Training Lady Townsend (13 page)

“It’s beautiful,” she said, with what he believed was true admiration.

And it was beautiful, he thought, seeing it through new eyes. Her eyes. The liveried staff, well-trained by his capable steward, arranged themselves in welcoming lines leading down from the landing. Perhaps Lansing was doing Hunter a favor, making him stay dutifully at home to play master of the manor. How singular, this feeling of satisfaction.

“If you are not too tired, perhaps you’ll allow me to show you about the place,” he said.

To his pleasure, she cordially agreed.

*** *** ***

Aurelia wandered amidst her new rooms, noting lovely furnishings and delicate knickknacks, and sweet-smelling flowers. There was even a private bathing room designed in the latest manner of invention, with a tiled tub for soaking. But no matter the beauty and wonders, she kept returning to stare at the window seat.

It was not in the bedroom as in London, but in the adjoining drawing room, and it was not truly a window seat. Rather, benches had been arranged before the window, one on either side, and then draperies fixed on iron rods in the plaster ceiling overhead. The draperies framed the benches on all sides, creating a close approximation of her hideaway at the London household. There was still a bit of dust on one bench from where they’d drilled the plaster, which led to an inevitable conclusion. He had had this hideaway created quite recently—especially for her.

Rather than go within and sit, she stared at it from the middle of the room, plucking at the folds of her evening gown. She had felt rather speechless and awed at dinner, at the beauty of his house and the crisp industriousness of the servants, but now, staring at the window seat that was not quite a window seat, she fell a little bit in love with her husband. But only a very, very little bit.

If only she could despise him, but he made it impossible. He made her feel furious and powerless with his demands, and then followed with actions so kind she felt utterly unbalanced. No, it couldn’t be love she felt, but there was something unfamiliar and hot in her chest. Whatever it was, it made it impossible to sit in the window seat in peaceful docility. It made her want to pace, which, unfortunately, was not ladylike.

“Lady Townsend?” Aurelia turned to find a smartly attired maid curtsying her way into the room. “Pardon me, my lady. Lord Townsend wishes you to attend him now. I’ll be pleased to show you the way to his chambers.”

The last thing Aurelia wanted to do was go to Lord Townsend’s chambers and commence this “training” he seemed determined to put her through, but she gathered her courage and followed the maid. Better that than wait here for him to drag her where he wanted her—and he would drag her, she had no doubt.

The maid led her across the hall and tapped at a great, tall door, and pushed it open. Aurelia entered, nerves jarring. The room was dimly lit; flickering candlelight illuminated a large bed and heavy pieces of furniture. It was a male’s bedroom, top to bottom. She couldn’t suppress a shiver.

Lord Townsend stood from a chair by the fireplace, and Aurelia turned to him with her hands clasped before her waist. She stared at his broad chest, and the interesting contours of his jaw and neck, dusted with an evening’s growth of stubble.
Her husband.
When would she get used to it, the blatant, shocking intimacy of knowing this man?

She could tell nothing from his expression as he regarded her, whether he felt content, or angry, or sad. “Do you find your rooms satisfactory?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you very much for the...” Her voice caught a moment in her throat. “For the window seat.”

“You must have a mouse hole in every home, yes?” At her frown, he approached her. “But I remember you don’t like to be called a mouse. Forgive me.”

Before she knew what he was about, he’d grasped her face and tilted her head back by the chin. She bit her lip, staring up at him. He looked as if he would say something, but then he lowered his mouth to hers in a warm, exploratory kiss. She stood very still as his tongue caressed and encouraged her, teasing gently at her teeth. Without meaning to, she opened to him. Her arms and hands hung in space with nothing to cling to, for she was afraid to touch him even as he deepened his kiss. The hand behind her head delved up into her hair and massaged her nape, angling her just so for his passionate embrace. He tasted faintly of cinnamon and wine.

Was it normal to kiss like this? Was it normal to feel as if one was floating away in some kind of stupor?

He pressed her body to his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Pins clattered to the floor as he brought her hair down, freeing lock after lock, kissing her all the while. She clung to him as if to seek shelter from the very chaos he created in her. Her breasts felt heated, her nipples tight. She was certain she was growing wet in that secret place, and just as certain that he would touch her there and realize it, and thrust his fingers inside and make her feel ashamed before he pressed his hard, thick manhood into her...

She pushed away from him. Not a great push, for she was even now wary of displeasing him. It was more like shying away. She felt cowardly and pitiable as he studied her.

“Are you quite all right?” he asked.

She touched her lips. “I am here as you commanded me.”

“You remember why?” He brushed a bit of hair over her shoulder. “You remember our purpose, the one I explained to you last evening?”

His tone was not the least bit romantic, although his kiss seemed to linger on her lips. “Yes, I remember,” she said.
Even though I am not entirely willing
, she wanted to add. But it would be pointless to do so. He’d brought her here to his secluded estate for this purpose, and she had no way to get away.

She took a step back. That, at least, he permitted. He unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, tossing the fine garment over a nearby chair, then turned back to face her. Without his tailored coat pulling him together in the image of a gentleman, he seemed dangerously underdressed.

With a flick of his wrist, he rolled up the first of his linen shirtsleeves, then the other, fixing her with a purposeful look. “I don’t want you to become upset when I say this, but I believe it best to begin each evening together with a proper, thorough spanking. I believe it will go a long way in communicating to you the inexorability of your situation. It will focus your attention and render you more eager to perform.”

“What?” Her voice cracked, high and shrill. She backed away from him in alarm, her hands splayed protectively over her backside. “I promise you have my attention. I am trying to be good!”

He caught her shoulders before she could flee. “You must trust me, darling. I know what I’m about in such matters.”

He turned her with firm hands and began to undo her dress and loosen her stays, removing everything but her sheer, silken shift. She trembled, cross, reluctant, frightened even, but along with all those feelings came another shameful surge of hot tension in her breasts and between her legs, in her body’s secret core. It was hopeless to resist him, wasn’t it? His power and his will frightened her, but also, curiously, aroused her. She didn’t want this, and yet in some sense it felt exciting. Which meant that she was barely more proper than a common trollop, or a whore.

Oh, no. She had thought herself better than this. He sat on a chair and was about to pull her over his lap when he noticed her tears.

“Why are you crying, Aurelia?”

She sniffled. “I’m crying because I feel terribly confused.”

He made a soft tsk, wiping gently at her cheeks. “Your confusion is only your mind warring with your body. Let me guide you. Don’t resist me, grasshopper, and we’ll see where we end up. Answer me. ‘
As you wish, my lord.
’”

She forced the words out, though her voice trembled. “As you wish, my lord.”

“Ah, that sounds very nice. Those are the proper sort of words to say when I give you instructions. Above all, you must be brave and willing to try anything I request. I won’t hurt you, I swear. In fact, you’ll enjoy great pleasure if you get into the spirit of things.”

The spirit of things? What on earth did he mean by that? She found herself guided, for the third time in her short marriage, over her husband’s lap. She felt the whisper of fabric against her skin as he pushed her shift up to her waist, baring her bottom.

“Feet on the floor, yes, that’s a good girl.” His palms brushed lazily for a moment over her naked cheeks, then stroked lower to caress the skin just above her stockings. “And keep those hands out of the way, or I’ll use one of your garters to tie them together and keep them still.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said, though she could barely imagine such a thing.

He made a low, pleased sound and landed the first spank. Oh, mercy, she would never get used to such treatment, and he intended to do this each evening, on a formally regimented basis? It defied belief, and yet her bottom stung with the reality of his intent. He spanked her twice on each cheek, pausing in between so she felt his palm rub across her skin.
Oh, God help me.
After that, he settled into a constant, painful rhythm of measured spanks.

Right away, it was difficult to keep her feet in the position he wanted. Little kicks and cries escaped her, high and shrill in the silence of his room. She wanted him to stop, but she also felt the most confusing sensation of arousal. The heat in her bottom seemed to spread between her thighs, and collect there in a tingly, heavy way. She prayed not to be molested, but her prayers were in vain. He paused in his onslaught and pressed his fingers to her quim. She flushed hot at the slickness gathered there. If he had commented on it, she would have died of humiliation, but he only resumed the spanking, delivering firm, crisp blows in a steady rhythm to her posterior.

“Perhaps you fear these spankings will become repetitive over time,” he said as his palm rained down. “But it will not be so. Very soon I’ll introduce you to other disciplinary implements. A paddle perhaps. A strap. A birch rod or switch, most definitely. A cane can be highly effective but perhaps best left for moments when you are very, very rebellious.”

Aurelia silently vowed to never be very, very rebellious, because the idea of being caned on her bottom terrified her. His palm alone caused her considerable pain. If he was trying to frighten her with threats of more severe implements, his plan worked.

He stopped and pressed the tip of a finger into her damp channel, so that she squirmed upon his lap. Then he pressed the same moistened finger against her bottom hole. She gasped at the shocking contact and tried to pull away, but his arm tightened around her waist to hold her still. She shuddered as his finger caressed and probed there. He forced her to endure these scandalous attentions as her cheeks throbbed from the spanking.

“Please,” she whimpered. “It is so improper.”

“Nothing is improper between us, now that we’re married. You must remember that, my love. I’m only thinking about the time when I shall introduce you to the pleasures of a ginger fig in your bottom. I’ve an exquisite crop of ginger grown here just for that purpose.”

“You will put ginger...inside my bottom?” she asked in a mixture of horror and disgust.

He laughed. “That, and other things. You’ll come to love it as I do.”

“I won’t,” she cried, tears gathering again in her eyes. It seemed too monstrous to think about. It was almost a relief when he began to spank her again, the steady, sharp whacks of pain a distraction from all the anxiety roiling in her brain. He spanked her for quite a while, but it wasn’t like the first two spankings, where he’d been angry and rough in his discipline. This was more of a controlled endeavor, and when her entire bottom was hot and throbbing uniformly, he stopped.

“There,” he said, “I think that will do. Stand now, and take off your shift for me, darling.”

She held back the tears, relieved that the spanking was over, at least for today. She fumbled with the ties of her shift as her husband regarded her with frank attention. It embarrassed her to disrobe while he remained dressed, but she did as he asked and inched the garment up over her head.

“No,” he said. “Not like that. Not as if you are reluctant and ashamed.” He pulled it back down to her hips. “Try again. Take it off as if you’re excited to reveal your body to me.”

She stared at him. How on earth was she to do that?

“Or, if you feel you need more spanking first...”

“No,” she said quickly. “I shall try again. It’s only that—”

“No excuses. Do as I ask, Aurelia. Take off your shift without any reluctance or shame. Your body is beautiful, you know. Your curves, your femininity. You should present it as such, with none of this shrinking and blushing.”

No reluctance or shame.
What a novel idea, and how impossible. She tried again to do what he asked, lifting the shift more gracefully this time, letting the fabric linger over her hips and breasts before she pulled it off and dropped it, with feigned indifference, to the floor. She tried not to...what had he said? Shrink? She stood straight and tall, and attempted to smile at him. She couldn’t quite manage it. She could barely hold his gaze, intense as it was.

After a moment, he smiled. “Not perfectly done, but better. We’ll practice every day, won’t we? Now turn around and show me your red, spanked bottom, my love.”

Why did he keep calling her his “love”? The only thing he seemed to love was humiliating her, but it was pointless to balk at his instructions. She turned and presented her back to him, wringing her hands at her waist.

“Now bend down very prettily and remove your garters and stockings.”

Aurelia sucked in a breath. Something in his voice, perhaps the low steadiness of it, had the unwilling arousal beating again in that spot between her legs. Dear God, if she bent forward, he might be able to see it, that naughty, throbbing, heated, secret spot that ached for something she couldn’t understand.

“No,” he said sharply when she tried to crouch down instead. “Bend forward at the waist. Roll them all the way down and then hand them back to me.”