Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  “Lydia!” The voice is rich and warm, and I know at once to whom it belongs.

  Turning toward the library doorway, I see him there, dressed in casual evening wear. A large smile appears on his face, and he begins to pace in my direction. Likewise, I find my feet moving toward him, as though they are compelled to do so by some unspoken force. We meet somewhere between our original places, his arms held out to greet me.

  “Lord Markham!” I cry, pressing myself against his shirt.

  I feel his arms close around me, and for one long, glorious moment, I am sated, back in the embrace which I had missed so badly.

  “Come, My Lady,” he whispers into my hair. “Join me for a nightcap before we retire?”

  I say nothing, but nod, just pleased to be near him again. I take his arm, and allow him to lead me back into the library. The room, so often the scene of our recent conversations, is dark but warm, heated as ever by the large fire to our left. He guides me gently to my usual seat, and then pours two drinks from the nearby decanter. Handing one to me, he seats himself just to my right, his face lit by the colours of the flames.

  “How I have missed you today, Lydia,” he begins. Our eyes connect, and I feel the relief at being back at Markham with him flood through me. “How are you?” he demands. “Did you receive my note?”

  I nod, pressing my lips together before I answer. “Yes, thank you, Thomas,” I say. “I did receive it, although I was shocked that you had already departed.”

  I look to the glass in my hand, and am reminded of the earlier unpleasant incident with Lord William. Reflexively I put the glass down by the foot of my chair, an act which draws a look of surprise from Thomas, although he says nothing on the subject for the time being. “I apologise for that,” he replies. “There was little time, and I had no wish to wake you, especially after our time together last night.”

  He pauses, and I blush at the memory as he continues. “I hope that Lord William looked after you in my absence?”

  I swallow hard, suddenly unable to catch my breath. “How is the countess?” I ask, my voice a higher pitch than usual as I deflect his enquiry.

  He hesitates before he answers, clearly vexed. “Yes,” he sighs. “Upon my arrival I found Mother to be well—in fact I found her to be in almost perfect health.” His voice sounds strained, and he takes a large sip of liquor as he concludes.

  I am puzzled by his words, and shift in my seat as I probe further. “Really? Well, that is good news,” I say. “Although why were you sent for if this was the case?”

  “A question which I also wondered, Lydia,” he answers. “And one which I put to Gregory at once. It would seem that the countess saw fit to call me back urgently—and alone…”

  His voice trails away, and his large green eyes are drawn toward the fire. I follow his gaze there, wondering why the countess would seek to do so, unless she was so compelled because she desired for Thomas and me to be separated, and for him to be back with her?

  I look back to him, pondering his silence. “How peculiar, Thomas,” I say softly.

  “Yes,” he agrees, his intense gaze retuning to me. “I thought so also, so I queried this with my mother, and found that she had rather overstated her symptoms so that I would return.”

  I blink at him, not wanting to criticise his mother aloud. “At least she is well,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper.

  “I assume so,” he says. “I sent her home as soon as she was checked over by the village doctor, and then I sent Buckton on his way to collect you and Lucy.”

  Looking to him, I am quite startled by this news. “Home?” I repeat.

  “Yes,” he clarifies. “Back to Leadenham, and away from Markham. I will not abide her interference any longer.”

  I swallow hard, appeased by his verdict, and yet unwittingly aroused by the authority in his voice. “I did not mean to come between you,” I offer in my small and unassuming voice.

  He smiles lightly. “This is not your responsibility, Lydia,” he says firmly. “I have done what needed to be done.” He turns to me, pressing his body forward. “And so, tell me of your day?” he asks. His voice is insistent, as though he senses there is something I need to share.

  I tense at the question, debating whether or not it is best to be open about what had transpired earlier. Thomas has asked for honesty on more than one occasion, and yet I do not desire to make more trouble with the people in his life. I have already caused some rift between him and his mother, and now, am I to spread stories about Lord William’s behaviour? I sigh, unsure of which way I should steer the conversation.

  “Lydia?” His tone is resolved, and my eyes fly to him at once. “What has happened, tell me, please?”

  I open my mouth, thinking that I will state a partial untruth, and yet the look in his eye halts me. “My Lord,” I begin, already hearing the tremor in my voice. “There is news to tell, and yet, I find that I do not wish to divulge it.”

  His eyes widen at my comment, and he puts his glass aside as he rises, shifting the chair he is seated on directly next to my own. Reseating himself, he takes my right hand in his left palm. “We vowed to be honest, did we not?” he asks.

  I nod as further tears gather in my eyes.

  He watches me, and it is as though he can somehow permeate my thoughts and know to what I am thinking. “What did he do?” he says finally.

  A small gasp escapes me, and I wipe the collection of tears from my eyes with my free hand. “It was nothing,” I answer breathlessly. “I mean to say, that nothing actually happened—but I worry that if he had not been interrupted, he would have tried to kiss me, or…” My voice trails away as I recall the heat of Lord William’s breath against my face earlier.

  “Or?” prompts Thomas, encouraging me.

  “Or worse,” I say, choking back a small sob in my throat. “I do not know, My Lord, but he was so close to me, pressing himself against me…” I look to the fire, biting my lip as I go on. “He said that the two of you share everything, and there was no point in my running…”

  A noise escapes my guardian’s mouth. It sounds like the growl of a tortured animal. I look to him imploringly. “Please, Thomas. Know that I did nothing to encourage him. I did not want to be alone with him, and I even rejected the wine he offered.”

  The tears come then, burning my eyes until I can see no more. I am aware of Thomas rising from his seat and drawing me up into an embrace. I sob against his shirt sleeve, feeling the warmth of the fire and his fingers in my hair. At length, I collect myself enough to speak, and looking into his eyes, I plead, “Thomas, you do believe me, don’t you?”

  He leans down and plants a hot kiss on my forehead. “Of course I do,” he confirms, rocking me gently in his arms. “Once again this is not your responsibility, but mine.”

  I pull away from him a little as I reply. “How so, My Lord? You were not even present?”

  “Precisely,” he replies, holding me close. “Your safety and well-being is my priority now, and I overlooked this when I abandoned you this morning. Thank goodness you are well; I should not have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you…”

  His voice breaks slightly as he concludes, and I feel compelled to offer him consolation. “This is not your fault, Thomas,” I say. “I do not blame you.”

  I raise my right hand, and for the first time I reach out and touch him. My fingers find a day’s worth of growth on his chin, and I caress the stubble, gently tracing the hair up his strong and handsome jawline.

  He permits my exploration, closing his eyes briefly as our skin connects. “You are more forgiving than I deserve,” he says, watching me closely as my hand moves at his jaw, “but I blame myself, Lydia. I have punished you for less reckless behaviour, for jeopardising your own safety, and now I find that my actions have been found wanting in the same area.”

  “Thomas,” I begin, trying to soothe him.

  “No!” he snaps, and the to
ne of his voice halts my ministrations at once. Seeing my response, he softens, leaning forward to plant a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I have known William all of these long years, and I was wrong to have left you there alone. I trusted him, and it was foolish of me, irresponsible—but the news of my mother caught me off guard.”

  I can hear the frustration in his voice as he speaks, and I use my left hand to stroke his back gently. There is silence for the longest time, until Thomas finally speaks. All of a sudden there is a new edge in his voice. “Did you consider not telling me about this incident, Lydia?”

  He asks in that knowing way; the one which is laced with desire, and I already know that by the time I look up I will find that dark brow cocked with enquiry.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I confess that I did.”

  He pulls away, swallowing both of my hands into his large palms as he answers. “Why would you even consider it?” he asks, sounding desperate.

  I sigh, despising the feeling that I have let him down. “I did not want to be the cause of trouble between the two of you,” I explain. “All I seem to have done since I arrived, Thomas, is be the cause of discontent.”

  He smirks, and then chuckles at my reasoning, his left arm once again drawing me into his body for an embrace.

  “Please, Thomas,” I say again. “Please do not permit this to be the cause of discord between you and Lord Pembroke?”

  I eye him fearfully, as he considers my words. “This is not settled, Lydia,” he says. “I am frightfully angry with William, and he shall know about it. God knows if he had hurt a single hair on your head, I would be riding back to Cranningford right now to confront him.”

  My mind reels at the news, the tension tightening in my belly. “Thomas, please?” I say again.

  He stills, his eyes drilling into me. “Hush now,” he says finally. “You must be tired after your journey. Perhaps we should both get some rest, no? I will share my decisions with you in the morning.”

  Swallowing hard, I look to him. “Are you cross with me for not confessing straight away?” I ask timidly.

  He eyes me intently, that delicious gaze searing into my flesh. “Of course,” he says, his voice strong. “I should very much like to punish you for your ill intent, but I give you credit for being honest with me before I had call to press you on the matter.”

  “Punish me?” I repeat, the rest of his words rather lost on me.

  He smiles, as he pulls the strands of hair away from my eyes. “Mmmm,” he says. “Take you over my knee, bare your delicious behind, and spank you until you are desperate for me.”

  My lips part and I hear a small gasp escape them. “Thomas…” My throat tightens, as though the words cannot make their way from me. “I think I am already desperate.”

  His right hand skims its way up my body, reaching my hairline and drawing my head backward. “Desperate?” His voice is low and seductive. “What are you desperate for, My Lady?”

  I blink at him, feeling my legs tremble. “You,” I whisper. “My Lord, I do not know what you have done to me, but ever since we met, I have been captured.”

  He presses his lips against the nape of my neck, allowing them to caress the sensitive skin there. “Oh, Lydia,” he groans from my left shoulder. “We are both captured, my love.”

  My eyes fly to his face. Have I really just heard him correctly, did he just refer to me as his love? My thoughts are sent reeling by the new trail of kisses which he plants along my neckline, until his lips reach my own jaw, and finally my mouth. Those lips are hot as they brush over mine, the scent of the liquor on his breath, along with the sensations of his mouth, making me feel giddy.

  “What do we do, Thomas?” I ask, our eyes connecting once again as he towers over me.

  “I can take you over my knee right this moment, Lydia,” he replies, “if it will lessen the desperation?”

  I smile, although the thought of his suggestion sends a tingling sensation racing through me, pooling desire at my centre. I draw my hand up into his dark, thick hair, drinking him in.

  “I see you find the idea agreeable?” he chuckles, nuzzling me.

  I moan, unable to articulate the way his sensual kisses make me feel. “Oh, please, Thomas,” I pant. “Have mercy on me?”

  He laughs outright, releasing my hair and pulling back to look at me. “Mercy, Lydia?” he smiles. “Is that what you need?”

  I shake my head, unable to respond in any coherent way. Pulling me close again, he whispers into my right ear. “Whatever it is you need, sweet Lydia, I vow to always endeavour to provide it.”

  I look up to him, and manage a small smile, certain from his eyes that he is telling me the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Proposal

  I wake early the next morning to find my room still blanketed with darkness. My head, heavy with the previous day, refuses to allow me any further rest, and after lying in the stillness for some time, I finally relent. Slipping on my waiting robe, I wander to the large window of my room. The view outside is cast into deep shadow; the light of the moon rather more limited than it had been just a few days ago when I had arrived at Markham. I ponder at the scene, thinking of everything that has happened in such a short time. Now I seem totally fixated with the gentleman who is also my guardian, and I wonder what can be done about it. Can we really marry, or are we doomed to play out this frustrating tension for all time, until the eligible bachelor is sure to find some other young lady to become his wife? I sigh, my mind shifting to the issue of Lord William. The thought of him wanting me in that way repulses me, and yet I do not want to be the cause of discord between him and Thomas. There must be some other—some better—way for resolution. Feeling more awake than I have a right to be, I make my way down the length of dark corridor and descend the beautiful staircase.

  Halfway down, my eyes are drawn to Lord Markham’s study. The door is slightly ajar, and a long slip of light spills out into the darkness of the grand hall. As usual, my heart stirs at the mere thought of Thomas, and within a moment I find myself in front of the door. The scent of his cologne makes its way through the opening and reaches my nose, goading me. I take a deep breath, raising my right hand and gently tapping on the hard wood.

  There is a pause, and then I hear the sound of a chair moving, before large footsteps make their way to the doorway. I hold my breath, trying to calm my ragged breathing, as the door is pulled back to reveal my guardian. He holds an oil lamp in his right hand, and looks devilishly handsome in just his breeches and shirt, which is once more opened at the front to reveal his toned chest.

  “Lydia?” he asks, stunned by my appearance at his door. “What are you doing here at this time? You should be sleeping.”

  I look up at him blocking the doorway, wondering quite the same thing about him, but do not press the point. “I am sorry, My Lord,” I say, my voice sounding awfully quiet in the vastness of the hall. “I was sleeping, but have been unable to rest since I was roused.”

  He stares at me quizzically, his expression shifting into one of concern. “Are you well?” he asks, reaching for my left hand.

  His skin is warm, and I welcome his touch like a petal welcomes the rain. “I think so, yes,” I reply, my voice breathy with anticipation.

  Sensing my tone, he smiles. “You know, Lydia, it is not customary for a lady to come calling on a gentleman in the middle of the night…”

  His statement hangs in the air as I gaze upon him. I know he is right; my behaviour is downright scandalous, and yet for the life of me I cannot find reason to care. “I apologise,” I say. “If you would prefer, then I will return to my room?”

  I pull away slightly, testing him to see what his response will be, and silently praying that he will halt my return. As though reading my mind, his hand tightens around my wrist, preventing me from walking away. “No, I would not prefer it,” he answers.

  I turn to look at him again, the black centres of his green eyes widening at
the sight of me.

  “I would not prefer that you go, and I should be the one to apologise, because I should absolutely prefer it.”

  I move toward him, puzzled at his response. “What do you mean?” I enquire.

  He looks around us, his eyes peering into the darkness to check we are alone before he replies. “I am your guardian, Lydia,” he sighs. “I should not want you this way.”

  “And yet you do?” I ask boldly.

  He chuckles. “You know that I do,” he confirms, pulling me into his body. My thin robe and nightgown press against his hard thigh, and once again that familiar tingle pulses from deep within me.

  “I should not invite you in,” he says, staring into my eyes, “and yet I would like to.”

  I do not even hesitate, my brazen desire evident from my eyes alone. “I should like you to, My Lord.”

  His smile is clear as he relents, moving backward and allowing me entry into the warmth of his study. I walk to the centre of the room and pause, recalling that this is where I had stood the very first time he had chastised and then spanked me. The sound of the door closing behind me draws my attention back to my waiting lord.

  “Is there something on your mind, Lydia?” he asks, as he passes around me and places the lamp back onto his desk at the far side of the room.

  “If you permit it, My Lord?” I ask, all too aware of the sensual danger of my current situation. It is one thing to be alone with a gentleman in the daytime, although it would be frowned upon by many, but to pursue such a thing in the middle of the night? It is downright shocking and immoral. I wonder fleetingly what my aunt would say if she were ever to find out.

  He sits on the edge of his desk, pushing piles of books to one side. “Of course,” he says. “You have leave to speak freely to me in private. No matters are taboo.”