Disciplining The Thief - Complete Series (Historical Victorian Forbidden First Time Steamy Romance)

by Georgia Fowler

  Delicate and small, she was just a waif of a girl. Her dress was dirty and nearly worn through and her face was smudged with filth. But he could see the shadows of her long lashes and the frailty of her heart-shaped face. Though her hair was dirty and unruly, he could see the softness of her dark brown curls. Despite the reassuring cries of his freedom of responsibility from the crowd, Lord Brynwood picked up the girl and laid her in his carriage, taking them both back to Brynwood Manor.

  Carrying her up to the guest room, he had felt every rib of the girl through her dress. She was severely undernourished. A maid was called for and the local doctor fetched. He made sure the girl was properly tended to.

  It was odd. He truly wouldn’t have been held in any blame if he had just ridden on, ignoring the girl, who clearly was not named Margaret Smith, he thought with a wry smile. But there was something undeniable about the wretched helplessness her small form had made while lying on the street that had called out to a part so deep within him, he had felt shaken by its awakening.

  For as long as he could remember, he enjoyed control. He liked control in all matters whether it be business or pleasure. And he admired recognizing the quality of control in others. When he had met the lovely and renowned singer three years ago, Colette Livingston, he had fallen in love not just with her beauty and intellect but also her reserved control. She knew how to put matters into practical perspective without letting her emotions run riot. She was refined, talented, and absolutely wonderful. Lord Brynwood knew he would never find an equal to her and was glad to call her his own.

  Yet, carrying this girl up the stairs to one of the guest suites, awoke a different need inside of him. Something that called out to his more dominating side. Looking at the clock on the mantle, he rose. Dinner time.

  Lord Brynwood smiled. Dinner time with the thief.

  Abigail leaned on the maid as they stepped down off the last stair. Until the maid had come in to bathe and dress her, she had not realized she had twisted her ankle. The maid, who had been present when the doctor had arrived, informed Abigail that she had been recommended bed rest and sedate activities for two weeks. Abigail had bit her tongue as best she could as she listened to this new bit of information. How could she possibly escape now when she was hobbled with a bad ankle?

  Slowly the maid guided Abigail into the dining room, a large room furnished in gleaming dark woods. At the head of the long table was Lord Brynwood, already sat waiting. Calmly, he watched as the maid helped set Abigail down into her seat. Although generally ignorant to the genteel manners of good society, Abigail was quite sure the earl should have risen when she had entered the room. But then again, she realized just as quickly, he wouldn’t consider a common pickpocket like her a lady worth standing for, would he? Deflated, she leaned back against her chair.

  Lord Brynwood admired the shine and silkiness that glowed from the girl’s freshly washed hair. The bandage around her head that had been holding up a compress had been removed although her ankle was still bound. From the alertness in her eyes, he could see she was much improved from her day of rest.

  “You certainly look much better after some rest and washing,” Lord Brynwood remarked bluntly. Abigail blushed. She knew she had been dirty. But dirty kept her safe, kept her invisible. Nobody paid attention to a dirty girl’s thieving hands. Sitting at such a fine table so clean and dressed in a peach colored silk gown, she felt as if she was in a kind of surreal dream.

  A butler and several maids appeared with serving dishes, laying out plates of aromatic foods. Abigail could feel the drool pooling around her mouth as she looked at the plates of baked quail, grilled asparagus and cream, toasted trout, sliced lamb, and potato au gratin. A maid gracefully made a plate for Abigail, setting it in front of her with a small bow.

  The smell, the nearness—it was all too much. Abigail couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten and just the scent of food sent her into a frenzy. Without picking up any of the silverware, she dove into her plate. She scarcely heard the maids and butler gasp as she picked up a slice of lamb with one hand and a bunch of asparagus with another. All she knew was she had to eat.

  Lord Brynwood watched in silence as the half-starved girl gorged herself on her meal. Waiting till she had finished her current handful of potatoes, Lord Brynwood sharply pulled her plate away from her, eliciting a cry of protest from the girl. He pulled the half-finished plate towards his own untouched one.

  With a long arm, he reached around and pulled her chair towards him till she was directly facing him. Her face dripped with gravy and cream sauce. Her hands were sticky with food and the front of her gown had been ruined with stains.

  Abigail, seeing how close she was to her food again, snatched out a sticky hand towards her plate. Lord Brynwood neatly grabbed her around her delicate wrist, his entire hand able to easily circle her arm. Holding her wrist captive, he brought her gaze back up to him. “What is your name, little one?” he asked, his voice low with authority.

  Abigail glared up at him. Even though she had just consumed more food than she had in days, she was somehow even hungrier than when she had entered the dining room. The food had woken up a demon of an appetite and she did not appreciate being teased with the meal.

  “Margaret S—”

  Lord Brynwood raised his chin. “It is ill manners to lie to your betters, little one. Now answer me honestly or I will throw you over my knee and beat some truth into you,” he said mildly.

  Abigail was not new to threats of physical harm. Yet she didn’t believe a man of his stature would stoop to punish a nobody like her. Even still, regardless of whether she believed him or not, she could clearly see the gleam of resolve in his eyes. She had a twisted ankle, her head still throbbed, and she was tired, hungry, and scared. If nothing else, at least prison would rid her of Pinzer’s long arm and this earl’s unnerving attention.

  “Abigail,” she whispered, licking some gravy off her lips. “Abigail Hess.”

  Lord Brynwood nodded, satisfied. “Well then, Abigail, where do you live? Where are you from?”

  She might have been dumb enough to give her name but in no realm of reality would she be dumb enough to give Pinzer’s. She stubbornly kept her silence, gazing down at the hem of the loveliest dress she had ever worn and probably ever would.

  Lord Brynwood stared down at her for a few beats before allowing her her silence. He would get the truth out of her one way or another. No need to overwhelm the child now. And child she was. Although dressed in one of Colette’s gowns, it was too large and too long. And Colette was known and admired for her slim figure.

  “How old are you Abigail?”

  Abigail sighed. She felt her head throb and her stomach gurgle. She just wanted to eat. Quickly she tried to remember her age. The years had bled together for so long that all she remembered as time markers where good steals and bad beatings. “Eighteen.”

  Lord Brynwood was surprised. Petite in stature and weighing hardly enough for a baby bird, the girl looked no older than thirteen. “Eighteen, what?”

  Abigail looked up to find the earl staring her down with dark intent eyes.

  “Eighteen, sir,” she amended with a bite.

  Lord Brynwood ignored her tone. He watched as Abigail futilely tried to pull her arm out of his grasp.

  There were girls—many, in fact—who often debuted and married before their seventeenth birthday. A maid of eighteen was no child by far. Yet this one, this girl, even at eighteen, screamed naiveté and innocence. Even with whatever vagabond crowd she might have been running with in the streets, this girl had an indestructible flame of sweetness and fragility that made her far younger than her actual years.

  Lord Brynwood’s thoughts clicked into place. He had made his decision.

  “Abigail, listen to what I am about to say,” Lord Brynwood said squeezing her wrist slightly for emphasis. Abigail’s wide green eyes looked up in timid fear veiled thinly behind a disguise of bravado. “Until your ankle is healed, y
ou are to stay here in this manor with me. I will place you under my protection and care. But this comes with the added expectation that you will also obey my rules and authority. Do you understand?”

  Abigail’s eyes grew even wider. Could this man possibly be serious? There was no way she would stay here! Not when Pinzer was probably already on the hunt for her.

  Lord Brynwood’s eyes sharpened and bore into her. “And if you try to run or leave at any point before the full recovery of your ankle, not only will I personally see to your punishment, you will also be turned over to the police constable. I highly doubt a eighteen year old street urchin would have a reason to wear three pairs of pearl cufflinks, let alone the means of purchasing them,” he added, his lips slightly twitching.

  That slight hint of a smile made Abigail explode in impotent fury. Trying to wrench her arm out of his ironclad grip, she felt tears sting her eyes. “Who are you to tell me what to do!” she cried. “I don’t care if you’re an earl or a duke or a bloody prince! I’ve lived on my own and taken care of myself my whole life! If I want to leave, I’ll bloody well leave and fie on you if you try and stop me!”

  She stood and yanked against the earl who seemed to hold her arm down with the least effort. Balling up her free fist, she swung the potato and cream covered hand against him. Lord Brynwood easily caught her other wrist. Transferring both her wrists into one of his large hands, he pulled her against him till she fell across his lap. Immediately she began kicking and wriggling her legs. To protect her ankle and to cease her struggles, he threw one of his legs over both of her, effectively trapping her over his knee.

  Abigail screamed and cried, struggling still against the mighty strength of the earl. What was he doing? She had been beaten all her life by people--orphanage mistresses and masters, larger orphan bullies, other street thieves, Pinzer. But they had beaten her with fists and feet. No one had ever put her over their knee like an errant child. Abigail felt not only the fear that usually accompanied a beating but also a wave of shame and embarrassment.

  “Let me go this instant! Let me go!” she screamed, her voice cracking already from exertion. But no matter how she struggled, she felt as if she was fighting against steel shackles.

  A large hand ripped her dress at the waist, revealing her bottom covered by the thin fabric of her underclothes. Abigail gasped as she heard the tearing of the most expensive fabric she had ever worn. But before she could even foolishly mourn for the loss of such a dress, the large hand tore away her underclothes as well. “What are you doing? What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  SMACK!

  A searing pain burned against her naked bottom as Lord Brynwood’s large hand spanked her. So shocking was the first spank that Abigail felt all air extinguished from her lungs, preventing her from even crying out.

  “I am educating an ill-mannered child is what I am doing, little one,” Lord Brynwood said calmly as he let loose another hard spank. This time Abigail had regained enough breath to cry out as she felt the heat of the spank.

  “You have no choice here, Abigail,” Lord Brynwood said, adding another spank. Abigail began crying in earnest as her bottom grew hotter and hotter with each strike. “It is either prison or a country manor.” Another spank. “Now I don’t know the level of your education.” Spank! “But I’d hope that you will see that for a sane, reasonable girl, your choice has already been made.” Spank! “And a most advantageous one at that, I might add. You could do to show some gratitude.” Spank! Spank! Spank!

  Abigail shook her head as the pain grew intolerably across her bottom. She had had worse beatings in her life that had left her black and blue and bloodied but this spanking was so different. It was controlled, even, measured. Lord Brynwood never lost control or his calmness. And somehow, this frightened Abigail even more.

  Lord Brynwood struck right where her thighs met her bottom, causing Abigail to howl out in pain. “Now what do you say?”

  Abigail sniffed pitifully and choked out, “I-I’m sorry, milord. Th-thank you for letting me stay in your manor, sir.”

  Lord Brynwood nodded in approval. “Good girl. Then let’s give you ten more swats so you’ll remember this lesson,” he said. Abigail only had time to give a short cry of protest before a furious hail of hard, unforgiving spanks rained down upon her already sore and heated bottom.

  After Lord Brynwood had given his final spank, he motioned for the butler. “Bring me a step stool from the kitchen,” he ordered. The butler nodded and quickly went to fetch the required item. Abigail laid limp over his lap, sniffing and crying in quiet gulps.

  Once the short wooden stool was fetched, Lord Brynwood ordered it to be placed in the corner. Pulling Abigail onto her feet, Lord Brynwood tore away the remaining skirts of the dress, leaving Abigail completely exposed from her waist down. Grabbing her by her upper arm, Lord Brynwood pulled her towards the stool. So firmly did he grasp her that Abigail could hardly place all her weight onto her feet but instead had to walk on tiptoe.

  “Now sit,” ordered Lord Brynwood, pushing Abigail onto the stool. He faced her towards the corner. “Ill mannered and rude little girls do not get to sit at the dining table. Instead you will think upon your transgressions and meditate upon how you may learn to better yourself while under my protection.”

  He pulled out a scrap of fabric and placed it on the wall in front of Abigail. She recognized it as her torn underclothes. Shame flamed against her cheeks as she was reminded again of her nudity and her burning bottom.

  “Place your nose against this,” he ordered. Unsure of the unusual command, Abigail hesitantly did as told and placed her nose against the torn fabric. “Now you will hold this position until the meal is finished. If that fabric is to fall, know that you will receive another twenty swats from me before bedtime.”

  Abigail gasped. How humiliating a punishment! Sitting with her reddened bottom perched against the rough wooden stool, on display for everyone, while pressing her nose against her own torn undergarment, Abigail felt as if she could never know any deeper shame than what she felt at that moment.

  She moaned quietly to herself as Lord Brynwood returned to the table and enjoyably finished his meal.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  Four

  Early the next day, Abigail was soon swept up in Lord Brynwood’s promise of being under his rule and care. Though she had eaten like an animal and then had been spanked like a child, none of the maids or house staff treated her differently. They all kept a discreet neutral expression as they assisted and dressed her.

  Abigail had initially appreciated this but soon realized that this kind of neutrality only meant no one would be outraged on her behalf. Almost immediately after taking a simple breakfast in her room, a dressmaker was called in and began taking her measurements. Abigail, who had owned the same dress for the last half of her life, couldn’t believe someone would go through all the trouble and expense to make her a new dress, let alone a dozen of them!

  But she questioned the design concept as the seamstress pinned and tucked different fabrics around her. The dress did not seem to follow the modern styles of the day. Her suspicions were confirmed when only one day later, the initial order of dresses arrived with their matching underclothes.

  Abigail watched in shock as a maid unwrapped each box, revealing the clothes of a child! None of the dresses reached lower than her knees. White stockings and childish leather flats had also been ordered. Simple underclothes with frilly laced drawers had been packaged in a smaller box.

  When the maid picked out a yellow wool dress with a laced collar and cuffs for the day, Abigail put down her small foot. “No! I will not wear that! I am not a child! This has been a mistake!” she cried.

  “No mistake, little miss,” the maid murmured, her face calm and demure and not at all perturbed at having just unloaded boxes of child’s gowns. “This is what his lordship has ordered for you.”

  “Well I won’t wear it! I’ll look like a lit
tle girl!” she said, hoping the maid would show some understanding towards the situation.

  But the maid simply nodded and laid the dress over her arm. “Very well, little miss. His lordship said to fetch him if you refused,” she said, readying to leave the room.

  Abigail cried out and raised her arms, stopping the maid from leaving. Her bottom still bore the marks of her first spanking. She didn’t think she could yet bear another one. Staring at the dress with hopelessness, she nodded. “Fine, I will wear the dress.”

  Defeated, she let the maid slip her into the frilly drawers and the loose chemise. The yellow dress was made of fine material, soft and smooth. The maid buttoned her in and then added the final touch, a short white pinafore across her front.

  When she finally got a glimpse in the mirror, Abigail stared in shock. With her hair falling in loose curls down her back and the childish dress short and sweet above her knees, she truly did look like a little girl! Having always been quite short in stature and only quite modestly developed in figure, the dress hung loosely enough that it hardly looked as if she had a bust at all. It was hard not to feel like the little girl that was pictured in the mirror when dressed so completely in the part.

  “There now, don’t you look lovely! His lordship shall be pleased,” the maid said happily, putting a large white bow into Abigail’s shiny mahogany curls. “He has requested you to be brought into his study as soon as you are dressed.”

  Abigail couldn’t bear the idea of being marched out into the halls of the manor, in front of the staff and, worst of all, Lord Brynwood, dressed so childishly! “Please, please,” Abigail begged desperately, hoping for at least just one ally. “You must see how foolish I look! I am a grown woman!”

  The maid simply straightened the ties of her pinafore and said, “After you, little miss.”