She found it difficult to swallow.
“Did I err in judgment?” he asked more gently. "Did you not spend in pleasure?"
Her legs began to quiver. She told herself she ought not fear this man as much as she did. She sensed that he was capable of gentleness, but he had manhandled her forcefully and without apparent qualm.
Finding her voice at last, she said, "If I did, it was an error."
"Error? How can that be? Did you not enjoy it?"
"Yes, but – I mean, no. I ought not have. It was wrong."
"And all the more tantalizing for that reason." He pressed his lips together into a line as if vexed with her.
"In the moment perhaps. But it was wrong and not worth the consequences."
His countenance lightened. "You wound me, madam."
He advanced a step into the room. She immediately took a step back. "Your pardon, sir. It is only – I am married."
Tears pressed against the back of her eyes.
"As am I."
Her eyes widened at what he had said. She saw no wedding ring upon his hand.
Seeing her gaze, he answered, "My ring is safe in my bedchamber. It is far more effective if I do not wear it here at Château Follet."
"You may be at ease with being an adulterer, but I am not."
He stiffened. "Did you not say that your husband had already broken his vows?"
"Yes, but it is different for a husband."
"Why?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is it not hypocritical to expect a wife to be faithful when her husband is not?"
"It is different for a man."
"You expect that women should adhere to higher standards and deny themselves the same pleasures that men avail themselves of?"
"You sound very much like my friend."
"Perhaps your friend has the more enlightened view."
Trudie looked down in consideration. She wanted to believe what Diana and he said. But it was difficult.
"I think some allowances must be made for husbands who have been compelled to marry wives who are not so captivating."
“You think your husband does not find you captivating?"
She met his gaze. "I'm certain of it."
"I beg to differ. You are more than captivating."
"I am no woman of great accomplishment –"
"You are an accomplished pianist."
"My sole talent. I am not otherwise accomplished. I do not dance elegantly, I do not converse with wit and cleverness, I do not –"
"You spend beautifully."
Her pulse quickened. Once more warmth grew inside her body. But she ought not give in to such temptations. She ought not give in to his seductive ways.
"I have committed a terrible sin. I bid you take your leave, sir, that I may contemplate my wrong in solitude."
"What of your penance? What shall you do?"
"I know not, but I would do anything to make it right."
To her horror, he closed and locked the doors behind him. "What – what do you do, sir?" She had been lulled into comfort during their dialogue, but comfort with him was misplaced.
"Finding a way to make it right. Perhaps penance can be arranged."
****
Her mind reeled.
He continued to advance into the room. “You have been a naughty little miss, have you not?”
She backed away. What did he intend to do?
As if sensing her fear, he said, “Worry not. You will thank me at the end—as you had done before.”
She was aghast. Thank him? For what? “I asked you to leave, sir,” she said, her mouth turning dry.
“You do not have the privilege of issuing commands here.”
“I beg you to consider the request of a lady.”
“Are you a ‘lady’?” he challenged, coming around the bed. “Would a ‘lady’ be wet with desire between her legs?”
She flushed. The area between her thighs pulsed. Dear God, it was happening again. She backed away from him, but he had her cornered once more. Behind her: a wall. To her left: a wall. To her right: the bed. And in front of her: him, standing but a foot from her.
“I think a proper education in the carnal arts is all you need.”
“What you contemplate is wrong,” she murmured..
“It is what you came to Château Follet for,” he reminded her.
There was no reasoning with him. Her best chance was to escape. When he reached for her, she dove toward the bed and tried to scramble over the top of it. He caught her and once again she found herself trapped beneath him. When she attempted to push him off of her, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the bed.
“I see you favor playing the damsel in distress,” he remarked.
She could feel his breath and caught a glint in his eyes through his mask. She started. There was something familiar about his eyes.
“You need not fear,” he continued. “You will take pleasure in all that I do to you.”
She shook her head, not wanting to believe it possible.
“I shall scream,” she warned.
“Screams are commonplace here, but if you truly wish for me to go, I shall.”
When she hesitated, his mouth descended onto hers. His lips captured hers, muffling her protests and blurring her thoughts. She could not think clearly when kissed by him. Her mind fought to surface above the currents that waved through her body and seemed to collect between her thighs. How was it possible she could enjoy this, enjoy being surrounded by his strength, restrained against her will? Because this man, unlike Leopold, desired her. This stranger was the only man to desire her. The warmth inside her grew as his mouth coaxed hers to open. His tongue met hers, teasing and wanton. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the lovely assault, allowing him to delve and probe every recess of her mouth.
No, no. She ought to resist. She should not permit herself to be so pathetic as to allow the stranger to seduce her a second time. Though she knew it to be futile, she struggled against him. In response, his hips pressed her further into the bed. The kiss became both a duel and a dance as she wavered between resisting and surrendering. His mouth pressed harder, rougher, and to her surprise, the intensity only added to the thrill. He kissed her long and hard till she grew breathless, till her jaw was sore, and her resistance wearied. When, at long last, he separated his mouth from hers, she could form no words above her panting.
He gazed into her eyes. "Much better. Now, if you do as I bid and please me, I shall have no cause to set to lecturing you. Indeed, I may have cause to reward you if you are obedient."
Obedient? Did he speak to her as if he meant to train a pet dog?
Grabbing her, he pulled her off the bed. He transferred both her wrists to one hand while his other hand yanked off the sash that held the bed curtains in place. He used the sash to bind her wrists together.
Panic formed anew in her throat. "What do you intend?"
He pulled her onto her feet and toward one of the bedposts. He pulled off another sash and used it to tie her wrists to the bedpost. "Please," she pleaded.
"Did you not say you wish to pay penance for your deeds?" he asked, crooking a finger and running the knuckle along her décolletage. His fingers skimmed the tops of her breasts. "Did you not say that you would do anything to set it right?"
"But how is this to serve such purposes?"
"You shall see."
What came next dismayed her greatly. He circled his arms about her and began to feel for and remove the pins that held her dress together. He meant to undress her!
"No… Please…" She prayed he did not intend to reveal her form. How she wished she had Diana's slenderness or a body worth exposing, any body but hers. Without the pins, her bodice loosened. Realizing the sleeves still encased her arms he gripped the fabric and tore it. The garment slid off her shoulder.
"Dear God," she whimpered.
He did the same to the other sleeve. The top of her dress slid to the floor, leaving her
arms bare, her corset revealed. Her ample breasts swelled high above the undergarment. He stood to admire them before lowering his head to kiss them.
"Captivating," he said after he had raised his head. His tone made her shiver. He untied her skirts and petticoats next. She watched in dread as he pulled these down to the floor. She could only hope that he would go no further.
He cupped the side of her face and traced her bottom lip with his thumb. It was a gentle caress that caused her heart to palpitate as much as his rougher movements. He replaced his thumb with a finger, which edged closer and closer into her mouth. She took in his digit as if it were the most natural and obvious thing to do. She tongued his finger and sucked. When she dared to meet his gaze, the look of lust smoldering in his eyes beckoned her own arousal.
"Well, well,” he murmured, “I think we may make a wanton of you yet."
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE BALKED. SURELY HE jested. She was a good girl. She had always been a proper and decent young woman.
Yet, she could not deny that she had willingly taken his digit into her mouth and sucked it readily. She had come to Château Follet to indulge in criminal carnality. She was now an adulteress. Was she not a wanton jade already?
As if sensing her pain, he added gently, "Worry not. You will enjoy every minute of it."
She looked at him with defiance. She may have committed a wrong, gone down the devil's path, but she need not worsen her guilt.
"My friend will return at any moment," she warned.
He leaned in closer, and she could feel his heat, smell his essence. It was vaguely familiar.
"A nice attempt," he whispered, "but your friend is in the embrace of a compelling fellow. I doubt she will return. She is a woman given to indulging her passions and has not your reservations."
She struggled to find a threat that would affect him, finally deciding on, "I shall tell Madame Follet of your behavior. She will not condone it. She may ban you from her château."
He kissed her gently beneath the ear, making her shiver. With his lips, he continued to softly caress her neck.
"Perhaps not," he agreed, "but it will be worth the exile if I can have my way with you this night."
She tried to suppress her groan. Her legs weakened. Leopold had never said such things to her, and as she was one who rarely engendered compliments, she had to admit that her starvation for attention lent greater potency to his words.
"I suggest you follow in your friend’s footsteps," he said, now mouthing her throat, "for that is what you had intended all along."
But I had intended not to see it through, she thought to herself, until you came along. But there was no use in placing blame. She was not faultless and had been a willing party to her own demise.
His lips seared the soft spot beneath her jaw, draining her resistance. How was it she could be so easily seduced by this man? Was it so easy for her to succumb to any man willing to desire her, or was it this man in particular who held sway over her?
His arm reached behind her and began to untie her skirts.
I must not allow this. She resorted to bribery. "Sir, if you will desist, I can offer you ten pounds—"
He snorted.
"Fifty pounds, then."
"Does your husband allow you that much pin money?"
His kisses now trailed down to her décolletage, and she could not stay her bosom from heaving.
"I have my own funds. My family is one of means. It is the reason my husband married me."
He stiffened. "That cannot be the sole reason.”
"That and our families have long been well acquainted."
He straightened. He cupped her chin and tilted her gaze up to meet his. His eyes bore into hers. "You could offer me a hundred pounds. I will not forgo you, my dear."
She could not breathe. She supposed he must be well situated himself for monetary reward to have such little consequence upon him. But what if he were not?
He pulled down her skirt, along with her petticoats, which he had apparently untied as well. She stood before him in nothing but her undergarments: her chemise, corset, stockings and garters. She began to wonder that she could survive the night with this man. Without her gown, her form was exposed to him. She tried not to think how he would assess her wide hips and plump thighs. But he dismissed her thoughts when he took her mouth in his. His hand cupped the back of her head, trapping her, so that he could devour her. The pressure of his lips roving over hers made her head spin. He pried her lips open, and his tongue was deep in her orifice, licking, caressing, probing. He kissed her with greater intensity than he had in the piano room. She could not keep pace with the assault. Yet, she found herself wishing that Leopold would kiss her in such fashion. When at long last he gave her a reprieve, her jaw was sore and her lips bruised. She was breathless. And warm. Extremely warm.
His free hand rested on her left hip before brushing across her thigh toward her mound. She began to struggle. If he should fondle her there, the odds would multiply against her. As she feared he would, he cupped her between the legs, pressing the fabric of her chemise into her dampness, making her quiver. She should speak the word of safety. She gave a half-hearted attempt, but the word was muffled by his lips atop hers. His fingers curled against her folds through the chemise.
“You wished to speak, madam?” he murmured against her mouth. He was breathless, too.
Heart hammering, she only managed a moan. He was stroking her, coaxing more moisture to her most intimate parts. Her mind commanded her to object. But the area between her legs spoke louder. The sensations fluttering from her nether regions were more delicious, more tempting than the finest of wines.
When she made no further sound, he took her mouth again, his lips enveloping hers, drowning her with his passion. Her arousal surged in response. She found herself grinding into his hand, seeking that euphoric end she had experienced in the piano room.
But he withdrew, leaving her bereft, her body groaning at the loss of his touch.
Sauntering behind her, he sat at the corner of the bed and reached for the ribbons of her corset. The garment would be his next victim. The thought of being completely naked before him, her rounded body exposed, jolted her to some semblance of order. She tried to take this opportunity to collect her wits and consider a plan of escape. Without the vision of him before her to distract her, she might actually be able to think. But still it was no easy task. The force of his kisses still burned her lips. She had appealed, threatened, and bribed him. What else could she do?
With her wrists bound atop her head to the bedpost, he could not remove the corset, nor could he tear through its whalebone as he had with the silk bodice of her gown. Aware of this, he untied the sash from the bedpost after he had loosened her corset. As soon as her arms came down, she attempted to wrestle away from him. Her wrists were still bound by the initial sash, and he used that to yank her back to him. She fell across his lap, grazing the hardness between his legs.
“Behave yourself,” he said gruffly, “or you may not like the consequences.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
In answer, he threw the chemise over her backside, baring her rump. She felt her cheeks turn red. A more embarrassing predicament could not be had.
Whack!
She yelped at the sting of his hand against a buttock. Horror filled her as he dealt another blow. She was being spanked! She had been spanked only once before in her life when, at six years of age, she had stolen her younger brother’s biscuits and eaten them all. But to be spanked as a grown woman! This was highly objectionable—more than objectionable!
She was about to protest when a third and even harder smack was delivered. She gave a cry of anguish. Damn his insolence! How dare he?
“Sir! I am a baroness.” She attempted to speak with hauteur to make herself more impressive. “And—and I’ll not suffer such treatment!”
“You may claim to be a duchess. Your treatment would not differ here at Chât
eau Follet.”
He emphasized his words with another wallop to her other buttock. It seemed as if little needles poked at her derriere, but the pain was easily tolerated. The humiliation was the harder aspect to bear.
“Stop!” she cried after another spank.
To her surprise, he did. But only to let his hand wander beneath her rump and between her legs. He caressed her folds, the bud between. She whimpered. The sweetness of his touch contrasted with the burn upon her backside, a unique pairing that confused and intrigued.
When he smacked her again, she made no protest, hoping instead that he would fondle her, which he did. He alternated between pleasuring her and punishing her.
“Do you still wish me to desist?” he inquired after her arse felt as if it were on fire.
She stared at the bedclothes beneath them, glad he could not see her face. She was sure her countenance blushed as crimson as her derriere. Despite the assault upon her backside, her desire had not diminished in the least. Rather, it had grown.
Slowly, she shook her head. Perhaps she was, as he had mentioned, a wanton.
* * * *
To her disappointment, he neither resumed his caresses nor spanked her. He undid the binding at her wrists, then lifted her. Her arms came out of the sleeves of the corset. She felt her breasts, which had been pushed up toward her collar, drop. He flipped her onto her back and straddled her.
“Please, let me keep the chemise,” she asked, unable to bear the thought of being completely naked before him.
“Will you behave?” he replied.
She nodded, searching for his eyes through his mask to find some assurance that he was not all ruthlessness. When his mouth seared the side of her neck, she ceased to care. She wanted him to address the agitation humming in her loins. He planted kisses all across her bosom before pulling down the chemise to bare a breast. Cupping it, he gazed upon the orb with reverence. He planted light kisses upon the mound, upon the large areola, then took her already erect nipple into his mouth. She shivered and closed her eyes. Leopold had done something similar their wedding night, and she had nearly leapt from her own skin. Though small, the nipple exuded an astronomical amount of sensation. She could hardly stand it. It was too much.
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