by Piper Stone
“Thank you, Miss Linton,” he said primly, while his devilish blue eyes danced with laughter. His expression was so warm, so inviting that Arabella’s unwary heart skipped a beat. “I will leave you to get ready. I shall be right outside.”
Arabella washed and put on her nightclothes and got into bed.
Mr. Standen knocked and then entered. “You look tired, Kitten.”
“It has been an eventful few days,” she admitted.
She settled down, watching him build up the fire and then pull a chair closer. He picked up a blanket and covered himself, slipping something from the pocket of his greatcoat. She saw the glint of metal.
“Sir, are you armed?”
“Yes, I have a pistol. I will sleep all the better for it. Good night, Arabella.”
“Good night.”
Bam! Bam! Something crashed against the door. “Hey, you! Open the door.” A loud belch sounded from the corridor. “Let’s have a drink.”
Mr. Standen was on his feet in a second, crossing to the door to listen to the rambling, drunken voice outside. “Just one man, I think. I’ll deal with him.” He took in her uncertain expression. “Don’t fret, Kitten. I’ll take care of it.”
He went into the hall and she heard the murmur of conversation. Mr. Standen came back several minutes later. “Our friend has seen the wisdom of seeking his own bed.” He slid the pistol back in his pocket. “You’re safe, my dear. I won’t let you come to harm.”
Arabella lay down again. She was jerked from slumber several times over the course of the night, to the sound of loud footsteps outside the door, though no one tried to enter again.
Arabella awoke only once after that. Perhaps it was the moonlight streaming across the floorboards. Or maybe it was the soft snore behind her. Mr. Standen’s strong arm clasped her waist, holding her close against a firm, masculine chest. This was shocking. She should get out of bed right now, before her scandalous behavior was discovered. In bed with a man, albeit fully clothed. If anybody she knew ever found out, Arabella would indeed be ruined or forced into marriage with Mr. Standen. And, she was already betrothed.
Exhausted, her thoughts grew fuzzy, her body heavy. Yes, she would leap out of the bed… Arabella yawned. She was finally warm and so comfortable. Mr. Standen’s breath stirred her hair. It was nice not to be alone in this dreadful fix. He hadn’t done anything untoward. In fact, he had bent over backward to keep her safe. She would move in just a moment, she thought, as the darkness pulled her deeper and she slept once more.
Chapter 4
Mr. Standen came in the front door as Arabella descended the stairs the next morning. His cheeks were reddened with cold. He nodded at her. “We’re leaving directly after breakfast. Make sure that you’re packed and ready to depart.”
“We’re going to Oxford?”
“Not today. I fear the roads will be much worse if we attempt to travel. But there is a house nearby, where I can take you until the weather breaks. We shall be private there, and you will be safe.”
“Will we be alone?” Arabella was torn between alarm and anticipation.
“No need to fear for your reputation, Kitten, there will be staff present. You will be more comfortable, I assure you.”
“Very well. I confess I am heartily tired of this establishment.”
Mr. Standen paid their bill, brushing aside her thanks, and went to the stables to collect his curricle. He drove to the front of the inn and helped her up. A hot brick was at her feet, and he covered her lap with a warm throw. The air was crisp, the sunlight breaking through the clouds. It was exhilarating to fly along the road and feel the wind cold against her cheek.
After traveling for quite a while, Mr. Standen slowed the curricle at the top of a rise. “Here we are.”
Arabella looked down into a valley. Tucked into the middle was a snug looking building of red brick, two stories high, welcoming plumes of smoke issuing from the chimneys.
“It’s lovely and warm.”
“I sent word to let the staff know we were coming.”
Inside, it was neat and clean, with older well-kept furniture, smelling of furniture polish. “Good day, uh, sir.” A footman appeared to take their coats and hats. Arabella was ushered into a cozy sitting room with a blazing fire on the hearth. Tea appeared along with toasted crumpets, strawberry preserves and dainty sandwiches. This was so much nicer than the inn. Arabella sank into a chair, accepting a cup of tea. When she couldn’t eat another bite, she looked at her host.
“I want to know exactly what you’re planning to do with me.”
Mr. Standen’s brow rose. “You make me sound like a villain in a novel. I have no designs on your virtue, Kitten.”
Arabella knew a sudden flash of disappointment, which she quashed immediately.
“As soon as the weather clears, I plan to take you home.”
“Your home?”
“No, little one, yours. It is time you are returned to your parents and come to terms with your life.”
“You traitor! I thought you understood. I won’t go back! I won’t!”
“Another tantrum, Arabella? How fatiguing.” Mr. Standen turned and walked away.
“Where are you going?”
“Away from you, before I am tempted any further.”
“What does that mean?”
Mr. Standen blew out an exasperated breath. “Very well, if you prefer frankness. I would like to turn you over my knee and spank your bare bottom bright red, until you cry and beg for mercy, contrite and yearning to be better behaved. Shall I stay?”
“No.” Arabella back away, shaking her head. “For heaven’s sake, no. Go away.”
“As you wish.”
Arabella, left to her own devices, began to plot. The insufferable Mr. Standen wasn’t going to decide her future. Once she found her way out of this house, she would be on the road to Oxford. Arabella wandered around the ground floor. There were no servants about. The footman was out shoveling snow, and the housekeeper and maids were stranded in the nearest village. Eventually, Arabella found her way to the kitchen, where she tried to engage the cook in conversation.
Mrs. Briggs looked up from scrubbed wooden table as she deftly spooned batter into muffin tins. “Oh, miss, you shouldn’t be in here.”
“What nonsense. Mr. Standen has gone out to deal with something or other, and I am quite alone with nobody to talk to. I wondered if I could have a cup of tea?”
The cook scurried to put the kettle on the hob. “You should have rung, miss.”
“Well, this storm has put everything at sixes and sevens. I’m sure my host will forgive my lack of formality.”
It turned out that Mrs. Briggs was happy to have company, being quite alone, with the kitchen maid stuck in the village, and the scullery maid laid up with a heavy cold. Arabella asked how the house was provisioned, and Mrs. Briggs told her how stores of vegetables were laid in each fall, and the rest came from nearby farms.
“We get our dry goods from Dells, the village shop. I expect to see young Johnny Dell sometime this morning. His father has a sleigh.”
“Is it a large village?” Arabella asked.
“No, but very convenient. The stagecoach stops there every evening on its way to London.”
There it was, her last chance of escape. Arabella thanked Mrs. Briggs for the tea and went to get her things. She snuck back down the stairs, leaving everything in a small pile behind the kitchen door, which led into the courtyard. She stayed out of sight, listening for the arrival of young Johnny Dell.
Half an hour later, he drove his sleigh into the courtyard with a flourish. One of the stable hands came to assist with unloading the supplies and carrying them to the scullery. Arabella took advantage of their absence to climb into the sleigh.
When Johnny returned, whistling, his mouth dropped open at the sight of her. Arabella held up a shilling. “Can you give me passage to the village?”
Johnny hesitated.
“Please, I must cat
ch the stagecoach to London. I have a sick relation, who is depending on my aid.” Arabella let a few tears well up in her eyes and pulled out a handkerchief. “I have no other way to get there.”
Johnny frowned. “Well, I don’t know, miss.”
“Please, sir, I beg you.”
Johnny agreed, pocketing the shilling. “I’ll get you there, miss, and don’t you fret. We’ll be on time for the stage.”
She would have to change coaches to reach Oxford. Not an impossible task, she had made it safely this far. Johnny clicked his tongue, and the horses set off, their bells chiming in the still air. Arabella’s spirits rose as the sleigh glided over the frozen drive. She had done it.
They had barely reached the gates when the moment Arabella dreaded occurred. A shout arose behind them. “You, there! Halt.”
Johnny pulled the horses to a stop. Arabella looked over her shoulder. Mr. Standen rode behind them, his expression grim.
Arabella let out a scream and jumped from the sleigh, running toward the road. Mr. Standen’s horse thundered behind her. Arabella picked up speed, to no avail. Mr. Standen’s arm swooped out of nowhere, catching her around the middle and pulling her in the saddle.
“Thank you, Johnny. I’ll take it from here.”
Johnny saluted Mr. Standen as the sleigh skimmed away. He wasn’t going to put his livelihood at risk to aid a stranger. Arabella was pulled firmly against Mr. Standen’s chest as he wheeled his horse around and sent it cantering back to the house. She dared a glance at his profile. His mouth was set in a stern line, the muscle in his jaw pulsed. He wasn’t happy with her, not at all.
Reaching the house, Mr. Standen jumped down from the saddle and held out his arms. Arabella slid down into his strong embrace.
“Are you angry with me, sir?” she faltered.
He blew out a breath. “A little, I must confess. I am disappointed. Your headstrong behavior must be corrected. It seems your papa is not up to the task, if I may be frank. I will do my best to take his place.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that you are going to be a very sorry little girl.” Mr. Standen released her, flexing the fingers of his right hand. “Very sorry, indeed.”
Arabella trailed up the stairs to the room she had been assigned. She had been bidden to put away her pelisse, tidy up, and return to Mr. Standen’s study for her punishment. It seemed there was no way to discourage him once his mind was made up. She wandered over to the window, peering through the window to the snowy fields beyond. There was no escape. She would have to face Mr. Standen’s discipline. He was not her father, but he meant to act in his stead, calling her to account for her behavior.
Arabella took a deep breath and considered her actions over the past few days. She had been so determined on escaping this marriage that she had neglected to consider her parents’ feelings. They had arranged a match for her with a respectable, wealthy man of excellent family, as parents did. They tried to ensure the security and happiness of their children. Arabella hadn’t even waited to meet the duke. Instead, she had fled, courting scandal and ruin. She was heartily ashamed of herself.
Arabella heaved a sigh and went down to face Mr. Standen. She found him standing in front of a crackling fire, his hands behind his back, a stern expression on his face. She faltered on the threshold.
“Come in, Arabella, and shut the door.”
She obeyed him, her pulse quickening. For some reason, she had come to accept Mr. Standen’s right to chastise her.
Mr. Standen pointed to a spot on the carpet directly in front of him and Arabella walked slowly toward him, stopping at the prescribed spot. “You, my girl, are willful and disobedient. You need to be taken in hand, and it seems that I must be the man for the task.”
Arabella rubbed her damp palms on her skirt. Her heartbeat increased again, thundering in her chest.
Mr. Standen picked up a straight chair that had stood against the wall and set it in front of her. “Bend over and place your hands on the seat.” She really didn’t want to do it. “Now, Arabella,” he said crisply, and she bent over the chair, feeling exposed and vulnerable. He flipped up her skirts and petticoats, baring her buttocks. Did he never tire of looking at her bare bottom?
“I don’t believe that this is at all proper,” Arabella quavered.
Mr. Standen walked in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body. “My dear, you are quite right. You are compromised. Shall I propose?”
“No! I don’t wish to be married.”
“To me, or at all?”
“Both. I don’t want to marry anyone, particularly you. In fact, I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
“Really,” Mr. Standen said in a soft voice that frightened her. He crossed the room to ring the bell. A servant would come in and see her like this!
“Sir, may I c-cover my bottom?”
His response was to flip down her skirts. “Maintain your position,” he ordered. It was still humiliating to stand like this bent over the chair as the door opened and the footman entered.
“Yes, sir?”
“Ah, Thomas,” Mr. Standen said affably, “please ask Mrs. Briggs to send up some ginger from the kitchen. A portion three inches long should suffice.”
“At once, um, sir.”
Arabella eyed Mr. Standen with suspicion. What was he up to? He paced over to the window, pulling back the curtain. Snowflakes swirled outside.
Thomas returned with the ginger, which he presented to Mr. Standen with a bow before leaving and closing the door behind him.
“What are you planning?” Arabella demanded, turning her head and craning her neck to see what he was doing.
Mr. Standen pulled a penknife from his pocket and proceeded to peel the portion. The air was scented with the fresh smell of ginger. It was quite pleasant. He still hadn’t uttered a word of explanation. Once the ginger was peeled, Mr. Standen began to whittle one end, making it narrower than the other, ending in a rounded point.
Arabella could bear his silence no longer. “What do you mean to do with that?”
“This is a piece of ginger and quite the marvel of the vegetable world. A small piece, carved and properly inserted in the bottom, renders even the most recalcitrant young miss quite obedient.” His smile was wicked. “It stings, you see.”
Arabella felt hot and then cold, and slightly dizzy, as if her ears were plugged with wool and she couldn’t hear properly. “I beg your pardon?” she said finally.
“You will, my dear, you most certainly will.” He dipped the ginger in a glass of water. “This, Kitten, is a ginger plug and I am planning to put it in your bottom.” He walked toward to her cringing form.
“No.” Arabella straightened and dashed toward the door. Her hand closed on the doorknob.
“Arabella,” he said sternly, “Come over here at once.”
She released her hold, her feet moving towards him before her brain had even processed his command. What was wrong with her?
“Arabella, I don’t want to tell you again.”
Slowly, she walked back to the chair. “You really mean to…”
“To plug your bottom? I do. It’s an excellent method for helping naughty girls to remember their manners.” He pointed to the chair and, sighing, Arabella bent over it once again.
Mr. Standen flipped up her skirts. He spanked her hard across both cheeks. Arabella gasped, her fingers sliding along the seat to grip the edges. Smack! Another blistering stroke. Her skin felt scorched. He delivered a flurry of spanks, until her skin sang beneath his touch. His hand smoothed over her blushing bottom. Then, his thumb and forefinger grasped her cheeks on either side of her crease and spread her buttocks wide.
No, she couldn’t stand this. It was too intimate, too humiliating. “Stop, please stop.”
“Such a sweet little voice. You almost persuade me.” The tip of the ginger piece entered her bottom and she squeaked. “I said, almost.” Mr. Standen wiggled
it in her tight little hole, and then began to ease it forward. It didn’t hurt, but it did feel very odd and intrusive.
“Why are you doing this?” Arabella moaned. Her insides began to feel hot and liquid, despite the throbbing in her bottom.
“Headstrong misses who don’t like to listen sometimes need a reminder to be on their best behavior.” Mr. Standen pressed the ginger in firmly. “Very soon, this ginger is going to start to burn. It will become quite uncomfortable, but you will bear it. And you will think, all the while, of how you should be behaving.” He gave it one last thrust and Arabella gasped.
Then, he picked her up and sat down, placing her across his knee. Her hair tumbled down, touching the floor. Mr. Standen’s muscular thighs felt hard against her belly. This wasn’t right. Arabella writhed and thrashed, trying to escape his hold.
Mr. Standen grabbed one wrist and held it behind her back. “Don’t move, Kitten. I like having you over my knee.” He smacked her bottom, right across the ginger plug. “Several more, I think, just to reinforce this lesson.”
Arabella counted five more smacks across her poor, punished bottom, as she struggled to stay still and accept her punishment. The ginger did burn. Her tender little hole ached. She couldn’t stand this another minute. She fumbled behind her, trying to pull out the ginger plug by herself.
“Ah, ah.” Mr. Standen captured both her wrists with a hard grip. “A few more minutes, I think.” Finally, he eased out the piece of ginger; Arabella shuddered in relief. And, then, once he pulled out the ginger – she could scarcely believe it – he pressed a finger into her bottom instead.
“Hungry little hole,” he whispered, “longing to be filled.” He thrust his finger inside several times. It made her feel very warm, her feminine passage slippery and wet. “When a piece of ginger isn’t available, perhaps your new husband will finger you instead. It is also an effective reminder as to who is in charge.”
At last, he pulled out. Arabella was very confused. It must be very wrong for him to touch her in this way. So, why did she accept his hand on her virgin flesh? If anyone ever found out… Arabella shuddered.