Any Wicked Thing (26 page)

Sebastian said nothing, just pointed to his bedside table. There, stacked up neatly, were four volumes. Worse and worse.

“I'll just leave now.”

“No. I said you must be punished, and I meant it.”

She lifted her chin in false bravado. “What are you going to do? Spank me?”

“An excellent idea. And it is your day, so I shall do as requested.”

“That was a question, Sebastian, not an order! You will not lay a hand on me!” She felt her panic mount, but glared at him with what she hoped was a completely quelling expression.

“All right.” He reached into the trunk again and came up with a quilted black satin paddle she had somehow missed in her exploration of his trunk. “This should fulfill your terms.”

“I have no terms! This is ridiculous!” His hand shot out and caught her at the elbow. “Let me go!”

“I find I am unable to perform all of your instructions today. They are somewhat contradictory. I did my best, you know. Respected your earlier wishes. Left you in bed when I thought you were unwell, and what was my reward? I came back to find you snooping. For shame.”

“I—I thought you'd be gone longer.” She tried to tug herself away, but he held fast.

“Sorry to disappoint. You were right; there wasn't much to see in the village. And I had a hankering for you, Freddie, fool that I am.” He brought her up against him. She felt the hard, angry length of his cock at her belly. “I'm going to spank you, and then I'm going to fuck you.”

There was no point reminding him again that it was her day. She could practically taste his fury. But really, his reaction far exceeded her transgression.

She was prevented from telling him so as he tied a length of silk around her mouth and bound her hands in front of her. Before she knew it, she was over his knee, her skirts hiked. He tore her linen drawers down and smacked her with the paddle.

Her father never spanked her, even when she deserved it, not that she often did. She'd been an obedient child, anxious to please him and the duke he worked for. She'd shadowed them in the library, sharpened their pen nibs, organized the stacks of papers that were strewn everywhere. She'd made herself indispensible. But now she was humiliated, unappreciated. She beat her bound fists into Sebastian's calf, but that did not slow the inexorable whump on her bottom.

She lost count of the strokes. She supposed they could be harder. The satin was hot against her, the friction bearable. She screamed into her gag, not so much from pain as from anger.

And then it was over. She heard him toss the paddle aside as it skittered on the rug. The blood rushed to her head, but he wouldn't let her up. His hands were heavy on her back and at the tops of her thighs, pressing her in place onto his lap. Frederica twitched as his lips came down on her, kissing her skin so lightly it was like being tickled by butterfly wings. He blew warm breaths on her warmer cheeks. She lay still as the hand that had cupped her arse slipped between her legs. A mortifying gush of moisture met it.

She heard the sharp intake of his breath, felt him explore her secret places with fingers so gentle she could not help but sigh herself. At least he could not hear her tacit approval of his actions, upside down and bound as she was.

At last, he pulled her up and bent her over the edge of the bed, her arms stretched above her head, her face on the coverlet and her arse embarrassingly on display. In seconds he was buried deep inside her, doing precisely what he said he would do. This was fucking, pure and simple. No pretty words, just near-violent thrusts as he gripped her waist, rocking, rousing her to a fever pitch. As if he knew the precise moment she was about to splinter apart, he withdrew and spattered her bottom with his seed, punishing her further. It was the first time he had not seen to her need, and she groaned in frustration.

He pulled her dress down roughly, not bothering to wipe her clean. He'd never before displayed this cruel side in all their previous games, and she hated him for it. But perhaps she ought to thank him for showing her his true colors. It would be easier to see the back of him at the end of the month.

Frederica pushed herself off the bed and stood on wobbly legs. Her drawers were down around her ankles, and she could do nothing until he untied her. She flashed him her darkest look, but he paid no attention, taking a key from his pocket and locking the trunk with a snap. One would think she had been trying to rob him—but he had nothing she wanted, she reminded herself. Certainly she no longer had any interest in his sexual aides. A man who needed such things was beneath contempt.

And she was worse, succumbing to his blandishments. Well, no more. Never again. She couldn't wait to tell him so, but first he needed to remove the muzzle from her mouth. But to her horror, he walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving her at a dreadful disadvantage. She couldn't seek anyone's help—no one could see her like this, could know what Sebastian Goddard had done to her. What she had done to herself. Her muffled shriek was useless.

Kicking off the undergarment at her feet, she clawed at the silk wrapped around her mouth until it fell below her chin. Instead of screaming after him, she muttered a string of creative invectives that appeased her anger but would not alarm the servants. She needed to free her wrists from their braided confinement. Sebastian's razor lay on his shaving stand, but whether she could use it without slicing herself to ribbons in the process was anyone's guess. So she set about chewing the knot at her pounding pulse with her teeth, like some frenzied animal. That was all she was, her civility and humanity stripped from her by a madman.

Who turned her to liquid even as he paddled her bottom. There was something wrong with her now. She'd better find a way to get herself under control, shut the lid on her Pandora's box of chaotic feelings just as Sebastian had locked his travel trunk.

But Frederica was afraid it was already too late.

H
ad she read either of the diaries? Probably not, else she would have wasted no time telling him so. A prideful girl like Freddie wouldn't much care to be listed amongst his other sexual affairs, although he'd been less descriptive about theirs out of some misplaced honorable impulse.

But his Egyptian journal—

He imagined the revulsion that would mar her beautiful face, but there had been only embarrassment at being caught going through his things. If she had known its content, she would have run screaming from his room.

He had spanked her, as she deserved for nosing about, but perhaps he'd let his anger—his fear—get the best of him. His dominance over her had not given him the usual thrill, nor had his climax been the release he craved. He was as tense as a man awaiting the hangman.

He should have ridden around the countryside as he'd intended. Atlas had expected it, but Sebastian had been unable to get the vision of Freddie in bed out of his mind. A lick of blackberry jam at the corner of her mouth. Her white night rail for once unbuttoned, revealing the swell of her plump, freckled breasts. Her golden brown hair escaping from its plait. He'd wanted to devour her instead of her toast this morning.

Sebastian was losing his structured control, the rigid walls he'd constructed around himself turning to gossamer. He was falling for Freddie—he'd almost forgotten it was she who betrayed him all those years ago. Of course she would want to pry into his past, search for clues to see how she could best manipulate him again. She'd gotten him back into her bed, hadn't she, with this ridiculous castle scheme. It had not been
his
idea to sleep with her.

He would put a stop to it. There was no reason he could not release the trust to her in its entirety right now. In fact, it was the only sensible thing to do so he could wash his hands of her. According to the diabolical guardianship the pater devised, he didn't have to wait until she turned thirty or married—he was free at any time to give her the money.
His
money, but there was no point crying over spilled milk. He'd see enough of it back when she paid him for Goddard Castle, and he would never have to deal with her again.

Sebastian smiled grimly. Yes, it was an excellent plan, one he would put in train as soon as he could. A few days, perhaps, just enough time to get Frederica Wells completely out of his system. To finish what they started, although really, he had little left to teach her. But tomorrow was
his
day, perhaps the last. He'd make use of her every single minute of it.

He returned to the stable, confusing the two grooms and probably Atlas as well. Sebastian had hours to kill before he ate his solitary supper. His saddlebag still contained the lunch Mrs. Holloway had given him, which Sebastian suspected the grooms had looked forward to eating themselves. He would go on a blasted picnic on the blasted moors, although May was improving the landscape with greening sphagnum moss, cotton grass and bilberry plants. With any luck, he wouldn't tumble into a peat bog and would live to fuck Freddie one last time.

F
rederica had spent a restless night, her sex still aching from Sebastian's selfish retribution. She awoke to gray skies and Alice's anxious face.

“His Grace said to bring you your breakfast in bed, Miss Frederica.”

Frederica sat up. “Oh, did he? How kind of him.” More than likely it was not kindness but guilt that accompanied her poached eggs this morning. She dipped a toast point in her bowl, watching the bread absorb the dark golden yolk.

“He also told me to tell you to meet him in the library in thirty minutes.
Or else
. Those were his exact words, miss. He seems awful grumpy today.”

Suddenly she lost her appetite. If he planned to beat her again out of anger, she had no intention of setting foot downstairs.

To be fair, he had not exactly beaten her. The satin paddle had been thickly padded and his strokes somewhat tame. And then there were all those confusing kisses afterward. But he had taken her roughly without a word of apology, and left her alone to extricate herself from his knots. She'd been very tempted once she had two free hands to toss his belongings all over the room, but
someone
had to show some restraint over one's temper.

Frederica had rarely seen Sebastian truly angry, not even when they were children. He generally handled any setbacks with resignation and some wit. Even his feeling toward his father had been more often exasperation than animosity. But that night ten years ago, Sebastian had been very angry indeed.

Yesterday she had incited him again. One would think he had a body buried in his trunk the way he'd reacted. Let him keep and protect his secrets. Whatever he did, whoever he was, was no concern of hers.

Frederica forced herself to eat half her eggs and toast and drink her tea. She took the time to sponge-bathe and perfume her body, braid and pin up her hair. She found a dress as colorless as the day, which suited her mood perfectly. Confident that she presented a clean yet indifferent appearance, she entered the library with five minutes to spare before she discovered what “or else” entailed. Sebastian was standing at one of the narrow leaded windows, what little light there was setting a gleam to his jet hair. He radiated a restless energy she could feel from the threshold of the room.

“Good morning, Sebastian,” she said briskly, as if nothing untoward had happened between them yesterday. Or the day before.

“We're going for a walk. Get the cloak from the kitchen.”

She knew the cloak was not for protection from the weather, but to cover the heather so he could lie with her. “But—surely it's going to rain again.”

He raised a black brow. “Your point?”