by Golden Angel
Several ladies were in the retiring room when Christina entered, and she managed to accept their congratulations and well wishes with considerable aplomb, covering her anxieties, before tending to her own needs. She was somewhat reassured by the reactions of the ton, which were just as Benedict predicted. No one seemed surprised or scandalized by their elopement; indeed, the description she heard most often was “romantic;” while they’d created a stir, it was in a positive manner.
Which was all one could really hope for.
Thankfully other ladies had left the retiring room by the time Christina had completed her toilette. She patted her hands dry, checked her dress in the mirror, and exited the room, nearly bumping into another woman on the other side of the door.
“Oh, ex-ex-excuse…” Her apology stuttered and trailed off as she saw exactly who she’d just run into.
Several inches shorter than Christina, the perfect, porcelain features of Baroness Mathilde Alvenley rearranged into an expression of contempt. Ethereally beautiful, the Baroness’ mass of blonde curls were swept up into a complicated coiffure which looked as though it might tumble free at any moment, with two curly tendrils hanging down to frame her oval face. The stunning blue of her dress matched her incredible eyes exactly, the rose trim bringing out the natural blush of her cheeks and lips. She was a stunning vision to behold, a vision any man would be caught by.
George apparently had been.
“What are you doing here?” Christina asked with a little gasp, feeling suddenly, utterly sick inside. She hadn’t realized the Baroness was even in London. Daphne hadn’t told her… Daphne must not have known.
One blonde brow rose in derision. “Accompanying my husband as he carries out his duties of course,” the Baroness said in a musical voice. “As a good wife should.”
Christina flinched at the barb, hating herself for feeling gawky, too large, and too dark in front of the Baroness’ angelic, petite presence; hating herself for letting anything the Baroness said needle her.
Clenching her jaw, she started to swing around the other woman, but the Baroness was not through with her and her next words stopped Christina in her tracks.
“I hear you’ve remarried.”
“I have,” Christina said coldly, with all the dignity she could muster. She turned to regard the other woman, her heart stuttering along in her chest as best it could while she faced the source of her greatest humiliation and heartbreak. Although it hadn’t been all the Baroness’ fault, but she was the only person still living whom Christina could blame.
A smile spread the Baroness’ lips, but it was not a pleasant one. “A love match, again, I heard. How very foolish of you not to have learned your lesson the first time.”
“Stay away from my husband,” Christina hissed, taking a step towards the other woman, her hand clenching into a fist.
The other woman’s smile widened, her eyes sparking with malevolent satisfaction, and Christina froze. The Baroness knew she’d scored a point.
“How will you even know whether or not I do?” the Baroness asked, tilting her head to the side, making her look like an evil doll. “After all, you had no idea the first time.”
It felt like a cold sweat broke out on Christina’s body as the other woman tinkled a laugh.
“Why?” Christina asked, her voice almost a croak as the Baroness started to turn away. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“My dear, if you wanted me to do that, you should have never poached Haversham.” With a sniff, the Baroness tossed her head and went into the retiring room, leaving Christina alone and shaken in the hall.
Yes, her interest in Haversham had stemmed from seeing the Baroness flirt with him… she couldn’t deny it. At the time, she’d only been thinking of how she wanted to show she was just as desirable to men. She hadn’t truly thought she had a chance, compared to the lovely Baroness. But Haversham had turned his attentions to her, and apparently the Baroness was bitter about it rather than realizing how it had truly been tit for tat. After all, the Baroness had committed the first offense.
She was an abominable person, Christina realized, no matter how angelic she looked. Obviously she had no care for anyone else’s feelings.
Overcome with an urge to flee the woman’s noxious presence, even if a door did currently separate them, and to stake her claim on Benedict, Christina quickly fled the scene.
Chapter 13
“What is wrong with you?” Benedict asked, trying not to sound too antagonistic, but he was rapidly beginning to lose patience.
He thought he’d done a fine job of reassuring Christina, but when she’d returned to him from the retiring room, her jealousy seemed to have reached new heights for no reason he could see. She’d been short with Lord and Lady Pendleton, acerbic with Mrs. Wentworth, and downright hostile to Lady Capell, who had just come out of mourning and was quite beautiful but not at all flirtatious - at least not to him. There was no reason for Christina’s foul mood and contrary attitude as far as Benedict could see, and if she did not curb her behavior, it was very likely people would soon begin to talk.
Christina’s head snapped around, her eyes full of ire as she glared at him. Her voice started as a whisper but began rising as she spoke. “My apologies, my lord, did I interrupt your tête’á‘tête? Did you wish to continue speaking with her? Is a raven-haired widow more to your liking than your own wife?”
That did it.
Something had happened and Christina was no longer able to behave rationally or even civilly. They needed to depart, immediately, and as soon as they returned home he was going to spank the dickens out of her. It was one thing to feel unsure and anxious, quite another to actually be rude to other members of Society without provocation.
And he was definitely not going to tolerate being accused of preferring other women when everything he said and did displayed his complete infatuation with her, his wife.
“Hush,” he said, quietly, leaning in to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard. “Not one more word other than to take our farewells.”
Her mouth opened and then snapped shut as she took in his serious expression. There was a slight tightening of her fingers on his arm and then she turned her face away from him, but not before he saw a telling look in her eyes - that of a woman whom had just received a reprieve. But a reprieve from what?
He almost thought she’d been hoping to be taken in hand, although he couldn’t imagine why the need had sprung up during a simple fifteen minute visit to the ladies’ retiring room. She obviously realized he was upset, and yet, as he took her to say good night to their family and friends, then take their leave of Lady Waverly, she relaxed with every passing minute.
When they reached the carriage and he handed her in, he swore he heard her sigh with relief.
It was only when he was in the carriage, sitting across from her with a stormy expression on his face, she began to look nervous again.
“Ah… Benedict…” She faltered, looking down at her hands, which were clenched atop her purple skirts.
“Not one more word,” he said, clenching his jaw against his anger and frustration. Whatever had happened, he did not wish to begin their discussion during a carriage ride while he was still trying to temper his own hurt and displeasure. “Whatever it is, we will discuss it once we’ve returned home. I need the ride to calm myself.”
Because he couldn’t - wouldn’t - spank her while he was angry. Discipline should never be done in haste or while ruled by emotion.
And Christina was absolutely going to be disciplined tonight.
He was happy to cater to her possessiveness, to soothe her insecurities, and allow leniency for her jealousy, but she had been rude, disrespectful, and bordering on making a scene. None of which was acceptable, and he doubted she’d be very pleased with her behavior once she’d calmed.
From the very little Isaac had said about his and Lydia’s relationship, Lydia occasionally required some form of discipline in order to keep her
own anxieties from overwhelming her. It provided a release of a sort. Pondering that thought, Benedict wondered if such a tactic might work well for his own wife.
******
As relieved as Christina had been to leave Waverly House, she was even more relieved when they reached their own home and the silent, uncomfortable carriage ride was finally over.
Sitting in the darkness, she had been unable to stop thinking about the last time they’d left a ball like this. The spanking… the elopement… was Benedict regretting his hasty actions? She wouldn’t blame him if he was. He seemed much more upset with her now than he had been that evening.
Without conversation, her mind focused on what had prompted his ire - her disgraceful behavior.
Now that she was away from the ballroom, away from the Baroness, away from the multitudes of other ton beauties, all Christina could think of was how she’d overreacted. How rude she’d been to poor Lady Capell, who had requested the introduction to Christina - not to Benedict. Likely she’d wanted to speak with another young widow, and Christina had been both short and cold.
The young woman hadn’t deserved such a response in the least. Christina would certainly have to go and make amends.
Shame and guilt had swamped her during the entire journey home, especially when she thought about how she’d implicitly maligned Benedict. Of course, he hadn’t been looking for a new lover, or flirting with other women, or preparing to begin an affair. No wonder he was both hurt and upset by her overzealous jealousy and especially her final accusation about Lady Capell.
Seeing the Baroness had made her overwrought and already more on edge than she had been before, but that was no true excuse.
Christina didn’t know why she’d let her emotions run away with her so badly, she just wished she hadn’t.
As they ascended the front stairs into the house, she felt her bottom start tingling in anticipation of her punishment. Not that she was looking forward to it, exactly… except, some part of her was. She felt almost itchy with the need for it.
“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” Benedict said as the butler opened the door the moment they reached it. Despite their early arrival home. Christina wondered if he’d been watching at the window on the off chance they would return early or if he just possessed some innate sense which warned him of his employers’ presence. Then she wondered why her mind chose to focus on such a ridiculous fancy. “Please inform Esther that my wife will not need her assistance this evening.”
Because Benedict would help Christina out of her ballgown himself.
She both quailed and exulted at the thought as Mr. Jones nodded, murmuring his understanding, and closed the door behind them before moving away down the hall.
Firm fingers pressed against Christina’s lower back, gently but purposefully.
“Upstairs,” Benedict said, his voice soft, controlled. No longer angry, but she knew he still felt the emotion - he just had taken the time in the carriage to manage it. She wished she had done so at the ball. “I will meet you in our bedroom.”
She opened her mouth to ask why he was meeting her there, instead of escorting her, and then snapped her lips shut when he raised his eyebrows at her. No, this was not the time to be curious. If he’d wanted her to know, he would have told her.
The dread spreading through her, the worry over what awful implement he might be fetching which wasn’t already available in their shared room was probably part of her punishment. Trying to both dawdle and hurry along simultaneously, Christina made her way to their bedroom, chewing on her lower lip the whole way.
Once there, she began to take down her hair, pulling the pins from the heavy mass so the curls tumbled down around her shoulders and back. The activity gave her hands something to do; otherwise she probably would have just paced or fidgeted, waiting for her husband to return.
Her husband.
Hers.
Which she would do well to remember. He was not George. He would not hurt her as George had. She believed it, she did… even if she didn’t always behave as though she believed. Her emotions had overcome her reason this evening, and she was already regretting her lack of control.
She had just begun trying to undo the small buttons securing the back of her dress when the door opened behind her.
Jumping, because she hadn’t heard his approaching footsteps, Christina turned to see what her husband was holding. To her surprise, there was no huge, threatening implement in his hand. Just a small bowl with something in it, although she couldn’t clearly see what.
His expression was mostly blank, but she thought it might have softened just a touch when he looked at her and saw her unbound hair.
“Undressing?” he asked, moving towards their bed and putting the bowl down on the nightstand.
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” he said, turning back to her with a smile. Christina felt her insides warm at the accolade, happiness trickling through her. While she might have hurt him, even angered him, with her behavior this evening, he would forgive her. Perhaps he already had, although she knew that would not stop him from punishing her.
She was glad. Because she needed it.
*****
His wife - and how he enjoyed thinking of her in that term during moments like this - shifted nervously as he moved towards her.
“Turn around,” he said. “I’ll help you with your dress.”
Biting her lower lip, she did as he ordered, some of the tension leaving her when he dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder before brushing the thick strands of her hair over it, moving the silky mass away from her buttons. Benedict loved her hair. He also loved her in this dress. He wished they were ending the evening in a more enjoyable manner; he would have liked to undo her hair himself and slowly strip her dress from her body, while covering her newly bared skin with kisses.
A fantasy for another time, he supposed.
This was more important. He wanted to know what had set his wife off, why she had suddenly turned into a shrew so late in the evening. Benedict realized something must have happened; what he didn’t understand was why she hadn’t come and told him. Why had she left him in the dark?
Despite his lingering hurt, his cock still hardened as piece after piece of clothing was stripped from Christina’s body. Her creamy, pale skin, rosy tipped nipples, and the dark thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs was a sight which never failed to arouse him. Especially when he thought about what was going to come next.
Discipline for her could still be quite enjoyable for him, at least in a physical, erotic sense. He was rather curious to see how she would react to his plan for tonight.
“Come,” he said, holding out his hand, which she took, looking almost shy. He picked up the hairbrush she’d left beside her hairpins, taking it with them towards the bed, enjoying the way she eyed it nervously.
He had deliberately left himself completely clothed while stripping her down. After remembering how he’d used her hairbrush when prompting her to speak candidly to him, he decided a similar tactic might be in order for tonight. A small smile curved his lips as she glanced curiously at the bowl he’d brought in, and wondered if she recognized the object it held.
“Over my lap, love.”
Her hair spilled down as she laid herself where he directed, and he heard a little whimper as he tilted her forward more, lifting her bottom higher in the air. The creamy mounds were practically begging for some color… but not yet. He palmed her upturned cheeks, squeezing them gently for his own enjoyment while she squirmed slightly, anxious and waiting. The hard ridge of his cock was trapped between their bodies, pressing into her side as she wriggled.
“I am disappointed, Christina.” Immediately, he felt her slump, obviously feeling her guilt. His fingers curved over the buttock closest to him, the tips seeking out the little rosebud nestled there. She stiffened slightly and then relaxed again as he began to massage the crinkled star. “I do not mind your possessiveness, and I hope I can help assuage yo
ur uncertainties about marriage in general over time, but I cannot countenance outright rudeness on your part - and I do not think you would want me to.”
“I don’t,” she said softly, her body becoming even more pliable, which caused her bottom hole to press against his fingers. “I’m so sorry… I don’t know what came over me. It will not happen again.”
Smiling - she couldn’t see his expression anyway, so she didn’t need to know the loving, warm look he was bestowing on her - Benedict pulled away from her tight little hole and reached for the small finger of ginger he’d peeled and carved. It was not overly large, but it would certainly get her attention even more than her hairbrush had.
“I’m gladdened to hear that,” he said, pressing the tip of the ginger to her star and beginning to slowly push in. A little gasp left her lips as her opening was stretched, without any lubricant. The ginger itself was soft and its entry would not hurt her, but it would feel quite strange. Once it began to burn, she wouldn’t be as focused on her words; he wanted to hear the truth, unvarnished, without her being able to think overly much about her responses. “However, I would still like to discuss exactly what came over you. You were behaving perfectly normally, you went to the retiring room, and when you returned you had transformed. What happened in the retiring room, love?”
******
She was trying to pay attention to Benedict’s words, but it was difficult when whatever it was he’d just inserted into her rear entry was beginning to hurt much more than it should!
“Ow… Benedict… something’s wrong… whatever you just did, it’s starting to burn!”
“I know, love,” his voice was soothing as his hand began to rub her lower back, but the soft caresses did nothing to slow the tingling, growing heat stinging the inside of her bottom. “That’s what the ginger is supposed to do. Now, what happened in the retiring room?”
“Oh!” Christina had clenched, her body trying to expel the intruder, but the movement had only increased the burn! She gasped, her fingers scrabbling along the floor, as if finding purchase there would somehow help the increasingly uncomfortable heat spreading through her lower body. Even more disconcertingly, as her mound pressed against Benedict’s thigh, she was overwhelmed by the need to press harder, to rub herself against him. Her nipples were puckered, aching to be touched, to burn like the rest of her, and she was beginning to feel almost frantic.