Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  He chuckles as his eyes follow mine. “I do not think our hosts are concerned. They seem rather preoccupied to me.”

  I watch Lord William, his arms encircling Lady Helena, as one hand moves south to her behind. I blush at the scene, having never before seen such intimacy first-hand. “Yes,” I agree, lowering my head to try to conceal my colouring face.

  “There is no need to be embarrassed, Lydia,” he says, drawing the stray strands of my hair away from my face. “William and Helena have no qualms about the way they feel. Think of it as a credit to your beautiful playing.”

  I smile, feeling the familiar passion growing within me.

  “Do you know how ravishing you look?” he asks me. “Sat here, producing this amazing music?”

  I glance in his direction, trying to focus intently on the keys, and not the way his words make me feel.

  “Lydia?” His voice is like a large cat purring. I swear I feel the vibrations of it as it slides over my collarbone.

  “My Lord,” I say breathlessly. “I know not what to say to such things!”

  This is not strictly true. I had accepted a good many compliments in London, and yet had never felt stirred by any of them.

  “Accept my compliment,” he replies, eyeing me closely.

  I turn to look at him again, my fingers pausing at the keys. “Thank you, Thomas,” I answer him.

  We gaze at one another, and I feel completely enraptured by him—yet again. How can he make me feel this way with just a few passing sentences?

  “You are welcome,” he says, his tone low and rasping.

  Instinctively my body responds to him, my breaths coming in short, laboured gasps. I wonder what my eyes portray as we sit here, suspended in time. His almond-shaped eyes tell their own story, showering me with a devotion so intense, it threatens to overwhelm me.

  “Is it time we retired to bed?” he asks, his left brow rising, as though he dares me to refuse him.

  ‘Yes!’ I want to say, ‘take me to bed, Thomas!’ and well I might have done if the room had not also been occupied by Lord and Lady Pembroke. The other couple, still intimately embracing, turn to look at us.

  “You have stopped playing?” says Lady Helena, stating the obvious.

  “Yes, I…” I hesitate, my words catching in my throat as Thomas stands up beside me.

  “It is time for bed,” he answers, his voice full of calm authority.

  Lord William, perhaps understanding his tone, releases his grip on Lady Helena and moves toward his cousin. “Then it is bed to which you must go, sir,” he says with a wry grin. “I hope you both get some rest.”

  “Thank you,” replies Thomas, and then looking down to me, he says quietly, “Lydia, shall we?”

  I nod, rising from the stool to face our hosts. “Thank you so much for a pleasant evening,” I say cordially.

  They both return my smile. “Our gratitude to you, Lydia,” replies Lord William, “for showcasing your quite astonishing talent!”

  I blush. “It was nothing,” I answer, following Thomas’ lead and moving toward the door.

  In no time at all we are back at our rooms. Pausing outside of the double doors, we turn to face each other, and the atmosphere between us shifts. I know we both feel it. What will happen now, I wonder? Will he come to my room? Will he spank me? The way in which I desire both is downright ludicrous, and certainly not becoming, and yet I find I care less and less about my reputation, and more about my enigmatic and dominant guardian.

  “Lydia.”

  His voice permeates the hallway with one word—my name, neither a question nor a command. I respond almost automatically, my breath once again quickening, and my body filling with passion for him. Blinking up at him, I wait, yearning for him to take the initiative, and suppressing the need to vocalise my own desires.

  “Lydia.” The sound is kinder this time, as though he regards me in an almost paternal way. “How are you? You seem a little lightheaded after your suppertime drink?”

  The recollection of my earlier glass of wine stirs something in me. I knew unconsciously that this evening would boil down to this choice, even though Thomas had ultimately permitted it. Secretly, I had hoped that he would raise the matter once more…

  “I feel well,” I answer. “And thank you for allowing me to indulge.”

  “Yes,” he says, smiling, as he towers over me. “I did permit that indulgence, didn’t I?”

  I hear the change in his voice, and I blink up at him, full of expectation. “Yes, My Lord.”

  “Did you know that your eyes are sparkling, Lydia?” he asks me.

  I hesitate, his question taking me quite by surprise. “Are they?” I reply.

  “Oh, yes…” he answers, closing the space between us. “They are truly beautiful.”

  His latest compliment produces yet another blush, and seeing it, he laughs gently. “Is there something you need, Lydia?”

  I look to him, imploring him with my eyes. Then, rising up onto my toes, I whisper to him, “It is not proper for me to say so, My Lord.”

  His eyes widen at my response. “Do you mean it would be unladylike of you to tell me?”

  I bite impulsively at my lower lip, understanding full well where this conversation is leading. Earlier, in almost this exact spot, he had promised me a spanking for any unladylike behaviour.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I think it may be.”

  He grins, nodding as he draws me toward him. We back into the double doors of his room, his shoulders hitting the wall behind us. We both know that I desire a spanking, and yet he knows I will never have the fortitude to ask for it. Instead, we can play this game, where my wild and wanton behaviour can in fact earn me my spanking. I press myself against his body and glare up at him, goading him into action.

  “Young lady,” he says mockingly. “This conduct is wholly inappropriate, and will not be tolerated.”

  “Yes, My Lord,” I say, barely recognising the woman I have become as I pant with need before him.

  “Do you need to be taken over my knee and reprimanded?”

  The muscles between my legs clench reflexively at his question, but still I play along. “Oh, no, My Lord. Please, no!”

  He eyes me wickedly, perhaps musing on my unlikely performance, and yet his hand travels to release the door handle even as I speak, and sure enough, we are soon moving into the open doorway.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: The Summit of Sensation

  The air inside Lord Markham’s room is heavier than mine, filled with the powerful, lingering scent of cigar smoke and his alluring cologne. We move inside, my body still pressed firmly into his as he reaches behind me to close the door. Finally, we part, and my eyes wander over the landscape. I find a room almost identical to my own, except that everything is the other way around—our rooms, it seems, are a reflection of one other. An oil lamp burns dimly by the doorway, and two sets of candleholders are lit either side of the bed.

  I look to my guardian, seeing that dark, salacious urgency on his face again. He raises his chin a little, as though he means to compose himself, and then slowly he looks down upon me. “Did you just press yourself against me, Lady Franklin?” he asks, his voice a deliberate and deep tone. “Wantonly flaunting yourself like a common hussy?”

  I can feel my heart picking up its pace even as I hear myself reply. “I did, My Lord.”

  He smiles, and despite the warmth in his eyes, I cannot shake the feeling that it looks predatory. “Do you deserve rapprochement then?” he asks, “or should you be reprimanded?”

  “The judgement is yours, My Lord,” I say, choosing words which are deliberately deferential. “But I fear that only chastisement will help to guide me.” I can hear the tremble in my voice as I answer, though whether its cause is concern or excitement I cannot say.

  “My Lady,” he growls, pressing himself against my smaller frame. “Do you know what you ask?”

  I inhale deeply. “Y
es, Lord Thomas,” I answer. “I want you to punish me. Please, will you spank me?”

  With the words said, there is no turning back, and he advances on me in a second. His right hand reaches for my hair, pulling loose the intricate networking of pins and releasing a number of tendrils, which bounce around my face. I gasp at the sudden movement, more perturbed by the speed than the aggression, but still, it leaves me feeling weak and vulnerable; sensations which make my core tighten. Tensing in my golden tresses, his fingers draw me in toward him. “Never let it be said that I am a gentleman who does not address my lady’s needs,” he purrs from over me. There’s just the briefest moment when our eyes connect, his shining with unspoken demands, and then our lips meet.

  His mouth crashes into me with enough force to push me backward. Sensing my instability, he turns our bodies, cradling my body with his left arm, and directs us both toward the four-poster bed. I feel the edge of its wood against my calves, and then all at once the weight of his body pushes me back against it. We collapse together, a knot of eager limbs, and I find myself lying flat against Lord Markham’s bed.

  He kneels over me, panting slightly as he slowly removes his evening coat. His gaze never leaves me the whole time, his eyes devouring each new curve of my body that they find. Throwing the garment aside, he falls forward and presses himself down against me, collecting my hands and pinning them gently up and over my head. I watch him, compliant and yet breathless with desire. I adore the feeling of his strong and hard body against me, pinning me down and controlling me with such apparent ease.

  The strands of his dark hair hang loose from his head as he stares down at me. “So here we are again, My Lady,” he purrs, that wicked look in his eye.

  “Yes, My Lord,” I answer excitedly.

  “Do you still wish for me to spank you?”

  I do not even hesitate as I give my reply. “I must confess that I do,” I whisper, “but I find that…”

  His stare holds me in place for a long moment, and I feel as though I am entranced.

  “What, Lydia?” he asks breathlessly.

  “I find I rather like this too,” I admit, knowing that I should be utterly ashamed of myself, and yet unable to muster the emotion at all.

  He grins. “I am so glad,” he says, lacing his long fingers between my own. “Because once you are truly mine, I am going to possess you this way whenever it pleases me.”

  I gasp, pressing my torso up to meet his in some unconscious action. My nipples, now tightened into buds, graze against his shirt, sending bolts of desire shooting through me. He chuckles at my response. “Whatever happened to that naïve and spirited young lady from London, who breezed into my dining room last week?”

  “She is right here,” I reply, smiling. “She has just been discovering a few things about herself these last few days, thanks in large part to her new, domineering guardian.”

  “Oh, really?” he enquires, pinning me with his mocking stare as well as his hands. “Well, yes, I suppose you have had a few lessons to learn in that time, haven’t you?”

  My mind flashes back to the times he has spanked me since my arrival at Markham. Lying here beneath him, I struggle to believe that until that time I had never even contemplated such behaviour, and now I find I desire it so badly. “Yes, My Lord,” I reply honestly.

  “And, there’s another to learn now, I see?” he probes jovially.

  I smile, though I do sense that low creeping anxiety clawing at the insides of my belly. The knowledge of what he will do does nothing to quell me; in fact, quite the opposite—it ignites the passion within me.

  He rolls from my body, landing lithely on his back to my left, before assuming an upright position over me. “Come now,” he says, settling his back against the headboard and patting his lap. “Let me give that pretty little behind of yours a spanking before we both tire.”

  I scurry from my place on the bed and walk toward where he now sits when his voice stops me.

  “Not like that, Lydia!”

  I halt, searching his face for an explanation.

  “The gown, Lydia,” he says, a mischievous smile growing on his face. “Remove the gown, please.”

  His words startle, but by now they do not surprise me. “Must I be bare, Thomas?” I ask.

  He nods as I knew he would. “Yes, my sweet thing,” he answers. “And from now on every time you question my instructions, you will earn an additional ten swats, do you understand?”

  I fluster at that, nodding, and reaching behind me to unfasten the detail at the back of my gown. He smiles, watching me struggle for a few moments before beckoning me over for him to help. With a firm tug the ties are loosened, and I am able to slide the bodice of the gown from my skin, watching it as it pools around my slippers. I unlace the stays at my waist and turn, now totally nude save for my feet.

  He eyes me like a hungry animal. “My, my,” he says as he exhales. “You are flawless.”

  I blush again, feeling the heat in my face contrast with the light and tingling sensation that my limbs are experiencing.

  “Come to me,” he commands sensually. “You know what is expected.”

  I go forward on shaky limbs, moving onto the bed, so that my naked body folds over his lap completely. A veil of calm falls over me. I feel warm, despite my nudity, and safe in the knowledge that this gentleman, who I have grown so fond of, is going to give me exactly what I want, which also happens to be exactly what I need.

  His hands are on me, the right one stroking my back tenderly, whilst the other traces a line over my bare behind. I turn my face to the right to catch a glimpse of him, seeing him smile at the task before him.

  “What an utterly enticing lady you are, Lydia,” he says. I watch him raise his left hand, before he brings it down against my upturned bottom. Instinctively my eyes close at the impact, relishing the immediate sting that it creates. They open again, in time to see the next swat delivered. The sound of the strikes fills the room. “You can be so self-assured, so certain and contained.”

  Smack. The next strike lands on my bottom. This strike is harder, and I wince inwardly at the contact.

  “And yet at the same time, you need such correction and guidance.”

  He lands the fourth smack and I gasp, the sting catching me right on my sitting spot, still rather tender from my punishments earlier.

  “Is that right, Lydia?” he asks, his tone demanding.

  “Yes, Thomas,” I say, gathering myself. “Thank you for correcting me.”

  Three swats follow in fast succession, and then he pauses, resting his palm right against the line where my bottom meets my legs. “I will always be here to provide correction, Lydia,” he assures me, as he lifts his hand and slams it back down against my flesh. “The pain, and the pleasure, My Lady,” he says warmly.

  I press my face, my breasts, and my small palms into the soft bedding, feeling each smack as Thomas delivers them. There is something strangely cathartic about the whole experience; willingly yielding to him seems so brazen and erotic. By the time we reach the twentieth strike, I can feel my hips rising to meet the new spank, and then raining down hard upon his lap, searching for the carnal sensations they hope to find during the spanking.

  In the torrent that follows I find the solace I am searching for. Thomas’ hands work together, simultaneously chastising and absolving me. His left hand delivers the penalty, whilst the right one soothes my upper back and shoulders with sensual, soft caresses. I am lost to it, consumed completely with the pain of the sound spanking against my bare bottom, and the way my mind processes it into something wholly wonderful.

  At some point the spanking stops, his hand settling against my inflamed behind. I hear him panting over me, and I push myself into the growing hardness at my hip like the wanton woman I have become. He groans—an unconscious, reflexive response to my movement—and the next thing I know his fingers dip between my cheeks. Fleetingly I recall the first time he had ex
plored me this way at Markham Hall. It was only yesterday, and yet I had been reticent to permit the action, despite the enjoyment it gave me. Now however, I find myself eager for him to do so, silently willing his fingers on.

  One digit strokes me, heading toward my wet seam and probing gently between the lips there. I gasp, opening my eyes to see him as he plays me like an instrument of his own. His eyes are large and dark, the lids once again low over his green orbs. His face looks like he is caught somewhere between agony and ecstasy.

  I mewl as his finger slips a little deeper, amazed at how much moisture he finds there. “Thomas!” I murmur, just about able to spill the word from my mouth.

  He turns his head to me, opening his eyes to look upon me. “Did you enjoy your spanking, Lydia?” he asks in an unusually husky tone. “Was it what you needed?”

  “Oh, yes!” I cry out, wanting to bite down upon the soft bedding at my lips as a second finger brushes past the pulsing nub underneath me.

  “And now, my sweet?” he enquires. “What do you need now?” His tone is mocking, designed to deliberately torture me further by making me state my desire out loud.

  “Pleasure?” I ask, knowing I sound like an overindulged little girl.

  He smiles. “Ah, yes… pleasure.” At the same time, his top finger slides a little further within me, and the palm of his hand rocks gently against my sex. Instinctively I push back, relishing both sensations at once. My mouth opens, as though some tacit need is there and yet cannot be vocalised. “You may have your pleasure, My Lady,” he growls, “but there is one condition.”

  I look to him, my eyes pleading. “What condition?” I gasp.

  His smile widens. “I want to see you when you come apart, Lydia,” he replies soothingly. “So keep your face this way, and your eyes open.”

  It sounds like such a small request, especially in light of the feelings being stirred within me by his left hand, so I nod my compliance at once. “I will do so,” I say breathlessly.