By the time his fingers cease, I am back to the verge of the ledge once more. He halts his ministrations, and I am filled with an unexpected frustration that I am not permitted to freefall again. A low sob fills the back of my throat, and as he hears the sound, Thomas pulls me up from over his lap, holding me against him.
I curl up into a ball on his lap, welcoming the feeling of his strong arms around my nudity as I bury my head into his shirt. My emotions surge, the arousal peaking and settling into a low thrum around my body. I am both embarrassed and satiated all at once. He holds me there for some time, embracing me tightly as he strokes my hair. No further words are exchanged.
Chapter Eighteen: The Unexpected Journey
I rouse the next morning, certain that the whole thing has been nothing but a sordid dream. As I roll into a seated position however, I am reminded of my smarting backside and the tenderness between my legs.
I know I am flushing as Lucy enters the room, carrying a large tray. “Good morning, My Lady,” she says brightly.
As she places the tray at the end of the bed, I eye its contents warily. Why is she bringing me breakfast in bed, I wonder?
“Good morning, Lucy,” I reply, watching her as she pulls open the long drapes at my windows. “Why have you brought me a tray this morning?”
I blink sleepily as the light invades the room, and she smiles at my response. “It is His Lordship’s instructions, My Lady,” she explains, making her way to my wardrobes. She opens the doors, surveying the line of garments in front of her. “You are to eat breakfast here, whilst I pack for your travels.”
Travels? My belly clenches at the idea. Is Thomas sending me home after my disgraceful show last night? A well of disappointment forms in me, and I find that I have to take a deep breath to steady myself. “To where am I travelling, Lucy?” I ask, trying to suppress the anxiety in my voice. “Am I to be sent back to London?”
She pauses and turns to me. “London? Why no, My Lady!” she exclaims, “why ever would you think that?”
I shake my head, wondering at the state of my head recently. “I know not,” I reply. “Only that I am not aware of any journey.”
Lucy approaches the bed with an armful of my clothes. She lays them gently on the far side of the blankets, before collecting the breakfast tray and presenting me with it. “I am sure it is nothing to worry about, My Lady,” she smiles, as she settles it over my lap. “All I know is that Lord Markham has some business to attend to in town, and that he has requested that you accompany him.”
My heart skips a beat at these words. He wants me to accompany him? I look down at the tray, surveying the contents. “Thank you, Lucy.”
She smiles again, skipping away to continue her duties. I sip my drink, not hungry in the slightest, and now intrigued by my unexpected journey.
* * *
A short time later, I am breakfasted and dressed. Carson has been to collect my trunk, which is now complete with an outfit for any scenario which His Lordship might present me with. Lucy is finishing my hair, fussing with pins behind me, when there is a knock on the door. We both jump, anxious butterflies lifting their heads inside of me.
Securing the final pin, she moves toward the door, opening it slowly. “My Lord!” she replies, her voice full of uncertainty.
I jump from my stool, rising to greet my visitor.
“Is Lady Franklin ready?”
I can hear Lord Markham’s voice from beyond the doorframe, the sound making me feel instantly breathless. “I am, My Lord,” I say, rushing toward the entranceway.
He sees me, our eyes connecting over Lucy’s head. “Good morning,” he says, smiling at me. There’s a small smirk on his lips as he speaks, and I wonder nervously if Lucy notices it. “Did you sleep well, My Lady?”
I blanch at his question, swallowing hard before I reply. “I did, My Lord—thank you.”
He nods knowingly, but says nothing further on the subject. “Good, the carriage will be here momentarily, and we need to be ready to leave.” He turns, retreating back to the corridor. “Lucy, you will be accompanying Her Ladyship, with Buckton. Do you have your bags ready?”
“Yes, My Lord,” replies Lucy as all three of us leave my room. “Carson has taken them to the main entrance already.”
“Where are we going, My Lord?” I ask, trying to keep pace with him as he strides down the hallway.
He turns his head to the left, catching sight of me as he speaks. “There will be time to explain once we are on our way,” he says.
I nod, no closer to understanding, but realising that there is little time in pursuing an explanation now.
We make our way down the staircase together, and are greeted by Gregory and various other members of the household staff.
“My Lord, My Lady,” remarks the butler, bowing as we approach. “All is prepared for your journey, and I am pleased to say that your carriage has just arrived.”
Lord Markham nods to acknowledge him. “Good. Thank you, Gregory.”
The door beyond His Lordship is drawn open by a valet I do not recognise, and a sudden burst of autumn air sweeps through the entrance hall.
“Your cape, My Lady?” says Lucy, holding out the length of fabric from behind me.
I smile; she really has thought of everything. “Thank you,” I answer her, permitting her to wrap the length around me.
I follow Lord Markham as he makes his way toward the entrance, finding two carriages on the grounds, waiting. We head for the first, and are met by Buckton.
“Is everything in order?” His Lordship asks him.
He nods. “It is, My Lord. Everything is on board, and Lucy and I will travel in the coach behind you.”
Lord Markham turns to me with a smile. “My Lady, shall we?”
I exhale, trying to shake the image of him consoling me the night before from my mind. “Thank you, My Lord,” I reply, taking his hand with my own gloved fingers.
We make our way to the entrance of the first carriage, where a footman stands waiting. I lift my gown, stepping up and into the interior. Finding my seat, I look up in time to see my guardian enter behind me.
The door is closed with a loud thud, blocking out the sounds of the wind and the horses from outside. All at once there is silence, and just the two of us. Taking the seat opposite my own, His Lordship removes his hat and cape, and surveys me. I risk a direct glance at him, finding the same intensity in those green eyes that I recall so vividly from last evening.
“I expect you have many questions, Lydia?” he asks matter-of-factly.
“My Lord, I do,” I reply.
He smiles again, the movement lighting his face. “Well then, let me explain. I have business which needs my attention in Ripley, and had always intended to travel there today. However, in light of our recent experiences, I decided it might be opportune to bring you with me.”
I clench at his choice of words, shifting awkwardly on my tanned behind. Never before have I noticed how uncomfortable these seats are.
His brow raises at the sight of me, and I see him suppress a smile. “Are you finding it difficult to sit, My Lady?” he asks sardonically.
I flush, embarrassed at the question, and yet I find that I smile as I reply. “A little, My Lord…”
“Then it is as it should be, no?” he enquires thoughtfully, his eyes threatening to penetrate my very essence with their searing gaze.
I swallow hard. “Yes,” I answer, my voice clipped by sudden desire.
He sits back in his own seat, and at that moment the carriage begins to pull away. Glancing out of the window to his right, I take the opportunity to really absorb him in the morning light. He is everything I had recalled from my spanking the night before; tall, lithe, and every inch the Regency gentleman. I watch his right hand press against the glass, and my belly twists. It is that palm which had bestowed so much pleasure upon me…
He turns to face me, following my eyes to where his h
and now rests. “Are you pleased that I decided upon your coming with me?”
I answer without hesitation. “Yes, My Lord,” I say. “Thank you. I should have been very lonely without you at Markham Hall.”
He surveys me with interest. “Precisely,” he continues. “After such a gratifying night, it felt wrong to have left without you. I want you to accompany me.”
I meet his gaze, feeling my heart skip at the warmth I find there. “I am glad,” I reply, “but…” I pause, unsure of how to proceed.
“But, what?” he probes.
I look to the window, seeing the trees passing at the side of the road. “But, what will people think?” I say, wondering instantly if it would not have been better to have kept these thoughts to myself. “Is it right for us to travel together?”
He smiles again. “Of course,” he remarks. “Why should it not be? You are my ward, and I want to introduce you to more of my life—what could be more natural than that?”
I nod, understanding him. He is correct of course; there is nothing wrong with the things he describes. It is only the weight of my conscience which causes me concern.
“Lydia.” The tone of his voice captures my attention at once, and I turn my face back to meet his eyes. “Do not misunderstand me. I do not deny the things which have transpired between us these last days. Neither do I retract any of the things I have done or said.”
I feel my breath quicken as he speaks. “My Lord, I…” Yet again I find that I do not have the words.
He chuckles at my response, reaching forward to collect my small gloved hand in his palm. “Lydia…” There’s that voice again, the molten and dangerous one which can so easily enrapture me. “Just keep in mind that no one else need know anything of our private matters. To the outside world, we are Lord Markham and Lady Franklin. I am your guardian, and you are my ward. Do you understand?”
“I do, Thomas,” I say, risking the use of his first name.
He squeezes my hand in response, and for a while we settle into the journey, lost in our own personal thoughts on the many things which have transpired. As the carriage speeds on, I shift again, finding it near impossible to find a position which does not aggravate my spanked bottom. He watches me, appearing amused at my predicament, but fortunately chooses to say nothing further on the matter. It is then that the countess springs into my mind, and I startle. He looks to me at once, his eyes demanding an explanation for my behaviour.
“My Lord!” I exclaim. “I have just remembered the countess! What will she think when she finds us both gone?”
He laughs whimsically at my question, waving his left hand in a gesture of dismissal. “The countess is aware of our plans,” he answers. “She was advised last evening of my intention to travel and take you with me.”
I am surprised at his admission, imagining what his mother’s response to the news must have been. She is already so utterly opposed to my presence at Markham, I can barely conceive her reaction to this latest development.
“Do not concern yourself with the countess,” he says, seeing my response to his words. “I will manage the situation.”
He seems so very calm and in charge, the very picture of authority. I feel rather spellbound by his innate ability to take control of any situation. “Yes, My Lord,” I answer him, feeling that a reply is due.
I shift in my seat yet again, desiring to change the subject. “So what am I to do whilst you are engaged with business, Lord Markham?”
He leans back in his place, stretching his arms out as he considers my question. “Well, I do have a few suggestions, Lydia,” he replies. “My tailor has a shop in Ripley, and I have made an appointment for you to meet a dressmaker there.”
I blanch, unsure whether to be pleased with his explanation or not. “Do you not like my gowns, My Lord?” I ask tentatively.
He shakes his head at me, smiling. “No, My Lady, I do,” he says. “But I would like to indulge you with something new; a gown for a special occasion.”
A special occasion? I wonder to what he speaks. “Is there an event to which you refer, My Lord?”
His eyes smile as he replies. “There is, Lady Franklin,” he says mysteriously. “There most certainly is!”
He laughs once more, and I wonder why he will not readily share his happy news.
“Will you tell me, My Lord?” I implore him.
He shakes his head. “All in good time, Lydia,” he replies. “For now, you are charged with finding the perfect gown for said event.”
I am perplexed. “But, My Lord,” I begin. “How can I know which garment is the right one if I do not know to which event it should be worn?”
“I trust that you will make a good judgement on the matter,” he says, clearly jesting with me.
I sigh, beginning to feel rather maddened by the riddle His Lordship seems intent to set. In London I had free rein to choose my own gowns, and along with my aunt, manage my own social calendar. His choice to withhold the information is absurdly irritating. I muse on the situation, finally hearing the sardonic defiance in me surface. “Are you certain you can trust me with such an important task?” I say mockingly.
I regret my tone and the words even as they leave my lips. They hang in the air of the carriage around us, encircling me as I hold my breath, awaiting Lord Markham’s response. I look to him, trying to read his face and decide if I have overstepped the unspoken line between us. It is a stony silence which meets me, and at once I know I have aggrieved him. “My Lord, I did not mean to offend you, I…”
He raises his right hand, showing me his palm, and the act halts me in an instant. I look back to his face, my wilfulness sliding into trepidation, and am greeted by the all-too familiar brow rising in front of me. “I do trust you, Lydia, yes,” he replies smoothly. “Yet I am less convinced with that mouth of yours.”
I blanch, rueful to have displeased him, and uncertain about what it may now mean. “I apologise,” I say. “I meant only to express my frustration about the secrecy of this special occasion.”
“I know,” he replies quickly. “I understand that. But you will learn to still your tongue and control your tone when you speak to me.” His voice is low and steely, making me uneasy. “I thought I had only recently delivered a lesson in respect, and yet now I find it may need teaching again.”
The knot of excited anxiety in me twists, knowing full well what he means, and yet refusing to acknowledge it. “There is nothing further to learn, My Lord,” I say hopefully. “I meant no offence by it!”
“And yet offence was taken.” he replies, staring at me severely.
“For that I am sorry,” I reply in a little more than a whimper.
He nods, a small smile forming on those lips. “I suspect you will be,” he answers. “Once you have been taken over my knee again.”
My heart is raging inside of me, and threatens to push up into my throat. “My Lord!” I gasp, “you cannot mean to do so here, in the carriage? What if we are seen? What if the driver or the footman hears us?”
The smile on his face grows. “Then I daresay that you, My Lady, will be rather embarrassed?”
My breath is coming in short bursts now, and I am close to panting again. “But, Thomas—what will people think?” I look to the carriage door anxiously, as though escape is even an option available to me.
“Most likely, my dear, they will think you are a naughty young woman in need of correction from her guardian, and they would be right, wouldn’t they?”
I meet his eye, my no doubt panic-stricken expression aligning with his cool composure. He cannot mean to spank me here, I maintain, although his body language already tells me that I am quite wrong on this assumption.
“Come now,” he says smoothly. “Come over my knee and take your punishment. You must learn to speak to me with respect.”
“P-please, Thomas,” I stutter. “Do not do this—not here!”
He glares at me, clearly unimpress
ed by my hesitation. “I will add another five swats for every minute you keep me waiting.”
I start, moving from my seat, and yet unsure where I should now go. Energy courses around my body, making me feel giddy and panicked all at once.
“Lydia.” Thomas’ voice is calm and warming. “Now, please.”
I move toward him on unsteady feet, ducking low to pass across the carriage to the bench at which he sits. By the time I join him there are tears glistening in my eyes. “Thomas,” I sob. “I did not mean to be disrespectful.”
“I know,” he says tenderly. “But you must learn to think before you speak, Lydia. Your words—like your actions—have consequences.” He pats his lap gently with his left hand. “There are already five additional strikes which your delay has earned; how many more will you have me add?”
I look to his face one last time, considering the idea of protesting further, or outright refusing him. If, though, I have come to know my guardian at all over the last few days, I know that he will have none of it. Better that I concede with some small dignity than make him force me. I slide myself left over his dark breeches, using my left hand to steady myself against the edge of the seat. It is immediately uncomfortable, most of my weight now pressing against my lower chest, but worse is the sheer dishonour of the whole arrangement. Being spanked in his office was humiliating enough, but being punished in such a public way is truly excruciating.
I feel his hand against my behind, and I wonder at how much this spanking will sting, considering the already tanned state of my bottom. He draws back the heavy skirt of my gown, finding my much thinner petticoat and stays beneath it. I still as he considers it for a moment, barely breathing as I wait to see what he will do next. Slowly, he draws this fabric north toward my waist with my skirt, leaving my behind exposed in the cool air. I sob back this newest humiliation, praying desperately that no one will see me in this ignominious position.
Taming Lady Lydia Page 14