Mastering the Marquess (Bound and Determined)

by Lavinia Kent

  Louisa closed her eyes again, wishing she could rest. Was Geoffrey even coming? The Countess was clearly not completely in touch with reality. Perhaps she only thought she’d sent for him. And perhaps he wasn’t coming anyway. Surely he would have been here by now if he cared. Blast, how long had she been here? It could not be as long as it seemed.

  The strong smell of cinnamon filled the air, far more pungent than any perfume or baked good. Louisa could almost smell the burn.

  “Oh, I think I must pour some of this on you. It will take care of so many issues and leave you perfectly pink and pretty and glistening.” The tap of the Countess’s shoes brought her back to behind Louisa.

  She felt the first drops of liquid move down the crevasse of her buttocks and then lower. It didn’t feel so bad, not so different from a spongeful of bathwater.

  “There, there, doesn’t that feel good.”

  She felt the press of what she could only imagine were the balls against her nether lips. She tensed, wishing it were possible to press back against the Countess’s strong fingers, to shut them out.

  “Starting without me?” Geoffrey’s deep tones filled the room as he slammed the door shut behind him.

  Louisa was not bleeding. Nothing looked broken. He said a silent thanks for that. He’d hurried as fast he could, but there had been things he had to take care of, preparations he’d had to make to be sure all went as planned, that there were no mistakes. Still, he would never have forgiven himself if something had happened to her during the delay.

  Not that he could pretend nothing had happened. His wife was naked except for her corset, her wrists red from the ropes that held her. Dried trails of tears clearly marked her cheeks. And the smell of cinnamon filled the air. He knew exactly what that meant, what the silky oil that the Countess had been spreading so liberally could do. He loved its effects sometimes, but only in moderation.

  The Countess had no love of moderation.

  “Oh, my sweet Geoffrey, you have come. It was dreadful of you to cause me such worry. I’ve planned such entertainment.” The Countess walked toward him, her full crimson skirts opening to reveal a slit that rose almost to her crotch, her breasts standing sharply from the size-too-small bodice that held them. They looked as if they wanted to jump right out and join the party themselves.

  Revulsion flowed through him.

  And that was without looking too closely at Louisa and what had been done to her.

  He’d glanced over at her when he’d first entered the room, but he was afraid to look too long, afraid of what he might see. Hell, he was afraid to see her at all, afraid to meet her eyes.

  What had the Countess told her?

  Did she know his every secret? Was she as revolted by him as he felt in this moment?

  He had caused this. He couldn’t shy away from that fact.

  Ignoring the Countess, although he knew that was not wise, he walked over to his wife and, placing a gentle hand under her chin, raised her eyes to his. Moving his fingers to her face, he reached back and began to work at the leather thongs that held the cruel ball in place. “Shh, my love, just a minute.”

  “I don’t think I would do that,” the Countess said.

  “I do not care what you think.” His fingers worked faster.

  “Oh, but you really should. I have planned this party with such care and I would hate to have it ruined. Come, take your hands from her and have a glass of wine. Let us relax a bit first. Unless you wish to switch to the O-ring. Do you feel the need for some relief before we begin?”

  “You bitch.”

  “You always did say the kindest things. Now take your hands from her or I will punish you both. You do remember how I like to render punishment, don’t you, my dear Geoffrey?”

  Damn, the knots were tied tight and slippery with sweat and drool. Louisa gazed up at him with such hope and faith. Faith. The woman had faith in him, even now. Didn’t she realize that this was all because of him? If anything was wrong with her he’d kill the Countess, plain and simple. Nothing elaborate—just an old-fashioned gutting.

  “You are ignoring me, Geoffrey, and you know I don’t like that. Nor do I like repeating myself—you taught me that. I can still feel the bite of the whip when you taught me to behave. Now, take your hands off her. You will touch her only when I tell you to.”

  “Or what?” He turned his head toward the Countess and saw the “or what.”

  “Or I will shoot you in the knees and have Jack—I do believe you must have met Jack on the way in—and have Jack prop you against the wall before I let him play with your wife. Tell me, Geoffrey, would you rather whip her yourself, or have another man do it?”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Louisa had felt such hope when Geoffrey entered the room—her rescue was here, and everything would be fine. She was safe.

  And then she’d seen the gun. She’d seen it before Geoffrey, as his back was to the Countess.

  Yes, it could always get worse.

  She’d shifted her eyes back and forth between him and the Countess, trying to warn him, but to no avail. His whole focus had been on the blasted gag. Hadn’t he seen that didn’t matter—that he might be shot, be killed?

  Trying to scream, she’d fought against the gag, but he’d only focused more on her. It had made him believe she was desperate to be rid of it—which she was, but not for the reasons he thought.

  And then the Countess spoke and Geoffrey turned his head. His whole posture stiffened, but he did not remove his hands from the ties that held the gag.

  “Is that really necessary? I was not proposing to actually let her talk, but you know I do not support needless cruelty. Let her swallow and moisten that mouth. She will be silent if I tell her to. Won’t you, Louisa?”

  She tried to nod, her neck straining with the effort.

  “Well?” he said to the Countess. “You can shoot me if you really want, or we can proceed. I’ve always preferred willful obedience to forced, but you know that.” His fingers began to work the ties again.

  The Countess did not stop him. “I should not complain when it is that dominating, powerful personality that drew me to you. Just do not assume that because I allow one thing I will allow another. I do prefer to watch you, but only to a certain extent; I can find my pleasure in other ways. Do not push me too far, Geoffrey.”

  “I understand you perfectly, Countess.”

  Finally the knots came loose, and with a sudden yank the ball was free. Closing her lips hurt as Louisa brought her teeth together. It felt wonderful to swallow freely, but her cheeks ached as the muscles moved for the first time in what must have been hours.

  It was starting to burn between her legs. The cinnamon oil had only warmed at first, but now it was more than that. She tried to shift, but the restraints made it near impossible.

  She opened her mouth to try to speak, but closed it when Geoffrey rapped it once with his fingers.

  “Silence,” he said.

  She let her head drop forward and complied. Geoffrey’s soft tap on her lips hadn’t hurt—not too badly. It was the least of her worries.

  Geoffrey’s fingers moved across her cheek and lifted her face, turning it so that he could stare down at it. His thumb brushed across the sore cheek, the one the Countess had repeatedly slapped.

  “Did you really have to mar her face?” His fingers gently turned Louisa to examine the bruise further. “I thought we had always been clear about leaving marks that show.”

  “She won’t be the first wife who walked into a door.” The Countess stepped forward, the pistol still aimed at Geoffrey’s chest.

  “That may be true, but it can cause people to ask questions, questions I don’t want to be bothered with.”

  “You always were too concerned with what people thought.”

  “And you were never concerned enough. Do you really want the count looking too closely at your activities?”

  The Countess shivered, but then gathered herself. “That old fool wi
ll never realize—”

  “That ‘old fool’ has organized armies and won battles. I would not underestimate your husband.”

  “And besides, he is not here.” The Countess picked up the crop and held it out to Geoffrey. “And now I think we should progress.” The pistol did not waver in the least.

  Geoffrey took the crop, his long fingers wrapping tight about the handle. He let the tip drop, tapping it against his boot.

  The Countess smiled. Louisa felt her blood congeal.

  Geoffrey stopped back, pausing only to lay one more comforting stroke along Louisa’s cheek.

  “You haven’t even commented on how I saved all that virgin skin for you—there are only the slightest of marks on one leg. I know her face upsets you, but really, I had to enforce obedience some way. She did not understand her place at first.”

  “No, Louisa would not have.”

  What was that tone she heard in his voice? Louisa could not be sure. Was he still trying to comfort her, or did he actually believe she was too stubborn. God, she wished her head would clear, wished she could understand all the levels of the conversation that swirled about her.

  “And yes, thank you for not already having her marked and bloody when I arrived.” Geoffrey’s tone was curiously flat.

  “I did remember how much you liked to leave your own marks, so neat and precise.” The Countess moved back and Louisa lost sight of her.

  A shiver ran along Louisa’s body as she felt the crop slowly skim across it. In other circumstances the touch might have been enjoyable, a slow, easy tease. This was not other circumstances; now all she could think was that it was a whip, a whip that might soon bite into her flesh. Her inner thigh still burned from the Countess’s single stroke.

  She wanted to scream, to yell, but knew that upsetting the careful balance between Geoffrey and the Countess was risky. Did he have a plan? She could only pray, could only trust in God and her husband.

  “Well …?” The Countess’s soft word seemed to fill the room.

  Still nothing happened.

  “Do I need to—”

  “No,” Geoffrey answered. “Just give me a moment to anticipate.”

  “A moment, but only a moment. I have been waiting for this all day—and I know I’ve said it before, but I truly can summon Jack in. He doesn’t share our tastes, but is more than able to complete any task asked of him with great strength and vigor.”

  Nothing happened. It felt as if the room had frozen. Louisa could almost hear the ice forming.

  And then she heard something else: a whistle, a shriek of air.

  A scream left her lips even before the crop finished its descent.

  Catching the stroke back, Geoffrey stared down at Louisa’s still smooth back. Her breaths were coming rapidly, her ribs rising and falling in quick sensation. He could feel the panic that filled her.

  “She disobeyed you and screamed. I thought you could keep her silent,” the Countess said, stepping nearer. “You will have to punish her most severely.” The glee rang clear in her voice, the want dripping from her.

  His stomach roiled in disgust. “I happen to like the occasional scream. It is thrilling to get such reaction before I even begin. And is there a problem with the noise? I would have thought the location safe, no matter what sounds left it.” His fingers tightened about the whip. Could he actually use it, even to save them both? He wasn’t sure. He knew Louisa’s cry of fear would stay with him always. His soul felt numb. If only he could fall on his knees and beg her forgiveness. This was not how he’d planned things. Why had he not considered that the Countess would have a gun?

  He forced his mind to the here and now. What was happening outside this room was beyond his control. He would manage what could be controlled.

  “Yes, the spot is safe,” the Countess answered. “Nobody sees or hears anything in this area.”

  “Good. I was counting on that.”

  “She does still need to be punished for that scream—and I do believe she’s enjoying the anticipation. Look how she glistens. Do you think it’s because you’re here, or is it simply my oil working its magic?”

  Placing the tip of the crop upon his wife’s ass, he slowly allowed it to drop down. The Countess was right that Louisa was slick, but he was sure it had far more to do with the burn of the oil than anything else. He’d seen the terror in his wife’s eyes. She was not enjoying this. Not in the least.

  He slid his eyes to the side, watching the Countess watch the tip of the whip. He hated this—could not think of anything he’d ever hated more. He let the crop drop lower, sliding it into Louisa’s folds, separating them. She stiffened at the intrusion, but kept her mouth silent. Did she know that he was doing this for her, that it was this or raise the whip again? He knew the Countess far too well; he had to keep her occupied or Louisa’s back would soon be a bloody mess.

  “I think you may be right—she is enjoying it,” he said, trying to sound as if he was finding equal pleasure.

  “Then it is time you began. I do love well-lined flesh. And then I’d like to watch you fuck her, fuck her hard. I am sure that you will find the burn of the oil to your liking as well.” The Countess took a step nearer, her eyes still focused between Louisa’s legs. “Hit her. Now.”

  Shit. He had miscalculated. Circling the tip about Louisa’s cunny, he tried to distract the Countess again. “Should I put it in her, just a bit?”

  “Later; right now I want her to feel its bite. I want to see her pleasure at the burn, at the pain.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  He raised the crop. How could he do this? It took every ounce of effort he had to keep his hands from shaking. He must not betray weakness, not now. The Countess fed on weakness.

  The crop stilled, high in the air, every focus in the room on that thin piece of tightly wrapped leather.

  He waited, breathed deep, strengthened himself.

  And let it go, put his shoulder into it and—caught it again just before it made contact.

  “Did you put the balls into her?” he asked, turning to the Countess as if asking for a second cup of tea.

  “What?” the Countess replied blankly, her eyes on the crop that hovered an inch above Louisa’s back.

  “The ben wa balls. You had them when I came in. Did you put them in her? I want her to feel it all through her when she quivers from my whip.”

  “I …” The Countess looked about, seeing the balls sitting atop a bench. She reached out and grabbed them, her focus still on Louisa. “Here.”

  “You do it. I want to watch your fingers on her. You’ve tried for a long time to get me to play with two women. Do it. Do it now.” He let the full tone of command occupy his words.

  The Countess moved to fulfill his wishes. The gun wavered slightly, but did not drop as the Countess tried to lift both enamel balls with one hand.

  This was it. In a single gesture he brought the crop back up and then let it fall, hard. It hit the Countess’s wrist, sending the gun flying across the room.

  The Countess turned, fury glinting in her eyes. With her free hand, she left a long scratch down Louisa’s thigh.

  “You bastard,” she screamed. “Jack, Frank, come now. Now, do you hear me?”

  Geoffrey lunged forward, trying to grab her, to silence her, but it was too late. She yelled again, tumbling to the floor just out of his reach.

  With a crash the door burst open and the two louts entered the room, cudgels in hand. Geoffrey raised the whip again. It would be almost useless against the heavy clubs, but—

  “Sorry to be so late getting to the party.” Duldon stepped through the door, a pistol in each hand.

  One of the men turned, ready to strike, but stopped at the sight of the gun aimed straight at his heart.

  “What the hell took you so long?” Swanston gasped as his lungs filled with their first full gulp of air in what felt like days.

  “It took a while for me to find our other guest—and to time it right.” Duldon stepp
ed forward, and an elegant, older gentleman followed him into the chamber.

  The Count of Ormande.

  Swanston drew another breath.

  The count’s gaze swept the room, paused on Louisa, and then moved to settle on his wife. “An old fool am I, my dear?” He stepped toward the Countess. “I’ve been standing outside waiting for this young gentleman to say it was time. He seemed to think there was some danger in arriving early. Said he thought you might be prone to losing your temper if thwarted.” The count’s gaze settled upon the gun lying on the floor. “I see that he was correct.”

  The count pulled off his cloak, turned back to Geoffrey, and threw it to him. “I suggest you use this to cover that woman whom I do not see.” He gestured to Louisa, then looked at his wife.

  Swanston hurried to Louisa, spreading the cloak over her as he reached under it to remove her bonds.

  She was safe.

  She was safe.

  The thought echoed again and again through his mind.

  The Countess rose from the floor, attempting to stand straight. “I did not know you were in Town.”

  “I gather as much, although I did send word that I would be here and that I expected you at dinner.” The count’s voice rang with displeasure.

  “I did not receive your missive.” The Countess’s gaze dropped.

  “Have you been home in the last week to receive it? It appears you have been indulging in other interests.” The count stepped toward her, held out his arm. “I believe I told you what would happen if I found you were causing trouble again. You assured me this would not happen.”

  “I …” The Countess reached over and took her husband’s arm.

  “I do not care. I believe it is time you travel with me. I am meeting some of my old war acquaintances in Scotland—northern Scotland. I am sure that you will find much to do among the sheep.” The count nodded at each gentleman and, with his wife’s hand upon his arm and his own hand holding it down securely, turned and left the room. “Goodbye. I trust we will not meet again, except in the ballroom.”