Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  I smile in response, picking up the small package in front of me and slowly beginning to unwrap the paper. Thomas is ahead of me, ripping the paper from his package with uncharacteristic haste, and I pause to see what is inside. He holds the contents out in his hand, and to my surprise I see that it is a large crimson mask, like the sort you might see at a masquerade ball. The piece is quite beautiful, and the attention to detail is astonishing.

  I shift my attention to Helena, who sits smiling at her place opposite us. “Go on, Lydia!” she implores me. “Open yours.”

  I comply without further hesitation, pulling my own mask from the paper. I hold the smaller, more ornate piece in my hands and consider its presentation; the material interlaces silver flecks on a predominantly gold mask. It is truly beautiful.

  “They are wonderful,” says Thomas beside me. “Is there something we should know with regards to the ball this evening?”

  Helena squeals like a small child, clapping her hands together. “Yes!” she exclaims, “tell them, William!”

  Lord William laughs at her response, taking her hand in his large palm to settle her as he answers. “As you may well have now presumed,” he begins, “we have planned a masquerade ball in your honour, Thomas. And since neither of you were privy to our plans, Helena has taken the opportunity to arrange these for you.”

  “Do you like them?” she probes, her tone eager for affirmation.

  My gaze travels once again to the mask in my hands. “They are quite superb,” I reply. “Thank you.” It is then that I consider the decoration; the gold hue will match perfectly the gown which we had prepared for this evening. “How did you know which colour I would wear?”

  “You must forgive me,” says Helena, her eyes smiling. “I knew that you travelled to Ripley before your last visit, so I took the liberty of contacting Mrs. Pemberley, who kindly advised me of your intended look.”

  “Of course,” I say, stunned by her initiative. “How clever of you!”

  “Indeed,” says Thomas. “I wonder what else clever Helena has planned for tonight?” he remarks wryly.

  His tone grabs my attention, and I shift in my seat to face him, the movement inadvertently agitating my punished behind.

  “You remember the last masquerade ball we hosted?” says William from across the table.

  “I do,” replies Thomas, putting down his mask and taking a sip of his tea. “Do you plan a similar event?”

  “Oh, this will be far grander,” comes the reply, “and surely more iniquitous…”

  Thomas chuckles into his teacup. “I am a married man now,” he says, shooting Lord William an accusing look.

  “Of course, we understand that,” answers Lord William sincerely. “And let me be clear, no one shall have to partake in anything which they do not wish to. Yet, you must allow the rest of us to play in your absence?”

  Thomas studies the gentleman in front of him with a smile. “Indeed I do,” he says, nodding his head. “You can all play, and I will be the happiest gentleman in the place!” His right hand reaches for me, finding and encircling my small left wrist.

  Lord William follows the movement with his eyes. “Of that you may be correct,” he says, smiling.

  A little disconcerted by recent events, I finish my breakfast quickly, pausing only to make small talk with the excited Helena. Once the meal is concluded, Thomas and I take our masks to our room, where I am met by Lucy, who is already preparing my new gown for the masquerade ball in the bedroom which was previously my own.

  I take the opportunity to share the news with her, showing her my new gift. She smiles, taking it from me as she offers her usual reassuring word. “I am sure His Lordship will ensure that you are neither harmed nor shamed, My Lady,” she says as she busies herself around me.

  “Yes, of course, you are right,” I say, wandering to the window.

  “And you will be the belle of the ball in this ensemble!” she continues.

  I turn to assess the outfit, now hanging proudly on display. Lucy is right—it is absolutely beautiful. “Are you well, Lucy?” I ask her, suddenly recalling my anxiety from the previous day’s arrival.

  She nods, as she walks toward me. “Yes, thank you, My Lady,” she replies. “Things feel calmer since we were last here, and Buckton has been on hand to look after me.”

  My ears prick up at the last comment. Something about the way she has said his name makes me wonder if Lucy is not quite sweet on Buckton. I give her an enquiring look, but she says nothing as she continues her work. At that moment the door to the bedroom opens, and Thomas is revealed in the doorway.

  “Shall we take a walk whilst the sun is out?” he says, addressing me at the window.

  Lucy falls into a curtsey at once, bidding him good morning. He smiles, gesturing for her to rise. “Thank you, Lucy,” he says, before stalking across to where I stand. “Lydia?”

  He offers me a small wink as he approaches, and I feel my core liquefy at the look in his eyes. “How lovely,” I reply, trying to suppress my arousal. “Lucy, do you have my shawl ready?”

  “Of course, My Lady,” comes the reply from behind Thomas. “I will fetch it for you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, transfixed by the towering Adonis who stands before me. Thomas seems happier and more relaxed than I have seen him since we left London, and the sight of him seems to quite take my breath away.

  We depart a short time later, arm in arm as we cross the lawns and head toward the large wooded area to the east of the house. The wind is suitably high-spirited for the time of the year, and yet even its best attempts do not dampen Thomas’ mood.

  We enter between two ancient trees, their branches providing something of a windbreak. The roots though prove to be somewhat treacherous, and more than once Thomas has to catch me as I lose my footing. At length we find a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees, but with enough sunlight to warm the area. It is here that we pause, Thomas pulling me at once into a hard embrace.

  “I should like to thank you for making my day so special,” he says, giving me one of those looks that makes me clench my tender muscles.

  “Your day is far from over, My Lord,” I say playfully. “I hope that it can continue to please you?”

  “It will,” he replies, tugging me at the waist and drawing our hips together. “I know because I am going to have you again and again, anywhere and everywhere I please.”

  I inhale sharply, totally unprepared for his statement. “Yes, My Lord,” I murmur, watching as he lunges gently at my neck, planting kisses at the nape where he so loves to caress.

  “That is the correct answer,” he breathes, between kisses. “You, my love, are my perfect gift—a wife who is as worthy of me out of the bedroom as she is within it.”

  I gasp as his mouth roams to my chest, the stubble of his face tickling my soft skin as he goes. Using both of his hands he grasps my bosom, pushing my breasts together inside my soft gown and planting his mouth in the space between them.

  “Thomas!” I gulp, stunned and yet excited by his behaviour.

  “I want them bared,” he growls from my chest.

  “But, My Lord,” I begin, “we cannot…”

  Yet his hands are already behind me, loosening the fastening of my day dress and tugging the fabric from my shoulders. It collects at my hips, and without the protection of my stays, leaves me bare from the waist up, apart from the security of my shawl which still hangs loosely over my shoulders. Being exposed in this way in such a public place is shocking. I am absurdly vulnerable, and yet for all of my defencelessness, there is that part of me which is eager for more. Not waiting for my consent, Thomas continues, massaging my breasts together as he had done before, and pushing his face into them whilst his thumbs find my nipples, already pebbling from the temperature in the clearing.

  “You are delectable,” he tells me, pausing to lift his eyes and look up at my face, which no doubt portrays the confusion I feel o
n the subject.

  “But, Thomas?” I say, breathless at the sensations he is creating.

  He stands, but continues to handle my breasts, his fingers shifting so that they tweak and pull at my nipples roughly. The feelings, though rather painful, elicit the most shameless excitement from my body, which once again betrays me with its need.

  “Yes, my love?” he asks me, the wind catching his hair as he towers over me.

  “What if we are seen?” I say.

  “Who will see us here?” he enquires, pinching my buds a little harder.

  It is then that I realise his motivation for our walk had been for this to transpire. It is what he had intended all along!

  “And even if they do,” he continues. “You are mine, Lydia, and if I choose to play with these glorious breasts in the woods, then play with them I shall…”

  I want to melt into his hands, his words making me feel giddy and unsteady. “Thomas, please,” I begin. “When you do such things, I want you to make me yours again.”

  He grins, his smile wicked. “Oh, I will, my love,” he replies. “Today you will offer me every hole you have, and since I have already had the pleasure of one, it is time I took another…”

  I eye him wildly, bewildered at the statement, but his right hand rises gently to my mouth, stroking my lips gently. “Down on your knees,” he orders sensually.

  I look at the ground around me. It is mainly grassy, yet there are some patches of muddy earth. “Here, Thomas?” I gasp. “But, my gown?”

  “To hell with your gown,” he growls. “I will buy you another, or maybe I shall make you go without one at all? Now, do as you are told, before I strip you and spank you!”

  His tone is firm, sending shivers of excitement through my body as I stare at him, aghast. I respond after a moment, looking to his face as I move gingerly to my knees in front of him. My breasts, bared and stimulated by his torment, hang free at my chest, and I watch, hypnotised as my husband frees his proud organ from the front of his breeches.

  “Take me in your mouth, Lydia,” he commands me. “As you have done before.”

  I kneel up, clasping the side of his shin with my left hand as I assess his length. Clearly already aroused, it throbs just beyond my mouth, every inch of him needing to be satiated. I part my lips, breathing in the scent of him as I close my mouth around his head. The moan which leaves his lips is incentive enough to continue, and boldly I push myself down his shaft. I move until I feel him hitting the back of my throat, the sensation producing reflexive tears. The patch of dark hair I find skims my nose before I draw back, seeking his face for approval.

  “That is heaven, my love,” he says, as his right hand finds my head. Those long digits move in between the strands, undoing all of Lucy’s effort in little time. Buoyed on by his words I take him once more into my mouth, feeling his hardness as I tease the end with my tongue. His fingers tighten in my hair as I continue, pushing himself deep inside of my mouth. Thomas begins to find his own rhythm, thrusting of his own accord into my waiting lips. The whole time I remain on my knees, compliant and bared as he pleasures himself in my mouth.

  I lose myself in the act, the taste of him suddenly the centre of my entire world. I had no idea how brazen I could be until this moment; even my past spankings in his carriage are not able to rival this experience of outright, shameless audacity. The groans from my husband grow louder, and it is then that I notice his thrusts into my throat have become more adamant. I baulk a little at the new intensity, seeking to draw away just a little, but his hands hold my head firmly in place. The unspoken message is clear; that I belong right here, on my knees in the dirt whilst I offer him pleasure. I know I should be appalled, but based on the growing wetness at my core, there is no denying the way this debased treatment makes me feel.

  The growing passion mounts until all at once it peaks, his climax hitting the back of throat with unexpected force. I pull away out of instinct as my mouth fills with his hot fluid.

  “Swallow as best you can,” he purrs from over me, and as my eyes search north they find his own penetrating stare, watching me as I do my best to comply.

  He stands there, steadying himself against me as he rides the waves of his pleasure. Finally, able to move back a little, I use my tongue to lap at him as I swallow the remainder of his seed. The taste is as I had recalled, only rather sweeter than before. I marvel at the many ways there are to pleasure a gentleman, even right here—in the woods!

  Thomas sinks to his knees, catching me off guard as his face comes back into view. “That,” he says, tucking himself away as he refastens his breeches, “was utterly marvellous, Lydia!”

  I blush at the compliment—a somewhat ridiculous reaction when you are bared and on your knees in the clearing at Cranningford. “Happy birthday, My Lord,” I say, just as his lips come crashing against mine.

  Chapter Forty-Four: The Pleasure Rooms

  It is sometime later when I find myself curled against Thomas in our huge four-poster bed. The memories of our earlier debauchery swim in my mind, as though they are distant recollections, not the reminiscences of just a few hours ago. I watch the light slipping from the window, listening to the comforting sound of my husband’s heartbeat as I recollect our arrival back to the house. I was fortunately dressed again by this point, but much of our transgression must have been obvious from the condition of my day dress, which was soiled heavily by the grass and mud in which I had knelt.

  Embarrassment stirs in me again, and I shift against his body, rousing him from his own thoughts. “Are you well, my love?” he murmurs, lifting his head to look down upon me.

  I shift my face so that I can see him. He looks relaxed and gleeful, as well he might—and yet I cannot deny him the pleasure he desires, on this of all days. “Yes,” I whisper, with a nod of my head. “I was just thinking about our walk earlier.”

  He smiles, knowing at once to what I refer. “Mmmm,” he answers, “we must walk there again soon. You looked most becoming on your knees in front of me.”

  “Thomas!” I say, suppressing the natural blush which rises to my face. “You must not say such things!”

  “Nonsense,” he replies flatly. “On the contrary, these are things which a husband should say to his wife.”

  I sigh, not wanting to disagree. “I am pleased that you enjoyed it,” I say bashfully, and he grins at my response.

  “My love, claiming your mouth is as near to heaven as I am likely to get,” he replies with a wink.

  I smile. “You are truly incorrigible!” I say, but I cannot help but laugh at his expression.

  “Guilty,” he replies, and his grin broadens.

  “What will happen this evening at the ball?” I ask, wanting to change the subject away from my own ignominy, and yet also genuinely curious about what is to come.

  He glances down at me, tucking his left hand behind his head. “I am not privy to any of the arrangements,” he confesses, reaching down to stroke my hair with his free hand. “But knowing William and Helena, it will be a glamourous affair, to be followed with every conceivable act of debauchery that you may imagine.”

  I gaze up at him, wide-eyed.

  “In fact, in your case, my love,” he continues, “there will be many more acts than you can imagine.” He ruffles my hair playfully as he chuckles.

  “You mean there will be carnal acts?” I ask, half-disgusted and half-enraptured at the prospect.

  “Certainly,” he says with a nod. “I suspect many acts will be on show this evening.” Seeing my face, he pauses and looks into my eyes with a new severity. “Worry not though, Lydia; you will not have to see or do anything which causes you concern.”

  I squirm at his words; an automatic response to the mental image he presents. “I confess that I am intrigued,” I reply, “yet I know I shall find some things shocking…”

  “Our ideas of what is outrageous can often bend over time,” he muses out loud. “For instance,
I should think a few months ago that you would not have imagined yourself accepting my crop? Or on your knees in the woods, either?”

  “Indeed, I would not,” I concur with a smile.

  “And you see, when you are ready, your boundaries can shift. I would never expect you to participate in any of the events William has planned for this evening, my love,” he leans down to brush his lips against my forehead, “yet there are a great many things which I should still like to share with you…”

  Something about this tone stirs me, or perhaps it is the words he chooses. For whichever reason, I shift, pressing myself further up his chest so that I may look upon his face more easily. His expression is calm, yet brooding, and I suspect he has dangled this latest information in front of me as a deliberate lure. “There are?” I ask him, daring to look him directly in the eye. “May I ask to which things you refer, Thomas?”

  He smiles, knowing I have taken his bait. “I am not certain that you are ready to know, my love,” he replies, watching me carefully.

  I squeeze my lower lip between my teeth, feeling my insides twist at his statement. Is he daring me to ask for more? “I think I am,” I whisper. “I should like to know and share everything which interests you, My Lord.”

  He closes his eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut as though he is swallowing down something painful. “Everything, Lydia?” he repeats, as his lids flicker open to reveal his thoughtful green orbs. “What if not everything you find out is decent and virtuous?”

  His gaze is intense, and the butterflies within my belly flutter blindly around me. “I should still love you, Thomas—whatever I find out.” My tone is so breathy that it is barely audible.

  He swallows, and I feel his weight shift below me as he rises up onto his elbows. I find myself now resting against his toned stomach, and I raise my eyes to look at him, suppressing the carnal urges which spring into my mind.

  Ignoring my expression, he tilts his head back against the pillows stacked behind him, and continues to stroke my hair as he explains. “I know I have told you some of what transpired when William and I were younger men. You know that we were wild, and not always the respectable gentleman we might have been?”