The Master Of Michaelmas Hall

by Vanessa Brooks

  “We should talk,” he said grimly, interrupting her loving flow of French.

  Chapter 8

  Angele had not thought to enjoy marital congress with Gabriel ever again. At no point after removing her veil had he looked at her with anything other than disbelief and unadulterated love. She’d seen no revulsion or disgust in his eyes when he’d traced her scar, only fury directed at those who’d harmed her.

  The bliss she’d felt when his body had taken hers was indescribable. She had never thought to hold him in her arms again, let alone feel that delicious sensation of fullness as he’d entered her body. Joy fizzled through her veins. She felt light-headed with euphoria, not simply because she had reached the dizzy heights of completion seconds before—no, this was bone-deep, pure rapture. She was once again connected with her soul mate, her other half. In her view, her better half, something she acknowledged ruefully in the aftermath of passion. She felt fully alive again for the first time since the birth of her child, their son, Christopher.

  Angele had welcomed the agonising pain of childbirth, relished the raw power of that base act which brought forth new life. Christopher was the precious piece of humanity that linked her to Gabriel forever. When they were apart, she could adore that which they had created between them with a passionate love.

  She noted her beloved’s countenance now set in stern lines. She knew she had some explaining to do, yet even his wrath seemed something wondrous. Any form of physical contact with him was bliss. She felt like a starving woman seeking crumbs from his table. Any touch of Gabriel’s hand would suffice, even his scolding palm. She shivered. It had been an aeon since she had felt his punishing hand upon her derrière. She had spent five long years attempting to forget his touch, both loving and chastising, each as exciting to her as the other, entwined as they were in the physicality of their relationship.

  He tidied his dress. She gave him her hand as he imperiously offered her his palm. Pulling her upright, he brushed down her crumpled dress and then indicated she should be seated upon the edge of the bed. Pacing to and fro in front of her, he finally came to a halt. Her gaze fixated on a tendon in his neck which pulsed intermittently.

  “Tell me, why the deception?” he finally asked, sounding strained.

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he interrupted her.

  “I have died a thousand deaths since word came that you were gone. I have been tormented to Hell since your death; not least by the fact I was not there at your side to protect you from the mob. How could you have been so cruel as to lead me to believe that you were dead?” His voice, ragged, rumbled with emotion.

  “I…” she began, but once again he spoke over her, ignoring her attempted reply.

  “You say we have a child and yet you deliberately neglected to inform me of the fact, keeping me from watching my son and heir grow. Whatever have I done to make you hate me so, Angele?” His words cracked with pain.

  Distressed, she leapt to her feet. “Mais non, Gabriel, môn amour, do you have any idea how much I love you? Have always loved you? I thought to leave you unencumbered by the damaged hag you see before you now.” She spread her hands.

  Gabriel grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her roughly, shocking her.

  “Hag be damned! You are as beautiful as ever. I cannot believe that is the real reason you could be so cruel,” he snarled.

  She laughed bitterly. “And here I was grateful when I saw no revulsion fill your eyes when you removed my veil. Believe me when I say that others have not been so kind.”

  He kept hold of her shoulders; his thumbs dug painfully either side of her collarbones. “We were as one. You knew I would love you regardless of any kind of disfigurement, and in truth the scar barely detracts from your beauty. I know that you would love me no less, had the tables been reversed. I do not accept that is the only reason you have kept yourself a secret from me.”

  She hung her head in shame. “Perhaps so, but I feared you would keep me beside you in pity. Had you taken a mistress, I could not have borne to stay and watch as we drifted apart, not after the life we’d shared, the passion, the completeness of our union. Please understand that I wanted you to remember me as I was; I wanted you to move on with your own life as you were about to.”

  “What of our child, our son?”

  “I-I suppose that I selfishly wanted to keep a part of you for myself. A piece of your love forever by my side… Can you honestly blame me for that?”

  “Yes, I can—I do! In fact, I blame you for every moment, every second of those lost years.” His blazing eyes held hers in thrall.

  Lifting her chin defiantly, she steadfastly returned his smouldering gaze.

  He grasped her chin, his eyes narrowed. “You know the forfeit for such defiance, my love.”

  She swallowed as his eyes glinted with steely resolve, the look in them exciting her. Without warning, he yanked her forward to press his mouth hard against hers in a punishing kiss. She gave as good as he, and with grunts and several clashes of teeth, they duelled brutally with their tongues. Each drank thirstily from the other, the drought over. The monsoon had come; they danced in the rain.

  He ended the impasse by pulling free of her. They stood facing one another, panting. His cheek twitched, and his mouth tightened. She pressed her palm below her breast in an attempt to calm the rapid tattoo thundering beneath her ribs.

  Without warning, he seated himself upon the bed, yanking her facedown across his hard thighs. She gave a squeal of surprise and thrashed her legs, but there was no real fight in her, only the thrill of anticipation and the exhilaration of feeling she was coming alive again for the first time in five long, dreary, lonely years.

  He pulled up her black gown and petticoats. The silk dress would be ruined by so much manhandling, yet she did not care as he shoved the mass of material roughly aside. The cool air of the dank little chamber chilled the nether regions of her flesh.

  The first spank shocked her—had his blows always stung this much? Gasping for breath, she shuddered. His hard smacks rained down upon her quivering bottom.

  She moaned.

  “Settle, Angele, for there will be worse to come for such treason. To leave me alone in darkness and sorrow while you were alive was cruel and unreasonable in the extreme. I swear I shall punish you every day for the rest of our lives as retribution for your wickedness. No longer my angel then but fallen like Amy, the president of all fallen angels.”

  A glow in her heart swelled at his endearment, his own pet name for her, Angel. He loved her still -that much was obvious. Nothing else mattered. She would willingly submit to being thrashed every morn, noon, and night if he so chose. What did she care now that she was with him? Being back where she belonged in her beloved’s embrace was all she was concerned with—well, that and their son.

  “Perhaps I shall call you Amy from now onwards.”

  “Non, please, Gabriel, allow me prove to you that I can be your Angel once more,” she cried, distressed.

  His answer seemed to be to increase the intensity of her punishment. Reason fled as pain from his chastisement wiped away all coherent thought. She wailed apologies, churning her hips. The burn across her buttocks intensified, yet she relished him reestablishing his mastery over her. She had missed his dominance, his self-assurance and his protection, but most of all, she had missed his love.

  She’d pined for his magnificent body, especially that male part of him that had given her so much carnal pleasure during their regular mating, the loving act that had created Christopher.

  The spanking hurt, but the apex of her thighs clenched with frissons of lust, releasing her excitement in fluid form. She knew she was slick, wet, just as she’d always been when laid across his sturdy thigh. She had never quite come to terms with this strange anomaly, although Gabriel had been delighted to discover her base reaction to his chastening palm.

  As it was, instead of lifting his hand again, he slid his palm over her scalding buttock, down betwixt h
er thighs, and chuckled, the sound warming her heart. She had missed the deep resonance of his laughter, rare as a hen’s tooth and just as precious.

  “My fallen angel; so wet and ready for your Master. My God, how I have missed you, my darling.”

  She found herself flipped upright and embraced. She burrowed into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, breathing in his scent.

  I am home! The intoxicating thought thrilled her.

  “I have missed you more than anything, my lord. It tore my heart into tiny shreds to stay away, but I did not wish to hinder—”

  “Stop, do not speak, for you will only make me livid once more, and I do not wish to spank you again—not right now, but perhaps later. Now I need to hold you in my arms in order to convince myself that you are real, solid flesh and blood. I still cannot believe the evidence of my own eyes. Dear God, Angele…”

  He tipped her back onto the bed. Leaning forward, he gently swept his thumbs over her cheeks to remove her happy tears. He smiled tremulously; she returned his quirky grin. A gasp escaped her as he cupped and kneaded the soft, pliable flesh of her bosom, and she moaned softly. He fondled her, stroking the mounds of her breasts through the ruined fabric of her dress

  “You wish to spend again?” he whispered in a deceptively smooth tone, but she knew his wily ways of old.

  “Only if you permit me to, Sir,” she replied carefully.

  “Ha! Well, I do not. You deserve no more pleasure for your act of deliberate cruelty. Tell me, why did you and the maid take my horses and attempt to run away yesterday?”

  His finger and thumb inched below her décolletage and pinched her burgeoning nipple; she gasped again. “I-I knew that I could not stay after you had seen my hair. I thought you might guess at my identity and so I decided to return to Churchton to speak with Mary and to fetch Christopher.”

  His gaze sharpened. “My sister knows that you live?”

  She nodded.

  His face darkened. “Robin shall hear of this. My sister shall pay dearly for her lack of loyalty towards her brother.”

  “Non! Please, my lord, I beg of you. Your sister loves you dearly. She counselled me to tell you at once. Please do not exact retribution. Mary told me plain that should I fail to tell you the truth during my visit, then she would be forced to do so.”

  He appeared to be scrutinising her face for any sign of insincerity. She held her breath. He relaxed, obviously satisfied there was no hint of culpability. She breathed.

  “Very well then, I shall say nothing to Robin but I shall ask my sister to spin the yarn among her contacts within the ton that you suffered with the amnesia after the attack in Paris which killed your family and left you for dead. Mary can spread word that you retired to a convent in order to recover from your wounds but recently regained your memory and returned home to me, bringing our son with you.”

  “Oui, my lord, but what of your engagement?”

  “Ah, so you know of Noelle. Would you have allowed me to commit the heinous sin of bigamy?”

  She hesitated a little too long.

  “Fie, madam, if your delectable posterior were due retribution before, it is due double the chastisement now that I know the full extent of your duplicity.”

  Chapter 9

  If Joseph thought it at all odd that the lady in black was no longer wearing her veil, or that his lordship was behaving in an over familiar manner with his female guest on their ride back to the house, he knew better than to comment or to gossip on his return.

  Together they returned to Michaelmas Hall seated in the sleigh. On this occasion, St. Nicholas did not drive but sat cuddled with Angele, seated behind Joseph who drove them home, competently keeping the mules moving at a slow yet steady pace. Gabriel placed a protective arm about his wife. He’d wrapped them warmly with blankets then piled furs atop until they were snug. Holding Angele close, he remained stunned at the sudden turn of events, his mind racing with all that had occurred.

  The ride was uneventful. The top layer of snow had melted slightly in the winter sunshine, making the journey smooth. They did not talk other than to comment on the winter scene. Weak sunshine turned the snow-covered landscape into a glittering fairyland, one that blazed blindingly white and pure, achingly beautiful to behold.

  On their arrival at the house, Gabriel checked that the horses had been taken care of and had suffered no damage from their icy adventure. He returned to the sledge and lifted Angele from her nest and, carrying her inside the house, he immediately summoned his butler and the housekeeper. Reintroducing them to his wife, he gave them the same explanation he had decided upon at the cottage. They both were effusive in their welcome of their long-lost mistress. Mrs. Berry openly shed tears of joy, while Mr. Carroll’s eyes looked suspiciously misty.

  Gabriel was pleased to note that these two bastions of his household were obviously thrilled by Angele’s resurrection and return to their midst. He remembered to ask after the maid, Ivy, and was reassured by Mrs. Berry that she was presently seated before the kitchen range recovering with a steaming mug of cocoa, especially made for her by cook.

  Gabriel ordered his wife’s belongings to be moved into the adjoining chamber to his and a warm bath to be prepared for her. There was ample time before luncheon was served.

  A connecting door meant freedom of movement between the two newlyweds without the prying eyes or censorship of the servants. It was a luxurious room that she had resided in happily during their early marriage.

  Once they were alone again, he seated himself beside the fire and smiled at her. She returned his smile and moved to stand on the heath rug, turning her back in order to warm her derriere.

  “That is a comfortingly familiar sight,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

  “You always stood thus on a chilly winter’s day.”

  As she placed her palm in his, he tugged her to him, bringing her down upon his knee.

  “I need to know about the five years we have been apart—everything, every thought, word, and deed.”

  She snuggled against him; a deeply contented sigh escaped her as he kissed her temple and tightened his hold.

  “I was convinced you could not continue to love me, disfigured as I am…”

  He gave a roar of protest.

  “Gabriel, I cannot continue if you growl so every time you do not like what I say.”

  “Then I shall endeavour to control myself,” he replied dryly.

  She wriggled indignantly on his lap, and he rewarded her with a growing hardness under her thigh.

  He smacked her leg lightly. “Be careful, minx, I am close to showing you how displeased I still am at your deception,” he warned.

  She stilled, continuing her tale of life in Italy living with her cousin. When she’d finished talking, he was so silent that she pulled backwards in order to look into his face.

  “You seem vexed,” she told him.

  “I am shocked by the fact the count was willing to go along with your plan. By Hades, I feel honour-bound to call the nodcock out.”

  “Mais non, Gabriel, le cont was actually most difficult to persuade. Eventually, Alessandro agreed on the proviso that should we hear that you were to take a bride you would be informed that I still lived.”

  “And yet you did not inform me, nor, from what I understand, did you intend to. Am I correct?”

  She shifted guiltily.

  “Angele?”

  “Malheureusement, I confess that I did not wish to burden you with a damaged wife but I had not had time enough to plan, although… Peut-etre?” She shrugged.

  He frowned. “I am not a cruel man but I feel the need to punish you on so many levels and for so many counts.” He began to tick them off on his fingers. “Running from the house yesterday and putting you, your maid, and two valuable, beloved horses in grave danger. For your lies, for the hurt you have caused both to me and our son with your wicked deception. However, you have just returned to me from the dead…” He dropped his counting
hand. “I am loath to do anything that might jeopardise our joyful reunion. Therefore, I wish to know your opinion on the matter. You may be completely candid.”

  Angele did not reply. As she shifted, he let her go. She stood, and he watched as, without hesitation, she walked to the old brown leather chair adjacent to his desk. Lifting her skirts, she placed herself over the padded arm of the furniture. He recalled other occasions of discipline, with her bent across that very chair. A delicious thrill of anticipation ran down his spine.

  “I shall accept whatever my lord deems as an appropriate punishment and with no ill will. I feel that I deserve your retribution,” she told him huskily.

  He moved to her side.

  Her heart rate increased her pulse racing as he arrived next to her.

  “Very well then, purely for running away yesterday and for nothing else, ten strokes of the strap. I shall divide your punishments into increments to be dealt with at a later date as and when I see fit to deliver them.”

  Her gaze followed his progress across the room to his mahogany desk. He pulled out the bottom drawer. She knew only too well what resided there. He retrieved the worn and supple leather strap, split at one end. It was a fearsome implement, one that had her begging for reprieve in her younger days, but not today, oh no. She felt this scolding to be well-deserved. She avowed to take every slap bravely in order to show him her full remorse for not trusting his love, for fruitlessly keeping them apart for the last five years.

  “I have not used this in many a year. What had you done to deserve its bite on the last occasion I used it upon your pretty arse?”

  She quivered at the crudeness of his language; St. Nicholas had always been a gentleman out in society, always so polite, so very correct. To discover his crudeness within their boudoir had always titillated her.