Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  I hesitate for a moment, uncertain of how to best answer this question given the mounting circumstances. “I was coming to wait in the library,” I begin, “when I overheard something of your discussion, My Lord. I simply cannot believe that Lucy could be guilty of such a crime.”

  Lucy turns to me, her eyes streaming with tears, and I see the gratitude that radiates from them toward me. Lord Markham, on the other hand, seems less impressed with my performance. He moves forward, his face darkening with anger at my statement. “Thank you for your contribution,” he says, now towering over me, just inches away. “However, this does not concern you. Go and wait for me in the study, please.”

  His tone is deep and unmoving. His eyes send me the unspoken message to obey, and not to push my luck any further. For some reason however, I seem quite unable to do so. “Wait for you?” I say, barely suppressing the indignation in my voice. “Is Lucy not my maid? Can I not thus have a say on this matter?”

  From behind Thomas I see Gregory inhale deeply at my comment.

  “Lydia,” Thomas says through gritted teeth. “Do as you have been asked. Now, please…”

  I eye him wildly, both embarrassed to have been spoken to this way in front of the staff, and enraged that my opinion counts for nothing. I turn on my heel, dashing from the room in an awful mood. I cross the hallway in a blur, barely acknowledging the other staff as they go about their duties. It is not until I find myself in his study alone, that I begin to replay the events, and wonder just how much trouble my brooding scene is likely to have landed me in.

  The question is answered a few moments later, when the door to the study is burst open and in strides Thomas. His face is like thunder, yet he closes the door behind him with care, before turning to face me. “What in God’s name was that petulant performance all about?” he demands.

  I rise from the chair I had been waiting in, my emotions swimming around my head. On the one hand I am angered by his approach, and still stinging from the way the countess had spoken to me. And yet, I know also that I behaved badly by encroaching on what was clearly a private meeting, and speaking to him rudely in front of Gregory and Lucy. In the end, it is contrition which wins out. “I am sorry,” I whimper, wringing my hands in front of him. “I had genuinely come to wait for you in the library, and I had not intended to intrude until I heard what Gregory was accusing Lucy of doing.”

  “That,” begins Thomas, moving toward me in an almost predatory way, “is no excuse for the way you behaved in there.” His voice is almost a growl, and for the first time in weeks I feel something akin to fear in his presence.

  “I know, and I apologise,” I say, dropping my head.

  He sighs deeply, a sound which seems to fill up the room. “You deserve a trip over my knee for such impertinence, young lady,” he says. “But first, you will tell me why you were heading to the library at all. I left you with Mother in the drawing room, did I not?”

  Now it is my turn to sigh. “You did, My Lord,” I reply. “But I simply could not stay, not after the things the countess said!”

  Thomas moves around me, seating himself at the edge of his desk. His right hand moves to his temples, as though he can barely process all of the information at once. “Well,” he says after a moment. “Tell me what she has said?”

  I move toward him, but stop when I see the expression on his face. “She said that she would prefer you marry a former admirer, and that she intends to use the next few days to make you change your mind about our marriage,” I answer. “And that I am fooling you, but I cannot fool her!”

  His face contorts as he hears the words, and for a moment I am wrecked with fear that he simply will not believe me. “I swear, Thomas, I speak the truth. These words really were told to me!”

  He nods, and I see the acceptance on his face. “I am sure of it,” he says flatly. “I am just disappointed by the news.”

  Relief spreads over me at his understanding, yet I am still filled with insecurity and hurt at the countess’ words. “Who is this other suitor to whom she refers?” I ask, the emotion in my voice evident.

  Thomas crosses one long leg over the other and looks at me. “I assume she speaks of the Lady Elizabeth Brooks,” he sighs. “She was once in attendance at William’s parties, and I knew her briefly.”

  I am astounded by the news. “Does the countess know how the two of you were acquainted?” I enquire.

  “I am not certain,” he admits. “But it matters not now. Elizabeth meant nothing to me, despite the unlikely friendship she seems to have nurtured with my mother.” He pauses, and I wait, absorbing the new information. “Tell me, Lydia.” His voice is softer as he continues. “How did you manage this discussion with the countess; were you insolent?”

  “I was angry,” I confess timidly, “which is why I chose to depart the drawing room and find you, Thomas.”

  He leans back against the desk, stretching out his long limbs. “Very well, Lydia. I now understand your motivations for being in the library, but I will add that I do not condone your behaviour there. Surely you know better than to act this way?”

  Blanching, I find myself biting my lower lip as I answer. “I do. I know it was wrong, but Thomas, I was just so enraged by the accusation against Lucy!” I spread my arms wide to illustrate the exasperation I feel. His face remains impassive, and he is clearly unmoved by my plea as I press on. “My Lord, may I ask about the details of the accusation now?”

  He stands, moving back toward me. “You may,” he says, pressing a long kiss into my forehead. “You may always ask me about things in private.” He emphasizes the final word, and instinctively I raise my head to look into his eyes. “It seems that the countess has made the allegation…”

  “The countess?” I ask, stunned that she may have a hand in this event.

  “Mmmm,” he agrees. “Apparently one of her pieces was taken from the vanity dresser in the guest room, and since Lucy has been looking after her today, she reported the theft to Gregory.”

  “Taken?” I repeat. “Perhaps it has just been moved, or misplaced?”

  “Perhaps,” agrees Thomas. “Gregory had just raised the issue with me, and I was talking to Lucy about the matter when you arrived so unexpectedly…”

  “Oh,” I reply, feeling the guilt spread into heat across my face.

  “Indeed,” he says, a small smile crossing his lips.

  “Thomas, I am sorry,” I reply. “I could just hear the desperation in Lucy’s voice, and I wanted to protect her!”

  “A very honourable act,” he agrees, a trace of a sardonic tone in his voice. “But I wonder why you could not trust me to manage this? Have I not always been fair and reasonable? Do you think I would have punished Lucy without proof?”

  “No,” I whimper, feeling more awful as each moment goes on. Thomas is right; I should have trusted him enough to know he would be just and rational. “I was so wrong, Thomas,” I confess, my eyes burning with tears.

  “You were, my love,” he says, embracing me. “You must learn to trust me. Know that I will always listen to you, and that I will support you. But…” I tense at the sudden change in his tone. “That does not mean that I will not take you in hand.”

  I nod, pressing myself into his hard body, finally yielding to his words. It is at that moment that something else occurs to me. “The countess said something else,” I say, pulling myself back to look up at him. He gazes at me quizzically, but allows me to continue. “She said that you would seek to control my petulance…”

  “Really?” he enquires, his face changing into a look of confusion.

  “Yes,” I gasp as the realisation dawns on me. “She must know, Thomas! She must know that you like to discipline me.”

  “Well, I never!” he says, considering my words with a wry smile. “Perhaps Lady Brooks has divulged more than I had anticipated?”

  “But, Thomas!” I press on, “how awful! How can I look her in the eye knowing this?”r />
  “Do not fret, Lydia,” he says. “If it is true that she has garnered some knowledge about my preferences from Elizabeth, then it is probable that she is merely using this information to attack you. She knows that she has lost this battle—I am going to marry you—and there is not a thing she can do to halt the proceedings. She does so loathe to lose…”

  I consider this, settling back against him.

  “At any rate, it has no bearing on events which will transpire,” he says, kissing me gently again. “Her malicious words will not change a thing.”

  Blinking up at him, I force myself to smile. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “I must confess that I have grown to quite adore you, Lydia,” he says, flashing a wide smile at me. “As such, I will do everything within my power to respect and honour you, including standing up to my mother.”

  “And the missing jewellery?” I probe.

  “Well,” he says, pulling me tightly against him. “Once I have the opportunity I will speak with Lucy again. I too agree that there is most likely a reasonable explanation for these events.”

  I swallow hard. The idea that the countess may have acted twice in the evening to try to create upset in the house is disturbing. I had so hoped that she might have meant her words, and truly tried to accept our marriage, but the experiences tonight would seem to suggest not. I cannot help but sigh, the weight of the burden feeling heavier than ever.

  His right arm snakes around me even further. “Lydia,” he purrs. “Look at me.”

  The tone of his voice is compelling, drawing out the submissive side of my nature, and I look to him at once. “Yes, My Lord?”

  “I do not want you to worry about these things,” he says. His voice is serious, and I can see by his face that he means it. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Thomas,” I say, feeling myself surrendering to his will.

  “Good,” he replies. Leaning in toward me, his mouth finds my own, his lips crashing against me. Instinctively I open to his dominance, my eyes closing as his tongue explores me gently. As he draws back, I am left with the deepest yearning for him, and yet I feel somehow settled and calmed by the sensual contact. “And now, my love,” he whispers into my left ear. “There is the matter of your spanking.”

  I tense, my breath quickening almost on command.

  “Do you not deserve to be punished for your performance in the library?” he asks, eyeing me intently.

  “Probably, yes,” I whimper, nervous energy whipping through my body. I know he is going to spank me again, and I know that it will hurt in the most delicious way.

  “Then, join me…” he says, taking my left hand and guiding me toward the large chair at the rear of his desk.

  He has spanked me whilst being sat at this chair numerous times now, and somehow just the look of the thing excites me. I watch as he positions himself, before beckoning to me to climb across his lap. I move as though I am sleepwalking, my actions slow and deliberate as I consent to the penalty. Once I am in place, I feel him draw the back of my evening gown up toward my shoulders, and a moment later my petticoat joins it. His hand comes to rest against my expectant and exposed behind, and reflexively I hold my breath.

  “Here we are again, my love,” he says serenely. “Thank you for accepting your punishment. You are to receive twenty-five swats to your bare bottom for your disrespectful behaviour. You will count each one, and thank me at the very end. Do you understand?”

  I hear his voice in an almost distant way as my eyes acclimatise to the now familiar perspective of the rug behind his desk. “Yes, My Lord,” I say, hearing that husky, needy tone in my voice.

  He begins at once, the first strike landing hard and firm against my bare skin. I gasp out of instinct, feeling the stinging sensation overwhelm the area. “One,” I whimper, bracing myself for the next impact. Once again he spanks me, forcing the air from my lips as I mark the number. My spanking goes on, falling into that heady routine of the sound and feel of each swat, the connecting pain at the blow, and the sensuality which consumes me. I do not try to fight him; I yield entirely. The act is cathartic. I punctuate each strike with the number of the impact. Being made to do this makes the whole thing feel even more denigrating than usual, and I feel my hips squirming against his breeches. The burning need within me begins to build, and as he continues I know my core has become wet with desire.

  All at once we reach the twenty-fourth strike, and as I number it, he pauses, resting his palm against my hot, inflamed flesh. “Lydia,” he purrs. “You have been spanked soundly for the disrespect you have shown me this evening, but you have taken your spanking so well.” His fingers caress my skin as he compliments me. “Now you have just one more strike.”

  I feel his hand leave me, and in an instant it comes cracking down back against my bottom. A small yelp leaves my mouth before I can form the necessary words. “Twenty-five, My Lord,” I gasp. “Thank you!”

  His fingers stroke my skin, soothing me, and then he draws my skirts south over my legs, as he pulls me softly up into his lap. “Come here, my love,” he says, and he plants gentle kisses on my face as I manoeuvre into position, wincing a little as my punished behind makes contact with his hard legs. Thomas pulls me into an embrace, and I go gladly, wrapping my arms around his torso. We hug for some time in silence, my head filled with both the simmering arousal I feel, and then strange conflicted emotions that his punishments always produce in me.

  “How are you, my love?” he whispers into my hair.

  I have found that Thomas likes to do this after he has spanked me, but it is a routine that I always find awkward. I do not know what to say, or even how to express the feelings which wash over me. “I am well,” I murmur in reply, hoping that this will be sufficient for him.

  “I am so lucky to have found a lady who understands, and dare I say, enjoys my discipline,” he remarks in an absurdly casual manner.

  I flush, meeting his eye for the first time since he spanked me. “I do not know what to say,” I say in a rushed whisper.

  He smiles at me. “Your face tells me everything that I need to know,” he soothes, “plus the way in which your body responds to me, of course.”

  I bury my face into his collar, aware of the embarrassment which burns there. He chuckles, allowing me to rest there for a moment. Once my shame has alleviated a little, a thought occurs to me. “Thomas?” I say, my voice sounding tiny.

  He gazes down at me. “Yes, my love?”

  I clench instinctively at his words, still enamoured every time I hear those words from his handsome lips. “Do you still spank Lucy, and the other maids?”

  I have barely had time to consider this notion before, but all of a sudden it seems pressing. The idea of the gentleman I am about to marry turning another woman over his knee, and spanking her in the same exposed and intimate way which he does to me, makes me feel nauseous.

  He eyes me intently, perhaps reading my thoughts from the look on my face. “I used to punish them—whenever the need arose—and I admit that I used to enjoy the responsibility.”

  I tense out of instinct, a jealous gnawing emotion clawing at me. “I remember seeing you spank Lucy on my first night,” I whisper.

  “Yes, that is right,” he says. “But to answer your question, I have not spanked any of the maids in my household since that night.”

  I draw away, watching him closely. “Has there been no need?” I ask, my voice portraying the uncertainty I feel on the subject.

  “Of course,” he laughs gently. “Young ladies often err, and need to be corrected, as we have seen this evening.”

  I blanch, pressing my lips together as he teases me. Choosing to ignore the remark, I continue. “Then why have you not done so?”

  He looks at me, his eyes searing in that way which makes me question whether he can see into my very soul. “Is it not obvious, Lydia?”

  I shake my head, catching my bottom lip between my teeth.
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br />   “Because of you,” he says sensually. “Because right after I spanked you for the very first time, I knew.”

  I gaze at him, my heart beating rapidly inside of my chest. “What did you know, Thomas?” I murmur.

  “I knew, Lydia,” he begins, “that there was something between us. I knew that I never wanted to spank anyone after you. Gregory takes care of the household discipline for me now, and that is how things shall remain.”

  By the time he concludes I can feel the tears welling in my eyes. “Thomas, I…” I pause, my thoughts reeling out of control. “Is it true? Did you really know so soon?”

  He presses his hot lips against me, grazing me with the sensual intensity as his arms cradle me tight. “Lydia Franklin, I had been waiting for all of my life—of course I knew.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Moments of Resolution

  I wake the next morning filled with a warmth I never experienced before. Despite the tenderness of my bottom, and the prevailing gloom from my window, I have never felt so contented, and I skip from bed with vigour. Lucy, still a little shaken from the previous night, says nothing, but I catch her smiling at me when she thinks I am not looking.

  Resisting the temptation to admonish her, I return her smile, seeking to offer her reassurance. “How are you today, Lucy?” I ask, as she fixes my troublesome tresses.

  “Well, thank you, My Lady,” she replies, and then she hesitates. “I want to thank you for defending me last evening.”

  “Of course,” I say at once. “I do not believe the allegations for one moment, and neither, I believe, does His Lordship.”

  She nods as she twists a curl into place. “Yes,” she replies. “Lord Markham came to visit me before he retired and ensured that I was innocent unless proof could be found, and I swear to you, My Lady, there will not be any. I would never dream of stealing from the countess!”

  “I know, Lucy,” I say. “I will do everything I can to support you.”