Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  I raise my head and look at him as I reply. “Good morning, My Lord.”

  I move toward him, intending to pass behind his chair and seat myself at the place where I had eaten last night. However, he raises his right palm as I approach him, the look of the thing causing my butterflies to stretch their anxious wings. “Wait right there, please, My Lady.”

  I cease in an instant, although I cannot say why. My usual defiance wants to surface, stride straight past him and take my place to his left, and yet something about his face makes me stop.

  “That will be all, thank you, Clara.”

  The order is given literally over my head, and I turn, seeing the maid curtsey and then smile as she exits the room. I flush, having quite forgotten her presence altogether. As the large door closes, I swivel back to where Lord Markham sits watching me.

  “This is the second time that you have kept me waiting, Lady Franklin.” His tone is serious and makes my throat dry in some reflexive way. “I recall telling you last evening that tardiness is not to be tolerated.”

  I swallow hard, reminding myself to stand tall as I respond. “I am sorry, My Lord,” I hear myself say. “It seems I needed more rest than usual to recover from my queerness last night.”

  I regret the words in an instant. Last night was of course exactly what he was alluding to—and I have just given him the perfect inlet to the conversation.

  “Ah, yes…” he continues. “And how are you feeling now?” Those large green eyes appraise me, daring me to lie to him again.

  “Well, thank you,” I say softly, “if not a little weary.”

  “Hmmm.” He leans forward against the table with his elbows, his shapely chin resting on his long fingers. “Tell me, My Lady, what was it which troubled you last night?”

  His tone is low and cutting, and if I was unsure of his belief in my yarn before, now I know for sure—he does not believe me. I consider for a moment confessing the true reason he had found me wandering his study in the early hours of this morning. What would he think if he knew I was exploring the house, and that I had seen him spanking Lucy in the library? Would he be angered? I gaze at those large narrowing eyes again, seemingly lost in my own musings on the subject. Somehow the idea of discussing what I saw seems too much; even the thought of doing so bringing more colour to my face. I reconcile that the truth is not an option. I have brought the lie this far, and now I feel compelled to run with it.

  “As I have said, My Lord, I awoke feeling unwell, and thought at the time that a tonic for medicinal purposes would help to see me back to sleep. I was looking for the kitchen when you found me…”

  The words sound tenuous even to my own ears, and by the look on his face, he knows I am perpetuating the lie.

  “Very well.” He rises from his chair with such sudden force that I find myself stepping backward in surprise. “You are invited to meet me in my study at three o’clock this afternoon.” He moves from his place, pulling his napkin from his collar and throwing it casually onto the table. Within two strides he once again towers over me.

  “What will the meeting be about?” I ask, feeling more than a little bemused.

  He smiles, the edge of his lips curling just a little. “That is for me to know, My Lady, but perhaps we can start with the letter about your guardianship, which it seems you still have not managed to remember?”

  He raises a dark eyebrow at me as I recall his instruction last night to bring the document to breakfast. I flush, hot and guilty at his words. “Oh, my! You’re right; I have quite forgotten again!”

  “Late and forgetful, Lady Franklin?” His voice is brusque and yet somehow almost jovial. “It seems we will have quite a lot to discuss this afternoon.”

  His mocking tone awakens the rebelliousness in me, and I want to reply with some cutting remark, and yet the look in his eye quiets me. Heat spreads across my neck and shoulders as I suppress my irritation.

  “Enjoy your breakfast, My Lady,” he says after the longest pause where we both stand, connected by the unspoken truth we both know. He breezes from my side, and I spin to watch him leave.

  “But…” I begin, shocked to be left to eat alone. “Who will serve me?”

  He reaches for the door handle, but pauses and turns back to face me. “One of the maids will be in to serve breakfast, although it is now more in keeping with a lunchtime menu.”

  I flush again, accepting the admonishment because he is right—the time is now fast approaching the middle of the day and we both know it.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” I mutter resentfully, as I cross my arms in front of me.

  “You’re welcome, My Lady,” he replies.

  I make my way around to my place, seating myself and glancing at the daily headline before I realise he is still standing there watching me.

  “And Lydia?”

  I freeze and meet his gaze, his intonation and use of my first name capturing my attention in an instant.

  “Do not even think about being late this afternoon.”

  * * *

  Breakfast passes in an awkward fashion, and sometime later I find myself wandering the exquisite grounds of Markham Hall. My new home it seems is every inch as beautiful as I had imagined it to be from the fleeting glances in the darkness last night, and even in the dying embers of the summer, the wealth of shrubs and flowers is breath-taking. I loosen my bonnet and shawl, enjoying the feeling of the warmth against my face, as I look to the sky, considering my thoughts on the last twenty-four hours. Has it really been that long since I travelled here? Time seems to have taken on a surreal quality since I first laid eyes on the place.

  I remember the journey, letter in hand, where I had been so sure of my plan. I search my mind, trying to fathom the reasons why my intentions had so easily slipped away from me. What is it about this brusque, and yet charming gentleman that has so captured my attention? Surely it cannot be just his looks? I picture him in my mind, recalling his height, stature, and fine-looking face. Certainly he is handsome in a classic kind of way; he is tall, dark-haired, and long-limbed, and yet I know there is more to my fascination than that.

  When he had spoken to me last night and asked me to stay—for my father—he had been nothing short of compelling. I had felt unable to refuse him. And then there had been his masterful demeanour; the way he had dressed me down for being late. Why had I enjoyed that? What could possibly be so alluring about being admonished and embarrassed by a virtual stranger? I pause, brushing the back of my hand against the long, soft grass. Lord Markham had spoken to me in a way that few people had ever done before. The earl had rarely been around during my childhood. Once my mother had passed away, he had chosen to throw himself into his aspiring military career, pausing just to indulge his only daughter with outlandish gifts and journeys to exciting new places. He had certainly spoiled me, and I knew it, but rarely had he ever chastised me, and never had he raised his hand to me.

  The thought brings me straight back to the surreal scenario I witnessed in the library at Markham Hall. Lucy’s spanking… Even now I can barely process the actions I had seen. I draw in a long breath as I remember her draped over Lord Markham’s lap, her skirts raised and her exposed, pale backside revealed. I had been rightly disgusted, and yet—undeniably there was something else I felt at the time. Something which even now I can barely acknowledge. As if to remind me exactly what that emotion had been, a moist desire begins to pool between my thighs, and I notice that my breath has once again quickened at the memory.

  Why did watching such abrupt corporal punishment seem so exquisite to me? So riveted had I been that I had even imagined myself in Lucy’s place! How ridiculous it sounds in my mind now, but even the thought makes my body tingle in the most unusual way. Rising from the low stone bench, I shake out my skirts and turn back to the house. Uncertain of the time, I am sure that I do not want to be late for my three o’clock meeting.

  Chapter Eight: The Meeting

  I a
rrive at the house, searching the entrance for the antique grandfather clock. Its insistent hands show the time at just after two-thirty, and I am relieved to know I have not missed the deadline. Determining to stay punctual, I wander over to the door where my guardian’s study waits. I approach slowly, cautiously, as though the very wood itself poses a real threat to my well-being. My heart is pounding like the paws of a ferocious animal.

  Reaching the door frame, I hear muffled voices from the room beyond. They are both male, deep and gruff, the resonance reverberating around the wood panelling. I pause, taking a deep breath before I raise my right hand and use just the edge of my knuckles to rap against the oak before me. There is a pause—silence, apart from the constant thrumming from within my gown.

  “Enter!”

  Lord Markham’s voice is every bit as commanding as I remember. Slowly I lower my hand to the door handle, twisting the metal just as I had done the night before. I pull it downward and press in toward the room in front of me. That fragrant smell of leather-bound books and cigar smoke overwhelms me, washing over my face as the door opens. Inside the room, my guardian sits at the desk. He is leaning back against the large chair, one of his long legs propped up against the other. To my left stands Mr. Gregory, his hands clutched behind his back in the usual way he seems to stand when on duty. Both men look to the doorway, their eyes expressing surprise at my presence, or perhaps more specifically, the timing of it.

  “You are early this time, Lady Franklin?” Lord Markham’s voice is smooth and controlled. “How refreshing…”

  I ignore the jibe, feeling oddly renewed by the fresh air, and step forward into the room. “You should know, My Lord, I do not own a timepiece, and so it is not always easy for me to ascertain the hour.”

  He screws up his forehead. Clearly he is not aware.

  “As such, I have chosen to be deliberately early for our appointment. I trust you can forgive me?”

  There is a cutting edge to my own tone, a fragment of myself before I had fallen into the beguiling web of Lord Markham. He flinches as he hears it, the fingers of his right hand tapping melodically against the hard wood of his desk in front of him. “On this point, My Lady, I can…”

  I smile, using the forced bravado to quell the rising swell of anxiety within me. I turn to see Mr. Gregory smiling. He nods his acknowledgement to me as my attention shifts back to His Lordship.

  “Can I ask if you have now brought the letter pertaining to your residence here at Markham?”

  His words send me reeling as I realise that I still have not retrieved my aunt’s letter. I flush—as I always seem to do in his presence—and seeing me fluster he smiles, waving his right hand theatrically. “Perhaps it is wrong of me to assume that you have returned to your rooms since breakfast?”

  His voice is soft, and almost taunting. “I hear reports that you have been out walking, My Lady? Familiarising yourself with your new home?”

  I hesitate, unsure if he is mocking me or throwing me a reprieve. I decide to take the latter. “It is true, My Lord. I have been to see the horses, and your magnificent gardens! And so, I’m afraid I have still not collected the document…”

  He nods, as though he fully expects this reply. “Mr. Gregory?”

  From my left I see the butler shift in my peripheral vision. “My Lord?”

  “Would you ask one of the maids to find said documentation in Her Ladyship’s rooms, and bring it to you? You can pass it onto me at our evening meeting?” He pauses, assessing me with a careful look. “I assume this is acceptable to you, My Lady?”

  I sigh. It is only a small sound, but one which allows the pent-up energy building in me to ease a little. Ideally I do not permit strange and audacious little maids to go through my personal belongings, but… I have now failed to produce the letter on three separate occasions. “Yes, My Lord,” I answer, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  “Good. Perhaps you can arrange for this to happen now, Mr. Gregory?” continues Lord Markham. “Her Ladyship and I have some other matters to attend to.”

  My belly lurches at his words, the uncertainty within me rising to its peak.

  “Very good, My Lord,” replies Gregory, sidestepping us both with the trademark tenacity of a butler. “Please ring if you require my assistance any further, My Lord.”

  A nod of Lord Markham’s head marks the end of the conversation, and I hear the large door close behind Gregory as he exits.

  With the butler finally gone, I take a small step forward, approaching the desk at which my guardian sits. His eyes, ever interested, never leave me.

  “How might I help you further, My Lord?” I ask him. My genuine curiosity is fit to burst.

  He takes a deep breath, drawing in the air around him as though he needs it for support. “Well, My Lady, Mr. Gregory has shared some information which throws doubt on your account of last night, and how you may have come to be here—in my study.”

  Instinctively my body tenses at his words, and I wonder if it shows on my face.

  “In any case, I should like to discuss the matter with you further. I seek honesty above all else, My Lady. It is essential for any relationship to be nurtured and grow. As I now find myself responsible for both your legal and moral behaviour, I seek transparency from you especially…”

  I am struggling to catch my breath as his words slip past me. All of a sudden the very simple task of pushing the air in and out of me seems almost impossible. I gaze into his face, knowing that in all probability he already knows I witnessed Lucy’s spanking, and wondering how I can retrieve the situation.

  He stands up in a heartbeat, blocking the light from the window behind him as he rises, making his way around to perch on the edge of the desk in front of me.

  “Can you be honest with me now, My Lady?” His tone is loaded with some deep-set emotion; anger, betrayal, lust—any of these are possible, but I cannot be sure.

  I nod my head, still unable to move my lips and articulate any real words.

  “Good.” He stretches his palms down on the desk next to him, eyeing me. “Then perhaps I do not need to share with you the news which Mr. Gregory imparted to me. Instead, perhaps there is some information that you would like to share with me?”

  I draw in another long, painful breath, feeling my nostrils flare under the intensity of his gaze. He has me penned into a tight corner, and despite my instinct to run, I know I have no choice—I have to tell him the truth. Swallowing hard, I prepare myself for whatever may be about to leave my lips, and the likely consequences. As my eyes reconnect with the heavy green orbs observing me intently, I am aware of the water tearing in my own.

  “I do not know where to begin,” I admit, blinking away the unexpected tears.

  He smiles and for once I see nothing but tenderness in those eyes. “Tell me why you left your rooms last night. What were you looking for, My Lady?”

  I force in another breath and close my eyes as I reply. “I was restless, and unable to sleep. I decided to explore the house a little more; I had no real idea where I was going, My Lord—I was just walking, wandering, looking for something…” My explanation sounds even worse out loud than it had done in my head. I pause, looking to him for validation.

  His eyes widen just a fraction as he perhaps imagines the scene I am setting. “So tell me… what did you find, My Lady?”

  My eyes flicker shut again, recalling the look of Lucy sprawled over his strong lap, his sturdy palm raised and ready to spank her behind again. The image vanishes as my lids fly open, seeing that same palm gripping the wooden desk in front of me.

  “I found… something unexpected, My Lord.” I clench the muscles between my legs as I stand before him. His right brow raises again, and I wonder fleetingly if it is a reflex or something which he chooses to do consciously. Somehow I find it an incredibly erotic gesture.

  “I am asking you again, My Lady.” His tone is low and he speaks at a slow and even pace as he tal
ks to me. “What did you find?”

  I can barely breathe as I reply. “You, Lord Markham…” A bubble of emotion rises in my throat as I speak. “I found you.”

  Chapter Nine: The Time for Talking

  I stand in front of him, shifting my weight awkwardly from one slipper to the next. His eyes are dazzling, appraising me in the most intense and unnerving way. Somehow the green orbs begin to possess me, sliding down the length of fabric which forms my gown. I shiver reflexively.

  “Yes, My Lady Lydia…” There’s that low tone again; deep, dark, and antagonising. “You found me, and what was I doing when you stumbled across me?”

  “You were…” I pause, suddenly unable to articulate the memory of what I had seen. “Punishing your maid, Lucy…” My voice trails away as I engage with his hypnotic green gaze again.

  He smiles, and there is warmth there as he too recalls Lucy’s recent spanking. I flinch instinctively as I watch the smile spread over his full mouth. The oddest sense of envy stirs in me, and yet again I imagine myself in Lucy’s place. As I muse on the provocative image, he stands from his resting position inclining against the desk. All of a sudden he is right there, towering over me again.

  “So you witnessed Lucy’s spanking, My Lady?”

  I nod, feeling my throat dry as a wave of his fine cologne washes over me. “Yes, My Lord.”

  He presses his lips together, apparently trying to decide how this new situation should best be managed. “It must have been a shock for you, My Lady?” His voice is surprisingly calm as he watches me for my response.

  “It was rather,” I begin. “I have never seen such a thing—a grown woman, spanked!” I spit out the last word as though I fear it will leave a bad taste in my mouth.