The Major's Lady

by Mia Easton

She got off the bed and turned back to face him. She was also breathing hard from the ride.

  "On your knees," he ordered.

  She hesitated a moment and then did it, keeping her gaze on his. There was defiance in hers which sparked desire in him, desire to crush it. He might just have to snatch her away from here. He could always use another maid, especially one he enjoyed punishing. He walked right up to her. "Clean me off with your mouth."

  Again, she hesitated, but then did it. She was good at that, too. Had he not just spent his wad, he would have gotten hard again. "Enough," he finally said. She pulled away and he stepped back. "Get up and turn back around." She glanced at his flaccid cock and then gracefully rose. She held his gaze a moment more and then turned. He pressed on her back to get her to bend over. "There is still your earlier impudence to pay for." He turned and leisurely walked over to the dresser drawer he'd put his things in and retrieved the custom-made leather strap he always carried.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, trying to look over her shoulder.

  He came back to her. "Where is Miss Gordon's scar?"

  "On her side. Here." She showed him.

  "What else do you know about her?"

  "Nothing. Only that she's not very experienced at intercourse. She makes noises. Cries out a lot."

  "How do you know that?"

  "From listening outside her door when the major fucked her," she admitted.

  "Naughty girl," he said as he reared back. He let the strap fly.

  She cried out.

  His toy was a foot in length, two inches in width and the right thickness for teaching compliance. "It's not that I don't appreciate the knowledge." He struck again. "I do." And again. "But you should never mock your betters." Again and again and again. Besides fucking, whipping bare asses was his favorite exercise, and he exercised well before he stopped and allowed her to dress again. Once she was dressed, she started to the door, studiously avoiding his gaze and hoping to escape.

  "I didn't say you could go."

  She stopped. She stood frozen, probably wondering the consequences if she made a sudden dash for it.

  "There is one other thing before you go," he said calmly and with amusement in his voice. She turned back to him with a look of loathing that made him smile. "What do you think it is?" he asked playfully.

  "You want me to thank you for helping improve my character?"

  He drew back in surprise. "Improve your character? That never occurred to me. Did I help?"

  There was a beat of silence. Then she said, "No."

  "I didn't think so. I would think that's a rather lost cause. Any other guesses?" He still held the strap. He was tapping it against his own leg. "I'm through with this," he assured her. "If that's what you're wondering."

  "Shall I kiss you goodbye?"

  "Hardly. I know where your mouth has been." He turned and went back to his drawer. He put up his strap and picked up another toy, a five-inch solid glass, penis-shaped object with a narrow neck that flared the end. "You're going back to the ball now?"

  "Yes."

  "To circulate with wine and nibbles, I suppose."

  "Yes. And I'll have to explain where I've been," she added bitterly.

  "That is your problem." He turned and showed her the object, enjoying the apprehension in her face. "This will be up your ass for the rest of the evening." She quivered with repulsion, which was magnificent to behold. He started back toward the bed, walking slowly. "I want you to stay where I can see you as much as possible for the rest of the night." She hadn't yet moved. "Well, come on. Back over here where you were for your well-deserved spanking," he said, stretching the word out. "Lift your skirt and bend over so I can insert it."

  "Have I not provided enough pleasure for you, sir?" she bit out through clenched teeth.

  He looked thoughtful. "Hmm. It has been pleasurable. But, no. I'm not finished just yet. I'm going to put this plug up your ass and then I'm going to watch you as you move and work, waiting on your betters, feeling it with every step and every movement. It will be a great source of entertainment for me." He grinned. "Does that answer your question, Eunice?"

  She refused to answer.

  "Furthermore, I expect you to return to this room, say, at one a.m., and I will remove it. Then I will fuck you again." He paused. "I'm not sure how I will fuck you. I'll be thinking about that as I watch you over the next few hours." He paused and then gestured to the bed. She had no choice and she knew it, so she did as he instructed, hating him with every fiber of her being. Her ass was red and hot from the beating he'd given her. He knelt and tenderly rubbed the surface of her skin. "So nice and warm," he murmured. "Tell me, was the discipline you received as good for you as it was for me?"

  "It hurt."

  "While I only got pleasure from it." He pulled her ass cheeks apart and inserted the smaller rounded end into her rectum. He shoved it in as she protested with a prolonged, "Ahhhhh," that rose octave by octave until the plug was all the way in except for the flared end.

  "No, please." She was trembling all over. "I cannot do it."

  "You can," he assured her as he stood. "It feels strange, yes, but it's not going anywhere until I remove it. Stand back up."

  "Please," she begged.

  "Stand up."

  She stood.

  "Turn and face me."

  She did, moving rigidly.

  "It's fully in," he said calmly. "The anal muscles have closed tightly around the neck. No one can tell a thing with your clothes on. My advice is to try and move smoothly so it's not obvious."

  "I cannot do this," she said in a low voice.

  "Oh, I beg to differ. You can and will." He gestured to the door. "You can go now. I'll see you at one unless I leave early. Of course, if I stay later than one, you'll just have to wait." She didn't move. "Go. Or shall I pull my strap back out again?" Looking miserable, she turned and started for the door in a too-obvious, waddling way. "I'll be watching," he called as she stepped through the door.

  True to his word, he had watched and he had enjoyed watching. He'd sought out her tray and occasionally dropped something to watch her pick it up. It had been so arousing, at one point, that he'd cornered her in the water closet for a quick fuck. She had not much liked it with the butt plug in place, but he hadn't much cared. He owned her.

  By two in the morning, he was finally finished with her. He was slightly drunk and utterly exhausted. "Thank you for the entertainment," he said as she hurried from the room. She didn't respond or delay in escaping.

  George stepped outside into the cold morning air as Wes emerged from the stable. "Major Hale," he greeted cheerfully.

  Wes didn't reply until he'd reached him. "Lloyd," he returned in a barely civil manner. "How was the ball?" he asked as he went by him.

  "Very enjoyable. Elizabeth was magnificent," George said with an easy smile. Wes froze and turned back to face him, displeased that he'd invoked her name. "I want to talk to you about her, man to man," George said in a low tone. "I know we've had our differences in the past. I would very much like to get past them."

  "What about her?"

  "I hope I can be honest and blunt and…trust it will go no further?"

  Wes glowered. "What are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about Elizabeth. I want her."

  Wes huffed in insulted disbelief.

  "One night with her is not enough," George quickly added. Apparently, they were the magic words. He watched as Wes paled. If he hadn't detested the man so completely, he might have felt sorry for him. "I want her for my very own."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Last night."

  There was a moment of silence before Wes could bring himself to ask. "What about it?"

  George looked uncomfortable. "Look, Hale. We're both gentlemen here. Let's not go into too much detail here."

  "Go into detail," Wes demanded as he loomed closer, nodding his head for emphasis. "What the hell are you saying?"

  "
I'm saying that Elizabeth and I—" He sighed as if he really didn't want to be saying it. "We were intimate." Hale probably wasn't even aware that he was shaking his head, horror etched on his features. "It's because she admitted to me that she's been with you that we are having his conversation at all. And while I'm not perfectly comfortable with that—"

  "You're a liar!"

  George broke off, as if shocked. "I didn't mean to upset you. I never dreamt you truly had feelings for her." Hale's reaction was even more wonderful than he'd anticipated. He was practically panting like a dog.

  "You are a liar," Wes repeated.

  "I'm not lying. Why would I?" He paused. "My God, Hale," he complained. "All right, fine. What can I tell you to prove it? She has a scar, here," he indicated his side.

  Wes took a step backwards. It looked as if a great weight had just slammed into his chest.

  "Look, I have no desire to humiliate you or anyone," George continued. "I just want Elizabeth."

  "Then take her," Wes said in a hoarse whisper. He abruptly turned and started inside.

  "Perhaps later we could—"

  "I won't be staying," Hale called without slowing.

  George crossed his arms and watched the esteemed Major Wesley Hale retreat in agony, knowing he would savor these last few minutes for a long, long time.

  Wes was reeling. He'd been away for only a few nights and she'd betrayed him with George Lloyd? He went inside and ducked into the drawing room. He felt sick to his stomach. He had to slow his breathing and calm himself. Elizabeth was a loose woman. She was a slattern! He clutched his head, wanting to scream it.

  He would show her. He'd leave without a word to her. Not one word. He'd let Lloyd mention that they'd conferred about her infidelity. He wouldn't see John Paul or Maggie, either, because he couldn't bear explaining. He didn't want to admit what a blind fool he'd been. He would leave a note for them explaining he'd returned home for good. Betrayal! Was he never to know anything but betrayal? First, his father had lied, then Alex.

  No.

  Wes drew in a sharp breath and lifted his head. Had the word no just been spoken aloud or had it come from his own mind? It had been so definite, like a sentence being passed. And it was true. His father had not lied. He hadn't told the whole truth about Alex's parentage, nor had he lied. He'd stayed silent out of a naïve desire to protect a brotherhood that had seldom existed and had long since been annihilated by the time of their final argument.

  Alexander was the one who had lied and for no other reason than to hurt and manipulate him. And he'd played right into his brother's hands. He'd overreacted like a fool. He'd run off to join the rebellion without a word to anyone who loved him and could have set him straight. He'd been so young and foolish. Had Alexander expected him to die in the rebellion? Then he would have inherited everything in spite of the agreement. It was a terrible thought.

  Wes walked over to a chair and sank into it. He leaned forward, head in hands, determined to think clearly. Elizabeth had declared her love for him, but, more than that, she loved him. "She loves me," he mouthed. Her love had not been pretense any more than his was. She loved him, and she would never have allowed George Lloyd to bed her. Some vile deceit was at work here, but it wasn't hers.

  Then how did he know about the scar? How did he know I'd been with her?

  Wes looked up. He sat back and swallowed hard. He was not seventeen, and he was not rash. He would learn from the mistakes of his past. He would speak with her, confront her with what Lloyd claimed. If there had been betrayal on her part, then he would leave and George Lloyd could have her.

  There was only one way to find out, so Wes stood and went to find Elizabeth. The house was filled with guests who'd stayed over after the ball, but he ignored everyone he passed. All he cared about was seeing Elizabeth. Upstairs, the hall was empty. He strode onward, ignoring the repeated "Sir?" he heard behind him.

  "Please, sir!"

  He stopped and whirled around with such agitation that the housemaid who'd spoken actually lurched backward. She'd been crying. He could tell by the swelling of her face and the bright pink tip of her nose. "Yes? What is it?" he asked as mildly as he was capable of in his anxious state.

  The girl moved her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She wrung her hands.

  Wes walked back to her. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's all right. What's your name?"

  "Verity."

  "What is it, Verity? What do you need?"

  "I-I've done something terrible."

  Why on earth would she tell him about it? "And this involves me, somehow?"

  "I fear so," she replied weakly.

  "What did you do?"

  "I help dress Miss Gordon," she stammered in a shaky voice.

  The girl had his interest now. "Go on."

  "It's because her maid, May, had a bad fall."

  He nodded, urging her on.

  "Servants share rooms on the third floor, and my room is with Eunice."

  Wes suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  "She's got feelings for you," Verity uttered miserably. "Designs, is what Tidwell calls it."

  "Go on."

  "I shouldn't have done it, but I told her. I'm so sorry, sir. I don't want Miss Gordon to be hurt. Or you."

  Wes was not following. "What did you tell her? You're talking about Eunice?"

  She nodded. "Yes, sir. She wanted to know about Miss Gordon. She kept after me and after me for every detail. It was never enough until I—" Verity dropped her head in shame. "I told her about the scar on her side."

  Wes began to understand. A tiny geyser of giddiness wanted to surface, but he tamped it down. "I'm sure you meant no harm," he said carefully.

  She looked at him pleadingly. "I didn't, sir. I swear it. I thought she wanted to know of a flaw on Miss Gordon to feel better about herself. But when Eunice said it was just what she needed, I didn't know what meant, but I felt so horrible. But I'd already done it, you see."

  "I do see, yes," he replied thoughtfully. "Do you happen to know if Eunice shared that information with—"

  Verity was nodding vigorously, her eyes wide. "He means trouble, too, sir," she whispered.

  He knew who she was talking about, but he had to be certain. "Who?"

  She glanced around to make sure they were alone. "Mr. Lloyd."

  Relief washed over him in sweet waves. He'd known deceit was in play, and now he knew the source. "Thank you."

  She shook her head slowly. "He means to make trouble for Miss Gordon."

  "He won't find it like he hoped." He looked away, shaken by how close he'd come to destroying everything. If he had not just learned what he did, how harsh would he have been to Elizabeth in confronting her?

  "I'm sorry," Verity said as she stepped back. "I'll be punished. Not that that's what I'm sorry for."

  He looked back at her. "I don't see why anyone else needs to know what you told me."

  She looked stunned but hopeful. "Eunice thinks she's going with you, sir. She thinks she's going to marry you."

  He felt pure disgust. "Then she is suffering from delusions."

  Verity looked down at her hands and then back up at him. "My pa says a girl can be too pretty for her own good. I think she is."

  "I don't know about that, Verity, but I am grateful you told me. Truly."

  She gave him a weak smile. "I like Miss Gordon."

  "So do I."

  Wes reached Elizabeth's door, feeling unsteady from the conflicting emotions that had warred in his brain in the last few minutes. He had nearly caused a terrible scene by believing a hateful lie, and even now, he was wondering if there was truth to any of it. What if Lloyd had threatened and strong-armed Elizabeth into submitting to him? The man was not above such a move.

  He rapped twice on the door and stepped in, shutting the door behind him. Elizabeth was on the balcony, her hair lit by sunlight. She turned, saw it was him, and smiled jubilantly as she rushed toward him. "You're back!"
>
  He took hold of her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes for any sign of betrayal. "Do you love me?"

  Her smiled dimmed. "Are you all right? Did something happen at home?"

  "Just answer me," he implored.

  She shook her head in confusion. "I don't have to."

  He drew back. "Why not?"

  "Because you already know."

  She was right. She was absolutely right. He pulled her to him with such a force, it probably robbed her of breath, but she didn't pull away. "Oh, Elizabeth."

  "I don't care if we live at Pinegrove or in a shack," she said. "I just want a life with you."

  "We're going back," he breathed into her hair. "We're going home."

  "I am home. Right now."

  He pulled back to look at her.

  "If I'm with you, I'm home," she said. "And I should know. I've waited my whole life to feel that way."

  He kissed her. "I missed you. I talked of you non-stop, but it only made me miss you more."

  "I missed you. The ball was so perfect, but it wasn't the same without you."

  He managed to take a deep breath and exhale. He didn't need to push for every detail of the night before. He knew whom he could trust. He knew who the liars were. "I need to have something to eat and then I think we should leave. I'll talk to John Paul and Maggie first, but can you be ready in an hour?"

  She blinked in surprise. "Why the rush? You just got back."

  "The rush is because, if I see George Lloyd again, I may throttle him."

  Her eyes widened. "Why?"

  "He has designs on you."

  Elizabeth shook her head. "No, you're mistaken. Believe it or not, I think he has feelings for that dark-haired maid. I saw him watching her all last night in such a—" Elizabeth stopped explaining because Wes had begun laughing. "What is so funny?"

  "Oh, my darling. My sweet Elizabeth. We have so much to talk about." He kissed her again and then pulled her back into his arms. "And our whole lives to do it."

  She held tightly to him and sighed with happiness; the words were such music to her ears.

  "One thing," he said, pulling back.

  "What?" she asked softly.

  "I've been remiss in something."