The Borrowed Bride

by Jaye Peaches

  Mary had not gone far at all. She was eating Matthew’s haystack. He grumbled at her, but when he took her reins, he gave her mane a stroke and her haunch a pat. “There, you’re safe now.”

  He tied her to the fence in the yard.

  Dara removed the bag from where she’d attached it to the saddle. “Thank goodness. Clean clothes.”

  She rushed indoors and while he busied himself with cleaning the mud off Mary’s legs, she changed into a gown and fresh stockings, ensuring her bodice was taut and her waist drawn in.

  Matthew stood in the doorway, the light behind him. He filled the space, leaving a little brightness to seep through. “Now what was the point of that?”

  “What?” she asked, brushing her hair with the ebony-backed hairbrush.

  “Putting them clothes back on.”

  She started. Did he mean to bed her again? She was still a little sore from the first time, although not to the extent she might have anticipated. Was it appropriate now that her ‘debt’ was paid? She had a long journey ahead of her and that should be her focus. However, watching him stroll into his cottage, his eyes glued on her, she was struggling with those aches and tingles, the kind that signalled she was not in a hurry to leave him.

  “Why should I not change into my clothes?” she asked.

  “Cos I can’t tan your hide with them on, can I?” He closed the door behind him.

  “Tan my... whatever for? You can’t mean it...” She staggered back against the wall.

  “I mean what I say, lass. Now you lied about that ring. You’re no convent bred girl either, so don’t bother to tell me you’re married to Christ.”

  “I can’t be married to any man if I’m a virgin.” She stuck out her chin.

  “Then why do you have a ring upon that finger? Eh?” He picked up the saddlebag from the table, rummaged inside, and pulled out the pouch of gems.

  She was aghast. He was a thief. She had allowed a common thief to trick her.

  “Now don’t gawp at me. I searched this while you slept and found these pretty things. Worth a fair penny, too. So, here’s me thinking, she’s run off. Got herself married, then run off with his fortune. These are not going to be easy to sell, I can tell you. Some rogue will do a crooked deal with you to get ‘em cheap. Tell me the truth and I’ll make sure they go back to their rightful owner.”

  He had the measure of her too well. But she wasn’t a thief. The gems were a gift to her and she was more than capable of selling them for a fair price. She moved away from the wall. “I’m not lying. They are mine.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve taken a husband in bad faith and now you’re taking his fortune. So, off with them clothes, and I’ll tan you with my hand and belt, then if you tell me the truth, I’ll not punish you further. So let’s be getting on with the deed, I’ve other things to do.”

  She blanched. He was serious. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and between her thighs, she was a dam about to burst its banks. Matthew, far from making her want to run away, was crushing her resistance. He had some of the truth, but not all of it, and if she told him the real story of her marriage, how her husband had failed to consummate it, would he think it was her fault, like most men probably would? She might warrant a spanking for denying her husband existed, but not for taking the jewels. As for running away, it was a moot point. She intended to return, eventually.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “If you want to do it, then you’ll have to come and get me over your knee yourself.” She spoke before she could think through the consequences. Matthew was not a man who went back on his words.

  “Fair enough. I’ll come over there, strip you bare, bend you over this table, and spank that arse until its red and blooming. You’ll feel the stripes of my belt. Then if you can take it, I’ll pleasure that tight hole of yours. If after all that you think you want to leave, you can go; otherwise, I’ll let you stay until you’ve sorted out how you plan to return the things you’ve stolen from your husband, including yourself, since he’s party to that possession too. How does that sound to you?”

  She was defeated. She had no inclination to run or hide from him. He could do exactly what he wanted, because he had offered her the one thing she truly desired, the chance to stay. She would dangle before him the three months her husband was away and use it to suggest a proposal. Have me for three months, Matthew, and I will do whatever you wish, and then I’ll go back to him educated in womanly ways and debauched enough that even the austere Lord Coleman would not be able to resist me.

  Chapter Two

  Matthew rolled up his sleeves. The girl was feisty, he granted her that, but that wasn’t what drew him to lie with her. She’d never know what it meant to him that he’d broken his long fast. He never thought any woman would bring that famine to an end. She was an angel, even if he’d found her in the mud. An angel blessed with a pretty face, mint eyes, a neck he could ring with one hand, an hourglass figure, and bountiful hair.

  Dara, if that was her real name, was a lady. He’d no doubt that she was aristocracy and probably titled. But, for now, he didn’t care to know her family name, only that of her husband, and why she’d left him. She had a story to tell and he would eke it out of her with his firm hand and belt if necessary.

  He could so easily rip off her clothes, it would be deeply satisfying to feel the cloth shred in his hands and watch her quiver. But she’d come to him with very little and he’d nothing to offer her except his oversized breeches and shirts. She remained rooted to the spot and he approached her with a carefree attitude, hoping it would dampen down his more ardent nature.

  She flinched when he hooked his fingers through her laces. However, she said nothing as he drew the gown down, revealing another bodice as well made as the one he’d removed the previous day. The silky gown rippled and formed a circle around her feet. She was laced at the front, and tightly too. He pulled out the cord, releasing the bodice, then dragged it off her shoulders. That too landed on the floor.

  The cottage was clean. He kept it that way diligently. Well swept, dusted, and free of cobwebs. He was proud of his abode. She was probably used to grand salons and chambers, but here, she would have to make do with the one room. If she stayed, of course. Whether she did or not would depend on how she took to being spanked hard and taken in the arsehole. He rather fancied she’d like the latter, but probably not the former, which wasn’t a big surprise since she’d probably never had a thrashing in her life.

  She tossed her head to one side and refused to look him in the eyes. She kept her arms folded across her chest in a worthy act of defiance and her knees pinned together. Yet not a word came out of her mouth. If this was the sum total of her protest, it was pathetic and unlikely to dissuade him.

  “Move them hands, or I’ll rip this off.” He pinched the thin cotton of her chemise.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m warning you. It will cost you extra.” He wanted to smile. She was courageous and wondrously defiant in her pout.

  “Very well.” The chemise wasn’t that important and easier to replace than a dress. He grabbed the cloth at the shoulders and tore it off her. It split down the middle like tissue paper.

  She gasped. “How dare you, sir.” She was as naked as a newborn baby. She clasped her hands before her privates. Her neat breasts were generous and in keeping with her likely age; probably no more than twenty. They stood out and not down; they’d never had a babe sup on them.

  “I dare.” He took hold of her pale arm and marched her to the table. “Over you go.”

  Her lower lip trembled beautifully. “Not your lap?”

  He chuckled. There was no way he’d let her feel his hardness. He was a stiff as a wooden stake and aching to exercise it. “That’ll have to be earned,” he said gleefully.

  The pout extended. She refused to budge.

  He knocked her feet apart and pushed her firmly between her shoulder blades. She folded and landed face down on the oak boa
rd. She hammered her fists on the surface and kicked her legs about.

  “Be still, or it will hurt more.” He held her down, keeping his left hand spread across her shoulders while she humped the table in an unladylike way.

  She was so pale that her skin was as white as chalk. He’d caressed it last night, felt its silky smooth finish, and glided his cock over her belly. He was as rough as iron filings, kept that way by hard work and little opportunity to relax. The contrast between her delicate body and his thickset one could not be more pronounced.

  Before she could wriggle out from under his hand, he walloped one of her fulsome arse cheeks. She hollered and stilled. The shock of it was what took the breath out of her lungs. He could hit far harder than that, but it would do more harm than good. The print of his hand left a deep red mark. The other pale cheek needed to match. He walloped that one too.

  She screamed. “That’s enough.”

  He laughed. “Enough? I’ve just started. Once we’ve got this arse turned hot and red, I’ll get my belt and stripe it. Then some butter on my knob and you’ll be as good as gold while I sort that tight arse of yours out. Or all you have to do is tell me the name of your husband so I can return you to his godly embrace.”

  “I shall not.” She buried her head in her arms.

  “That’s what I thought.” The slaps he dished out covered her bottom and he worked around each taut globe methodically. Throughout, she kicked and cried out, called him a brute and a bastard, which he knew were both lies, and continued to keep her bent over with a firm arm.

  Eventually, when he reckoned he’d given her a dozen or so spanks on each arse cheek, she ceased the caterwauling and wriggling and kept her toes on the floor. It happened, he’d seen it many times before. Once they gave in, they found it easier to take. The toasting he was giving her was warming her heart and belly as much as her arse.

  The temptation was too great. He stopped the rapid fire of smacks, which had turned her arse crimson, and removed his hand from her back. She didn’t move.

  “Good girl,” he said. With both hands free, he performed an inspection. Crouching behind her, he eased apart her quivering cheeks and examined the foliage between. Her bush would need a good trim; the hairs were fair enough and framed her sex. He licked his finger and ran it along the furrow between her buttocks. The puckered entrance flexed, as he’d hoped.

  “Tight little hole that is. Will take some breaking, but I think you can manage my cock.”

  “Please, sir, it will not take you.”

  “I can judge for myself.” He moved down to her puffy lips. Pink and flushed. He pinched each one between thumb and finger. She winced. “These lips are fat with lust, girl. You can’t hide it from me.”

  “My lips?” she queried.

  Her ignorance was his bliss. He was enjoying educating her. “Labia, they’re called. Knows you not your own body. Tut, girl. These are the folds that protect your cunny.”

  “Such vulgar language, sir,” she said.

  Matthew detected a touch of mirth in her tone. “I like to say what I’m thinking. In here,” he poked his finger into her cunny, “is your cunt. They say it’s a vagina. I call it the quim or cunny. What you call it is up to you.”

  “An educated man, I see,” she sneered.

  “More than you, it seems.” He snorted. “As for this bud.” He chuckled; the little thing was swollen and visible. “This is what makes you want my cock in your arse. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it calling to you.”

  He tickled it and she moaned loudly. “So, pretty thing, Miss Dara. What’s the name of your husband?”

  “I shall not say!”

  “More spanking, then. Let’s be getting on with it. I’ve got a cow to milk.” He resumed his position to one side and raised his hand higher. “A few more of these, then my belt.”

  This time as he swiped his hand back and forth, she cried. The pitiful mewls wrenched at his heart. He bit down on his lip, refusing to let her weaken his resolve to have the truth out of her. The belt would surely do it, and if not that, a good poke up the arse would free her tongue. Not that he had the mind to harm her or do her injury. He knew how to use the belt so that the welts would not bruise heavily, and he had the patience to ease his way into her bottom. If he did it well, she’d invite him in of her own accord next time. If there was a next time. He dearly hoped she was not married and was telling the truth, but he suspected she was lying.

  “Stop, I beg you,” she sobbed. “I am married, yes, I am. For these three weeks and I have left him, but only while he travels. I mean to go back, I do... I have to go back.”

  He rested his hand on her roasted arse. The heat throbbed. Poor lass, he had to wallop her hard to get her to speak the truth. “You stole from him?”

  “No!”

  “I’ll get the belt.”

  She twisted around and he saw her tears. They dripped off the end of her nose and chin. She was red-eyed and snivelling. He started; he’d done that to her, made her cry her eyes out. The belt would surely make her faint. She might be feisty, but she wasn’t a farmer’s wife. She was a lady, and he’d forgotten what young ladies were like beneath their arrogance and fancy ways.

  “Please. The gems are mine. He gave them to me as a present, to make a necklace, but I took them to sell so that I could live on them until he came back from his travels.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  What she said sounded plausible. “Stand up.”

  She wobbled slightly and held onto the table.

  “Why hasn’t your husband bedded you?”

  “I don’t know.” She blinked and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “I waited and waited for him. Wore my lacy bridal shift, which my ma gave me as a gift. But he said he doesn’t want me with child.”

  Matthew growled to himself. “You can bed a lass without making her with child. We did so last night. I spilt elsewhere. How can he not fancy you? You’re beautiful.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  “I reckon he’s thick in the head. Old, is he? Too old to get it up, I suppose. Poor you. Well, I took what was his, and I don’t regret it, nor should you. I’ll take you back—”

  “He’s not there, though. He’s not back until the end of the summer.” She lowered her head and examined a knot of oak in the table.

  She was a porcelain creature, milky white, except for her plum arse, and beyond gorgeous. What if she did stay... no, it was not right to take another man’s wife.

  “Tell me his name, luv,” he said softly.

  “He’s... he’s Lord Coleman of Willowby Hall.”

  Matthew took a step back from her and clenched his fist. The anger was intense. Him, he almost said out loud. Him who was not fit to marry anyone, never mind Dara. He couldn’t blame her for running off. She would be miserable at Willowby Hall surrounded by uncaring servants.

  She was an innocent, which was why she was chosen. Educated by nuns, she’d told him, and quite possibly, but not any longer. Dara had found Matthew, and he had an idea how she should spend the next few months. He couldn’t suggest it outright, and since he wasn’t being entirely honest with her about his past, then it best come out of her mouth. He would have to change his tactics. The belt was no longer the best route forward. He couldn’t risk scaring her off. If he managed to pull this off, he would not only have the company of a fine lady to enjoy, but he would also be sticking his finger up at his lordship. The hard part would be keeping a promise he’d made.

  * * *

  “Lass, come sit on my stool.” He took the rocking chair for himself.

  She gingerly lowered her scorched bottom on the hard stool. The coolness was a blessing even if it hurt to rest on it. She had borne the spanking well, she thought, until he accused her of stealing once again and mentioned the belt. She was more afraid of that thick leather strap than the threat of his cock in her bottom hole.

  “Lord Coleman, I know. He’s my neighbour. I know he likes to travel. He’l
l not come back for a while. As for them pretty gems, if you say they’re yours, then they are. I’ll not touch them. But you must keep them safe. They cannot be spent on frivolous things. They’ll serve you well when they’re needed.”

  He spoke wisely for a farmer.

  “What should I do? I wanted to go to a city and live there, and dance, and meet nice folk, and then go back—”

  “Lass, you cannot do that. There’ll be gossip. You wear his ring, your name will be known, and they’ll want to know why you’re not in your place. A widow can be seen out, a spinster, too. But not a young wife out on her own. You’ll be shunned.”

  She’d not thought about how others might think. “Oh, dear.” She frowned. “I can’t go back. It’s so lonely. My parents won’t have me back home, they think I am happily married... and I do so want to be happy. And married, properly.”

  “Understandable,” he said agreeably.

  “So,” she drawled slowly. “Can I stay here?”

  “Here?” he said and waved his hand around the primitive room. “You’ll not find my simple living easy; there’s no room for either privacy or leisure. I have labourers in the fields to help me, but no womenfolk. No servants, but those that toil for me. I cannot offer you much, lass.”

  “You can offer me much, I think, sir,” she said carefully.

  “Oh?”

  “I can offer you myself, in return for my keep, and you can teach me.”

  He leaned forward and tipped up her chin. He had a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Teach you?”

  “Things. Like farming... and lovemaking,” she whispered.

  He threw back his head and laughed loudly. “Lovemaking. You’ll get none of that with me, lass. I fuck. Do you understand? I’m coarse and unyielding, I’ll take you when I like and how I like. I won’t take disobedience and you’ll respect my ways as your own. So lovemaking, pah, that’s for the fancy folk in big houses. And if you want a child off me—”