Grace (The Marriage Market Book 2)

by Stevie MacFarlane

  She supposed she deserved some kind of punishment for breaking that beautiful old window, but that was as far as she was willing to go in accepting blame. It was not her fault Hugh Jordon couldn’t keep track of his employees. Amelia had written that letter and she responded in good faith, convinced her friend needed her. A man would never walk into an unknown situation without the ability to defend himself, why should a woman be forced to. Gathering her pride, she braced herself for the fall of his hand.

  When it came it was surprisingly gentle, more like a firm caress than a slap. Each one increased slightly in strength and by the tenth she realized how thin her pantalets actually were. Still, she was determined not to make a sound. Her bottom was beginning to burn and she held her limbs stiff in an effort to stay in position.

  Sam felt his admiration grow with each crack of his hand against her supple curves. He spanked on, watching the color of her cheeks change from creamy white to pink, to rosy red. The heat rising from her could be felt each time he paused and held his palm near to her.

  He never derived any pleasure from having to discipline a naughty female in the past, but for some reason he was beginning to sweat. Maybe it was because she still hadn’t uttered a word. Yes, she was obviously struggling to endure what he was dishing out, each smack was now being followed by a breathy gasp, but she was made of sterner stuff than he’d given her credit for.

  His mind told him to continue until she was a sobbing, contrite young woman, but his heart wouldn’t let him. He could see how fiery red she was beneath the thin cloth and he had no desire to mark her. Sighing, he spanked her three more times, quite hard and was relieved to hear a small hiccupping sob. Pulling her skirts into place, he helped her rise and positioned her between his knees.

  “What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Lane?” he asked, keeping a firm hold on her hands.

  “I’m sorry I broke your mother’s window,” she replied.

  Sam watched the tears trailing down her cheeks and brushed one away as he stared into her blue eyes. Her blonde hair was straggling a bit over her forehead and he smoothed that back as well.

  “Is that it?” he asked, slightly dumbfounded she’d taken such a spanking and still refused to apologize fully.

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Lane, you are a very stubborn young lady,” he said with a sigh as he set her away from him and rose. “If I ever have to repeat this lesson, I hope you know I will not go so easy on you. I will not stop until you are begging my forgiveness,” he warned.

  Effie turned away from him and wiped her cheeks, but she didn’t acknowledge his words.

  “Will you kindly take me back to my hotel now, Mr. Jordon?”

  “I still don’t see why you won’t accept our hospitality and spend the night here, Miss Lane.”

  “I believe I’ve had quite enough of your hospitality for one evening, Mr. Jordon. Will you please take me to my hotel?”

  “Yes, Miss Lane, I will be delighted to,” he snapped back. Catching her hand, he swiftly pulled her to the door, unlocked it and spun her into the foyer. Snatching the cloak from the banister, he draped it around her shoulders.

  His coat was in the closet and he yanked it from the hook and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Spotting her bag on the hall table, he thrust it into her hands and opened the door, toting her after him to the porch just as the clock chimed midnight.

  “It’s quite late, Miss Lane,” he ground out, looking at the rain still dripping from the roof.

  “I can walk if it’s too much trouble,” Effie drawled, starting down the steps.

  Sam growled, swept her into his arms and trudged through the mud toward the waiting carriage.

  “Tell me, Miss Lane. How is it you’ve managed to live to the ripe old age of eighteen without someone choking the life out of you?”

  “We have what’s known as gentlemen in the east, Mr. Jordon. Perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

  Sam glared at her and dropped her onto the seat none too gently. He found her hiss of pain the only satisfying thing on the miserable trip into town.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Arriving at the hotel, Sam hitched the horse to the post and came around to lift Effie down. Taking her arm, he walked her to the door and opened it, ushering her inside.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jordon. I’ll be fine from here on my own.”

  “What room are you in?”

  “It’s really not necessary to see me to my room. I know the way.”

  “What room are you in, Miss Lane?” he ground out, taking her arm in a firm grip.

  “I’m on the second floor, room 212, but I don’t…”

  “Miss Lane, have you a hair brush in your room?” he asked, pulling her toward the stairs.

  “Why yes, of course, but I don’t see…”

  Sam eyed several drunks playing cards a few feet away and swiftly moved her up the stairs away from leering eyes.

  “I have another gun in my bag, Mr. Jordon. I assure you, I’ll be quite safe.”

  “I will see you safely to your room and the door locked behind you. Say one more word, Miss Lane, just one, and I will make good use of your hairbrush and do what I should have done back at the house. Obviously, you didn’t learn a thing.”

  Effie opened her mouth, looked up into his serious eyes and snapped it closed again.

  At her door, Sam waited for her to get her key out and unlock it. He didn’t speak, only nodded when she thanked him and closed the door in his face. Hearing the key turn in the lock, he slowly turned and started for the stairs.

  Something didn’t sit right with him leaving her alone. The hotel was not the most savory place in town and she’d certainly be better off staying at his parents’ home. Stopping at the first step he leaned against the wall. He knew the only way to get her out of there now would be to break her door down, gather her possessions and toss her over his shoulder. More than likely, the ruckus would wake up every guest, not that it concerned him overly. He realized he should have refused point blank to bring her back to town, but she was so damned infuriating he was glad to be rid of her. On the other hand, he was sure he would get no sleep worrying about her.

  Effie moved to the mirror and turned on the lamp. Setting her reticule down on the bureau, she removed the pins from her hair. What a hell-fired, awful night it had been. Picking up her brush, she’d only pulled it through her hair once when she saw him.

  Lounging negligently in the chair by the bed was Horace Remington.

  “Where’s Grace,” he asked, pleasantly.

  “She’s not here, Horace, so you’d best leave this room immediately before I call hotel security.”

  “Ha, like there’s security in this dump. Where is she, Effie?” he asked again, cleaning his fingernails with a knife, an odd look on his face. “I’m tired of chasing the two you all over hell’s creation,” he continued, rising and walking slowly toward her.

  “I said she’s not here, Horace,” she repeated, spinning away from the mirror so she could face him. “Even if she was, she’s out of your reach,” she scoffed. “Grace is married now, to a Pinkerton man, so you’d better be on your way. You’ve wasted a lot of time and money because you’ll never have her, you evil man.”

  “You’re lying,” Horace roared, advancing on her. “She’s promised to me and you know it.”

  “You forced her into it. That night at her parents’, you hurt her. She’d never have agreed otherwise,” Effie yelled back. “She never wanted you and you knew it. That’s why she ran.”

  “You’re a bitch, Effie. A snooty bitch and you always have been. I’ll bet you forced her to leave me,” he hissed, lunging forward. “You tell me where she is, or I swear I’ll slit your damn throat,” he snarled, clutching her neck and squeezing painfully.

  Reaching a hand behind her, she fumbled with the opening of her bag until she felt her fingers close around her derringer. Flecks of light danced in front of her eyes as she struggled to stay conscious. She felt the thr
obbing at her temples and moved her arm to his side.

  *

  Sam was walking back to her room, having decided she was going with him whether she liked it or not when he heard the gun shot. Running down the hall, he kicked her door open, stunned at the scene in front of him.

  Effie was sagging against the wall, clutching her neck, a pistol dangling from her fingers. On the floor, a man was moaning, holding his side as blood seeped through his fingers. Suddenly people were spilling into the room.

  “What’s going on in here?” someone demanded.

  “A man’s been shot. Get Doc Martin,” Sam called out, going to Effie’s side. Her eyes were wide and glazed and she was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

  “Effie, are you alright?” he demanded, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look at him.

  “Oh, Sam,” she cried, dropping the gun from her nerveless fingers and falling into his arms.

  He caught her and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently. Getting a cloth, he bathed her face and neck with cool water.

  “What happened here, Sam?” Doctor Martin asked as he forced his way into the room.

  “I’m not sure, but she’s been choked. I think she shot him. Is he alive?” Sam asked, over his shoulder.

  “Barely, I can see it was at very close range. How’s she doing?”

  “I’m not sure, she’s breathing but she sounds pretty raspy.”

  “Get this man over to my office,” he ordered the men standing around. “Let me look at her,” he said, shoving Sam out of the way.

  “Water,” Effie gasped, trying to sit up.

  “Just a minute, young woman,” the doctor ordered, taking her pulse. “Who is she, Sam?”

  “Miss Lane, she’s a friend of Amelia’s from back east. Will she be all right?”

  “She’s going to be sore for a few days and she might not be able to speak, but she’ll be fine.”

  “That might be a blessing,” Sam murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  Effie glared at him but he ignored it and helped her take a few sips of water.

  “Is it okay to move her, Doc? I’d like to take her out to the house.”

  “I’m not going any…” Effie rasped out.

  “Shut up. Is it, Doc?”

  “Yes, just keep her warm. After what happened in here tonight, it’s probably a good idea to get her somewhere she feels safe.”

  Effie rolled her eyes.

  Sam didn’t take time to pack her things or even get her cloak. He simply rolled her up in the bed coverings and picked her up in his arms.

  “If the Sherriff has any questions, tell him to come out to the house and she’ll tell him anything he wants to know,” he called out over his shoulder as left the room pushing people aside.

  Once he had her in the carriage and they were on their way, he put his arm around her and pulled her close to his side. He could feel the stiffness in her body, but finally she sagged against him and let the tears flow.

  *

  Grace curled against Jonah’s side, her head resting on his chest.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he asked as he rubbed her back.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “I’m happy I finally learned what all the fuss was about,” she said, glad the darkness hid her blush, “but very unhappy you spanked me. We were only trying to help Amelia.”

  “Grace, you’re a married woman now. You have to stop falling in with these schemes of Effie’s.”

  “Effie doesn’t scheme,” she insisted. “She plans. You’re still mad because she got the drop on you,” she accused.

  “Got the drop on me?” he asked, trying not to laugh. “I think tonight someone got the drop on both of you, if I know Sam. Let me tell you right now, any more episodes like tonight and I’ll repeat that spanking with a little more conviction.”

  “I think you showed plenty of conviction,” Grace sighed, yelping when he patted her bottom.

  He’d let her get all undressed and into that thin satin gown before he pounced, pulling her over his lap on the bed and spanking her until she was howling for mercy. Smack after smack fell on her unprotected cheeks, each one burning worse than the last. All the while he lectured and scolded her, his hand fell like a paddle. It embarrassed her the way she wiggled and fought to get away and how easily he held her right where he wanted her.

  He repeatedly called her Gracie, making her feel like a naughty little girl. It was mortifying and if he hadn’t finally stopped and stripped that gown off her, making her his own, she might not be speaking to him at all.

  That part was marvelous and she couldn’t wait to tell Effie about it. He’d kissed and suckled her in places she never dreamed would be so responsive and when he insisted that yes, that huge thing would fit inside her, he was right. Oh, it was a tight fit, but after the one burst of pain, it felt wonderful. He started a fire that seemed to burn her from the inside out and soon she was consumed with a need so great she thought she’d die of it.

  Thankfully, her husband knew exactly what he was about, because when she was covered with sweat and shaking with chills, he gave her a gift unlike any other. There were no words to describe the magic of that moment when she floated away on a sea of pleasure, and she decided right after, that she would avoid spankings at all costs and take special care of that little thing between his legs that grew to enormous proportions and brought her such pleasure.

  Pulling her thoughts back to the present, she reached over and pinched his nipple.

  “Must we talk about that horrible spanking?” she pouted.

  “No, we can talk about more pleasant things as long as you understand my position,” Jonah replied, catching her nipple and rolling it between his fingers. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?”

  “Oh, yes,” she sighed, arching her back. “I’d like to know how often I can expect the other thing to happen.”

  “I’d say in about five seconds,” he replied turning to his side and lowering his mouth to her breast.

  “Wonderful,” she murmured, reaching around him and feeling around his backside.

  “Grace, what are you doing?”

  “Oh nothing,” she said, grinning in the dark. “I was just checking something.” She had to remember to tell Effie there wasn’t any hair on Jonah’s. Tomorrow she’d ask Amelia about Hugh’s.

  Epilogue

  Euphemia Lane woke slowly, tentatively moving her body to assess the damage as she looked around the room. She was in a huge, four poster bed with white canopy draping. Nestled under a warm quilt she swallowed carefully, her small hands moving to her neck touching the tender area. It was sore and she likely had some bruises. Cautiously she swallowed, wincing slightly; she’d live and she’d had the pleasure of shooting Horace. The discomfort of her bottom was another matter entirely.

  Narrowing her eyes, she stared at the man sleeping in the chair beside the bed.

  Samuel Jordon had his long legs stretched out and upward, his feet propped on the mattress. A lock of his dark hair curled on his forehead, no doubt plastered there by the heavy rain that had fallen the evening before as he’d carried her into the house and up the stairs. While he’d provided her with one of his shirts for a nightdress and left the room so she could change, he’d returned quickly and refused to budge.

  “I’ll be perfectly fine on my own,” she’d managed to rasp out as he made himself comfortable in the chair.

  “Miss Lane, you’ve been through a trying experience. It’s not every day a young woman is nearly strangled to death.”

  “Mr. Jordon, I’m no longer worried about Horace Remington,” she softly and painfully replied. “I’ve gone and shot him now and if he’s not dead I’m sure he’ll leave Grace and me alone. If not, I’ll shoot him again.”

  “That’s not likely, Miss Lane. You see I’ve taken the liberty of confiscating your guns. I find hot headed young women and weapons do not mix.”


  Rolling her eyes, she’d pulled the covers over her and turned away from him. He was much too large to spend the night in a boudoir chair and would most likely seek his own bed as soon as he thought her asleep.

  Yet, here he was, snoring softly and keeping her from getting out of bed. Amelia and her new husband were due to arrive this morning and Effie was anxious to inform Grace that her worries concerning Horace were over. Inching toward the foot of the bed she positioned her feet close to his and pushed with all her might.

  Instantly his big feet crashed to the floor with a thud causing Sam to bolt forward in surprise. Scooting back to the pillows she looked at him innocently when he wiped the sleep from his eyes and glared at her suspiciously.

  “Good, you’re awake,” she said, hiding her smile.

  The End

  Stevie MacFarlane

  Hi, I’m Stevie MacFarlane. I live in a small rural community in Upstate NY, and I have been writing off and on for about twenty years in my spare time, although there wasn’t much of that with a husband, five children and an assortment of supposedly domesticated pets.

  Over the course of my life I have been a waitress, social worker, cook, sewing machine operator and a fine die cutter. I swear I had no idea what I was doing, but apparently the ability to take a wire finer than a strand of hair, sharpen it and feed it through a wire die, was enough for them to keep me on. I also worked for a very short time in a meat packing plant where I got to stand in front of a machine that spit boxes of frozen chicken at me, that was fun!

  Then there was the plastic plant I enjoyed for a spell. The heat and smell were bad enough, but the excess hot plastic needed to be pulled off the parts and put into a grinder. I believe they called this byproduct ‘spew’ or some such thing. I was not quite fast enough to separate the parts and still get the excess into the shredder, (picture Lucy in the chocolate factory) so I just tossed it behind me until they came to break me for lunch. By that time I had a mountain of twisted plastic taller than me! Needless to say, I just turned in my gear and went home.

  So I must say that I enjoy what I’m doing now. Of course, being retired gives me more time to let the characters in my head entertain me and hopefully, you as well. I would love hearing from you at StevieMacFarlane@aol.com and thanks for stopping by.