by Dinah McLeod
“And to ask for her hand in marriage.”
Delia had picked up her cup to give herself something to do, but at hearing this it slipped from her fingers, clinking against the table and sending tea sloshing. She winced at the faux pas, but neither of her parents even seemed to notice.
James arched a brow at her, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I understand you had other plans for her. A duke, if I am not mistaken. But I would never forgive myself if I did not ask. I am very much in love with your daughter, and while I cannot provide the kind of life of luxury a duke could—I am a captain of a ship, after all—I assure you that she will want for nothing and will always be well protected.”
Delia listened to this speech in shock. He had given her no indication that he still intended to marry her.
“Of course, I require her consent as well.”
The earl cast an amused glance at his tongue-tied daughter. “It seems you know her well indeed. Then you will know that she can also be quite difficult at times.”
James smiled across the table at her as she flushed. “I had noticed that. But I assure you that I know how to handle occasions such as those.”
She tensed, hoping against hope that he would not go into detail.
“Truly. Well, you are a remarkable man then.” Her father laughed.
“You have a remarkable daughter. And though she can be a bit reckless at times, she is a good girl, with a good heart.”
Her father sat back in his chair, considering her. “Yes,” he said at last. “She is that. If she gives her consent then I see no reason not to give mine.”
Shock billowed inside her, followed quickly by a rush of hope. But before she could express either of these things, she felt the emotions halted by another. Anger. He had not given her any indication he would speak to her father, had let her think his feelings for her were no more. He had allowed her to deal alone with hurt and loneliness that missing him had wrought.
But before she could say any of these things, James was coming around the table. He knelt in front of her, taking her hand in his, his gaze on her alone. “Delia, we spoke of your mistakes, but I made my fair share as well. I was a foolish, prideful man, and it is my desire to humbly beg your forgiveness.”
She could see that he meant it. Every word was punctuated with sincerity and his beloved, familiar face could not help but bring forth emotion in her.
“It will never happen again,” he continued. “You made a mistake, and that should have been paid for, but you did not deserve the coldness I showed you. I assure you, if you accept me as your husband I will never let anything come between us in that way again.”
“Does this mean that if I say yes...”
“That you will be subject to discipline for your lie? Yes, my dear. How else can things be made right between us? If we are to wed, if your father agrees and you accept, we must begin with a clean slate.”
Delia was relieved to see how his tone had changed toward her, to see his face lit with warmth for her once more. So much so that she had forgotten anyone else was in the room. That was, until her father cleared his throat. Her face immediately flooded with heat to realize he had heard the entire exchange.
“What is this you are saying?” he demanded to know.
James stayed silent, looking to Delia.
Reluctantly, she nodded. After all, if James would not marry her without her father’s blessing then she supposed she had better let him get the full picture so that it was given fully, or not at all.
The admiral beamed at her, and she felt her cheeks flush anew. She knew, even without him saying so aloud, that he was proud of her. Then he began to explain. She could not help but squirm and clench her buttocks as he talked about the sound spankings he had given her while she had been aboard the Victoria.
Her father’s mouth dropped open. It would have been comical, had she not been so embarrassed. “Tell me, is it true, daughter?”
Unable to look him in the eye, she nodded.
To her surprise and further humiliation, her father let out a large, booming laugh. “I never thought I would see the day! I never thought my daughter would ever be cowed by any man!”
Delia very much wished to melt into an invisible puddle at the table. She heard the sound of footsteps, though she could not bear to look up. Then she felt the reassuring weight of James’s arm around her shoulders.
“I should emphasize, sir, that I love your daughter dearly. I do chastise her when she deserves it, yes, but it is something I do with the utmost love and respect for her person.”
She looked up at last, smiling with her whole heart as she looked into his eyes.
“I think she has met the one she is meant to be with, Harrod,” her mother’s soft voice joined the conversation. “Please, give them your blessing.”
Eagerly, Delia looked up, hoping against hope that her father might be swayed by her mother’s plea. Surely he knew without her having to say that she desired it.
The earl tapped his chin, surveying them with narrowed eyes. At last, he spoke. “I see that you are an honorable man. You have proven that today, by bringing our daughter home. I suppose you will wish to speak of her dowry...”
“That will not be necessary, sir. I have a generous salary through the navy, and I can provide for your daughter and any children we might have.”
He could have chosen no better words. Delia watched victoriously as the last of the tension went from her father’s shoulders. “Well, then! That’s settled! Welcome to the family, my boy!”
There were eager shouts of rejoicing and congratulations exchanged across the table.
“I suppose it is not too much to hope that you will visit every now and again?” These words from her normally gruff father surprised her, and Delia could see by the way that her mother sat forward she wanted very much to hear the answer.
“As often as we can,” James promised, squeezing her shoulder.
Delia gazed up at him, feeling so full of love she thought she might burst with it and cease to mind.
The earl cleared his throat. “It does my heart good to hear this. I admit we were quite angry when you left, Delia, but it would seem that you found where you were meant to be. I am very happy for you, daughter.”
Father and daughter shared a rare, tender look. Delia felt she could burst from happiness.
“I am afraid we must be off. Important to stay on schedule, you know. Thank you so much for your hospitality.” James stood to his feet and she followed suit at once.
She kissed her father and mother in turn, accepting more good wishes. Her mother, teary-eyed, slipped her a ring she had been wearing with a large emerald and diamonds surrounding it.
Delia gasped as she stared at it in her palm. “Are you certain, Mother?”
Her mother closed her fingers around it. “Quite. You were always so fond of it and I resolved to give it to you when you married. It is yours to do with as you wish. Wear it, in remembrance of me. Or sell it as you have need to do.”
She shook her head resolutely. “No, I could never.”
The pair of them were quite teary-eyed as they embraced once more.
And then they were off, waving farewell to her parents as they left hand in hand, eager to see where life would lead them.
* * *
“We have put it off long enough,” her new husband told her as he moved toward her. “We need to resolve this matter at once.”
Delia, sitting on the bed, stared wide-eyed at the tawse in his hand. “We are doing so well, husband. I do not think there is any need—”
He cut her off with a stern stare. “I say there is a need, wife. You will always be punished when you deserve it, and you have earned the comeuppance you have coming.”
She could not deny that, but she scrunched her face up at him anyway.
“Put your pillows in the middle of the bed. You will lie over them for your whipping.”
She obeyed at once, though she moved as slowly as she
could without earning further ire.
“Remove that nightshift. You will not need it.”
Her lower lip trembling, Delia let the lace garment—something James had bought for her specifically when they went into town after being married—fall to the floor. Then she bent over the pillows, clutching handfuls of downy feathers for support.
She could feel his eyes on her, ravishing her body. She knew how the sight of it made him wanton, and she delighted in that knowledge. She wished she could convince him to make love to her instead, but she had a feeling she knew well where such attempts would lead. She was learning more about her husband all the time, and one thing she had already had a lesson on was trying to distract him. She just could not help it. Now that they were wed, she wanted him more than ever before and could not seem to keep her hands to herself.
Knowing that less pleasurable things awaited her in the near future, however, Delia braced herself for impact of the tawse.
“We are man and wife,” James began.
She had also learned that he enjoyed lecturing her almost as much as he seemed to like spanking her bottom. She hated the lecture as much as the actual blistering her bottom received, but had discovered that complaining only resulted in harder spanking.
“You are to always be truthful with me.”
Delia turned around to look at him. “We were not man and wife when I lied to you,” she pointed out hopefully.
James scowled at her. Wrong answer. She knew that even before his hand came crashing down on her bottom, first the right cheek, then the left.
She cried out, her tender flesh prickling with the pain.
“Anything else you would care to add?”
Though her lower lip trembled, her jaw set stubbornly. “It is true,” she insisted. “We were not yet wed.”
He minced toward her, and though she cringed, she met his gaze head on. A hand grabbed her lower right cheek, giving it a squeeze. “You are correct. We were not wed. Did that make it right?”
She lowered her eyes. “No,” she admitted. “But I did not know then that I could trust you.”
Many things she was learning about her husband were hard lessons, but many others were to her delight. One of which was that he truly listened when she spoke and considered what she had to say. “I understand that. But once we had pledged ourselves to one another, should you not then have come clean with me?”
She considered this. “I thought you would not have married me if I did.” She left the rest unsaid—that it was very nearly what had happened.
James was pensive. She could feel him thinking about what she had said. “You are right,” he said at last. “I can see why you would fear that. And while I wish you would have put your trust in me sooner, I can understand why you did not feel that you could.”
Delia held her breath, hoping against hope that this might mean a reprieve for her poor bottom.
“I will not give you the punishment I intended,” he began. But before she could rejoice, he continued. “But you will be getting a taste of what I had planned for you. It is for your good, so that you might remember what will happen and always choose to be truthful in the future.”
It was the best she could have hoped for, and she nodded her agreement.
Her husband, no matter how cross he was with her, always kissed her before every spanking. This time was no exception and he kissed her cheek, then the back of her neck. “Be still for me, my love. I am going to warm you with my hand first, then a taste of the tawse.”
Delia could not help the shiver that stole over her at even the mention of the dreaded implement.
True to his word, James began to pepper her bare skin with quick spanks. He spanked in a pattern that she had memorized—left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right. First he warmed the top of her cheeks, then the middle, then the lower part all the way down to her thighs. He continued in this pattern until it was red enough for his satisfaction. On this particular occasion it seemed to take longer than ever before and she was whimpering and crying out long before he was finished.
He let her cry into her pillow, gently rubbing her back and shushing her. Delia loved and hated this part. He let her calm down a bit, reassuring her of his love while the full effect of his hand spanking moved over her bottom, making every inch prickle with aching heat. She hated to enjoy his comfort while knowing that more pain awaited her still.
“Come here,” he surprised her by saying.
She immediately obeyed, seeking the shelter of his arms.
He allowed her but a brief embrace before pulling away. Then, taking her by the hand, he led her over to the wash basin.
She looked at him, puzzled.
“Before the tawse, I will be washing your mouth out with soap.”
Her mouth dropped open, agog, but as the full meaning of his words hit her she closed her lips tightly.
“It is for the lie,” he explained as he picked up the bar of soap and poured out some water into the basin. He dipped the soap in the basin then held it out toward her. “Open up.”
She wanted to obey him, truly, she did. But she did not see how she could. It was so awful, unbelievably so.
“Delia.” He said her name with an ominous warning in his voice.
She parted her lips, gagging and spluttering when the bar of soap was inserted into her mouth. As the awful taste filled her mouth she closed her lips tightly against further assault.
“Again,” he instructed.
She shook her head, sending her curls flying.
A resounding smack caught her on her left cheek, making her eyes fill with tears.
Reluctantly, she opened her mouth, forcing herself to accept the soap and fight against the urge to bite the hand that held it. When he had rubbed it back and forth over her tongue several times, he relented and set it down next to the basin, watching as she coughed and screwed up her face against the horrid taste.
“If there is a next time, you will make your own soap paste and I will use that to wash out your mouth,” he told her, not unkindly. “It provides a longer lasting lesson.”
She wanted to tell him that there was no need, there would never, ever be a next time, but she found she could not speak over the acrid taste so she merely nodded.
“I want you to get the full effect of the soap, so I will give you your whipping and then allow you to spit it out.”
All she could do was nod and follow him as he bid. Draping herself once more over the pillows, he did not make her wait long before the horrid tawse slapped against her sore rear. She quickly discovered that she had been right to fear it, for the cruel leather imparted a horrid, unbelievable sting. The second smack fell, eliciting a sob from her throat. The third made her splutter some of the soap taste out of her mouth as she began to cry in earnest. When yet another fell, she wailed, well and truly sorry that she had ever dared lie to such a stern captain as James McCray.
He helped her to her feet and led her back to the wash basin where he allowed her to take in as much water as she wanted as she cried and spit. Her face was a mess, bits of hair sticking to her wet cheeks and soap dripping from her mouth. She was glad there was no looking glass in the vicinity for she thought she would frighten herself if she dared to look.
“There, there,” James consoled his crying wife. “It is all over now.” He clutched her to him, rubbing his hand over her back in circles. “We shall both be truthful with one another from this point on, shan’t we?”
“I suppose you had better. I would hate to have to have you whipped,” she replied, giving him the smallest smile.
James threw back his head and laughed. “There she is, my saucy wife. Even with a sore bottom and a mouth full of soap you are still an imp.”
“You love it.”
“That I do.” He pulled her in for a kiss.
As their tongues intertwined, Delia felt an altogether different kind of heat rising between her legs. “James...”
“Yes, my love?”
; “I know you have rules... about what I am allowed to do after I am...”
“Chastised,” he supplied.
Delia ducked her head, her cheeks flooding with embarrassment. “Yes,” she whispered.
“What is it you wish, wife?”
Boldly, she reached for him, her hand cupping his manhood. She felt his cock awaken in her hand, leaping to attention at her touch. Her heart similarly leapt in her chest, knowing that he wanted her as she did him.
“Ah, so that’s it, is it? Turn around,” he growled in her ear.
“Wh-what...”
“Turn around.”
Knowing better than to make him repeat it once more, Delia obeyed. Then he was pushing her toward the wall. Before she could make sense of what was happening she was being crushed against the wood and he was behind her, kissing the nape of her neck with a fervor that left no doubt of the passion he felt.
Groaning, she threw her head back, hardly daring to hope that he would defy his own edict for her. Yet, his fingers found her pussy, making a wet sound as they plunged into her dripping folds. Delia threw her head back, crying out her gratitude for the flood of pleasure. She did not trouble to cover her mouth, because she knew her husband liked to hear the sound of the ecstasy he gave her. Besides which, who would say a word against the admiral’s wife?
He entered her in a single, powerful thrust that left her moaning in relief and delight. Then he was pumping inside her so quickly that it made her delirious with pleasure.
I shall never look at this wall the same way again.
One hand clutched the railing and James covered her hand with his large one, squeezing her tight as he pounded inside of her. She wondered if she might be allowed to face him, to pleasure him as he was bringing joy to her. But from the fervor of his embrace she felt certain that it was hard, punishing thrusts he had intended for her, not gentle lovemaking. So long as he was loving her body, she hardly minded how he did it.
Next time, she promised herself, and she knew it was one she would keep, for they could not ever seem to get enough of one another.
With one of his hands covering hers, the other on her hip as he thrust lustily inside of her, she could feel her orgasm building. Every muscle was taut as she rose up on tiptoe, crying out as waves of delicious, heady pleasure washed over her. She felt herself collapsing, but she fell into her husband, who swept her into his arms and lovingly carried her to bed.