damien seemed thick as thieves. Was this how aunts and
guardians usually acted towards their charges? She found it hard to
believe, but had no yardstick by which to measure their behaviour.
Sarah seemed enraptured by Arabella, positively fawning as she
obeyed her instructions, but Emily was her usual pert self,
following orders but bowing her head to no one. Jane was in her own
room, being groomed by her chaperone, helped by her personal maid,
Abigail. Everyone seemed to be in a froth of excitement, but the
anticipation had been tarnished for Maria, and it was all due to
Damien.

When her
attendants had finished she stared at herself in the pier-glass,
flattered by the transformation, yet uneasy. She wore so little,
but knew it was the mode to appear in public half-naked. She had
been taken to Arabella's tailor who was providing her with a
complete new wardrobe. Whilst busy with tape measure and marking
chalk he had explained, 'The French Revolution left its mark even
over here. Clothing was made simple so that one could pretend to be
a peasant, a milkmaid, anything but an aristocrat. Now Napoleon's
wife, Josephine, has set her seal on these fashions and we, the
couturiers, follow suit. Although at war with that country,
whatever appears in Paris is quickly copied by us.'

This was the
first time Maria had been so exposed. The gown was pure white; but
had a low neck and short sleeves and the high waistline emphasised
her breasts, even though girded by a girlish pink satin sash. The
skirt was cut a little fuller than of yore, with pleats at the
back. She wore one petticoat beneath the dress and this was equally
transparent. Her legs were bare and her feet, too, toes showing in
thong sandals, following the vogue for anything Neo-Classical.

Her hair was
swept high at the crown, with wispy ringlets falling at her nape
and about her ears. Her jewellery was minimal, drop pearls in her
lobes and a single string around her neck, the whole effect turning
her into a legendary nymph. Emily took up a chiffon scarf and
draped it around Maria's shoulders.

Arabella stood
back and viewed her, nodding her approval. 'Hold your head up, my
dear. Your fame has spread since the race. Everyone who is anyone
is clamouring to meet you. Several spirited young ladies are
begging their fathers to permit them to drive high-perch
phaetons.'

Maria had not
realised that she had caused such a stir, and this made her all the
more apprehensive. The guests would be staring at her and making
comments. She was tempted to feign a headache and take to her bed
in order to avoid such a confrontation.

Arabella left
for her own apartment and later reappeared looking like a goddess
from Mount Olympus. Jane wore more modest attire, though her bodice
was as revealing as Maria's and the material of her dress almost as
thin, but sleeves to the wrists concealed her arms and she had on
white stockings, her feet encased in flat-heeled black shoes laced
around the ankle.

Maria envied
her aunt who was looking radiant, her eyes shining at the prospect
of another party. If only she had some of her confidence! They
walked out into the dusk and a groom opened the carriage door,
unfolded the iron step and helped his mistress and her companions
to enter. Others aided the duennas and maids to take their places
in a less ornate vehicle.

'It should be
an august assembly,' Arabella said, glancing across at Maria and
Jane who were seated opposite. The driver cracked his whip, the
horses leaned into the straps and the vehicle swayed into motion.
'I simply adore dancing, and Viscount Damien always employs the
very best musicians.'

'Where is the
earl?' Maria had noted his absence, but then he and Arabella were
seldom together and it was a wonder that she had managed to
conceive his son, little Jamie.

'He has been
called to a meeting with the Prime Minister. Oh, this tedious war!
It's been going on for ages and prevents one from visiting Paris,'
she answered tartly, and it was apparent that she did not miss her
husband and was probably looking forward to dallying with the
beaux. Despise them though she might, she seemed to find them
irresistible.

Maria sat
there with burning buttocks, hating herself for being aroused at
the thought of seeing Damien. They were transported to Strafford
Hall, an ancient grey stone building that had once been a
monastery. Now its gloomy exterior was lit by flares. Maria was
aware of the law that decreed the outside of every house should be
illumined at night to discourage burglaries. The crime rate in
London was high, even though watchmen armed with muskets were
employed and the punishment for those apprehended was public
hanging.

Arabella's
coaches pulled up on the gravel, joining others engaged in
disgorging passengers. Flunkies in plush red coats, white
knee-breeches and powdered wigs ushered them inside. Maids attired
in black taffeta skirts, tight bodices, aprons and frilly mob-caps,
conducted the ladies to a room where they could leave their cloaks
and perform last minute titivations.

Maria was
impressed by the grandeur of Damien's residence. The saloon was of
magnificent proportions and decor, and there were other rooms where
guests could enjoy the gaming tables or billiards or whatever took
their fancy, and these were only the ones on display. Arabella's
hints and sly smiles intimated that there were private places where
certain of those present were encouraged to take their pleasure in
whatever form they desired. Maria could only guess what these might
be.

She held
Jane's hand and followed Arabella into the main room. They were
accompanied by their chaperones who then took their places among
others on couches placed each side of the double doors. She was
sure that Sarah's attention would soon stray. Her liking for men
often worked in Maria's favour and she took full advantage of it.
Jane had inferred that the tight-lipped, sour-faced Agatha Bailey
liked nothing better than to take her cane to female posteriors,
and the maids lived in fear of her.

'She's like
Mrs Rossiter,' Jane had added. 'Gets heated when she's wielding the
rod. I've never seen any of the manservants giving her the eye and
the dislike seems to be mutual.'

The saloon was
already full, and Maria wondered if she should have worn fancy
dress, though sure that Arabella would have instructed her if this
was necessary. There were men attired as cardinals, pirates,
sultans and troubadours, but the light also flashed on medals
pinned to military uniforms and orders crossing the chests of
sober-suited dignitaries. The women were garbed in gorgeous gowns,
their hair topped by diamond tiaras, but some had decided on exotic
costumes, appearing as harem beauties, Spanish dancers, queens from
history and even Orientals. Whatever they had elected to wear had
been designed to show off their figures to full advantage.

Maria drank it
in, the gaps in her education closing by the second. Is this how
the gentry comported themselves, those people who associated with
Prince George? Was he as unconventional? There were so many
questions that needed answers and she was fully occupied with Jane,
who was moping because she could not be with Robin.

As Maria
advanced her fears became reality as she met stares and knowing
smiles, saw ladies whispering behind their fans and gentlemen
looking her up and down as if she was a prize filly for sale.
Arabella was pressed for introductions and Maria besieged by bowing
men, and women pretending to be admiring, their animosity thinly
disguised. She stiffened her backbone and accepted their
congratulations, though fearing that very few were sincere.

A string
quartet played background music. Footmen hovered, bearing silver
salvers of champagne and canapes. Maria searched for one face only,
but her relief was mixed with disappointment when she realised that
Damien was not yet there. Then her attention was caught by a late
arrival who strolled in from the direction of the hall. He stopped,
raised the quizzing-glass that hung on a ribbon round his neck, and
studied her through it. 'Who is that?' she exclaimed indignantly.
'He seems exceedingly rude, a supercilious dandy if ever there was
one.'

Arabella
laughed and steered her towards him, saying, 'Ah, darling, after
your guardian he is the most sought-after man in London. He's rich,
a friend to the Prince of Wales and privy to affairs of State. His
name is Lord Charles Bradley. I'll introduce you.' People made way
for her and she greeted him informally. 'Charles, what a surprise
to find you here.'

He bowed and
kissed her hand. 'Lady Arabella. It's been some time since we last
met.'

'Too long,
sir. You've been neglecting me.' She tapped his chest reprovingly
with her gloved fingers.

'Lay the blame
on that tetchy fellow, Viscount Damien.'

'Have you two
fallen out again? Tut, tut! Come, meet my niece, Lady Maria. She's
the viscount's ward. And this is her friend, Lady Jane.'

He looked at
Maria and a spark passed between them. She felt it like a bolt in
her heart. There was no doubt that he was attractive. Curly hair
holding the rich sheen of mahogany framed a narrow face with high
cheekbones. His smile was infectious, and his hazel eyes twinkled
with impish humour. Tall and slim, he carried himself well and was
dressed with extreme elegance.

A bottle-green
jacket fitted his shoulders without a flaw, short at the waist in
front, flaring into coattails behind. His white breeches displayed
the strength of his legs, ending in gleaming boots. The frills on
his shirtfront were spotless, as was the stiff collar that reached
his sideburns. Ornate fobs dangled from a gold chain that spanned
his embroidered waistcoat. Maria subjected his crotch to a fleeting
glance. If the bulge there was anything to go by then he was very
well-endowed.

'Ladies, I am
charmed to meet you,' he said, but his glance lingered on
Maria.

'How did you
come to be invited?' Arabella leaned towards him and her cleavage
deepened, those alabaster breasts bare almost to the nipples. 'I
thought you and Damien disliked one another?'

He smiled a
little ruefully, and shrugged. 'We do... or we did. A mere trifle,
I assure you. An issue concerning a wager, nothing more. Will you
reserve a dance for me later?' Though he addressed her aunt, Maria
knew he was asking her.

Jane, who
never missed a trick, whispered, 'You've made a conquest
there.'

'Don't be
silly,' Maria hissed crossly, thinking, if only I had met him
before Damien. How is it that he manages to blight everything in my
life and succeeds in blinding me to other men?

It was not
dancing time yet. Supper was served in the dining-room, linked to
the saloon by cedar wood doors that were now folded back. 'May I
escort you?' Charles extended an arm to Arabella.

Hundreds of
candles blazed in the chandeliers that hung from the ceiling where
bosomy goddesses frolicked with shepherds against an Arcadian
background. These paintings were set between swathes of lavishly
gilded plaster garlands. No expense had been spared to transform
the monastic setting into one as secular and extravagant as a
king's palace.