Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  After dessert, the discussions wane, and I mean to excuse myself. As the staff clear the final dishes however, the countess rises from the table opposite me. “I am most exhausted, Thomas,” she says, waving her arms rather dramatically to her left. “I think I would like to retire.”

  “Of course, Mama,” says Lord Markham, rising to his feet to join her.

  Instinctively I follow his lead, standing to mark her departure. “Good night, Countess,” I call as she walks toward Gregory, waiting at the entrance of the room. She pauses momentarily, but does not turn to meet my gaze. “Good night, Lady Franklin.”

  Chapter Sixteen: Truths by the Fireplace

  I am left in the dining room alone, Lord Markham escorting the countess to the staircase, whilst Gregory ushers the remaining staff away. I take a deep breath, relieved to have made it through the first real encounter with Countess Markham. After a moment, I rise, putting down my napkin and leaving the room where the others had departed. I wander into the imposing hallway, taking in the fine portraits once again. I muse that I might visit the library for a while and peruse more of the titles there, and yet just as I mean to do so, I meet Lord Markham at the bottom of the stairwell.

  He is rounding the corner, his jacket undone, and his cravat lying loose under his collar. The look in his eyes is intense and devastating, betraying an emotion which he has perhaps been forced to keep locked inside during our meal. “How was supper, My Lady?” he asks.

  All at once I am breathless. Whether it is trepidation or anticipation which causes it, I am unsure. “My Lord, your cook is nothing short of a genius.”

  “Indeed,” he says, coming close to me. “I am pleased you enjoyed the fare, but I was thinking more of the company, the ambience?”

  I still in his presence. He is close, so near to me again, and slowly I raise my eyes to meet his gaze. He is smiling, those full lips pulled into a smirk, as though he already knows what I am thinking. I look around us, aware suddenly that we are still standing in the middle of the entrance hall. “May we go somewhere more private to talk, My Lord?”

  The words are out of my lips before I can censor them, but as soon as they leave, I am appalled at my wanton behaviour. A lady should never ask to be alone with a gentleman, and we both know it. “I mean to say, I would rather not speak of such things here…” I hesitate, embarrassed at my disgraceful performance.

  He remains visibly unmoved, although the grin on his face grows broader. “If you so desire it, My Lady, I will make it so.”

  He throws his right arm outward, gesturing toward the library door. “Shall we sit by the fire?”

  There’s a light in his eyes as he asks, as though he too is recalling the intimacy which has already transpired in that location. A wave of emotion begins to build in me. It is a peculiar mixture of feelings. I am aware of the threat he poses; he has after all already promised to spank me again, and I remember all too well the sting of the last punishment at my guardian’s hand. There is also the risk that we may be found. We have already pushed the boundaries of convention with our unchaperoned meetings, and should word get out about our encounters, I know my reputation will be left in tatters. With the countess still resident in the house, I fear that she will be only too happy to help fan the fires of rumours which may tarnish my character if they are to circulate in society.

  “I would very much like that,” I finally answer, my voice little more than a whisper.

  He moves to my side, offering me his arm. I gaze up at him, and taking hold of his jacket, we move toward the library in silence.

  The heat inside the room is dizzying, enveloping me into a sense of comfort and relief almost as soon as we enter. The darkened windows make the fireplace seem all the more alive, and in spite of a number of other candles lit around the space, the hearth provides the vast majority of the light. We are drawn to it out of instinct, Lord Markham walking me to the seat he had earlier occupied, before choosing the one opposite. We are probably only a few feet apart, and yet I wish we were closer.

  “May I be frank with you, My Lady?” The sound of Lord Markham’s voice fills the air around me, mingling with the burning ash of the fire.

  “Of course, My Lord,” I reply, trying to manage my wrangled nerves.

  “My mother is a fine woman, and a lady of impeccable distinction, and by God, I do love her, but…” He pauses, allowing his eyes to devour the look of me. “Whilst she has raised her son to be a good gentleman; to hunt, to use his fine education to run the estate, to attend church once a week, she does not know everything about him.”

  The tone of his voice sends the butterflies in my stomach fluttering around for good measure. I imagine we both know to what he implies. “What do you mean, My Lord?”

  His lips curl in almost a reflex. I imagine him fighting the urge to control himself. “The countess does not know what drives me, Lydia, what motivates me. You cannot truly understand a man until you know what drives him.”

  He stands, the speed of his action taking me quite by surprise. He moves around the chair to a small, freestanding table to my right where a decanter of dark gold liquid sits waiting. Selecting a glass from a number sat next to the decanter, he pours himself a small amount of the liquor inside, rolling it around the tumbler as he moves back toward me. “I have a feeling that you know more of what drives me than the countess…”

  I do not know if he chooses his words to be deliberately enticing, but somehow, irrevocably, I cannot find them to be otherwise. I swallow hard, breathless and feeling the growing heat of my body goading me. “Please explain, My Lord,” I implore him nervously. “You are making me uneasy.”

  It is both the truth and a lie, but I hope it will inspire Lord Markham to sit once again—his presence when standing is simply too overawing. He sighs, a low breath escaping his full lips, but he does as I had hoped and retreats slowly to his chair. Falling back into its soft confines, he hooks one long leg up over the other.

  “My apologies, Lydia,” he says evenly. “That was not my intention, at least, not yet…”

  My eyes fly to him as the final words roll from his lips, our gazes meeting in an intense moment of silence. My heart pounds so loudly beneath my gown that it threatens to rise into my throat. He smiles, breaking the tangible tension between us, before taking the tumbler toward his lips.

  “Let us not talk of the countess any more, but instead, let us speak about you, Lydia. You have been here only a few days. No time at all, not even a week, and yet in this time you have uncovered things about me—about the way I run my household. Other people do not know these things.”

  My throat is dry as I process his words. Can he really be referring to the way he likes to discipline his staff? The way he disciplined me? “I… I am not certain how to respond, My Lord,” I answer honestly.

  He laughs, an oddly gentle sound. “Very wise, Lydia,” he says. “Very wise. You never know what might land you back over my lap, do you? But then—that is what you desire, is it not?”

  I gasp, a sound I did not intend to make out loud. “Is this what you mean, My Lord? That I have uncovered the way you discipline at Markham Hall?”

  “Yes,” he laughs, louder this time. “But you see, Lydia, I do not spank merely to enact discipline.” He pauses, leaning in toward me as he speaks. “I spank for desire—for the release that it brings. It is the same desire, I think, which has so inspired your interest in spanking. Am I correct?”

  I can barely breathe, stunned as I am. For all of our eloquent discussions and recent intimacies, I could never have imagined a scene such as this. My guardian, a gentleman of high regard, who until very recently was a sought-after bachelor with no dependents, is disclosing the details of his darkest and most personal desires. I look to him, fascinated by this unexpected honesty. “I think so. Yes, My Lord.” I sound hoarse, my voice a deep and raspy sound I do not recognise.

  He waves the glass under his nose, briefly closing his eyes as th
e liquor moves beneath it. “It is quite the uncommon scenario we find ourselves in, My Lady.” As he looks up at me once again, I notice his large green eyes are dancing. “I am your guardian, the man who likes discipline and order, and finds release in delivering it. And you, Lydia, seem rather accustomed to having your own way, yet you find yourself under my care and protection, and for the first time you begin to crave that same discipline and order. From my own hand, nonetheless?”

  I flush at his accurate description of the situation, pressing my hands into my lap. Looking up, I see him considering me thoughtfully, but he rises once again and places the remainder of his drink by the hearth to his right. “I mean not to embarrass you, My Lady,” he says, walking toward me. “My intention is only to be honest. I desire honesty between us in all things.”

  He stands beside my chair, blocking my view to the fireplace as he holds out his hand to me. I take it reflexively, looking to him as I stand beside him.

  “I appreciate your honesty, My Lord, I really do… And yet the prospect to which you speak is daunting. It frightens me…” I stop, as though I am shocked by the truth coming from my own mouth.

  He draws my left hand toward him and against his body. I inhale sharply, eyeing him frantically as my arm brushes the edge of his torso. “I understand, Lydia, believe me. If you can bring yourself to trust in me, then you have nothing to fear. I may discipline you, and I may cause you pain, but I will never inflict real damage upon you. Remember, you are mine—my legal ward and responsibility. In addition, I find that I am starting to grow rather fond of you. Do you understand?”

  His eyes bore into me, mining my own for comprehension. I shudder, giddy under the weight of his intensity. He is fond of me? What can that mean? I steel myself to respond. “I… I don’t know, My Lord.”

  In an instant his left arm is around me, snaking against my waist and propping me up. At the same time, his right hand comes to rest under my chin. Gently, he tips it upward, ensuring my gaze meets his own. “You trusted me yesterday, to punish you?”

  I smell the warm scent of liquor on his breath. It mingles with the heat of the fire behind him, making me feel a little woozy. “I had no choice, My Lord,” I reply, meaning to imply my protestation, although my voice sounds rather more soft than I had intended.

  He smiles. “True,” he says, his digits stroking my jawline, “and yet there is always a choice. You could choose to leave Markham Hall this very evening if you so desired to.”

  I swallow, accepting his words with a small nod. “I do not desire it,” I whisper.

  “I know,” he answers, “and I must confess that I am glad of it.”

  I want to smile at the admission, but the butterflies in my belly will not cease. Instead, they fly, exacerbating my anxiety. “My Lord,” I begin breathlessly. “I must confess that being here, being with you, it makes me feel things which I have never felt before.”

  He swallows hard, watching me, as his fingers pursue a trail down my neckline. “I know, I think, to what you refer.”

  “You do?” I ask, surprised at my boldness and his answer in equal measure. As his fingers reach the top of my gown, I find I am nearly panting at the feeling of his touch against my skin.

  “Lydia.” His tone oozes some evocative power. “Of course I do. I am drawn to you in really the most compelling way, and it is quite unexpected. I had assumed being your guardian would involve keeping you safe, and being your moral compass until such time that you are ready to be a wife, but now I find…” He pauses, his eyes suddenly serious. “Now I find that rather than protect your morality, I wish to mould it to my own liking. It is really not befitting of a gentleman, and as such I must apologise.”

  As he concludes, his fingers move north to the edge of my shoulder, where my dress meets its sleeve. He slides his thumb just under the hem, caressing the skin underneath casually. I exhale in a rush, aware of the energy his touch creates, as though a thousand small fires have just been lit under the surface of my flesh.

  “You speak of punishment, My Lord?” I enquire, trying to get my breathing under control. “You mean that you wish to spank me for reasons other than my correction?”

  “Yes,” he purrs, smiling. “I will put you over my knee to discipline you—you can be sure of that—but I want far, far more than this. I want to show you a world you are as yet unaware of. A world of deep, dark pleasure… And yet I know it to be wrong.”

  “It is wrong,” I agree in a strained whisper, feeling the journey of his fingers moving down toward my chest. Desire burns within me for the very first time; all feelings before this just a precursor to this new, burgeoning need. It whips around my mind, through my body, culminating between my thighs. “I cannot think it to be anything otherwise.”

  He laughs, a dark and dangerous sound. “Your mouth knows the appropriate words, and yet your body betrays your real feelings on the subject, Lydia.”

  I sigh, knowing it to be true. “Yes, My Lord.”

  His hand ceases its small caresses, rising back to my face in an instant. He plunges his fingers into my hair, causing large sections to fall from their carefully pinned places. “What did I ask you to call me in private, Lydia?”

  I gasp at his change of pace and the forcefulness of his hand. “Thomas,” I pant, watching him with wide eyes. “You asked me to call you Thomas, My Lord.”

  He draws his body closer to me, the length of his taut thighs brushing the edge of my body. “By God, I want to devour you, Lydia Franklin. I want to redden your backside, and take you to the precipice of ecstasy.” His lips stray toward my face, now surely just an inch from me. “I know I should not, and how it torments me!”

  I am frozen to the spot, held fast by his words as much as his hands. “I do not mean to torment you, Thomas…”

  “I know, sweet Lydia,” he says seductively. “And yet here you are, your full lips open, your cheeks flushed, your breath warm upon me, and torment me you do…”

  Chapter Seventeen: Pleasure

  The knock on the door startles us both, breaking the hypnotic quality of the moment in an instant. Instinctively I jump backward, flattening down my dishevelled locks as best I can without the help of a maid or mirror. My eyes jump to his, imploring him in silence, ‘no one can see us this way!’

  He pauses, taking a deep breath, visibly letting the feelings wash over him, before whispering to me, “Sit, Lydia!” He gestures to the chair I had occupied earlier, and I scurry to obey, fussing with the loose strands of hair now flailing around my face.

  “Yes!” he calls out, already striding toward the door.

  I hear it open, although I dare not look around to face the caller.

  “Good evening, My Lord.” It is Gregory’s voice. “Excuse the interruption.”

  “It is quite alright, Gregory,” replies Lord Markham. “Is everything as it should be?” His voice is slightly strained, and I wonder if Mr. Gregory will notice.

  “Yes, My Lord,” answers the butler, “you can rest assured of that. I merely wanted to let you know that I am going to retire for the evening, unless you require me for something else first?”

  The question hangs in the air, and my mind is transported immediately to the night I had seen Lucy spanked.

  “Are there issues to which I have not been made aware?” asks His Lordship, deliberately wording his question to take account of my presence.

  Gregory pauses knowingly. “Nothing to which I cannot manage, My Lord, if you so wish?”

  “I do, thank you, Gregory. The countess has already gone to bed. Her lady’s maid is not in attendance, so please ensure that Lucy is on hand should she require it. I too will soon retire for the night, as will Lady Franklin. Send Lucy to attend to her, but after that, see that neither of us are disturbed.”

  I turn my head toward the door for the first time at the sound of my name, seeing Gregory standing in the entrance.

  “Very good, My Lord,” replies Gregory. “Good
night, My Lord, and you too, Lady Franklin.”

  He smiles as he backs out of the door, and instinctively I wonder if he is aware of what has just transpired between me and his master.

  As the door closes, Lord Markham spins on his heel to face me. “Rise, Lydia,” he says evenly. “It is time for bed.”

  I comply as if in a dream, moving weightlessly from the chair to the doorway, accompanied by my guardian. We cross the main hall, His Lordship acknowledging two footmen who greet us.

  Lucy appears from the kitchens, bobbing into a low curtsey. “Good evening, My Lady,” she says, smiling. “May I help you to retire?”

  I nod, dazed by the rush of emotions I feel. “Thank you,” I manage to say, and then as we ascend the first step, I turn back to where His Lordship stands. “Good night, My Lord.”

  His brow arches at my words, and he smiles. “Good night, Lady Franklin.”

  I climb the stairs, travelling back to my room with Lucy in near silence. The whole time my mind is occupied only with thoughts of Thomas and our earlier exchange. Surely I imagined the conversation between us? He could not have meant the things he had said, and frankly, neither could I. I cannot afford to give up my reputation, whatever the strength of the feelings I feel, so why do I choose to dwell on them?

  Lucy, sensing that I am deep in thought, is thankfully quiet, instead choosing to help me undress without a passing remark. She is silent even as she unpins my obviously unkempt hair, although I am sure she must query it. Soon enough I am ready for bed. She turns down my covers and moves to the window, drawing the long drapes to shield the room from the outside moonlight.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, My Lady?” she asks attentively.

  “No, thank you, Lucy,” I say, even now distracted.

  “Then I wish you a good sleep,” she says, bobbing into a small curtsey, before she turns to leave my rooms.