William rises from the chaise, apparently unable to stay seated, despite his plea to the rest of us. He stalks behind Helena, toward the fireplace, resting his hands on the marble mantel. As he turns the expression on his face startles me. He seems genuinely anguished. “I am sorry to say that I made unwelcome and unsolicited advances upon Lydia.” He looks to me directly as he moves forward. “Lydia, please—if you have it within you—you must forgive me. I have behaved incorrigibly.”
I bite down on my lower lip in an almost reflexive way, feeling the weight of all three gazes upon me. I turn to Thomas, as though I am unable to meet the eye of the man in the centre of the room. “Have you discussed the matter?” I ask my husband.
“We have,” he answers, “and as you see, William has not only admitted his err, but seeks to apologise and gain your forgiveness on the matter.”
I turn back to Lord William, who has moved back to the side of the chaise. “Are you really regretful, sir?” I ask him.
His eyes widen just a fraction as though he cannot believe I have asked him this. “Of course, My Lady,” he says, and then to my horror, he falls to one knee in front of me. “It was wholly wrong of me to try and take advantage of you. You made your feelings clear on the subject, Lydia, and still I pressed you on the matter.”
“It was wrong of you, Lord William,” I say, my voice low and surprisingly calm considering the torrent of emotions I am feeling.
“What did you do, William?” asks Helena from beyond her husband.
William flinches, and shifts to look upon her. “My darling,” he says slowly. “I sought to make Lydia my lover, but I know now that this was inappropriate and mistaken.”
“William, how could you?” gasps Helena, still playing her part to perfection. “Lydia was but a child when she last came to us. A maid, and clearly emotionally bound to Thomas. You had no right to presume you could take her.”
“The matter has been discussed at length,” interjects Thomas from beside me. “William’s behaviour was improper, and he knows it. He also knows the strength of my feelings on the subject. Further to this frank admission and apology, he has promised to never presume such a thing again. Whatever the history of the three of us, Lydia is now my wife, and I shall permit no other man to love her.”
Helena nods, rising from the chaise. “Of course, Thomas,” she says, coming to stand beside Lord William, who is still on his knees. “I am certain that William understands this now, do you not, My Lord?”
“I do,” confirms Lord William, his face sullen.
“Lydia,” says Thomas to my right. “William must know—as must we all—can you forgive him for his behaviour?”
I look from him, to the couple in front of me. My head is spinning, reeling from the numerous events which have transpired this evening. I am stunned by the frank display of contrition by Lord Pembroke, and yet I wonder deep down if I can really forgive him. I know that I will be reluctant to ever find myself in a room alone with him again. Still, I know I must offer clemency, for Thomas’ sake as much my own, and so I gather myself to pass verdict on the kneeling lord before me.
“Of course,” I say, my voice sounding uncertain even as I speak. “Of course I can forgive you, Lord William. We must all try to move forward from that day…”
Lord William stands, towering over me as he smiles. “I am a fortunate man indeed,” he says, reaching for my left hand and drawing it north to meet his waiting lips.
I inhale sharply at the sudden contact, a sound which I know is not lost on my husband, who rises from his seat and pulls me up with him. “Excellent,” he says, linking the fingers of his left hand into my waiting palm. “I second the words of my beautiful wife. Let us all try to move forward, and bury this ghost.”
Helena, still standing beside her husband, claps her hands together excitedly. “Let us have a toast to celebrate?”
I hear Thomas laugh, and turn to see him shaking his head. “Not on my account,” he says. “Besides I think Lydia and I have consumed enough wine for the evening.” He gestures towards my now empty glass, resting on the floor by my feet.
“Now, you must not blame your wife for that,” explains Helena, smirking. “I simply insisted that she must join me for another drink!”
“As I suspected,” replies Thomas. “And now I must insist that we retire. We have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”
We bid our goodnights, and make our way to the door. I follow Thomas into the darkness of the hallway, and allow him to take me to bed.
Chapter Forty-Two: Into the Darkness
“Can your mind rest a little easier now that William has proffered a sincere apology?”
Thomas fires the question at me as soon as he closes the bedroom door, turning to face me as I stand before the bed. I think for a moment, contemplating just how sincere Lord William’s apology had been, but choose not to press the point with my husband. My priority now is that he and his friend are at peace, and that Thomas can go on to enjoy his birthday.
“Yes, I think so…” I begin, but evidently I choose the wrong words, and the scowl on his face tells me so.
“You think so?” he repeats, his tone menacing. The sound makes the ball of tension in my belly furl into an even tighter knot. “What would have improved the experience for you?” he asks, moving from the door to where I am standing.
I let out a deep breath at his approach, my hands immediately drawing to his chest as though he has ordered it. “There is nothing,” I say, gazing up into his eyes. I know he will pursue the point until he knows my mind. “It is only that I am unsure whether to trust Lord William’s words, but I freely admit that I do not know him, and so I defer to your knowledge, My Lord.”
The use of his title stirs something within him, the resonance apparent on his face. His brow cocks instinctively, and his full lips part. I watch his face eagerly, enjoying the opportunity to observe my husband. His right hand rises to my hair and begins to unpick the fastenings in place there. Golden tresses fall loosely to my face around me.
“You will defer,” he says softly, his eyes drilling into me with intent. “And to ensure your peace of mind, I will make certain that I am always around to protect you.”
I smile at the idea, our eyes locking once more. “Thank you,” I whisper into his face, which is just a few inches over mine. “I truly am pleased that the matter has been settled without a quarrel between you.”
“As am I,” he says, stroking the side of my face with his thumb. “But it was time that William was put in his place on this issue—you, my love, take precedence now.”
My heart flutters at his words, but I push back, drawing his hand away as I lean into his body. The move takes him quite by surprise, and the look on his face is secretly pleasing. “No, My Lord,” I reply, meeting his eye again.
“No?” he enquires, standing his ground against my body.
“No,” I murmur. “You take precedence, My Lord.”
His eyes shimmer with delight at my statement, and I feel my heart accelerate at the rush of emotions between us. The fingers of his left hand are in my hair in an instant, applying just enough force to control me, moving my head to his desired angle. “Lydia,” he growls, in an almost painful expression of his lust. “I desire to have you so much, yet I know we are both weary from our travels and the long evening.”
I gasp at the intensity in those green eyes, the passion evident from them in even the weakest candlelight. “You must take what belongs to you, My Lord,” I whisper, goading him into action. “Particularly when the sunrise brings your own celebration?”
His fingers tighten in my curls, causing the waves of desire in me to rise. “You know this idea of a birthday celebration is little more than a ruse for our hosts to arrange a ball, my love?”
I smile. Of course I have been aware—birthdays are rarely celebrated in society—but as a male heir, Thomas has as much claim to one as anybody, save the king regent himself. “
I do, yet you may still enjoy it?” I answer just as his mouth finds the exposed skin of my neck and nuzzles there. “Oh, Thomas…” I murmur, quite unable to keep the desire I feel within the confines of my body.
He grins in response, bringing his head back to meet my eye. “Yes, I suppose I may do,” he says, a wicked look in his eye. “But first, there is the matter of once again possessing what is mine?”
I cannot take a breath at this comment, my tender core clenching at the words.
“And, also the matter of the additional glasses of wine which my wife chose to indulge in whilst I was with Lord William?”
His voice is low, and yet teasing, so I search his face for clarification. “I apologise,” I offer in haste. “I had no real desire for the extra wine, and yet Helena was so persuasive…”
“Yes, she can be,” he agrees, smiling at my desperate attempts to redeem myself. “I am pleased to see that the two of you are getting on so well now.”
“Yes,” I blush, recalling some of our candid conversation. “She is most certainly an interesting lady.”
“Indeed,” he laughs, but his expression becomes sterner as he pulls my head back ever so slightly. He manoeuvres me toward the edge of the bed and the wooden post, before leaning his body against my own. “I realise that I did not specifically forbid you to drink more wine, but I am still a little maddened to find that you did so without my permission. You know already how I feel about this subject. I control the alcohol you drink, and I should at least expect you to ask permission before you choose to indulge.”
My heart thrums loudly within my chest, threatening to burst from its walls with each new beat. “I am sorry,” I whimper, a feeling of genuine regret consuming me.
“I know you are,” he replies, his lips moving so closely to my own that I feel them grazing my skin. His hot breath washes over me, and the feeling of his soft stubble at my jawline is intoxicating. “And yet…” he pauses, pulling back and assessing me properly. “This is a real infraction, Lydia, and as such there must be a real consequence. I think it is time that your beautiful skin meets my crop again.”
Instinctively I flinch at the suggestion. It had been in this very room that Thomas had introduced me to his crop, and the memory of the hurt is still fresh in my mind. Clearly the look of horror on my face is evident, and his expression softens as he speaks again. “You must trust me to punish you, and know when to stop, my love.”
I relax, finally able to draw in another breath, but all at once the need in me furls tighter. It is inexplicable, and quite impossible to explain, but at this moment I want to yield once more; I need to become his—to satisfy him—and in doing so I desire for him to push my boundaries. “Yes, Thomas,” I say, the words slipping from my mouth like water from an upturned glass. “I trust you to deliver my punishment.”
His eyes widen a fraction at my response, and a look of devotion sets into his expression that I have never seen before. “My love,” he says, his voice rasping with need. “I will never abuse the faith you have in me.”
I nod, feeling myself tremble under his touch. “Yes,” I mumble, “but please, Thomas…”
My words fade away, and in truth I have no clue as to what I would ask anyhow. He presses his lips into a hard line, once more drawing my head backward and devouring my nape with his aggressive mouth. The sensations make me heady, and I know that my core is already wet with need for him. He moves back, our eyes meeting as his hands begin to claw at the fastenings of my gown.
“Let us rid you of this,” he purrs sensually as he loosens the final string. I watch—a passive observer—as he tugs the gown from my shoulders, releasing the swell of my bosom, and finally persuading the garment to pool at my feet.
“On to the bed,” he commands softly, and wordlessly I glide from my slippers, scurrying left to climb on top of it as he has asked. “Kneel,” comes the next instruction, “facing the tub, with your knees splayed and your arms behind you.”
I follow his words to the letter, feeling absurdly exposed and yet undeniably excited at my new position. He moves from my eye-line, and I know that he has gone to retrieve the crop. The mere idea that he has brought it with us on our bridal tour sends a new flood of arousal from me, the implement now as much the tormentor of my fantasies, as well as my nightmares. I kneel, my breathing ragged and my nipples tightening with anticipation.
“Lydia…” His voice is like a sensual torment itself, whirling around my body and enveloping me from his place at my rear. “Do you understand why I am going to use the crop on you?”
I twist to the left to try and see him. Somehow I need the reassurance of his face to comfort me. Sensing my wish, I feel the weight of him on the bed behind me and all of a sudden his clothed body is pressed up against my nakedness. His arms snake around me, his hands feeling the weight of my breasts as he speaks. “Look straight ahead, my love, but tell me—do you understand?”
I swallow, splaying my ribs against his embrace. “Yes,” I blurt out. “I need to be punished, but Thomas, you must allow me to confess that I fear that crop.”
The heat of his breath is against the left side of my neck, planting firm kisses there, and steadying me as I endeavour to control my own panting. “I know,” he says after a moment. “You are most brave for confessing both your needs and your fears. I will do my best to navigate them. For your part, my love, you must do exactly as you are told. Can you do so?”
I nod, catching my breath in an attempt to keep my emotions from unravelling.
“Tell me, Lydia,” he purrs, pressing the point.
“Yes, Thomas!” I reply, hearing the emotion in my voice.
He kneads my breasts at my response, gently at first, before massaging them more roughly. I relax a little into the exquisite sensations, allowing them to distract me from what is to come.
“I should like to bind you, Lydia,” he says from behind me, “and perhaps to gag your sweet mouth for the duration?”
I tense at the words. “Gag me?” I ask, my hesitation obvious. “Why, My Lord?”
He presses himself forward, so that his face appears over my left shoulder. I risk a side glance to catch his expression.
“You have always found pleasure when you have yielded to me,” he whispers, eyeing me intently as he speaks. “To be bound and gagged whilst I punish and claim you will serve only to heighten each sensation, and help you to surrender more completely. I believe that you will fervently enjoy it… but you have to trust me?”
It is my turn to eye him now, and I know I do so wildly as his words spin around my mind. “I do trust you,” I reply.
He nods, a small smile forming on his lips as he ducks back out of view. “Very well then,” he says. “We shall proceed. I will use only my softest cravats to bind and gag you.”
I shift my weight, all at once unable to keep still as I hear his small movements from behind me. The feeling of the silk at my wrists is next, as he draws one on top of the other, and secures them with a tight knot. I flex my fingers instinctively, but find there is ample room for them to move without restraint. The effect of the bondage is almost instantaneous and quite unfathomable. Almost as soon as I realise that I cannot move my arms, I desire to do so, pulling on and writhing against the cravat in the most animalistic way. The desire within me feels as though it may peak already, and Thomas has barely even begun to play.
“Settle down,” he chides me in a teasing way. I feel his body pressing hard against my bound limbs, his legs straddling either side of my own, and then his long arms come into view. Dangling from his right hand is yet another cravat, black silk this time, and he catches it in the other hand, flexing the material as he draws it toward my face.
I watch it coming toward me like a storm I know I cannot shelter from. “Thomas,” I whimper, and he pauses when the fabric is just an inch from my mouth.
“Hush, my love,” he soothes. “Trust in me to know when to bind and when to lash, and when to
pleasure…”
I still, drawing in one last deep breath through my mouth before the material slides in between my teeth. I feel him secure it at the back of my neck, and then it is done. I am gagged and bound, and kneeling naked on the bed as my husband backs away to look upon me. He stalks from his side of the bed, round past my left to stand before me. He strips away his coat and shirt as he does, nearly tearing at the buttons as he discards it. I ogle his body wildly, seeing his organ straining hard against his breeches, and yet I am too embarrassed to meet his eye. What must I look like, I wonder—gagged and bound this way?
“Oh, heavens,” he growls from beyond the bed. “You are absolutely magnificent, Lydia…”
His words are perfectly timed, and they give me just enough strength to lift my face and look at him. His expression is something like ecstatic torment, caught between his lusty appraisal of me and his desperate need to execute his plan. Knowing I can say nothing to either agree or differ from his view, I struggle against my binds futilely, feeling the sweet frustration at my predicament building within me.
Seeing my battle, he moves back behind me, collecting the crop from the side of the bed as he passes. “We may do better to begin with my palm,” he says wistfully. “Lower yourself, Lydia, to the bed. Use your thighs to allow you safe passage down.”
Breathing hard, I nod, splaying my knees wider as I slowly lower myself to the soft covers below. I press the right side of my face against the bedding, my eyes searching the new vantage to my left, but finding little more than the locked door in the half darkness, between the two dark shapes of the bedposts. I kneel this way, my body bound and folded, my emotions curled tightly into a waiting ball of desire. Thomas shifts behind me, and I know he is on the bed, although I can make out very little of his form until he moves to my left. He kneels at my hip, using his left hand to push my bound wrists slightly higher up my back, and exposing my bared and vulnerable behind to his waiting palm.
Taming Lady Lydia Page 36