To Tame A Countess (Properly Spanked Book 2) Page 24

  “Not much has been done upstairs,” Mr. Hargrove said, as she stared upward at the polished, refurbished chandelier. “Lord Warren expressed a wish that you might choose your favorite rooms, and decide on chambers for guests, and dressing rooms, and a nursery.” At this last, the older man blushed. “We were not expecting your visit for a couple more weeks.”

  A couple more weeks. Warren had planned to bring her here at the end of the season, had expected to. He had known all along things wouldn’t work out. The idea both comforted and devastated her. This beautiful, small property. He’d made it livable for her, not just livable but lovely and grand.

  She swallowed hard. “Lord Warren is not with me. I decided to come earlier.”

  As she said it, she heard the sound she had strained so long to hear, the sound of hoof beats through the open door. There was shouting and a ruckus in the newly paved courtyard. As she moved to the front of the house, she heard Lord Warren berating the London servants.

  “If I want you to take my wife somewhere, I’ll goddamn tell you as much,” he bellowed. “She may be Lady Warren, but I’m the master of the house.”

  She put a hand to her lips. Tears threatened again. He’d come after her, but oh, he was so angry. She watched as he stalked around the side of the entryway. His boots and breeches were covered in dust, his coat only half done up. He looked disheveled as he kicked through the neat beds of flowers and faced her.

  Sun slanted across his features, and in that moment, she saw the tiger’s eyes in his gaze. She saw the protector in him plain as day, so she could only stare in bewildered recognition, wondering how she’d never noticed it before.

  “Won’t you come inside?” she asked when she found her voice. “Won’t you come see? It’s so beautiful, what you’ve had them do.”

  His glare drilled into her. Despite her fear at his obvious fury, she felt a hot and awful joy.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and let them down again. “I don’t trust myself not to abuse you if I come inside.”

  She spread her fingers on the newly installed door frame. “I know you would not abuse me.”

  “But I’d spank you awfully hard. No, perhaps I really would abuse you this time. I’m feeling rather at the end of my tolerance.”

  The servants disappeared, every one of them. The bustling business of the lord’s arrival had transformed into a tense and lonely silence, with only the two of them to untangle their affairs. She could barely raise her head to look at him.

  “You cannot continue to run away from me,” he said after a long moment. His voice held steady but his blue eyes blazed. “I told you last time that it couldn’t happen again.”

  “I didn’t run away. I told you I was coming here. Why, you had it prepared it for me.”

  “Had it prepared—?” He blew out a breath. “It was to be a surprise. I wanted you to have a home you could be proud of, a home we could share. I thought perhaps we could spend holidays here, or have secret getaways from the larger manor. I thought we could bring our children when the weather was pleasant.” His voice rose along with the color in his face. “I wanted to make you happy. I’ve tried to make you happy.” He took a step closer, emotion contorting his features. “My God, why did you leave me? Why do you hate me when all I want to do is help you?”

  She reached out to him, terrified of his anger, but more terrified at the vulnerability in his gaze. “Won’t you please come inside? You must see what they’ve done. It’s too magnificent.”

  The blaze in his eyes darkened to a fire. “Certainly, I’ll come inside with you. If that’s what you really want.”

  *** *** ***

  Warren worked to master himself as he followed her into the manor. After his drunken night, his shock at her departure, and his wild ride here, he was not at all sure he would treat his wife with proper respect.

  But she hadn’t treated him with proper respect. He gave a cursory glance around the bottom floor, at the staircase and gleaming floors, and the tall windows admitting ample light. He was so angry with her, so furious. How dare she invite him inside this house like a bloody queen, when he was the one who’d restored it?

  For her.

  He’d restored it because he wished to please her and make her love him. He wished her to feel more worthy in society, being in possession of a fine home. Little good his efforts had done. He took her arm and drew her into the westernmost parlor, which was the most private, and firmly shut the door.

  She pulled from him and backed away, no longer the gracious queen of the manor.

  “You’re afraid now? You invited me in,” he said. “You might have kept me outside. This is your land and your property.” He flung the words at her in an immature tone.

  “I didn’t want to keep you outside.” She stood by the window, her hands clasped in front of her skirts. “You’re my husband. I wish us to be civil.”

  “You weren’t civil last night. Come here, Josephine.”

  She turned her head the slightest bit. It seemed a pitiful and yet erotic gesture. He was frightening her, and worse, he meant to. “Come here,” he repeated in a louder voice.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to do what I ought to have done last night, and what you surely deserve today. I’m going to spank you until you can’t sit down.” When she didn’t come, he went to get her, pulling her resisting form to a nearby chair. He sat and flung her across his lap. “You remember the last time you ran away?” he asked in a hard voice, tossing up her skirts. “What happened to you then?”

  “No,” she cried. “Don’t do this.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to.” He corralled her wrists and held them against her arching back. “I thought that punishment would have been harsh enough to prevent a repeat performance.”

  He began to spank her, sharp, stinging blows meant to teach a lesson, or perhaps only disperse his emotional pain. He ought not to be spanking her in this mood, but he didn’t know how else to proceed without falling into a pile of brittle-edged pieces.

  “I didn’t run away,” she gasped, crying out at each firm smack. “I didn’t.”

  “You did.” He gave her another volley of wild wallops. “You snuck away in my carriage like a thief in the night.”

  “Because you wouldn’t let me go. You wanted me to be better, but I won’t ever be better. Ow, ow, ow!” Her bottom was flame red already, reminding him of the severe strapping he’d given her the last time. And what had it changed?

  “Please, don’t,” she cried again, struggling to get away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I’ve failed you time and again.”

  He paused, sucking in a breath. Failed him? He wasn’t so certain now who had failed whom. He released her, pulling her upward into his lap. Oh, Josephine, what do I do? Where do we go from here? She smelled of sunshine and flowers, and everything he needed. He buried his fingers in her hair and pressed his lips to her breasts, her shoulders, her throat. She held onto him, wincing as he twisted his fingers in her curls.

  “Damn you,” he whispered. “God damn you.” He kissed her, a punishing kiss, violent and feral. It was a kiss to reclaim her, to subdue her. He wanted to lock her in a tower until she understood how much he loved her. How to make her understand? Not through force and anger, and constant recrimination. What a blundering arsehole he’d been.

  He broke away and pressed his cheek to hers. “I never wanted you to leave. Never, not in a thousand years. I love you. No matter what I say, no matter what I do. God, I’m an idiot.” He spread his hands on either side of her face, cupping her cheeks between his palms. She had been so brave; she had tried so hard to please him in so many ways. “You haven’t failed me, Josephine. I’ve failed you. I’ve tried to make you into something you’re not, something you should not be. I’ve watched you struggle and be very unhappy, and I kept pushing you anyway to be what I wanted, when you are already magnificent and unique. I wonder if I haven’t been as bad as Stafford, causing inj
ury to you.”

  “You haven’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t say such things. You saved me when you married me.”

  “No. I’ve hurt you.” He brushed his palm across her round, pert bottom cheeks, now sore with the evidence of his temper and will. “I’ve hurt you time and time again. Someone ought to save you from me.”

  She put her head down against his shoulder, and he realized she was crying. He shoved her face against his neck, punishing himself with the heat and moisture of her tears, the very evidence of how much he’d damaged her. He could have cried too, for all the pain he’d caused. “I’ve been selfish and demanding,” he muttered in a self-reproachful litany. “I’ve punished you for things that aren’t your fault.”

  “No. Well, perhaps. But you saved me from a miserable life with Stafford. You listened when I poured out the bleak, awful feelings in my heart. You saved me from loneliness. You can never understand how lonely I was.” She raised her head and looked into his eyes with a faraway sort of gaze, before she really seemed to see him. “I’ll never forget that you saved me. That’s why I love you so, and why I wish… I wish I could be the sort of countess you need.”

  “The sort of…?” He hated himself. “I don’t give a damn anymore what sort of countess you are. I love you, Josephine. When I came home and realized you’d left, I barely knew how to go on.”

  “I thought you’d be grateful. Last night I humiliated you in front of every one of your friends. I never say or do the right things. I’m not proper or ladylike the way I should be, and I doubt that will ever change.”

  He groaned, holding her tighter. “You’re impossible, you really are, but I can’t bear to be away from you. I think I’d rather go about in society with a wife who isn’t quite tame. Eccentricity is occasionally accepted, especially if it is dispensed with the proper élan. I think half the guests at the Parliament dinner admired you for cutting up at Westmoreland. You were so showy about the whole thing.”

  A laugh escaped her, a strangled, smothered giggle she buried against his coat. “I’m sorry. It was very bad of me. I hardly remember what I said.”

  Then he was laughing too, great belly laughs erupting from the shambles of his soul. “It was terrible of you. And so terribly hilarious. I warrant no one has ever dared give Westmoreland such an earful about anything. They say you scowled at him through every word.”

  “I’m afraid I did.”

  He couldn’t stop laughing now, and embracing the wild and inappropriate creature in his arms. This wonder, his half-tame wife. He tilted her head up and kissed her, a kiss for acceptance and passion, and merriment, and love. She wound her arms inside his coat and around his back, holding him near. “I didn’t want to leave,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “Then why did you, naughty girl?” He grasped her nape to hold her still for more kisses. She moaned as he pulled back and gave her a stern look. “No more running away from me, Josephine. Not for any reason. Do you understand me? No more.”

  “No more,” she promised as his grip on her neck tightened.

  “You belong with me always, at my side. My countess. My lover. My wife.”

  She clung to him, making small, anxious sounds as he whispered kisses down her neck. “But…”

  He paused. “But what?”

  “But what if I’m never accepted? What if I harm your social standing, and your career?”

  “Then we shall carry on as we may, and make the most of things for our children’s sake. I’m sure between the two of us, we can create attractive enough boys and girls that a bit of family eccentricity won’t ruin their chances at a match. If they have even half your beauty…”

  Her tears had never fully gone away, and now he saw them start anew, a great gush of guilt and misery. Well, she wouldn’t be cured of her misgivings in a day. He’d spend a lifetime reassuring her if he had to, a lifetime convincing her that she was wonderful and beautiful, and perfect just as she was.

  “Don’t cry, dear love.” He stroked her hair for long moments, brushing away her tears, wishing he could brush away all the thoughts that troubled her too. “Shh, all will be well. Who’s to say our children won’t wish to avoid society too? There will be Maitland Glen for them to escape to, and Warren Manor. And that cottage I still intend to build.” He sat straighter and tipped up her chin. “You see, I’ve thought about things last night, and all the long journey here, and I’ve realized that making society happy is not as important to me as taking care of you. What truly matters to me, what I truly wish to do in life, is to make you as content as you’ve made me. Yes, my career has always been important, my friends, my social standing, all that, but they were important before I met you. Since then, you’ve changed me, and you’ve changed my priorities too.”

  She reached up and put her hands on his cheeks. “I’ve changed you?”

  “Can you doubt it?” His laugh came out thick and clumsy, weighed down with emotion. “You didn’t know me before, but I assure you, I’m quite a new man. And I much prefer the man I am with you. I used to be a devil of a rogue, caring only for myself and my interests. It seemed fun at the time, but looking back, it was a sad sort of existence.” A thought occurred to him, ridiculous but wholly accurate. “You’ve tamed me, Josie, all the while I was trying to tame you.”

  It seemed hilarious again, to both of them. Her tears disappeared into one of her ungoverned fits of giggling, the sort he hoped would increase with each week, each month, each year they spent together. This business of taming his wife was a blasted nuisance, and Warren thought he was more than done with it. Let her be wild in her rebellious way, if that was who she really was. He’d be there to look after her and shelter her from the worst consequences, as her tamely domesticated keeper.

  Baga lika. She awed him, with her strength, her heart, and her perseverance. At some point, he would have to research the native translation for “tiger wife.” But not now.

  Right now, he had to take her someplace private, with a large, comfortable bed.

  Chapter Nineteen: Love Like This

  They ended up at Warren Manor, because the upstairs rooms at Maitland Glen were not yet finished. The staff at his manor home hadn’t expected them from London for a couple weeks, but they put together a fine dinner anyway, and the rooms were always kept in readiness for unexpected guests.

  And, of course, the manor offered certain disciplinary necessities that Maitland Glen lacked.

  Josephine waited upon a chair in his bedroom, her knees pressed primly together. Her brows went up when the maid tapped at the door and delivered a covered tray.

  “What did you think?” Warren asked with a half-smile. “That you’d escape with no consequences whatsoever?”

  “You spanked me once already,” she reminded him. “Quite hard.”

  “An over-the-knee spanking, for less than a minute. No, the past two days’ shenanigans deserve a proper consequence to disperse any lingering tensions. You agreed it was necessary. Have you changed your mind?”

  She stared up at him. He could see the dread she felt, and the longing also. They both understood these intimate acts of discipline calmed her and brought them closer together. She lowered her face, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “I haven’t changed my mind. I deserve to be punished. I’m sure Westmoreland will want to know that you’ve put me in my place.”

  “Westmoreland would probably like to take a sturdy birch rod to your bottom, but luckily for you, it’s my job to discipline you, not his.”

  She gave a little shiver as he walked to the corner where he’d secreted a schoolroom cane. Her eyes went wide.

  “May I change my mind about the necessity of punishment?”

  He tapped it against his palm. “I’m afraid not. I’m sure you believe I’m being too strict, but I don’t think a hand spanking or a hair brush paddling will suffice in this case, with two such outrageous infractions. Even the strap…”

  As he named off these implements, her shivers in
creased. “I’ve never been caned. Will it hurt even worse…worse than the strap?”

  He looked her up and down, wishing to communicate gentle trust, while simultaneously scaring the tar out of her. “You may inform me afterward which you believe hurts worse.”

  Of course he wouldn’t cane her full out, as his schoolmasters used to do when he was a reckless and disobedient pupil. He’d make it hurt just enough that she would feel expiated, and when she felt better, he would too.

  “Come along then.” He tapped the high expanse of his bed. He preferred to dole out the stricter punishments in here, rather than the ruffled bower where she slept. It was a mind game of sorts, a way to make her even more anxious. She approached the bed and bent over it in a provocatively reluctant way.

  Damn her, he was already hard, solid as a rock within his breeches. He rearranged his surging length and drew up her skirts, placing the cane beside her where she could see it.

  She promptly turned her head the other way.

  He tsked at her. “No, I put it there intentionally, so that you must look at it and think about what a naughty troublemaker you’ve been. You ruined the Parliament dinner party, didn’t you? And threw two households into upheaval with your overnight flight. Three households, counting this one, where they didn’t expect us for another fortnight. I imagine they know below stairs what the ginger is for.”

  She turned back to the cane with a soft, worried sigh, her blush deepening to the back of her neck. So charming, her sensitivity. By the time he’d worked the rather thick plug of ginger into her bottom hole, she was blushing indeed. That done, he set about undoing the back of her gown and divesting her of every stitch of clothing before bending her back over the bed. He took off his own coat and waistcoat next, putting them aside for his valet with slow deliberateness. His cravat came after, the pin set into a jewelry box.