by Unknown
It was only after several moments had passed that she finally realized Charles would never, ever threaten her again.
He was dead.
The Disciplinarian: Chapter 11
The next week was a nightmare for Clarissa. The doctor had come and ruled Charles’s death to be simple heart failure, but Clarissa had been terrified during his visit, fearing that the physician might catch a glimpse of her darkly bruised throat beneath the high neck of her gown and suspect some foul play on her part.
To her immense relief, the doctor had simply expressed his condolences on the loss of her husband, and gone off to file his report.
After that, Clarissa had forced herself to play the dutiful widow, dealing with Charles’s burial and then his unfinished business affairs, even though her mind had been focused on another man entirely.
At the end of the week, with her emotions stretched to the breaking point, she locked herself in her bedroom and frantically ransacked her dresser drawer to find the card she’d hidden there deep beneath her clothing.
The card The Disciplinarian had given her.
If things ever get too dangerous… If you ever feel you need help…
Those were the reasons The Disciplinarian had left her this card.
But things weren’t dangerous for her any longer. She didn’t need help, but she needed him.
She stared at the name of the solicitor. Was it fair of her to try and get in touch with The Disciplinarian now, simply because she was free? She had rejected him in the carriage, chosen to go back to her husband, but the decision had been motivated by her love for him, as surely as his offer to take her away had been motivated by his love for her.
Still, she felt guilty, undeserving.
What must he think of her?
A sudden idea popped into her head and she crossed the room to sit at her desk. She pulled out a sheet of stationery and a pen, and began to write.
Yes, this was the only fair thing to do. She would simply inform The Disciplinarian of the death of her husband, but not ask him outright to come to her.
She would let him decide their future.
The Disciplinarian: Chapter 12
One year later.
Clarissa glanced at the calling card her maid Alys had brought up to her room.
Jared Ashworth.
It was a name she didn’t recognize, and wouldn’t deign to recognize today of all days—her first day out of mourning.
This Jared Ashworth was probably someone to whom Charles
had owed money—a gambling debt perhaps, or the landlord of his mistress’ flat come for payment of back rent. Obviously it was someone who couldn’t wait one minute beyond the required year after Charles’s death to come collecting. Well, she wouldn’t have it. There was only one man she wanted to see, and that was the one man she’d likely never see again.
The Disciplinarian.
She had sent her trusted butler Hawkins to deliver her note to The Disciplinarian’s London solicitor, but the only response she had received had been a formal note of condolence. She had placed her future in The Disciplinarian’s hands, but it was obvious he didn’t want her.
Even now, almost a year later, she had to force away a tear of regret. She had been a coward to let him go, to give up love in favor of a twisted logic that judged going back to Charles the only sure way to protect The Disciplinarian. This cruel fate was of her own doing; this life of grief was the one she deserved.
She knew her mourning clothes represented more than just the loss of a husband.
Technically, she could give up her dark gowns today and rejoin the world, but by habit she’d dressed in black anyway. It matched both her mood and her motivation. There was nothing for her to look forward to, no reason for hope.
With a profound sigh, she tossed Jared Ashworth’s card onto her dresser and picked up her hairbrush.
Alys came back into her bedroom carrying a vase of fresh flowers, and set them at the edge of Clarissa’s dressing table, humming while she arranged them into a plump display in the crystal bowl.
Clarissa turned, intending to tell her maid to have Hawkins get rid of their unknown visitor downstairs, but she took one look at the bouquet of beautiful white roses and felt herself turn the same shade as the delicate blooms.
“Where did you get those?”
The maid jumped a little at her harsh tone and turned toward her. “Milady?”
“I said, where did you get those roses?” Clarissa almost shouted the question, then forced herself to take several deep breaths, trying to get herself back under control. She couldn’t bear to be reminded of The Disciplinarian today. Didn’t want to think of identical petals from the single rose he’d given her their last time together, now pressed between the pages of a book she kept under her pillow.
Along with two black silk scarves.
She carefully put the hairbrush down on her dresser. “Get rid of them,” she told her maid with a forced calm. “Get them out of my sight.”
“But the gentleman—” Alys sputtered, obviously confused by Clarissa’s violent reaction.
“What gentleman?”
“The gentleman who brought them… The one downstairs in the sitting room… He insisted I bring them up to you.”
“What?” Clarissa stood so quickly that her dressing chair toppled over behind her.
Alys was looking distinctly worried now. She waved an uncertain hand at the flowers. “The Ashworth roses, milady…”
“The Ashworth roses?”
These were the same roses that adorned the coat of arms on his carriage! Could it be possible that The Disciplinarian was downstairs in her sitting room right now? The thought robbed her of breath. She said a desperate prayer, and then she was running out of the room, barely hearing her maid’s frantic call. “Milady, your hair!”
But there was no time to waste on formalities. Who cared if her hair was curling wildly about her shoulders instead of tamed into a proper bun? Especially considering the utterly improper states The Disciplinarian had seen her in!
She flew down the staircase, her feet barely touching the wooden risers, ignoring the look of surprise from Hawkins at her unla-dylike haste. She crossed the foyer and paused for a hairsbreadth at the door to the sitting room as a terrifying thought occurred to her.
Oh, God, what if it isn’t him?
She felt the familiar constriction around her heart but forced the pain away. Jared Ashworth. Was that his name, truly? Was that the name she’d so desperately tried to get out of him that last day in the carriage? And why had he come today, not a year ago?
Jared Ashworth.
If he was really in her sitting room she would never, ever let him go again. If he still loved her.
Please let it be him.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the double doors.
He stood at the far end of the room, one arm braced on the fireplace mantel, tall and elegant in his grey morning coat, paisley waistcoat, black trousers and polished black boots. He was all that she could ever want, with his shining black hair and beautiful blue eyes.
But she couldn’t read the look in those eyes as he turned toward her, didn’t know whether to run and throw herself into his arms or to bitterly admit that things would never again be the same between them.
She had to force herself to breathe.
I will not ruin this chance!
“Black doesn’t suit you, Clarissa,” he said, eyeing her dress.
It was the opening she needed. “I’ll never wear black again if it displeases you,” she said carefully. “Would blue be more to your liking?”
Her bold words set off a momentary flare of heat in his eyes at her reference to the nightgown she had worn while in his house.
Clarissa’s heart soared at the sight, and that heat from his eyes warmed her skin right through. He still wants me!
“Blue becomes you very well,” he said low, moving slowly
toward her. “As I think you know.”
They met at the sofa, and stood there staring at each other.
“I wanted desperately for The Disciplinarian to come to me after Charles’s death,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes.
“There is no more Disciplinarian,” he answered gruffly. “Not since that day we parted. There have been no lessons, no other women, since you.”
The words sent a thrill through her, but she frowned. “If that’s the truth, why didn’t you come to me?”
He gave her a wry smile. “I did it for you, Clarissa. If you’ve learned anything about me at all, you know that I’m a gentleman.
I’ve waited the requisite year after Charles’s death not only out of respect for you and for propriety’s sake, but also to give you time to decide how you truly feel about me. It nearly killed me to stay away, but in truth, I didn’t know if you would still want me.”
“Not want you?” she said, confused.
“I have something to tell you and you must listen carefully.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m not the nobleman I pretend to be. My coach with its elaborate coat of arms? That was mere show so that men would be more comfortable sending their wives to me, believing I was a gentleman like them. In truth, I’m nothing but a gentleman farmer. My life is in the country, far from the excitement and sophistication of Town. I have no rank or special privileges. My wife would not be called milady, as you are now, but merely Mrs.
Ashworth.”
Mrs. Ashworth. Clarissa couldn’t think of a more beautiful name. Clarissa Ashworth. She closed her eyes at the dreamy possibility.
He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Listen to me. You are a wealthy widow now, Clarissa, a woman finally in charge of her own life. You could do far better than to settle for me. My feelings for you are the same as the day we parted— I love you— but I’ve come here today to ask what it is that you want.”
Clarissa didn’t even hesitate. The lesson he had taught her came rushing back to her. Take charge. Take control to ensure you get what you need. That advice applied to so many things.
She turned to walk to the sitting room doors, pulled them closed with a stout thud, and locked them with a firm twist of the key.
Then she came back to the sofa where he stood, grabbed him by the lapels of his morning coat, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him full on the mouth.
It seemed to be all the answer he needed. With a low moan, he swept her into his embrace and plundered her mouth. She took everything he offered and gave it right back to him in equal measure.
When the kiss ended, he hissed, “Marry me, Clarissa. ”
She almost laughed up into his face, so great was her happiness.
“Yes, yes, yes!” she cried. “I want that more than anything in the world. But first…” With her grip still on his lapels, she roughly pushed him back onto the cushions of the sofa.
He sat down with a hard thump and looked up at her in surprise.
“There is one more thing I want.”
“Anything,” he agreed with a look of confusion.
“Close your eyes.”
“Pardon?”
“Rest your head on the back of the sofa and close your eyes,”
she instructed. “Then put your hands down at your sides, flat on the sofa cushion, and don’t move them, whatever you do. Or, should I say, don’t move them no matter what I do to you. ”
He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Those are Disciplinarian words. What do you intend, Clarissa?”
She gave him a pointed look. “I want that lesson you denied me a year ago. That ultimate lesson.”
“Here? Now? ” he said incredulously. She saw him throw a glance at the sitting room doors, but the key was safely in her skirt pocket. They would not be disturbed.
“Here,” she agreed. “Now.” Then she smiled at him wickedly.
“To seal our marital agreement.”
“Clarissa…” Despite his hesitation, she could gauge his obvious interest by the tightening of his trousers.
“Close your eyes,” she ordered. “I’m the one in charge today.”
He swallowed, but obeyed her instructions and laid his head on the back of the sofa, closing his eyes. His hands were in tight fists at his sides, but she saw him force them open, laying them flat on the sofa cushion.
“Good,” she approved in what she hoped was that slow, silky tone he’d so often used with her. “Now don’t move.”
She had intended simply to unbutton his trousers and climb onto his lap, but she paused for a moment once she’d kicked off her black kid slippers. What a temptation he was, sitting there like that, entirely at her mercy. As she watched, his cock actually grew bigger beneath her gaze, as if in anticipation of what was to come.
What power she felt over him!
His breathing sped up as she reached deliberately for the buttons of his trousers and opened the fastenings one by one. She reached inside the material to draw him out and he groaned as her fingers closed over him.
“Bloody hell, Clarissa…”
What a beautiful cock he had. Clarissa fell to her knees in front of him to examine it more closely. She marveled at the smooth, hard shaft, the sensitive tip. The soft, silky skin that covered the powerful muscle beneath. He seemed far too big to fit inside her.
Why, even using both her hands, she still couldn’t contain the length of him. She curved her fingers beneath him to cup his balls and he nearly came up off the sofa.
“Have mercy, Clarissa!”
He’d shown her no mercy while driving her to the heights of passion. She wanted to give him a taste of that raw pleasure, so she took his shaft into her mouth.
“Ah, God, no, no!” His body bucked up, forcing his cock deeper down her throat. Clarissa had never done this before and the feel of him so far inside her was a shock. Was it wrong? Was that why he was protesting? She’d simply wanted to make him feel as incredible as he’d made her feel when his lips had been on her. She quickly removed her mouth, but couldn’t resist running her tongue up his thick shaft, and sucking the tip of it—just a little—into her mouth.
It was simply too much of a temptation.
He was gasping for air now, dragging great lungfuls of it into his chest, and his hands had again clenched into tight fists at his sides. “Clarissa, climb on top of me for pity’s sake!” he begged. “I can’t stand much more of this sweet torture.”
Ah, so he had been enjoying it.
With a satisfied smile she gave the tip of his cock a final kiss. It jerked of its own accord, responding eagerly to that caress, and The Disciplinarian groaned again.
She stood up and reached under her skirt, pulling recklessly at the ribbon tie of her drawers and sliding them quickly down her legs. She kicked them away and slowly raised her gown as far as her knees, then climbed onto the sofa and straddled his lap. She reached down to guide his cock to the opening of her body.
He gasped as she settled there, poised to take him into her woman’s center, into her very heart and soul. She rubbed the tip of him along her cleft, letting him feel how wet she was, how very much she wanted this.
“Good God, Clarissa, I pray that I don’t expire before I can give you what you want!”
She never doubted him. It was pure heaven to feel him sliding into her as she pushed down hard, feeling herself stretching to accommodate every masculine inch of him. He was an active partici-pant in this lover’s quest, forcing himself up to meet her downward plunge, both of them in a desperate effort to fuse their bodies together.
And when he was buried inside her to the hilt, she began to rock. It was exactly as he had instructed her—she chose the gallop technique over the post— and she felt caught in that silken web of pleasure almost instantly. He was very deep inside her, and she could feel his hard muscle stroking her intimately as she rolled her hips. She knew she wouldn’t last long in this incredible position, but she was counting on the fact that he wouldn’t either, a hope that was rewarded
when he began to buck and pant and match her rhythm as if they’d been practicing this motion forever.
“Now, Clarissa,” he gasped. “Come with me now. Together!”
He let out a fierce growl, and she felt his body contract, jerking inside her. It triggered a corresponding response in her own body, that familiar shattering release, the letting-go of all control even as her body gripped him, clutched at him, milked him as he filled her with his hot seed.
A long time later, she came back to her senses and realized she must have collapsed against his chest after their climax. He had his arms around her, running his fingers through her hair and stroking down her back. She could still feel him inside her.
“Vixen,” he accused. “You learned that particular lesson too well.”
“I had a good teacher,” she reminded him.
He hugged her tight. “I love you, Clarissa,” he murmured. “How soon can we wed?”
“Take me to the nearest registry office,” she replied happily. “I don’t think I can wait while the banns are read in church!” Then she buried her head self-consciously in his neck. “And considering what we’ve just done…”
“The registry office it is,” he agreed. “But don’t ever be sorry for what we’ve done. I love you, Clarissa.”
“And I love you, Jared Ashworth,” she sighed, letting his name roll deliciously off her tongue. “And if there should ever come a day when you find yourself missing your old profession, I give you permission to discipline me any time!”
About the author:
Leigh Court lives in Southern California with her husband.
This is her first Red Sage novella, and she’d love to hear from her readers! You can contact her at [email protected] or www.
hadleighcourt.com .
Red Sage Publishing—
The Leader in Women’s Erotic Romance
Sensual fiction written for the adventurous woman.
Featuring the best in women’s ultra sensual