The Westerfield Affair (13 page)

He gave a bark of laughter and let the strap slide over her bottom in a caress. “Yes,” he rumbled, “you are a very naughty wife. But why did you leave? What did you want from me?”

He snapped the strap across her buttocks again, so it was impossible for her to answer, her mind diverted by handling the fire on her backside. All she could blurt out was “This!”

He chuckled again, slapping her with the strap again, but lightly. “You wanted this? You wanted to be over my knee, having your bottom striped?”

“No! Yes—I mean, no!” She wriggled her hips on his lap and he brought the strap down again. “Ow! Harry!” He struck the other thigh. “Ack! I just—I wanted you to come running after me…I just wanted to know you care!”

He stilled, then rolled her up to cradle in his arms. “You didn’t know?” he whispered. “Kitten, I care too much—” his voice choked a little. “I’ve been in a state since the day I first met you.” He kissed away one of her tears. “I want you with a passion so deep I’m afraid I’ll break your fragile bones if I unleash it.” He kissed her temple. “I’ve made every kind of mistake over this burning need for you—I tried to bypass courtship, which gave you great offense; I acted like a madman with my jealousy, and took you by force like a brutish heathen. I’m sorry. I was just trying to keep my feelings for you in check so I wouldn’t hurt or offend again. I wanted to give you room…to get used to the idea of being married to me.”

She touched his cheek, moved to new tears by his obvious anguish. “That’s why you wouldn’t come home at night?”

He nodded, then quirked a rueful smile. “As you discovered today, I can’t be around you without wanting to take you every minute of the day. It drove me mad to be near you and not have you.” His hand cupped her burning bottom, reminding her of his possessiveness. “I love you, Kitty. My heart stopped beating when I discovered you’d gone. I didn’t breathe the entire way here. If you’d told me you were leaving me permanently, I would probably just take up residence at Spencer’s and never come out again. Or maybe I would stop speaking altogether.”

She laughed, more tears spilling down her cheeks.

He thumbed them away. “Promise you’ll never do that to me again?” he asked, his voice cracking again.

“I promise!” she exclaimed. “I promise, Harry. I’m so sorry. I just felt so alone—one moment you were so kind and attentive—the next it seemed you didn’t wish to be near me at all.”

“Didn’t wish to be near you?” he echoed, gazing at her with understanding. “Oh, Kitty. I’m so sorry. It never dawned on me that you cared enough about me to be hurt by my absence.”

She started to weep, pressing her face into his chest. “I was hurt,” she spoke into his shirt.

He cupped her head and pulled it back to see her face. “Will you forgive me?”

She nodded.

“I’m not good with words, Kitty. But you are—you are better than anyone I’ve ever met. Next time will you please tell me what you need from me? Will you remember that I’m thick and I need your help?”

She nodded.

He wiped her tears again. “I love you and I would do anything to make you happy.”

Her lips twisted into a teasing smile. “Anything save excuse me from a spanking?”

His eyes twinkled. “Well, spanking you is a duty I could come to enjoy.”

She felt a little flutter in her low belly. “I like it too—well, not the spanking,” she said when he raised his eyebrows. “But I like that you spank me.”

“You have confused me again, little kitten,” he admitted.

She felt her face grow warm. “I don’t like
being
spanked, but I like knowing you might spank.” She giggled, growing more embarrassed by her admission. “Is that silly? I like feeling your power or your passion when you spank. And I like the way you hold me afterward.”

“You like knowing I might spank?” he repeated, a wicked grin on his face. He pushed her back down, rolling her over to expose her bottom again.

“No! Harry!” she wriggled. “I said I don’t like
being
spanked!”

He gave her a slap on the bottom at the same time she felt his other hand beneath her, curling into her sex. She gasped.

“Harry…”

His fingers slid into her pleats, which were already swollen with heat for him. He slapped again as his finger discovered a sensitive peak just inside her sex, causing her to squirm with eager need. He continued, spanking slowly as his fingers worked their magic. She pumped her hips over his lap, moaning, losing herself in the swirling sensation of pain and pleasure, of helplessness and desire.

“Ohhhhh,” she moaned, gasping with each slap, moaning in the lapses between. When she climaxed, she burst apart, losing all sense of time or place, exploding into a mindless wonder of ripple after ripple of pleasure.

After a long time, she felt the gentle stroking of Harry’s hand up and down her back as her bearings gradually returned.

She rolled over, and looked at her husband through heavy-lidded eyes. “Perhaps I do like spanking.”

He chuckled.

“Harry?”

“Yes, pussycat?” The caress in his voice caused her limbs to melt like butter.

“May I still have the reception ball?”

His laugh was a low rumble in his chest. He slid her legs from his lap and lay down beside her. “Of course you may, kitten.”

* * *

They spent four idyllic days at Penrock, riding, walking, laughing, and having sex several times a day. He spanked her in every room of the house. They were what she referred to as “happy spankings”—only enough to make her squirm and always ending with his claiming her in some new position.

It was a honeymoon, of sorts, and now that he was certain of Kitty, he felt as tall as a mountain. They returned to London on the fifth day to have the week to prepare for their ball.

“It feels different this time,” Kitty murmured as they arrived back at the house.

“What does?”

“Your house. I feel as though I’m just now arriving as your new wife.”

“Yes, the house can tell the marriage is now consummated,” he said with mock sincerity, earning her giggle. She sailed inside with a new confidence, picking up the mail that had arrived while they were gone and eagerly sorting through for the RSVPs to their ball. He picked up the newspaper and his mail and took her hand, leading her to the study, where they each took a chair and began reading through their mail.

“Ah, here’s the first bill from the dressmaker’s. Let’s see if I need to bark at you or not,” he teased, opening the bill. When Kitty didn’t reply, he looked up. She was sitting as if in shock, her face pale and drawn. “What is it, kitten?”

She held out the stack of RSVPs with a trembling hand. “I think we’d best cancel the ball,” she said. “They are mostly regrets. It seems I will not recover gracefully from the Westerfield affair.”

He understood the implication immediately. Kitty was being shunned by society. He drew in a deep breath and crossed the room, taking the RSVPs from her, shoving them in his pocket and lifting her out of the chair and into his arms. Her body trembled slightly as she pressed her cheek against his chest. He ran his hand up and down her back. “We are having the ball,” he said firmly. “And I will make certain it is attended.”

“How?”

“Just leave it to me, kitten. Everything will be all right,” he soothed, vowing he would do whatever he could to make his promise true.

After they dined, he made love to her to help her forget, and when she’d fallen asleep he returned to his study, pacing the length of it. His guilt had returned, but the flavor was altered. Kitty was his now—it was his duty to protect her, to somehow right this situation he’d had a hand in creating. His habitual urge to retreat in the face of shame was absent; instead, he felt compelled to action, like a warrior prepared to defend his own. Except there was no one to fight.

He sat down at his desk and buried his head in his hands. He wished there were some enemy to take on for her. But no, this situation required something different of him—something that felt far more risky than any battle.

Pulling out a piece of paper, he wrote a long letter to his mother explaining everything, shouldering the blame for his mistakes, and begging for her assistance. It was a difficult letter to write, but he was certain she would help—she was well-connected and beyond reproach. If she supported Kitty, many would follow. Then he looked through the RSVP cards, noting who had sent each regret.

The next morning, he walked through the halls of the Palace of Westminster to the House of Lords and broke his habitual solitude, pausing to join small grouping of members of the peerage. A feeling of suffocation crept over him and he tugged at his cravat for a little air around his neck. Then, remembering Kitty’s distress, he took a deep breath. “Gentlemen, how are you?” he asked, bowing.

They murmured greetings, looking at him curiously.

His throat tightened and he tugged again at his cravat, forcing himself to speak despite the constriction. “Listen, you’ve probably all heard I created a bit of a scandal with my new wife?”

“A
bit
of a scandal? I heard you nearly broke Fenton’s jaw before you ran off with her.”

He kept his face blank, resisting a wince. “Yes, well. It was a result of a misunderstanding, and I was completely to blame,” he said, humbling himself. “Unfortunately, it’s my wife who has suffered from my mistake, so it’s my duty to correct it. I’m having a ball to present her as Lady Westerfield this weekend, and it would mean a lot to me if you would all attend,” he said, appealing to their sympathies.

There was an uncomfortable shifting and rustling. He knew perfectly well each of them had already received the invitation and sent their regrets, but he remained steady, meeting their eyes, awaiting their agreement. He felt a trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck.

“Randolph?” he prompted.

“I believe we may have had a previous engagement that night, but ah, yes—I’ll talk to my wife. I’m sure we can rearrange our plans.”

“Thank you. Rutledge?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Westerfield.”

“I believe my wife sent our regrets, but I, too, will see if our plans can be arranged.”

“Thank you, Langley. I promise to repay the favor in any way I can,” he assured them.

It could have been worse. It was painful, but had been productive. Like placing a bet on the table, it required the attitude that the hand already belonged to him. He knew how to play that game.

With each successive group, the strangling sensation lessened and making his appeal grew slightly easier. This was what it would be like to actively campaign for a bill, he realized. After securing promises from the next group, he actually tossed out his support for the Animal Cruelty act, asking them all to consider backing it.

He lost his stride with the next group, however, when he realized Lord Fenton was a part of it. They had not spoken since the night of the ball, though several times he’d seen Fenton looking as though he wanted to approach. Fenton took the initiative immediately. “Lord Westerfield,” he said with a bow. “I owe you and your wife an apology.”

“It was a misunderstanding on my part,” Harry said, extending his hand. He held it after Fenton shook and warned, “But if you touch my wife again, you’re a dead man.” The men around them chuckled.

“Understood,” Fenton grinned his easy, amiable smile, pumping his hand. “And thank you for inviting us to your reception—my sister and I have been looking forward to it all month.” He turned to the other men. “Have you weaseled an invitation out of Westerfield for his wedding reception? It should be the event of the season.”

It was the first time he’d appreciated any aspect of Fenton’s personality. He saw, suddenly, why he and Kitty got on so well. Like Kitty, Fenton clearly understood the dynamics of a situation, the personalities involved, and how to persuade them. Though he knew Fenton had spoken for Kitty’s benefit, Harry appreciated the assistance. The other men promised their attendance and Harry moved on, finding his new brother-in-law and pulling him aside.

“Help me put the pressure on to attend our ball?”

Stanley blinked, and quickly comprehended the request. He nodded his agreement. “By all means.”

“Thank you. I settled your debts at Spencer’s.”

Stanley looked stunned. “That was more than we agreed upon.” Indeed, the 10,000 pounds he had already paid Stanley had not been applied to the debt, so it had taken a full 22,000 to discharge the debt.

He shrugged. “She’s worth my entire fortune.”

Chapter Eight

“You must walk around and actually talk to the gentlemen tonight, Harry—you can’t simply stand with them saying nothing,” she chided him at the dining table on the day of their reception. Her brother Edward and his wife Susan had arrived that week for the ball, and the four of them had just finished their luncheon.

To her delight, Harry had actually engaged with them, settling into a comfortable rapport with her brother and a polite solicitousness with her sister-in-law.

“You actually expect me to participate in this ball?” Harry countered with mock astonishment. “I was thinking of hiding in the study the entire evening.”

“Don’t you dare! I demand you dance with me, too—at least two dances.”

“Kitty,” Edward cut in stiffly. “Browbeating your husband may very well land you over his knee,” he warned.

“Oh, I’m certain it will,” she said breezily. “That’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

There was a pregnant pause as that bit of information was received and Edward and Susan looked to Harry to gauge the truth. He’d closed his eyes in exasperation, but was unable to contain his suppressed laugh. He released it, shaking his head with chagrin.

“Well, that makes it a bit hard to manage her, doesn’t it?” Edward asked.

Harry chuckled again. “Yes, but she’s as sweet as honey after she’s been chastised. So it’s quite worth the trouble.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm, but laughed along with the others. Then Edward grew serious. “Are you kind to her, Westerfield?”

“Edward, please,” she interceded.