Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  His Lordship’s lips twitch at my answer, and I sense that he is trying hard to suppress another smile. Indignation rises in me as I realise he is amused by my response. I draw my hands to my hips, breathing hard as I assess his smiling complexion.

  He raises his own palms in a conciliatory manner. “I mean not to offend you, My Lady,” he discloses, lowering his hands and hitching his thumbs into the edges of his waistcoat.

  “I wonder then what it is you do intend, My Lord?” My tone is cutting, and the remark sounds much harsher than I had envisioned it to be.

  He takes a deep breath, drawing in the warm air from around us. “My intention is—as I have already stated—for honesty between us. I am now your guardian, responsible for your welfare and conduct. There can be no secrets between us.” The volume of his voice rises as the conviction in his statement becomes clear. “You witnessed this act—the punishment of one of my staff—and you were left feeling stunned, and I might assume, confused by what you had seen?” He pauses, looking to me for clarification. I murmur my assent, sensing my offence fading as his command of the situation resumes.

  “It is your first night in your new home when you see these things, and rather than come to me with your concerns, My Lady, you try to hide, taking cover here in my study. Except you were found, were you not, My Lady?” His tone is powerful. I know he is chastising me, and yet somehow his words thrill me, sending small waves of sensation through my body. Once again they pool beneath my gown.

  “Yes,” I whisper, mesmerised by his authoritative presence.

  That unruly brow rises again at my reply, but he says nothing of it, instead continuing with his train of thought. “To make matters worse, when you were confronted right in this room, you had the audacity to tell me an untruth—one which caused me alarm and concern for your well-being.”

  I feel my face flush at his accusation, knowing his words to be accurate.

  “What, My Lady, do you have to say for yourself? Is this the way I can expect my new ward to behave? Is this the way she shows gratitude for her new home and status?”

  I lower my eyes, suddenly ashamed of my behaviour. I have rarely been made to feel this way before, usually excused for my offences by my father, or one of his many staff. Now, standing in front of Lord Thomas Markham I feel utterly torn on the subject. Everything he has said is correct—I did lie to him, spinning an unnecessary web of ill health. I also decided not to share what I had witnessed in the library across the hall, despite the wave of emotions it had made me feel. I swallow, conflicted by the need to express my feelings about the spanking. I want him to know how riled and disgusted I had felt watching him take a hand to his maid’s bare behind, yet I know I can never share the other feeling; the sense of longing and desire it had unleashed within me. In the end the need for his approval wins out, and I swallow hard as I raise my eyes to see him waiting for my answer.

  “My Lord, I need to apologise for my behaviour. You are right, you deserve better than my lies and manipulation.” I hesitate, looking into his face for clues about how my contrition is being received. Lord Markham’s features give little away. “I am sorry to have shown you such disrespect…”

  “Disrespect and disobedience, My Lady.”

  My eyes widen at his words, and I want to protest, but a simple wave of his hand tells me to halt.

  “Yes—disobedience. I asked you outright at breakfast what it was that had troubled you, and you lied directly to my face. You are my ward—my responsibility—and you cannot be honest about such a simple thing. Does this not strike you as disobedient?”

  I want to tell him that it does not. The untruth, whilst shameful in the light of day, does not constitute outright waywardness. I open my mouth to speak as I catch the fierce light in his green eyes. “I would not say disobedience, My Lord,” I counter as diplomatically as I can.

  “Really, My Lady?” He saunters away to my left, beginning a circle around me as he continues. “Then what would you say?”

  “I am defiant,” I say, wringing my hands in front of me with uncharacteristic penitence. “And I am wilful. These things are in my nature, My Lord. I fear I cannot change them!”

  As he completes his circle, I find him standing back in front of me again, Slowly, his right hand raises from his waistcoat, and to my surprise it comes to rest against the left side of my face. Here his large thumb brushes against my cheek, before tucking a strand of my hair back within the confines of its bonnet. The feeling of his skin against mine is startling, and for the longest time I am unable to take a breath at all. It is at this moment that his hand ducks down the side of my face, and I feel one of his long digits beneath my chin. Without words, he uses the finger to lift my chin, so that our eyes once again lock.

  “You will find that these things will change, My Lady, if you desire to respect your late father’s wishes, and remain here in my house.”

  His tone is low and certainly not threatening, and yet something about his words and the intensity in his eyes sends me reeling. I feel my chest rising and falling below me, and for a long moment I am almost panting as I consider what he has told me. I have never been challenged before, least of all in such a way, and not once by a gentleman who appears to be so good at captivating me.

  “I…” I stutter, trying to collect my thoughts. “I do not know what to say, My Lord.”

  He smiles, releasing his gentle hold on my chin, but moving just a fraction closer to gaze down over his new ward. “Well, do you wish to stay here—at Markham Hall?”

  The question is a fair one, particularly as I myself had articulated a desire to leave this place and return to my aunt in London less than a day ago. I shake my head a little as I recall my earnest appeal to him at supper, and yet now—now I find a longing to remain which is far greater than I had ever imagined. I wonder if the root cause of this new craving is the gentleman who now stands towering over me.

  I raise my head and look him directly in the eyes—a little of the defiance on show for my guardian—as I reply. “I would like to remain at Markham Hall, My Lord… If you will still have me?”

  He draws in a breath at my answer, as though he has been secretly burned by the words. “I meant what I have said, My Lady. I take my responsibility for you seriously, and I mean to be a good guardian. I would very much like you to remain here, with me.”

  There is a twinkle of light in his gaze as he speaks, and for a moment I wonder if I have just imagined it there. As the corners of his lips curl though, I am convinced that I did not.

  “What do you propose then, My Lord?” My voice trembles out of instinct as I ask him the question now looming in my mind.

  He nods, perhaps understanding my anxiety, and instead poses an unexpected question of his own. “Tell me what you thought when you witnessed the spanking last night?”

  I gasp, thrown totally by his query. I stare up into his eyes, feeling his warm breath on my forehead, and decide that for the first time since my arrival I would furnish him with the whole truth. “My Lord, I could not believe what my eyes were seeing!”

  “Ah, yes!” His reply is soft, and not mocking like before. “You were shocked, but what else, My Lady? What did you feel?”

  I close my eyes, remembering the strange myriad emotional responses I had experienced in the doorway of the library. “At first I was angry for Lucy! I did not feel that the punishment adequately reflected the crime, and believe me, My Lord, I am not known for my liberal views where staff is concerned.”

  A small chuckle escapes his lips as though he can well imagine my usual stance on these things, but he says nothing, clearly not wishing to disturb my thoughts on the subject.

  “After that I was curious, nay, intrigued by the act.” I open my eyes to see his face. I feel my breathing, just recently quelled, accelerating at the recollection.

  “Anything else?” he probes, as though he understands my own body’s response to it.

  “Yes, I�
�I felt other things, but I confess I do not understand what they mean.”

  He towers over me, the tails of his cut coat just inches from my frame. Never before have I stood this close to a man—a fact he will no doubt be aware of—and yet for some imperceptible reason I am unable to tear myself away from him.

  “Thank you, My Lady, for your honesty.” His tone is soft and so sincere that instinctively I drop my gaze, no longer able to stand the emotions swimming in his eyes.

  “It is what you deserve, My Lord,” I finally answer.

  “Indeed,” he says. “But what do you deserve, Lady Lydia, for the disrespect and disobedience that you have shown me?”

  Our eyes reconnect in a heartbeat, mine wide as he considers his own question. Can he really mean to punish me for what had transpired last night? The thought provokes the old insolence in me, and yet there is something else—that other feeling, the one which had pooled between my thighs when he had taken Lucy over his knee.

  “I know not, My Lord,” I reply even as my face flushes in front of him.

  “Then let me tell you, My Lady. As my ward you have no say on my verdict,” he says, his voice still soft, but brimming with quiet authority. “You are mine now, and it is my role to guide you and provide you with the correct moral framework. As such I shall decide upon your penance.”

  I clench the muscles deep within me as his words resonate around my head. “Yes, My Lord,” I say in a small, hushed voice, and for the first time in my life I take solace in this act of subservience. Lord Markham seems like a man who may be worthy to take control of me. Until now I believe I had not met a single one.

  “Since you were so compelled by Lucy’s punishment last night, I believe it is time you experience a spanking of your own, My Lady.”

  The colour in my face deepens as he delivers his verdict. “But, My Lord!” I begin. “You cannot be serious? I have never been treated in such a common way, even as a small child!”

  Lord Markham smiles as though he had been expecting my petulant response. Ignoring my plea, he continues. “It is not uncommon to be disciplined for one’s failings, My Lady, but in your case I fear it will be essential. I have great expectations of you, Lydia! You are now a reflection of me, and I will not have the flagrant disrespect you have shown me in these last hours. Do you understand?”

  I gasp, unable to catch my breath. Can he really mean that he intends to spank me? Heat rises in me as I consider what Lord Markham has just pronounced.

  “You may not have been adequately disciplined in the past, My Lady, but think on this: You are in my house now—a home I desire to share with you—but it is my rules which apply here. I expect respect and obedience from everyone here, including my staff. The same expectations pertain to you.”

  I reel, shocked by his insinuation. “Are you comparing me to the servants you employ, My Lord?” I cannot hide the bubbling indignation in my voice.

  Lord Markham’s features harden as he registers my tone. “My Lady, let me make this clear; you are my ward, and not my servant.”

  I raise my chin, relieved and somehow validated at his words. “Then why do you compare me to your staff?”

  He lets out a deep breath, still just inches from me. There is an exasperated expression etched onto his handsome features. “I compare not you, My Lady, but rather, my expectation of all those who reside at Markham Hall.”

  I gaze up at him, feeling the inner conflict within me once more. On the one hand my instincts tell me to resist his authority, and refuse outright the punishment he suggests. Beneath the surface though, other feelings simmer. The need for his approval, my shifted desire to remain here after all, and the peculiar burgeoning fervour I have at the prospect of the spanking.

  His eyes soften as though he understands my inner turmoil. Taking my right hand, he lifts it gently and places it between his palms. “It is my responsibility to run this household, and to set out my expectations. This I should have done as soon as you arrived, and yet I was unexpectedly called away to assist my mother. For this I am profoundly sorry; I failed in my responsibilities to you. Supper did not feel like the appropriate time to discuss such things, and I intended to do so today. I have now told you what I expect, and…” he pauses, squeezing my hand a little, “I will punish you for the attitude you have shown. However, in light of the shortcomings I have demonstrated, I will ensure the spanking is short and not too harsh.”

  I blink up at him in disbelief, as though I cannot process a single word he has uttered. Silence stretches out between us as I consider them, acknowledging at last why he had not been there to greet me when I arrived. “So,” I say eventually in a small voice. “You intend to punish me?”

  “Yes, My Lady,” he replies. “I intend to make sure you understand my expectations and the consequences which follow if you fail to comply with them.”

  “Is that why you spank your maids as well?” I don’t know why I ask, yet something about the vivid memory of Lucy sprawled over his lap is burned forever into my mind.

  He smiles again. “Yes, it is a similar thing. I am responsible for them also, but it in no way compares to my responsibility for you. You are my dependent now.”

  “I have my own wealth, My Lord,” I splutter, thinking of the vast sums which my father’s estate was worth.

  “All of which will be held in trust for you until you either come of age, or marry, My Lady,” he says reassuringly. “Until such time, I am accountable for you.”

  “Does that give you the right to spank me as you see fit?” The ball of emotion in me feels fit to burst and I can hear my voice rising. “Like a parent to a child?”

  I pull my hand from his warm palms, flinging both of my arms out in a gesture of exasperation.

  He tilts his head, watching my responses carefully before he answers. “Yes, My Lady, it does mean that, except I am much more than a parent to you. I am your guardian, your instructor, and your friend.”

  Gaping at him, I feel the levy within me break, sending tears of frustration to my eyes.

  “Come now, Lydia, do not cry.” He removes his handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to me.

  I swallow back the tears, horrified at my own display.

  “All shall be well, I swear, but I would ask that you do not take that tone with me again. You know now what will result if you do so.”

  I choke back a low sob in my throat, reconciling myself to his words. Dabbing the soft fabric to my eyes, I again risk a glance up at him. “Will you spank me now?” I can barely believe that I am asking the question, and yet the idea of waiting and having the sentence hanging over me is surely too much to bear.

  Reseating himself against the edge of his desk, he stretches out his long breech-covered legs and glances at me. “Is that what you would choose, My Lady; to have the penance delivered now?”

  I can feel my heart pounding furiously as I answer. “Do I have a choice, My Lord?”

  Never has his title seemed so fitting as this moment. His brow stirs as he addresses me once again. “This time, My Lady…”

  I take a deep breath, considering what I am consenting to, and yet simultaneously not wanting to process the thought of it. “Then yes… please.”

  He nods, the edges of his lips curling into a small smile. “As you wish, My Lady.”

  Chapter Ten: Discipline

  I stand as though in a dream as my guardian prepares his study for my spanking. He moves around me with lithe ease, collecting a high-backed chair from the corner behind me and placing it in the area he had previously been standing. I can feel his gaze as he strides next to me. I follow his feet, unable to meet his scrutiny, and find him at the sturdy-looking door, his attention fixed on the small lock by the door handle. After he produces a long metal key from the pocket of his cream-coloured breeches, I hear—rather than see—him placing it in the keyhole, before the key moves in the lock.

  He turns, and again his eyes are on me. “Are you read
y, My Lady Lydia?”

  His voice is smooth and warm, and yet there is an undercurrent of his authority. I try to catch my breath as I swallow hard. How should I manage this new and strange situation? The natural inclination to protest and fight rises in me, and yet it is quelled by the newer and less experienced voice in my head; the one which wants to follow Lord Markham’s lead. “Yes, I think so,” I murmur, watching him as he again moves closer, taking my right hand as he passes and spins me around to face him as he seats himself on the predesignated chair.

  I stop alongside him, the layers of my gown brushing the sides of the wooden seat. There is a long silence, and still he holds my hand as though he is afraid I will flee. I try to draw the air into my body, the strangest combination of fear and anticipation building inside of me.

  He turns his head to face me, drinking in the look of my face and my chest rising with emotion. “Down over my lap then, My Lady.”

  The words wash over me like the whiskey my father had once let me consume. A small tug of my arm delivers me back to the reality of this queer scenario. “Must I really do this?”

  I sound desperate even to my own ears, and I flinch at the humiliating tone. In response, his expression remains placid. “This is my preferred way to spank disrespectful ladies,” he says in a soft voice. “But if you desire, you could bend over my desk and I could fetch my riding crop?”

  I sense that he is trying to be jovial, but there’s a malevolent edge to his tone. The idea of being whipped with his crop fills me with terror. I stare at him, wide-eyed. “Please, no, My Lord!”

  He smiles at my answer and gestures with his left hand over his breeches. “Then we will proceed.”

  Resignation fills me, and I realise that there really is no way of backing out of this punishment, unless I choose to run from the house, never to return. I bend forward in a manner which I have never done before, folding myself from my hips over the top of his thighs. His right hand guides me down, until my arms brush the carpeted floor beneath, his handkerchief still balled into my left fist. I stretch out my limbs as I lay over him, acclimatising to my new obscured view of the world. From down here his study seems massive, the wooden shelving and the many leather books rising out of view. I breathe slowly, attempting to calm my nerves and yet I can feel my body trembling above me.