by Golden Angel
Chapter 10
Back in the ballroom, this time on Benedict’s arm, Christina didn’t know how to behave.
She felt incredibly foolish once she’d realized Lord Thomas had, quite reasonably, called upon his friends to help him launch his cousin into Society. The poor thing, although quite beautiful, was so shy it was nearly crippling. Although the large, dominant males surrounding her certainly didn’t help. Nor did the more confident, garrulous young ladies; no matter how they tried to draw her out, it was still obvious an effort was being made on all sides.
Christina included herself in that effort after Benedict planted her in a circle of conversation between his sister and Viscountess Hood with the whispered order, “Stay put.”
If she didn’t feel so guilty over what was an obvious overreaction on her part to his dance with Miss Wilson, she might have been incensed. As it was, she couldn’t exactly blame him for his short temper or his command. Especially since she’d been avoiding him for so long.
Only half paying attention to the conversation, she watched Benedict move across the ballroom and intercept Daphne. They had a very quick conversation, during which Daphne turned to peer at Christina almost curiously before turning away. Then she said something to Benedict, who nodded and began making his way towards his brother, although he constantly glanced over to ensure Christina was where he’d left her. Despite being stopped several times for conversation and introductions to young ladies, his focus never wavered.
She really had been a ninny.
Guilt welled up, tinged with shame, and also a bit of annoyance at herself for getting so worked up into a needless frother. She’d also hurt Benedict by her actions, which she certainly hadn’t meant to do. She’d been so convinced he was done with her, that she hadn’t thought she could hurt him.
And look where that had gotten her.
So now she was behaving herself and staying right where she’d been put, just as he’d commanded; waiting for him to come back and trusting he would.
The Duke of Manchester was escorting his Duchess from the dance floor when Benedict reached him. The three of them spoke quickly and quietly before the Duke lifted his head looked heavenward, as though appealing to a deity. They were very likely talking about Hartford and his introduction to Arabella, Christina realized, biting her lip.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Arabella said in a low voice, making Christina jump. She hadn’t even realized the young woman had been watching Christina watch her siblings. “Don’t let Benedict blame you either.” Arabella snorted. “As if a mere introduction to a Marquess, when you were right beside me, could be improper. They’re a bunch of stuffy old prigs.” That last was said with a glare directed at Lord Thomas, who responded with a dark look, his eyes lingering on Arabella even after she’d sniffed and turned away from him.
“For a debutante, a conversation with Hartford is always improper, no matter who else is present,” Christina murmured, distressed. She didn’t think Arabella properly appreciated exactly how scandalous the Marquess’ reputation was.
Then again, as sister of a powerful Duke, Arabella was much more indulged than the usual run of young lady. As quite a few people had been out on the balcony and Arabella had been within full view the entire time the gossip could only go so far anyway, but there would still be whispers and she’d be closely watched to see if he ever approached her again. Christina certainly would be as well.
She couldn’t help but wonder about the club he’d made reference to, although she was certain it must have something to do with the salacious activities Daphne had made reference to in regard to herself and her husband. There were quite a few scandalous clubs, of course, the Hellfire Club being the most notorious. Daphne never said much specifically about the one she and the Earl belonged to, but Christina knew it existed and that it was quite outrageous in its activities – a few of which Daphne had outlined in very general terms. Enough to know her friend was quite an exhibitionist.
Benedict was now making his way back to Christina, an almost grimly determined expression on his face. Behind him, the Duke and Duchess were following a little more slowly but they were coming as well, and anxiety welled up in Christina’s breast. Their introduction at the opera had been brief, although they’d seemed pleased to meet her at the time, she couldn’t help but think they’d be less pleased with her now.
But if she ran, “displeased” would scarcely begin to describe how Benedict would feel.
Lady Hood saw Benedict’s approach and immediately moved over, allowing him to slide into the circle next to Christina, giving them both an approving smile. Christina wasn’t entirely sure what the Viscountess approved of, since Christina had been nearly as quiet as Miss Wilson during the conversation. She’d barely managed to keep up with the social patter while keeping an eye on Benedict and controlling her rising anxiety.
Despite taking her hand and securing it on his arm, Benedict didn’t speak to Christina; his first words were for his sister, spoken low enough she doubted anyone else could hear them. “Isaac and Lydia are coming to look after you. Stay out of trouble.”
“I don’t need looking after,” Arabella said irritably, not bothering to lower her voice, her tone haughty. “I am not a child and I wasn’t in trouble.”
“But you could have been.”
The withering look Arabella gave him was prize worthy, and Christina wished she had mastered such an expression. It even seemed to affect Benedict a little, as he seemed rather sour about having to admit she hadn’t really been in trouble… just skirting on the edge of it.
Benedict made their excuses to the Viscountess, who was happy to wave them away as the Duke and Duchess of Manchester joined their circle. Miss Wilson appeared ready to faint dead away as the large Duke asked her a question while the Duchess smiled at her encouragingly.
“Poor Isaac, she’s scared to death of him and he hasn’t a clue how to make her more comfortable,” Benedict said, his voice tinged with humor as he led Christina away. “I’ve never met such a mouse before.”
“Where are we going?” she asked him, confused as he seemed to be directing them away from the dance floor. She’d thought he meant to dance when he’d excused them from the conversation. She also didn’t particularly want to talk about Miss Wilson, she felt silly enough about her jealous assumptions without having her nose rubbed in how uninterested Benedict truly was in the debutante.
“Away from here.”
******
There was no way he could tell Christina the full truth right now. It would be far too easy for her to escape.
In the past twenty minutes, his plan had taken shape and solidified. He’d informed Daphne, and then Isaac and Lydia of his intentions. While he’d certainly never intended to ever elope or be married to a less than willing bride, he’d never realized exactly how deeply devoted Christina would be to mistrust either. She kept testing him, testing his own devotion to her, and making the worst possible assumptions about him.
Perhaps he could have written her a letter about Miss Wilson, informing her of Thomas’ request, but he honestly hadn’t realized it might be necessary. He’d thought she’d at least believe him that he wanted to marry her, that she’d have some trust in his word.
It hurt rather deeply to know she didn’t.
To his relief, she didn’t argue as they took their leave from their hosts and exited the ballroom rather early. There would be some gossip over such an early departure, but Christina probably thought it would blow over easily. If only she knew.
He handed her up into his carriage before having a quiet word with John Coachman, who looked surprised, but willing - especially when Benedict told him he’d be amply compensated for the trip they were about to undertake. Climbing into the carriage, Benedict sat across from Christina and rapped his knuckles on the ceiling. Immediately, the carriage began to move forward. Benedict wasn’t sure if it was his own imagination, but the momentum felt more brisk than usual.
Sitting across from him, Christina had her hands folded in her lap, head slightly bowed, the very picture of a contrite repentant. As soon as the carriage was moving, she looked up at him, a remorseful expression on her face.
“I believe I owe you an apology, Benedict.”
“Do you?” he asked, his voice incredibly mild, entirely at odds with how he was truly feeling. Christina actually winced, her teeth dragging across her lower lip in consternation before she straightened up again, like a soldier bravely facing the battlefield.
“I do,” she said firmly, looking him directly in the eye so he could easily gauge her sincerity. “When I arrived this evening, I made an erroneous assumption when I saw you dancing with Miss Wilson, based on nothing more than my own insecurities and jealousy. The assumption was rather insulting to your character, and my subsequent behavior was not very kind, and I am very sorry.”
Leaning back against the carriage seat, Benedict cocked his head, studying her as a soft blush began to rise in her cheeks, a testament to her emotions and her discomfort with his silence.
“Are you sorry for avoiding me the past few days?” he asked, just as mildly as before.
“Avoiding you?” The prevarication made her flush even deeper as her gaze averted.
“Are you going to claim you weren’t?”
“I-… um, no, I…” Now her cheeks were bright red, her hands smoothing down her skirts over her thighs as she shifted uncomfortably, looking very much like a naughty little girl. Which, to his mind, was exactly what she currently was. “I suppose I was, a bit. I just needed some time to think.”
“Yes,” said Benedict seriously. “I have always found constant social engagements to be quite conducive to contemplation.”
“I misspoke, I didn’t mean time, I needed space,” Christina snapped back at him. Her hands’ movements became more aggressive as her agitation increased, still brushing at her skirts and making soft shushing noises as the fabric rustled.
“I think you wanted to test me,” he said calmly, although he felt anything but; his own frustration and anger rising as he spoke. “I think you wanted to see how I would react. And when you saw me this evening with Miss Wilson, you thought I had failed your test, and you responded by trying to punish me by inflaming my jealousy. Congratulations. It worked.”
To his surprise, Christina looked rather upset by his assertions. “That’s not… I didn’t… that’s not precisely what… I didn’t mean to do that. I really did want some space to think… and I didn’t mean to inflame your jealousy exactly, at the time I was convinced you would not actually be jealous. I might have been testing you, but I didn’t mean to, not really.”
Surprisingly, Benedict believed her. His poor love was a bit of a mess emotionally, he was coming to realize. With her parents abroad, her in-laws estranged, she seemed to have no one to guide her and no close friends to advise her other than Daphne - and Daphne had begun working with him. Which was not against Christina’s interests, but it did explain why Christina had been avoiding her friend as well.
“Did you come to any conclusions after taking some time and space?” Benedict asked, legitimately curious.
******
Christina felt like a naughty child, given an assignment by her governess which she’d failed to complete and now had to account for; except none of her governesses had been as intimidating or as strict as Benedict. She’d written lines for them or had privileges taken away, but with Benedict she knew a spanking was very likely imminent and not a pleasurable one.
She hoped it wouldn’t take much longer to get to that point.
Waiting was almost a worst punishment for her than the actual spanking. Disciplinary spankings hurt, but right now she felt so guilty for hurting Benedict, shamed at her own behavior, and thoroughly regretted jumping to conclusions about his intentions towards Miss Wilson, a spanking would feel cathartic.
A way to pay for her transgressions.
To make up for them.
To be forgiven.
She truly preferred not to spend a large amount of time wallowing in guilt.
“Nothing definite,” she said, finally answering Benedict’s question. It was the truth, and yet she felt it an entirely unsatisfactory answer. A sentiment he obviously agreed with as he frowned at her. “I… I don’t know. I’m very confused.”
To her surprise, Benedict didn’t seem upset or unhappy with her lame explanation; he nodded in understanding, straightening up. “Well, then I’m happy to help clear a few things up for you.”
When he held out his hand, she took it, not at all surprised when she found herself over his knee a few seconds later, the skirts of her ballgown flipped up at the waist. Christina pressed her face against the soft velvet of the seat cushion, squirming slightly against Benedict’s hard lap as his hand stroked the bare skin of her bottom. Even knowing a punishment was coming, she couldn’t help but feel amorous as his fingers skimmed over her curves.
The dark interior of the carriage had turned into their own little world, shutting everyone and everything else out. Here it was just him and her, with no need for insecurities or jealousy. She wanted him to spank her, to claim her, to make her feel secure and wanted, to claim her as his own.
Perhaps she had been testing him, more than she realized, by her avoidance. Despite specifically acting to evade him, a small, secret part of her had been disappointed when he hadn’t caught up to her anyway - or appeared in her bedroom again. Maybe, deep down, she’d been hoping he’d appear again, like a possessive fury, the way he finally had tonight. It was certainly something George would never have done. He hadn’t given a fig what she did or whom she spoke with once he’d lost interest in her.
Benedict’s hand lifted and her buttocks clenched for a moment before relaxing again, knowing his hand would never fall while her muscles were tightened.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
She let out a muffled cry as his hard palm impacted against her flesh, with absolutely no intention of warming her up before he moved into a harder spanking - this was the harder spanking. The stinging blows didn’t just smart, they burned, and he barely gave her a moment to catch her breath before the next was already biting into the opposite cheek.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
Benedict alternated between each cheek, back and forth, peppering the sharp blows all over her upturned mounds, turning them hot, throbbing, and red. It wasn’t long before Christina was gasping, tears running down her cheeks as she bucked against the hand pressing down on the small of her back. No matter how she tried to stifle her cries, she couldn’t manage to stay completely silent. The tender skin felt seared and swollen, but emotionally she was beginning to feel a bit better, as though she’d atoned.
Unfortunately, despite her growing conviction she’d been thoroughly punished, Benedict didn’t seem to feel the same and showed no sign of stopping.
“Please!!!! I won’t do it again!!!” She writhed, shrieking as the next two swats landed on her sensitive sit spots with an explosion of painful heat. “OW! Please!!!!”
SMACK!
“No, you won’t,” Benedict said, his voice deep and harsh, easily heard even over her sobbing gasps for air as his paddle-like hand continued to rain down punishment on her already chastened nates. “No more avoiding me.”
SMACK!
“No more assumptions about my sincerity.”
SMACK!
“And definitely no more flirting with other men.”
Christina shrieked as his hand smacked down the center of her bottom, spanking the tender crease between her already burning nates. The white-hot pain as his fingers snapped against the sensitive crinkled hole of her anus was shocking in its intensity - and in her reaction as her pussy clenched despite both her embarrassment and shock.
He’d never spanked down the center of her bottom before and she hadn’t realized how much more sensitive that are
a was, especially when his hand laid down vertically rather than going across it where her cheeks could provide some cushion. Christina cried out as he did it again - once, twice, three times more.
Her whole bottom felt hot and swollen and she really did feel very, thoroughly sorry. Not just because it hurt - the pain aroused her even if her arousal only shielded her somewhat from the blazing torment - but because she knew from Benedict’s words and how hard he’d spanked her that she’d hurt him as well. Hurt him, disappointed him, and made him feel all the things she didn’t want to feel. She welcomed the pain from the spanking, because she felt she deserved it for how she’d behaved. She didn’t know why he was putting up with everything.
She knew she wouldn’t have tolerated her behavior if the situation had been reversed. She’d certainly never tolerate him avoiding her and then running off to flirt with other women because he’d seen her having a perfectly innocent encounter! Somehow, she’d become the worst kind of hypocrite.
******
“There love, it’s over now.” Benedict couldn’t help but worry as he gathered Christina up onto his lap. She was crying quite a bit harder than he’d thought she would - while he knew how sensitive a woman’s bottom crease could be, he hadn’t quite expected this reaction.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said as he cradled her against his shoulder, her small hands clinging to the front of his jacket as if she was trying to pull herself deeper into his embrace, snuggle closer than they already were. “I don’t know why I was so awful.”
“No, love, you weren’t awful,” he murmured, holding her tighter, his hand moving down to squeeze her bottom, making her gasp and squirm on his lap. “You have some insecurities we need to work through, and I would like you to trust me more, but I understand why you were out of sorts. We just need to change how you react sometimes; especially when it comes to avoiding me.”