I take a step forward, willing my courage to present itself. “Thank you,” I say, looking to him. “I wish once again to speak with you about the matter of Lord William.”
“Ah, yes,” he says knowingly. “Is this what has kept you awake tonight?”
I shake my head. “I think not, My Lord, although I worry of the consequences of my confession last evening. I do so hope you will not quarrel with him—about me?”
He rises from the desk and stands just a matter of inches from me. “I have good mind to do more than quarrel, Lydia.” His voice is deep again, and the sound of it makes me clench my most intimate muscles reflexively. “He took advantage of you, or would have liked to… and in doing so he broke a rule of our friendship.”
“I think,” I begin, “that he thought you would happily share me. The presumption was that you had always shared in the past, and so, it would not trouble you now?”
I angle the question deliberately to try to garner some more information about Thomas’ past. I am curious, but not bold enough to ask him outright.
“Lydia,” he says flatly. “If you have questions for me, then you have leave to enquire. Do not try to trick me into speaking, please. I find it almost…” he pauses, pressing himself against me as he concludes, “disrespectful.”
Our eyes meet on the final word, and we both know exactly the implication he makes.
“I am sorry, My Lord,” I whisper, feeling the chastisement wash over me. “I did not mean to disrespect you.”
“You are certain?” he asks almost playfully as his hands rake through my long hair.
“I think so,” I reply, relishing the feeling of his digits in my tresses.
“Well then, let us consider this your first and final warning on the matter,” he purrs. “The next time you are disrespectful, you land yourself back over my lap, Lydia. Do you understand?”
The summit between my thighs liquefies at his words, and instinctively I reach for him in order to steady myself. “Yes, My Lord,” I answer, gazing into his eyes as I do.
He nods. “So, do you have a question for me?” he enquires.
“I was only wondering if…” Yet again I feel the need to pause, as though the weight of the question will bear down on me.
“Yes?” he coaxes softly.
I inhale, before slowly allowing the air from my lips. “If you and Lord William had shared ladies—in the past?”
Thomas looks into the darkness behind me as he considers my words. “In the past we have shared lovers,” he says finally, regarding me again with a gentle expression. “But these things were always planned, and we were always together.”
My mind races at this news, images of the two men romancing a lady creating quite the tornado of emotion within me. The sound of Lord Markham’s voice steadies me, and captures my attention once more.
“It is no defence for what he tried to do to you yesterday, my love.”
There are those words again… my love. My heart races at the sound of them.
“I must address the matter with him,” he says adamantly.
“But, My Lord,” I plead. “We do not have to return to Cranningford for some time, do we? Could we not just forget all about the sorry event?”
His fingers relax in my hair. “It is not my style to ignore issues, Lydia,” he whispers. “And we shall return there, although I’ll be damned if I will ever leave your side again when we do!”
My eyes rush to his in an instant. “We have to return?” I ask, hearing my voice tremble. “But why, Thomas?”
I had not even considered the likelihood that I would need to go back to Cranningford again, and the notion disturbs me more than I would have thought. Within a moment there are tears burning in my eyes, as the anguish I feel about having to see Lord William again surfaces.
“Oh, Lydia,” he says, seeing my tears and pulling me into his strong arms. I rest my head against his chest, my tears spilling onto the soft hair. “I loathe how much he has affected you.”
“I am sorry,” I whisper, burying myself into his skin. The scent of him wafts around my face, enticing me from my anxiety, and instead stirring the lewdest thoughts about Thomas.
All at once he has jerked me backward, grabbing my wrists and holding me in place whilst he lowers himself to the same level as my face. “Lydia.” His voice is firm. “I will have no more apologies from you on this subject. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I sniff, surprised at the change of tack. “Please hold me again?”
He concedes with a smile, opening his arms and drawing me close once more. I shut my eyes, feeling as though his body has become my sanctuary.
“Do you remember the dress that is being made for you?” he asks after a moment.
“Yes, My Lord,” I answer, recalling the fitting in Ripley just a couple of days ago.
“Well, it is being made for a rather special ball, which is set to be held at Cranningford.”
The news startles me, and I blink against his chest as I absorb it. “A ball, Thomas?” I ask.
“Mmmm,” he replies, stroking my hair once more. “I am sure you attended similar events in London.”
Indeed, I had done, but any similarities to my current situation seem quite lost on me now. “A couple,” I concur, “but nothing of any real significance. Why is this one to be special?”
He laughs softly. The sound is so gentle and warm that I wonder if it could not lull me back into sleep. “This one is set to honour my birthday,” he whispers into my hair.
I gasp, pulling away from him so that I may see his face as I answer. “Your birthday?” I exclaim. “Oh, My Lord! Why did you not say?”
He smiles. “It is not important,” he replies, stroking the tears from my face with his thumb. “Not compared to you.”
My breath catches in my throat. “No, Thomas, please!” I cry. “Do not allow me to ruin this celebration for you. I have tainted so much for you already; I must not ruin this!”
He tilts his head at my assertions, looking at me with quizzical eyes. “Tainted?” he replies. “What have you tainted?”
I swallow hard as I think on my answer. “Your life as a bachelor,” I blurt, “and now your relationship with the countess, and Lord William as well.”
His laugh is a hearty sound this time, and one which rather riles me. Why does my confession so amuse him, I wonder?
“Oh, Lydia,” he says, reaching forward to press his hot lips into my own for a fleeting moment. “You are not to blame for any of these things! Each predicament was of my making, and my choosing! You must not fret.”
I blink up at him, stunned yet again by his need to assume responsibility for every action. “I do not see how I assume no blame?” I murmur.
He gazes down at me, his eyes darkening. “Are you to contradict me then?” he asks, the question a sensual threat.
I swallow at the sudden intensity, wondering at the idea that my contradiction might earn me a well-needed spanking. “No,” I say quickly, dismissing the notion. “I just do not want you to miss your own birthday celebration, Thomas.”
He presses his forehead into my own. I close my eyes at the welcome proximity, feeling the heat from him radiate toward me. “The event is not for some days. We have time to think upon it yet. If we are to attend, then I vow not to leave your side, Lydia.” When I open my eyes I find him staring down at me, his eyes large and hungry. “How does that sound?” he asks huskily.
“That sounds glorious,” I reply, amazed at how the look in his eyes can transform me from one mood to the next.
“Mmmm, I agree,” he says, his mouth grazing against my cheek again. My lips part, as though they want to guide him inside. “Now no more fretting about Lord William,” he says, his tone laced with authority. “Rest assured that I will manage the situation.”
“Yes, My Lord,” I whisper, gazing at those lips, still just an inch from me.
Watching my stare, he smiles kno
wingly. “If we do return to Cranningford, I will ensure that I shatter the illusion that you are in any way available…”
Slowly I process his words, my eyes returning to his own shrewd orbs. Whatever can he mean by this last statement? “My Lord?” I say uncertainly. “How will you hope to do so?”
At that moment his lips come crashing into mine, answering me in the most carnal way imaginable. Desperate for his attention, my mouth parts and slowly, his tongue sweeps a sensual line inside of me. I feel his hand come to rest on the back of my head, holding me in place as he claims my mouth at last. When our mouths finally part, I am left panting for more of the taste of him.
Seeing my reaction, he smiles tenderly. “Dearest Lydia,” he purrs, stroking the side of my face. “If you will have me, I hope to take you as my wife.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine: A New Dawn
For the longest time I say nothing, but instead stare up into his loving eyes. Then, as though I had misheard him, I repeat his words right back to him.
“You hope you take me as your wife?” I say, as though in a dream.
“Yes,” he answers, smiling. “If you will have me?”
I blink up at him, certain that either I have misconstrued his words, or that I shall wake up on my pillow at any moment. When it seems that neither is likely, I press my palm against his chest, his soft hair rising between my fingers. “Are you certain, Thomas?” I ask.
“Lydia,” he says playfully. “Do you assume I ask the question without the necessary thought?”
“No!” I gasp, hoping that I have not offended him. “Only that I did not expect such a thing to transpire.”
He holds me tightly as he replies. “Nor I, sweet Lydia,” he says, breathing in the scent of my hair. “And yet it seems that the final twist of fate is this; the thing which Mother most resented—me taking on the role of your guardian—is to become the very thing she most sought, for me to wed.”
I muse on his words, finding them to be as ironic as he indicates. “Yes,” I reply. “But, Thomas, I am not yet of age. Are we able to wed?”
“I have considered this myself,” he answers as he holds me. “In fact I sought legal advice on the matter whilst we were in Ripley.”
“Your meeting?” I gasp, pulling away from him a little. “Is that what you discussed?”
He smiles. “That and other subjects, yes,” he replies, playing with my hair. “The legal view is that whilst you are under the age of twenty-one, I would usually require the consent of your parents in order to marry you. However…” He pauses, looking down at me as he speaks. “As your parents are sadly no longer with us, and I am now your legal guardian, no such permission is needed.”
I look at him, understanding his meaning. “So, as my legal guardian, you only require permission from yourself, My Lord?” I ask, suppressing a laugh.
“Precisely,” he confirms, kissing me on the cheek. “However, as a courtesy to your aunt, I will write to her and ask for your hand in marriage. I see no reason why she should choose to intervene.”
I nod, in agreement with him. “How do you think the countess will receive the news?” I wonder out loud.
Lowering his embrace, he takes my hands gently. “I should think she will be thrilled at the announcement,” he replies. “You are, after all, more than qualified for the role of my wife. You are from a fine, wealthy family, you are beautiful and intelligent—more than suitable to be her daughter-in-law.”
I bite my lip, my anxiety on the subject building. “I do not think she likes me a great deal,” I whisper.
“She will come around, Lydia,” he says, his voice full of confidence. “Just wait and see.”
I eye him intently, hoping that he is correct, but surmising that he must know his own mother far better than I.
He squeezes my left hand as he turns, and guides me toward the window. Outside the first blades of morning light spear the darkness. Dawn is approaching.
“More important than the will of my mother or your aunt, Lydia, is your opinion. And I realise that I have not yet sought your consent.” He draws me close again, smiling down at me.
“My consent?” I murmur, feeling almost hypnotised by his tone.
“Mmmm,” he replies, running a long finger down by jaw. “You and I, Lydia,” he says slowly. “We have been fortunate. You know that most courtship is quite unlike our own. Ladies are not generally permitted to be left with gentlemen in an unsupervised manner; there is no time for private conversations, and no opportunity for illicit spankings.” His eyebrow arches in that reflexive way, and I realise how fond I have grown of the gesture, as an excited shiver rushes through me.
“I know,” I whisper. “Our relationship has been scandalous, My Lord.”
“I agree,” he says, leaning into me and nuzzling my nape once again. The feeling of his lips against my skin is exquisite, and I lean away, offering him my exposed neck.
“You, My Lady Lydia,” he says mockingly, between kisses. “You are quite the scarlet woman, exhibiting wholly unladylike behaviour.”
I smile, knowing it to be true. “Yes, My Lord,” I agree breathlessly.
“Do you recall what I told you the consequences of such behaviour would be?” Those green eyes bore into me, the intensity searing.
I nod, clenching my muscles automatically. “Yes, Thomas,” I whisper.
He smiles, that devilish look that nearly takes my breath away. “It seems that if I am to take you on as my wife, then you will need a firm hand? I suspect that you will need to be spanked soundly and regularly, for your own good, and for our mutual pleasure of course.”
I swallow hard, imagining the life he describes. Can I really assume this role with him, and submit to the corporal punishment he portrays? If there was any doubt, the well of arousal between my legs is my answer. “I think I may do, My Lord,” I say finally.
“Oh, Lydia,” he says, his voice wavering with the passion he struggles to contain. “You know it will be my pleasure to give you that life. I promise to be fair, and kind, and to master you in the most sensual and filthy ways imaginable.”
He leans in toward me with a wink, and I swear it is only his arms holding me up as his mouth presses into mine again. Kissing me, he moves me gently against the glass of the window at my back. As our lips part, he looks down to me, and I notice his green eyes are dazzling in the reflection of the early morning light. “So, tell me, Lady Lydia Franklin,” he asks eagerly, “will you consent to become my wife?”
My lids flutter shut briefly as the question passes over me. I can barely believe that this is actually happening. Can this strong, enigmatic, and handsome gentleman, whom I have known for only a short time, really be asking for my hand in marriage? Staring up into his expectant face, I already know the answer. Not only is it true, but it is even more than I could ever have imagined. Lord Markham has awoken some dark part of me that I never even knew existed. My need to yield to him has been astonishing, and has stirred the most brazen desire.
I swallow hard, but smile as I reply to him. “I do consent, My Lord. It will be my honour to become your wife.”
There are no more words. He pulls me tightly against his side, warming me as the dying embers of the fire begin to fade. I rest my head against his shoulder, and together we watch the sun rise on a brand new day.
Chapter Thirty: Plans and Promises
The next week passes in a flurry of activity. Letters are written and sent with urgent riders across the country. Lord Markham and I move ahead with our plans, needing to wait on no one’s consent for the wedding. On the one hand my life continues as normal; meals are observed and Thomas attends many visitors who call about the estate and other matters. On the other hand, my world is turned upside down by the excitement of the forthcoming event. Mrs. Pemberley arrives with the dress we had discussed; a beautiful new garment for His Lordship’s birthday. Of course now we also discuss my requirements for a wedding gown, and similar meetings ar
e arranged to consider flowers and a wedding breakfast. Thomas and I attend church to agree on a date for the ceremony and to organise the reading of banns.
My mind is a frenzy at the thought of actually becoming Lady Thomas Markham. It seems there is a near constant thrum of nervous energy bubbling within me, and the feelings swell whenever my intended is near. He is charming and cordial, but at all times, he seeks to guide me in his preferences, challenging me whenever I become wilful or obstinate. At no point though does he punish me, and after some days of thinking about the prospect, I wonder if I now do not need the penalty more than he needs to administer it.
I endeavour to settle into a routine and find some normalcy in the situation, but it proves impossible. All talk is of our impending nuptials, with Lucy in particular, excited to hear of Lord Markham’s proposal. She is eager to help, discussing how my hair should be styled for the service. I appreciate her contributions, and am often caught up in her infectious anticipation, but moreover I am eager just to have the wedding done and find myself, finally, Thomas’ wife.
On the morning of the eighth day since Thomas’ proposal in the study, I receive a letter from my aunt, confirming her delight at our engagement, and her intention to attend the ceremony with her own family. I wander from the drawing room, the letter in my hand, seeking Lord Markham, when I meet Gregory.
“My Lady?” he enquires, smiling. “May I help you?”
I have noticed the butler has been more friendly since Thomas had advised him of our plans to marry, and I meet his smile kindly. “May I enquire about the whereabouts of Lord Markham?” I ask. “I should like to share this letter with him.”
“I believe, My Lady,” he begins, “that he is in the study, having himself received a correspondence.”
I nod my thanks, and make my way across the hallway to the study. Knocking politely at the closed door, I await the voice of Thomas. “Come,” he calls; his tone is abrupt, and it startles me.
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