The Westerfield Affair (3 page)

Her smile faded and her brows came together. He gave her what he hoped was a pleasant smile, which only seemed to increase her concern. She perched on a chair and folded her hands in her lap primly.

“Lord Westerfield has come to ask for your hand in marriage, Kitty, and I have granted it.”

Kitty’s jaw dropped. “Pardon me?”

“The bans will be published tomorrow and you’ll be married in two weeks’ time.”

“Absolutely not!” she flared. “Are you not forgetting one small part of this arrangement?” She raised her eyebrows with challenge. “Am I not to be consulted in this matter at all?”

Stanley’s brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry, Kitty, but it’s already done.”

He groaned inwardly. Stanley was not handling this well.

Kitty stood and placed her hands on her hips. She turned an ice-cold gaze on him. “May I speak with my brother alone for a moment?”

“No, Kitty,” Maury interjected. “This matter concerns Lord Westerfield, and besides, there is nothing to discuss. As I already said, it is done.”

“How can it be already done?” she demanded, her voice raising in pitch. “Have I stood before the clergyman and sworn to love, honor, and obey? Nay, I have not, nor will I ever if I am not properly courted and asked for my consent, and instead of being informed by my bull-headed brother as if we were still in medieval times!”

Stanley stood as well, his voice booming. “You will do it, because I’ve ordered it and because you have no other choice. If you refuse, I will shut off all my support of you—no more dresses, no more balls, no more London seasons.”

He jumped to his feet, wishing to end the quarrel. Both heads turned to look at him and a silence fell. Kitty’s chest was heaving as if she were having difficulty breathing in her corset. He cursed himself for not giving more thought to this part of his plan.

“If she wishes to be properly courted, she will be properly courted,” he said soothingly, trying to recover the situation without further damage. “Kitty,” he began, and saw her eyes flicker at his use of her given name. “Give me a month to properly court you, and then you may make your decision.”

She looked suspicious.

“It will be your decision,” he promised.

Her eyes were locked on his, warily reading for sincerity.

“Absolutely not,” Stanley interjected.

Damn the man, could he not keep his mouth shut?

“
Without penalty
,” he gritted, not looking away from Kitty.

She froze, her eyes wide. She turned very slowly to look at her brother.

“Without
what
penalty?” Her words were soft with danger.

Even Stanley knew the mistake. “It’s nothing,” he said immediately.

She turned back to him. “Without
what
penalty?”

He could not answer. His grand scheme of assuring himself of his bride did not seem quite so grand now. In fact, it appeared he had made a huge tactical error.

“Did you sell me, Maury?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, yet it carried the wrath of the Furies.

“It’s done, Kitty,” he said grimly. “You have no choice.”

She stumbled back from them both, fisting her dress at the waist in what he realized was an effort to loosen her corset to breathe. She was trembling visibly and she put a hand out as she stumbled back, reaching for the mantle. He closed the distance between them in a long stride and caught her elbow to steady her. The focus left her eyes and he moved in, ready to catch her if she swooned, but she recovered, repeating the gesture of tugging at her corset. When her eyes focused on him again, they were glittering with tears.

Oh, God.

His heart contracted. Tears were far worse than her anger.

“Why?” she croaked.

Why?

“Am I such an awful option?” he asked in a near whisper.

She blinked and the tears escaped her lids, running in perfect lines down the centers of her cheeks.

“It’s not that—I just don’t understand. What do you want with me?”

He stared at her. Did she really still not believe he desired her? “There’s no trick, Kitty, I want you for my wife.”

She shook her head, leaning her back against the mantel and withdrawing from his grasp without making a point of it.

“And so you arranged a business transaction? A contract?” The hollowness of her tone was echoed in the defeated slump of her shoulders and the grim set to her mouth.

Neither man answered.

She looked from one to the other, her eyes finally resting on Stanley. It seemed she saw something inflexible there, because a muscle in her jaw jumped and she let out her breath with a puff. Long practiced in removing himself from any emotional situation, Harry was in perfect anguish. Kitty’s pain was torturous to him, yet he could not offer her comfort, except to dissolve the contract, which he would never do.

But even as he watched, Kitty rallied, swallowing, composing her face and lifting her chest. “Very well, I see I have no choice in this matter. Here are my conditions: I require two months, not one. And a budget for my dress. I want a ring, and I require your proper escort to the remaining social events of the season.” Her chin had jutted out, as if she dared him to refuse. “You can add that to your contract.”

“Done,” he said softly, admiring the swiftness with which she had assimilated her new situation. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, turning to her brother. “You quit gambling.
Permanently
.”

She was aware of her brother’s problems, then.

“No,” Stanley said flatly. Clearly the two shared a family trait of stubbornness. “
We
are not in negotiation. I told you—the deal is done.”

She pressed her lips together and turned back to him, bobbed a small curtsy, and swept from the room with the air of royalty.

“I’m sorry for that,” Stanley muttered when the door had closed.

He glowered at the man. “She’s your sister; you might have anticipated how she might react.”

“She will come around,” Stanley promised, but he thought he detected doubt behind the words.

* * *

Kitty did not say a word to Maury the next day. Her companion, Miss Anderson, counseled her to make the best of it all, but she was still too angry. She understood Maury needed money, possibly desperately. Had he simply appealed to her, just asked, she would made any kind of sacrifice necessary for her family. But to order it, as if she were chattel—well, it was unforgivable.

The following morning after a breakfast of strained silence, Maury finally spoke. “I’m sending an invitation to Lord Westerfield to dine with us tonight.”

“Very well,” she said coldly. She grit her teeth a moment, then added. “I shall send an invitation for Wynn and Teddy to join us as well.”

Maury frowned and she braced herself for an argument, but then he sighed. “Very well.”

“Very well,” she repeated, knowing she sounded like a spoiled twelve-year-old, but unable to wrench herself free of the seething anger she still felt toward him.

Lord Westerfield arrived first, and to irk her brother, she remained in her room, “getting ready.” Miss Anderson fretted at the doorway, twisting her fingers together.

“Come, Miss Stanley, you’re getting off on the wrong foot with the man. You must remember you’re going to spend the rest of your life with Lord Westerfield. Do you wish to live in love and respect, or do you wish to be the shrew until he takes you over his knee, or dallies elsewhere?”

“You are
not
helping me,” she replied through gritted teeth. She heard the brass knocker of their front door and jumped up. “That will be Wynn.”

She’d sent a note to Wynn, telling her she desperately needed her presence that evening, and to expect a shock. She hurried down the stairs to the sitting room. Wynn and Teddy were escorted in by their butler as Lord Westerfield stood to greet her. She rudely offered her hand to Teddy first, then kissed Wynn. Only when they turned to greet Lord Westerfield did she acknowledge him.

“Are you acquainted with Lord Westerfield?” She turned her body in his direction, but did not look at him. “My lord, may I present Lord Fenton and his sister, Miss Fenton?” She turned back to her friends. “Lord Westerfield and I are affianced.”

Wynn gasped. “What a surprise!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, quite a shock, considering I hardly know the man,” Kitty said drily. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Apparently he thought I would look good in his sitting room.”

She sensed Lord Westerfield’s offense, but couldn’t help herself from going on. “Yes, Maury sold me like a cow at auction.”

Maury grasped her upper arm. “Excuse us just a moment,” he said, pulling her none-too-gently after him.

He drew her down the corridor to his study. “That was inexcusable. I am only going to warn you once,” he said icily. “You will behave yourself or I will make you very sorry.”

“Sorrier than I already am? Go ahead and try!” she dared.

His hand shot out to slap her face, but it stopped, mid-swing, caught in Lord Westerfield’s quick grasp.

“Calm yourself, Stanley,” he said. “If you’ll leave us a moment, I will handle her discipline,” he said.

Maury’s eyes narrowed, considering. She held her breath, unsure which of them she’d rather take her to task. She was not surprised when Maury agreed; surely his concern over his contract was greater than his concern for her discomfort. She watched him leave the room, reluctant to look upon the wooden face of her fiancé.

Lord Westerfield walked to the settee and sat down. “Come here, Miss Stanley.”

Her heart began to pound and she felt her face flush to the roots of her hair. Was it just as Miss Anderson had warned? Was she to be taken over his knee?

She walked slowly to stand before him, gathering all her nerve to gaze at him directly. She lifted her chest. “You think I am a piece of pretty property to be bought. You think I can be trained to sit quietly by your side? Perhaps you should have done your research first, Lord Westerfield. I am not known for my perfect manners.”

His brows knit together in a deep furrow. “No, Miss Stanley. I am not in need of a wife who sits quietly by my side. I adore your wit, and until this evening, admired your manners, too.”

She twisted her fingers. She knew she ought to apologize, but she still felt too angry—both with Maury and with him.

* * *

Harry considered his bride-to-be. He’d asked to discipline her, not because he was upset, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of Maury punishing her, especially when he’d been so angry. She had been quite rude, but looking into her face, he did not see defiance. Rather, he saw uncertainty and fear, as if she already regretted her behavior. She was young—only eighteen, and understandably disturbed by the changes he’d inflicted in her life. A little guidance and boundaries might be all she required.

“Your rudeness was unacceptable,” he told her, patting his lap.

Her eyes traveled from his face to his lap doubtfully.

“Be a good girl and I’ll make it swift,” he promised, taking hold of her wrist.

Blushing, she allowed him to guide her across his lap.

“I’m sorry—” she began, but he cut her off with a sharp slap, which he repeated many times, the sound of his hand meeting her bottom, punctuated by her gasps.

“No—” she cried, struggling. “Wait—I’m sorry!”

He tightened his grip on her waist and continued spanking, the satin of her skirt sliding under his hand and making it difficult to hold her in place as she squirmed. He pulled the skirt up, out of the way, flinging her petticoats with it to spank through the thin linen of her drawers. He could see the shadow of her cleft, the shape of her buttocks, and his duty to teach a lesson began to morph into something not nearly so unpleasant. Perhaps her spanking should be on the bare…

He paused and rested his hand on her heated flesh, then began slowly stroking, following the shape of her curves and feeling his cock grow hard. She was panting, but not crying.

“Listen, you have cause to be angry,” he said soothingly. “I understand I went about this all wrong, but may we please begin again?”

“No!”

He began another volley of hard slaps, not with the intent to beat her into submission, but rather to distract himself from the temptation her bottom provided. But he didn’t truly wish to hurt her. He stopped to rub again, intoxicated by the feel of her warm cheeks under his hand.

She shifted her hips and turned her head in his direction. “I just require a little time to adjust, my lord. I’m angry with Maury and I’m angry with you, but I will do as I must.”

This was the Kitty with whom he’d fallen in love. Clever and self-possessed, even in her humbling position. He admired her honesty. He rubbed circles around her bottom.

“I assure you when I’m not furious I can be quite charming,” she added.

He chuckled. “I am well aware of that.”

“Please spank me, my lord, and get it over with, else Maury will send Miss Anderson to look in on us and I should die of embarrassment.”

Harry had considered her punishment to be mostly over, but to hear that she expected more created a tiny thrill of excitement. He followed the waistband of her drawers to her stomach and found the string, giving it a tug to loosen them.

“My lord!” she cried in a strangled breath.

He shimmied the drawers over her hips and sucked in his breath at the sight. She was absolute perfection—two shapely cheeks standing out as an amiable target for his hand, her skin showing a delicate pink where he’d already spanked. He brought his hand down on her bare flesh, shocking himself with the sound of it. He slapped again and again, finding it deeply satisfying—far more than he might have imagined. He slapped lower, growing slightly dizzy at the sight of her little sex peeking from between her legs. She kicked her legs and tried to reach back and cover her bottom with her hand.

“No, Miss Stanley,” he said, his voice far quieter than the sound of his slaps. “You have a spanking coming and I expect you to submit to it.” He bent her arm behind her back and held it there as he continued to spank every inch of her wiggling bottom.