Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master
Vanessa Brooks
Blushing Books
Contents
What’s Inside
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Vanessa Brooks
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Vanessa Brooks
Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master
EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-746-2
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
What’s Inside
He then pulled the curtains across at both windows. “That will prevent draughts and any other eavesdroppers. I am sure that you saw Davis’s face, my dear? This juicy titbit of gossip will be talked of in all the best drawing rooms before the week is out. Accept our betrothal, for you really have no other choice.”
His grey eyes flicked over her, taking in her bedraggled appearance. “Come, let me see to you. Look at you, completely drenched. Move over here, closer to me.”
He watched as her eyes filled with foreboding. She shuffled across the seat away from him. She pulled the rug up under her chin, staring warily over it with narrowed eyes while failing to suppress her shivering.
“Now what is the matter?” he asked. “Look, as much as I would like to put you over my knee and spank you soundly—which, incidentally, you do very much deserve—I think we must concentrate on getting you warm, if not dry, before you catch your death from cold. Just look how wet you are!” He took hold of the blanket and pulled it away from her. “Come now, there’s a good girl, let’s get you as dry as we can,” he coaxed.
He’d intended to rub her briskly with the blanket, but when he stretched out his hand, she whipped forward and sank her teeth deep into his wrist, drawing blood. “Yee-ouch! Why, you spiteful baggage! I have a good mind to— You have been asking for this, you little brat. That’s it, I’m going to warm you properly!”
Provoked beyond endurance and recalling her vicious attack upon him earlier in the evening, not to mention her ill-mannered behaviour over the past few days, he hauled Linnet across his knee, determined to teach her a much-needed lesson in manners. Raising his arm, he proceeded to spank her with emphasis. Her head was smothered in the wet wool rug, which hampered her struggles and muffled her cries. She managed to sink her teeth into John’s thigh. Although the blanket took the worst of the bite, he jumped and gritted his teeth, compelled to teach the English harridan a lesson she’d not soon forget.
He flung up her wet gown and petticoats, baring her peachy behind. She stilled for a moment, and he surmised that she was in shock. He took his time admiring the pair of alabaster orbs lying face up across his lap and stroked her silken skin before raising his hand. He landed a satisfying slap on her exposed bottom, more than pleased by the pink hand-mark now blooming on her pale skin. She shrieked, no longer still. John continued to spank her, catching her hand as she tried to protect her pink posterior.
“Oh no you don’t,” he scolded, his voice dark with warning.
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Prologue
“Come back with a wife, son.”
John Foster sighed, exasperated. “We’ve discussed this, Mother; I have made my feelings clear upon the matter. Kiss me goodbye and wish me a safe voyage.” His mother reached up to hug his neck; he leaned down to embrace her. He loved his mother dearly but he found this matchmaking between her and his English business partner profoundly irritating. He knew what he wanted in a wife, and a spoiled, aristocratic English girl was not his expectation.
Since his father’s death two years ago, he’d taken over the reins of the business. His aristocratic business partner, Sir Edward Wainwright, had written to John’s mother explaining that he was ailing and looking to secure his daughter’s future. To this end, he’d begged her help in looking favourably upon a match to be made between his daughter Linnet and John. He’d also strongly intimated there would be financial advantage should such a match be realised. Whilst John was of an age and prosperity to take a wife, he was decidedly against this proposal, whatever the inducement.
His mother, a strong, determined woman, absolutely insisted that he make the arduous journey to England to meet the young woman.
John had other plans. He favoured a home alliance with a colonial girl, a born and bred American woman. One who understood the rigours of this wild country, someone who loved this huge and beautiful continent as much as he did himself.
So he agreed to undertake the long passage across the sea back to the old world, England, in order to cement the ties with his father’s old friend, Sir Edward, to please his mother and honour
his father. But he had absolutely no intention of taking the Englishman’s spoiled daughter to wife.
Aboard The Tempest, he stood on deck and watched as the ship slipped out from Boston harbour, through Cape Cod Bay, and out into the vast Atlantic Ocean, leaving the land of his birth far behind. On deck, he watched as the distant shoreline diminished until all that remained in sight were a line of clouds that marked the edge of his homeland. John remained at the ship’s side until there was nothing left to look at but the sea. “I’ll be back, Massachusetts,” he avowed silently before turning away at last to seek his cabin and rest.
The arduous voyage took longer than he’d anticipated, mainly due to foul weather but, finally, after nine long weeks at sea, land was sighted, and he’d arrived in Devon, England.
Chapter 1
The household held its collective breath, waiting for the enraged young mistress to leave for her daily ride. Until that time came, there would be no peace for anyone—and the cause of her rage? The lady’s father had informed her, that morning at breakfast, that the man he had chosen for her future husband was due to arrive on this very day. Since then, any of the household staff who had the misfortune to encounter the young mistress had suffered the outraged lash of her tongue. When she had finally slammed out of the house on her way to the stables, her father, Sir Edward Wainwright, emerged from his study, mopping his brow with his kerchief. He’d hidden himself there after imparting the momentous news that so upset his precious daughter.
The staff relaxed, breathing a communal sigh of relief as the girl was seen to gallop away from the house. Meanwhile, preparations continued for the arrival of the important guest. The finest sheets were placed on the bed, flowers arranged throughout the house, silver polished, and cakes and puddings baked in abundance. Despite all the fuss, the staff privately thought the young man’s suit bound to fail. Rumour had it that the young mistress’s heart was engaged elsewhere. This gossip had spread from the mouth of one Lottie Brown, the young mistress Linnet’s very own personal maid.
When word reached Lavenstock Hall that at long last, Sir Edward’s ship, The Tempest, had docked at Plymouth, the coachman Davis, who’d been on standby for the past week, made haste to the port to fetch the honoured guest.
It was noted by the staff that Miss Linnet sought refuge from her irritation by taking a long gallop on her beloved horse, Pango.
John Foster disembarked from his ship. Grateful to be ashore again, he climbed into the large, dark green coach that his English host had so courteously dispatched to fetch him, and promptly fell asleep.
When he awoke, John stretched his long legs until his joints cracked complainingly. He gave an all-encompassing yawn followed by a grateful sigh. It had been a rough voyage, and a long one. Normally, at this time of year, the trip from the American Colonies took about eight weeks, but high seas and bad weather had delayed the return to England by another six days. It was a tremendous relief to be ashore. He was not a man who took kindly to long periods of inactivity; an athletic fellow, he was a man who enjoyed physical hard work.
Half opening his eyes, he gazed sleepily out of the small carriage window. It was May in England, the hedgerows full of hawthorn blossom. The leaves on the trees were gently unfurling into soft greens and pale yellows, other trees were already in bud. The scented promise of a summer not far away hung sweet and heavy in the spring air. As the soft rolling green countryside of Devon rolled by, John relaxed, enjoying the sights and smells that only an English spring could offer. He found himself pondering upon the health of his host, his late father’s dear school friend and former business partner.
When John had first inherited his father’s half of the business, Sir Edward Wainwright had invited him to visit his country estate, Lavenstock Hall in Devon. John had been far too busy learning the ropes of his father’s import business for the past couple of years to make time for the journey to Britain. Sir Edward was adamant that his girl and John would suit; both parents were keen to strengthen business ties with a family knot. John felt himself to be a brow-beaten man forced on an unnecessary and arduous journey simply to meet a chit of a girl he barely remembered. The last time he’d seen Linnet, she’d been a small, extremely spoilt, precocious young miss. John doubted the girl’s suitability on the grounds that a gently raised English miss would not endure the rigours of the Colonies, let alone the arduous sea voyage required to reach the shores of the Americas.
The cumbersome carriage lumbered on, the rolling motion lulling him into a much needed nap. Eventually, they passed through the lodge gates at Lavenstock. The coach lurched while making the awkward turn and John’s head snapped forward, rudely awakening him. Glancing blearily through the half opened window, he could see atop the brow of the hill a horse and rider who, upon seeing the coach, turned towards it, riding at breakneck speed down the slope of the hillside. He held his breath, admiring the fluid movement of horse and rider as they seemed to merge as one; the horse, a large black beast, raced along with its tail held high, the rider lying forward, almost flat over the horse’s neck.
At first, he’d taken the rider as male due to the fact that this person rode astride but the length of russet hair that streamed out behind indicated this was a female. Her hair, glinting like a flame, caught in the sun’s rays. John noticed her physical outline as she swung her horse around, and he perceived in profile the soft curves and shapely form of a woman. Could this possibly be the girl he had come to meet? Intrigued, he watched her disappear around the side of the hill and then he sat back in his seat, wide awake at last and feeling a strong sense of anticipation.
As the coach swept between rolling hills, a view of Lavenstock Hall emerged, its ancient, twisted chimneys standing high above the trees. The house was nestled in a small valley surrounded by parkland. The structure was originally built around Saxon times, hence the name ‘Hall,’ but different generations of Wainwrights’ had added to the original building over the centuries. For the most part, the house was Elizabethan in style, the windows mainly diamond-shaped, set in stone mullion. The architectural mix worked well, the house had a mellow and welcoming appearance. At last, they drew up outside Lavenstock Hall, scattering gravel as the coachman bought the vehicle to a flourishing halt. John was met by Sir Edward Wainwright himself, beaming a jovial smile as he descended the Hall’s wide shallow steps, arms flung wide in welcome. “John Foster, at long last, wonderful to see you, m’boy! How is your dear mother, keeping well, I trust?”
John stepped forward and held out his hand with a warm smile which lightened the dark severity of his rather harsh features. A tall man, he stood a head taller than his host. He silently assessed his host’s health, studying him closely. He knew that his partner had suffered a seizure before Christmas, and although Sir Edward had written assuring them of his recovery, John and his mother were extremely concerned. It was partly this concern that had prompted John’s final decision to agree to travel to England. He noted Sir Edward’s skin held a yellowish tinge, his lips underneath the large white moustache showed the thinning of age, and his hazel eyes appeared to have a film across the surface. John frowned. It was a good thing he’d decided to visit.
“Something troubling you, m’boy?” Sir Edward asked his guest.
“No, sir, not at all. Mother is well, I thank you. She sends you her regards and trusts that your health has improved.”
Sir Edward placed a friendly hand on John’s shoulder. “I could be better, lad, but I tell you, leeches are the answer. A good bleed put me to rights. Upset m’daughter, I can tell you, she don’t take to me being bled, disagrees with the practice. I think it’s just a case of a female’s natural squeamishness. My wife was the same, don’t you know. Now come along inside, you must be exhausted!”
Gravel crunched as the coach pulled slowly off to the coach yard situated at the back of the house. Two footmen hastened down the steps and gathered John’s luggage. Sir Edward led the way into the house and John followed, answering his hosts
questions regarding his journey as they went.
Arriving in the inner hall, they met a young woman coming through from the rear of the house. She wore a dark green riding habit, her skirts unusually split down the middle. John guessed that this must be the rider he’d seen from the coach. Sir Edward went to greet her. “Well met, Linnet, m’dear! You remember John Foster, do you not?”
Sir Edward Wainwright beamed cheerfully at his daughter. She drew herself up ramrod straight, her back rigid. The girl’s haughty but beautiful face remained expressionless. She waited, one foot poised upon the bottom of the stair, ready to ascend. Casting a brief glance over John, she spoke directly to her father. “I was a child when last we met but I do vaguely recall him, Papa,” she replied in a disinterested tone.
John stared, drinking in her good looks. Such an exquisitely lovely young woman, with a mass of titian hair, her build slender but full breasted. It was her eyes, however, that caught his attention; they were certainly her most striking feature, a clear translucent green, almond-shaped and almost uncannily cat-like. John took a step forward, determined the beauty should notice him.
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