by Unknown
Suddenly, love didn’t seem a fair enough trade for all of that.
But wasn’t her life worth it?
“Clarissa, I know this is a difficult decision—”
“It’s not that,” she insisted, frowning.
“We can petition Charles for a divorce, but if he doesn’t agree, I may never be able to marry you.”
“It wouldn’t matter. I love you.”
“If you run away with me you’d be disowned by your family, disgraced in the eyes of Society.”
“I don’t care about that!”
“What is it then?”
She took a deep breath. “You don’t know Charles. He would be furious. He’d come after us—”
Jared squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Impossible. I’ve always kept The Disciplinarian’s identity and whereabouts a secret. No one could—”
“Charles would find out somehow, hire people to track us
down,” she insisted. “He’d be incensed at being cuckolded. He might even try to kill you in his rage. I can’t take that chance!”
“I’m quite capable of defending myself,” Jared assured her quietly.
“You can’t be certain of that. You’ve never seen the extent of Charles’s fury.”
Jared let out a breath. “All right, then we’ll leave the country—”
“No! I could never ask you to give up your home, your life.”
“You are my life now . ” He stared at her, unable to believe where the conversation was headed, beginning to see her slip through his fingers
She held up her hand, as if to stifle any further protest from him.
“No, I must go back to Charles.”
“Clarissa—” Jared felt like he’d just been punched in the gut.
How could he possibly have gone from the heights to the depths—
found love and then lost it—in the space of just three minutes?
He didn’t know what to say, what he could do to convince her. He wanted to protect her by keeping her with him, while she believed she was protecting him by going back to her husband. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him, but no matter how he tried to rationalize it, in the end he kept coming back to the same question.
What rights did he have here? This was her life, her choice. Her decision was final. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from one last attempt. “Are you certain this is what you want to do?”
“Not want, ” she said quietly, “It’s what I must do. Please don’t think me a coward for choosing this way. I really believe it’s best for the both of us.”
“It’s not best for you,” he sighed. “And it’s certainly not best for me.”
“Nonetheless,” she said, “it’s my decision.”
He stared deeply into her eyes and then nodded his acceptance, brushing his index finger down the side of her soft cheek. “I’d never think you a coward, Clarissa,” he murmured. “In fact, I’ve never met a braver woman.” He was still on his knees at her feet, and he slipped his hand behind her neck to pull her head down toward him for a kiss.
It was a long, lingering kiss—a slow, seductive savoring of every inch of her lips. He wanted to remember this taste of her forever, the satiny texture of her mouth, the lush fullness of it against his lips. Smooth. Soft. Responsive.
And he wanted to leave her with something to remember him
by, a final lesson, that of the perfect kiss—the profound vulnerabil-ity, the openness and trust, the mutual sharing, by two people who love each other.
One perfect kiss to last them a lifetime.
When it was over, he reached under his bench seat and pulled out a single white rose. “Something to remember our time by,” he said. “I picked it this morning from my garden.”
She took it from his hand and clutched it tightly to her heart.
“Whoa, boys! Whoa, now!”
The coachman’s muffled command slowed the horses, and Jared glanced out the carriage window to see that they were pulling to a stop outside Clarissa’s townhouse. Reluctantly, he pulled himself up off his knees and sat back on his bench seat. But he made no move toward the carriage door.
“Tell me your name,” Clarissa said suddenly. “Please. If I am to spend the rest of my life with a man I hate, at least let me know the name of the man I love!”
Jared shook his head slowly. “No, Clarissa. If we are to part here forever, it’s better that you just forget me.”
She gasped. “I will never forget you! I’m counting on the memory of you to get me through those—those times with Charles!
It will be you I’m thinking of when he’s inside me.”
Bloody hell, this was killing him. His stomach was tying itself in knots just thinking about Clarissa at the hands of Charles Babcock, even if the man did have legal rights to her. He shook his head again. “No. I will not tell you my name. It’s best that you never know it. I’d never endanger you by risking that you might call out my name during those— times— and suffer your husband’s consequences.”
“I don’t want things to end like this between us,” she cried, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye.
He leaned forward, his thumb brushing away the emotional
droplet. “I don’t want things to end between us either, Clarissa, but I understand and accept your decision.” He laid a hand on the coach door latch. “Come. It’s time. You don’t want your servants wondering about a strange carriage loitering outside your door.”
He saw her throw an anxious glance out the window toward her house. She stared at it for a full minute, but eventually nodded and determinedly gathered up her hat and gloves. She clutched the rose he’d given her tightly in her hand, and looked back at him.
“Kiss me once more. For courage,” she whispered.
That plea almost broke his heart. And his resolve. Neither one of them had an easy choice in this tragic situation, and he was so damnably close to shouting an order to his coachman to just take them both away from here that he had to force himself to lean toward her for the requested kiss. He struggled to put everything he felt into that kiss—his love, his regret, his very heart and soul—
everything he felt but couldn’t say.
When it ended, she smiled up at him, her love shining in her eyes, and he knew she’d understood. She put her hand on the door latch.
He abruptly put his hand over hers to make her pause. “Promise me one thing, Clarissa. I’ve tried to the best of my ability to teach you how to deal with your husband. Promise me that you’ll be brave enough and clever enough and strong enough to deal with him. Please. I couldn’t bear it if he—if you—”
She put a gentle finger to his lips. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “I will be all right.”
“You can’t promise that,” he said, shaking his head. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a card. “Take this. Please. It’s the name and direction of my solicitor here in London. If things ever get too dangerous with Charles, if you ever feel you need help, this man can be trusted to get you away quickly. He will bring you to me.”
She nodded, took the card, and gave him a last, lingering look.
“I love you,” she breathed.
“And I love you,” he vowed. He didn’t stop her this time as she pushed down the lever, opened the door, and stepped out of the carriage.
Out of his life.
Clarissa blinked as the midday sun blinded her for a moment.
She dared not look back at the coach as she made her way down the walkway to her house, feeling oddly self-conscious as she knocked on her own front door. It was only when the door swung open that she heard the carriage begin to pull away, but when she stole a final glance at it, she saw that the shade had already been pulled down over the window as it moved off into the street.
With a resigned sigh, she turned back to her door.
The Disciplinarian: Chapter 10
It was curious to see the reaction of Hawkins, the butler, as he opened the door to fin
d her standing there.
He greeted her first with his usual butler face, the carefully blank, slightly snooty expression that Charles had deemed appropriate for servants in the Babcock household. But once Hawkins realized who was at the door, his expression changed to one of obvious shock, which turned quickly to relief.
“Oh, thank the lord! Come in, come in, milady,” he whispered urgently, offering his hand to help her across the threshold, and quickly closing the door behind her. “Poor Alys and me have been worried right sick, we have, over what might have happened to you—” He stopped suddenly, a look of mortification coming over his face at the profound breach of protocol. It was simply not done for a servant to be addressing the lady of the house with such familiarity, even if he had feared for the lady’s safety. He looked down at the floor.
Rather than be affronted, Clarissa was touched by the butler’s show of emotion. It was a sad irony that she should get more affec-tion from her servant than from her own husband.
She laid a gentle hand on the butler’s arm. “I appreciate your concern, Hawkins. As you can see, I am returned unharmed. Please tell Alys I’ll come up to my room in a moment. Where is my husband?”
At the mention of Charles, Hawkins’s face fell back into its blank expression. “He’s in the library, milady.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, milady.”
“Thank you, Hawkins.”
Clarissa took a deep breath and started across the foyer. Every nerve in her body was protesting this confrontation, every muscle objecting as she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Fear and resignation warred inside her, and she had to keep reminding herself that it had been her decision to do this. To come home to the husband she hated, in order to protect the man she loved. Her hand actually shook as she knocked once on the library door, and then pushed it open.
Charles looked up from behind his desk. “So,” he said, putting down his newspaper and cigar. “You are returned.”
Clarissa took a step into the room. “Yes.”
He stared at her for a long minute. “Well? Did The Disciplinarian do his job? Did he warm you up for me?”
Clarissa had tried to prepare herself for just this question, but the bald brutality of it, the coldness in Charles’s voice, contrasted so painfully with the warmth of The Disciplinarian—his gentle-ness, his tenderness—that unbidden tears sprang to her eyes.
“Humiliated you, did he?” Charles said, misinterpreting the glistening in her eyes. “Good. You needed to be shown your place.
And I will make damn sure you know it this evening. Now be gone with you.”
She paled at the threatening promise in his remark and made her escape up the stairs to her room.
***
“You look quite nice, milady,” Alys said with a frown as she
fluffed a ruffle on Clarissa’s pink nightgown and straightened the matching robe.
Clarissa sighed. She couldn’t blame her maid for the confusion she heard in her voice; Clarissa had never bothered to dress for bed before. All of the servants were well aware of the strained relationship between their master and mistress.
But Clarissa was hoping that if she looked willing tonight, Charles would go easier on her, might overlook the fact that her body might not be quite as warmed up as he expected. Perhaps he’d be quick to do his duty, and then leave her to her misery.
Unfortunately, the most enticing thing in her wardrobe had been this high-necked, long-sleeved pink cotton gown. Even with all the buttons at the neckline undone, her skin was only exposed to her collarbone.
Before her visit to The Disciplinarian, she’d never considered that clothing could so excite a man. Why hadn’t she thought to ask The Disciplinarian to let her take home the scandalous blue gown she’d worn at his house? The mere sight of her dressed in it would probably have been enough to send Charles halfway to his goal before he’d even touched her.
Yet wearing the blue gown would have been horrible, a sacri-lege, almost. She could never endure the pain of Charles’s hands while wearing the same gown in which she’d experienced the pleasure of The Disciplinarian’s.
She should have gone out this afternoon to purchase something suitable, but she hadn’t really wanted anything suitable. Tonight was not an evening she was looking forward to.
“Milady—”
Clarissa saw the look of concern on her maid’s face. After the relief of Clarissa’s safe return, there had been a palpable tension in the air all day, and the entire household seemed to be walking on eggshells, Clarissa included. Everyone except Charles, that was.
She patted her maid’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Alys. I will be all right.”
How ironic that it fell to her, the very person in the most jeop-ardy, to reassure everyone else of her safety. Alys, Hawkins, even The Disciplinarian. Reassure them all, when she was hardly certain of it herself.
A loud knock at the door made both women jump.
Clarissa swallowed hard, but there was no need for a response.
Charles simply threw open the door, his gaze taking in the two women.
“Out,” he ordered, his eyes settling on Alys.
The maid threw Clarissa a worried look, gave a quick curtsy to Charles, and scurried from the room.
Clarissa swallowed again. Charles was in his dressing gown, and she could see his thin, bare, hairy legs peeking through the join of his gown with each stride he took toward her. He was obviously naked underneath.
She thought back to The Disciplinarian’s words in the carriage earlier today. ‘ I’ve conditioned you so that you can respond to certain stimuli.’ Looking at the ferocious expression on Charles’s face, she knew in her heart she’d never be able to respond to him.
Despair flooded her, and she felt a moment of true panic.
“What’s this?” Charles demanded, looking at her attire. “Is this the best you can do?”
“Charles—”
“Take off that damned robe.”
She hesitated, and then slipped the robe from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“You call this warmed up?” he sneered. “You’re dressed like a damned nun!”
Despite his scathing tone, Clarissa could see that Charles was aroused, that he’d probably been thinking about all the wicked things The Disciplinarian might have done to her.
At this rate it wouldn’t be long before he’d be forcing himself inside her. She had to act now.
“Charles—”
“Take off your gown.”
“Charles, wait a moment—”
“I gave you an order!” he shouted. “I am your Disciplinarian tonight, and you will obey me.” He roughly hooked both hands into the open material at her neck and tore the cotton gown to her waist.
“Now take it off!”
Clarissa gasped at the violence of his action. She was quickly losing her chance to exercise any control over this situation, especially if Charles was determined to play the part of The Disciplinarian in order to dominate her. She must find an opportunity to take charge, but it was never best to confront Charles directly.
It only fueled his anger. She nervously slipped the gown over her hips to let it pool at her feet.
He grabbed for her immediately, pawing one breast with his left hand, while rooting around between her thighs with his right.
“Charles,” she begged. “Wait. I have an idea—”
But instead of piquing his interest, her words only seemed to infuriate him.
“Bitch!” he roared, pulling away from her. “It’s always wait, wait, wait with you! Did you learn nothing while you were away?”
His face turned red with rage, and he raised a hand to strike her.
Instinctively, Clarissa reached out to stop it, both her hands wrapping around his wrist, mere inches from her face. They stood there for a moment just staring at each other—Charles, obviously disbelieving what she’d just done.
Clarissa herself was stunned at h
er daring. Her breath came in shallow pants, and her mind raced frantically. This was what The Disciplinarian had prepared her for, and she opened her mouth to say the words he had taught her. ‘ I deserve to be punished, I know, but let me show you how The Disciplinarian prefers to punish a woman.’ The words were meant to deflect Charles’s anger into sexual energy, thus sparing her his fists. She intended to say the words, truly she did, but one look at Charles’s face changed her mind about submitting to this hateful man.
She wanted to control him instead.
So what came out of her mouth instead was, “You will never hit me again.”
It was her attempt to startle Charles, to silence him momentarily into at least listening to her proposal—that she tie him down and ride him like The Disciplinarian had taught her. The shocking suggestion would hopefully titillate Charles enough to let her take control.
But it had the opposite effect. If he had been red with rage a moment ago, he now turned purple with his fury.
“Stubborn, willful, headstrong bitch! I’ll hit you if it pleases me.
Why, I’ll damn well throttle you with my bare hands, if I want!”
And indeed, his fingers reached for her neck. Clarissa fought him mightily, trying to pull his hands away from her throat while kicking him as hard as she could in his shins. They fell onto the bed together, a tangled mass, Clarissa still flailing at him.
As they struggled, an odd look came over Charles’s face. He looked surprised, then annoyed, and finally, frightened. His grip on her loosened, letting go altogether as he clutched his chest and started gasping desperately for air. His face, already purple with rage, now took on a sickly tinge, fading to an ashy white. He glared at her accusingly but couldn’t manage to speak.
Clarissa herself was dragging in great lungfuls of air, coughing and massaging her injured throat. She saw Charles collapse onto his back on the bed, making odd gurgling noises before finally quieting. His eyes were open, but Clarissa was afraid to approach him, afraid to press her luck. She said a fervent, silent prayer of thanks for her near escape.