The Westerfield Affair (12 page)

“Are you all right?”

“Do you have to ask?”

He propped himself on one elbow and stroked the hair back from her face. “Yes, I must. Because much of our difficulty has stemmed from my not understanding you well enough. I told you once, I’m a fool with women. If I’m going to learn to make you happy, I must stop guessing and ask.”

She reached up and touched his face. “And if I’m going to make you happy, I must understand you. I am good at deciphering people, but I have met my match in you!”

He blinked at her. “Do you wish to make me happy?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“You foolish man,” she whispered. “Do you not know I love you? I’ve loved you since that first night you took me over your knee.”

Harry continued to look astonished.

“It was not the punishment,” she amended hastily. “It was the way you refused to let me go, afterward.”

He chuckled softly. “I see. So that is what you needed all along? You ran away yesterday to be test whether I would let you go?”

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “I suppose so,” she said in a small voice.

“And all the while, I’ve done the exact opposite, giving you a wide berth lest I smother you with my passion. Because I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you, Kitty.”

“Why?” she demanded.

He chuckled. “You keep asking that question. Who can answer why they love? I think it is the way you speak to me—so intimately, so teasing. You draw me out of my silence the way no one ever has.”

Her eyes filled with happy tears and Harry leaned forward and kissed her softly on the mouth, a tender, gentle kiss. She answered it, her lips parting and exploring his, her two hands coming to the sides of his face. When they separated, Harry pulled her in tightly against his large body. “I will never let you go,” he promised. “And I’m terribly sorry for all the ways I’ve hurt you.”

“Are you still going to spank me?” she asked in a tiny, muffled voice.

“Yes,” came his immediate reply, making her giggle nervously.

She pressed herself even closer to his body, snuggling in for comfort against the imagined punishment. “Now?”

“No,” he said, stroking her hair. “I wouldn’t spoil this moment for anything.”

She peeked her head out, confident now that she knew he enjoyed her teasing. “So which moment are you going to spoil?”

He chucked her chin, smiling. “I don’t know; perhaps I’ll keep you on your toes waiting for it.”

“No, Harry, please—just tell me?”

His face grew serious. “Tonight, then. Before bed.”

“But not with a switch?”

His lips curved into a smile. “Not with a switch, kitten. But if you ever try to leave me again, I’ll switch you every night for a week, is that understood?”

She ducked into his chest as if to hide. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her snugly against him, chuckling. “Now that I know the proper tool of correction, you’ll be easy to keep in line.”

Chapter Seven

It was amazing how different he felt from just a short hour before. The churning anguish he’d suffered during his overnight ride in the carriage was replaced with a bubbling joy. Everything was in its perfect place. He finally understood Kitty, or at least understood more of her, and the rest would be a pleasure to discover. He got out of the bed and washed his face in the basin before dressing.

“Is your brother here? I didn’t see him when I was admitted.”

Kitty was still lying on the bed, stretched out on her side watching him, apparently unabashed at her nudity. Seeing her like that, as if they were a long-married couple, deeply comfortable with each other, sent another swell of satisfaction through him.

“Turns out they’re visiting his wife’s family in York for a fortnight,” she said ruefully.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I know,” she groaned. “If you hadn’t come for me, it would have been pure misery here.”

He tried to keep a scolding expression, but hearing her admission lifted his spirits even more and he grinned. She rolled off the bed and he paused to take in the jaunty bounce of her breasts as she moved. Though he hadn’t desired children, he found himself imagining her pregnant with his child—how beautiful she would look with a full belly, breasts bursting with the promise of milk. He took another deep, satisfied breath and she smiled at him.

“You must be starving, my lord?” she inquired, starting to don her clothing.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“I’ll call for breakfast for you, and then would you like to go for a ride?”

“I rather thought I already had,” he remarked crudely.

She giggled and gave him her back to help her lace the corset—yet another pleasure of having a wife. He vowed he’d never allow Violet to help dress her if he was around to do it.

After breakfast, she led him out to the stables, where she was greeted enthusiastically by the stable hand. “Miss Kitty! Nay, it’s Lady Westerfield now, isn’t it?” The man peered behind her and bowed. “Lord Westerfield. Congratulations.” He saddled two horses for them—a dappled gray mare for her and a large chestnut stallion for him.

Kitty climbed up to sit sidesaddle on the mare and then turned back to him, giving him a wicked smile. “Catch me if you can!” she cried, and urged her horse forward before he’d even mounted the stallion.

He chuckled and led the stallion into a canter, following the graceful forms of horse and rider. Kitty’s long thick tresses trailed down her back, changing shape as she easily guided her mount. He marveled at how well she rode—as well as a man, even sitting sidesaddle as she was. He had to work to keep her in sight, with her advantage of knowing both her mount and the terrain, she had a fair lead on him. Occasionally she looked over her shoulder, laughing, taunting, and the primal act of chasing her down made his cock harden with anticipation.

She led him through the woods and over a small stream, up a heather-covered hill and back into more woods, pausing at last when she reached a stone wall. He dismounted and tethered the stallion, reaching her side and pulling her down off the mare, who sidestepped and chuffed in indignation.

Kitty’s eyes widened and he saw a flash of doubt, as if she thought she might be chastised for her game, until he relieved her of it by crushing her lips with his own. Her hands clutched at his arms for support and she tilted her head back in utter surrender, allowing him to trail kisses down her neck to the delicate hollow of her throat. The mare snorted again and he chuckled, taking the reins and hobbling her, before turning back to his lady.

He snatched her up against his body, one hand wrapping behind her back to squeeze her bottom and pull her against him. He pressed his thigh between her legs and she rocked her pelvis, rubbing her sex up and down on it as he kneaded her firm backside.

“I told you I would always follow,” he growled in her ear and she let out an unintelligible mewl. He walked her backward, their bodies still joined together until her back reached the stone wall. Then he disentangled himself from her arms and slowly turned her around to face it, placing her hands on the stone surface. “Allow me to show you what it means to be Lady Westerfield,” he murmured in her ear, dragging her skirts up.

She made a sound that was half protest, half encouragement.

“It means you must give yourself to me whenever and wherever I want it.” He ran his fingers between her legs, feeling the wetness of her sex through the linen of her drawers. “Can you do that, pussycat?”

“I—I don’t know,” she said in a wavering voice.

He found the slot in her drawers and slipped his fingers inside, gliding his middle finger into her juices and breaching her hole.

“Yes, my lord,” she breathed. “Yes—I shall try.”

“Good girl,” he purred in her ear, and pulled the tie on her drawers to lower them. “Spread your legs,” he commanded when the drawers had dropped to the earth and he nudged her feet wider.

There were still a few blotches on her delicate skin from the spanking he’d given her earlier—an interaction that seemed so long ago, so removed from the intimacy they now shared, that it was strange to look upon them. He picked a long piece of stiff grass and tickled her bottom with it. She giggled and looked over her shoulder at him. “Maybe I’ll switch you after all,” he said, drawing his arm back with exaggerated force and bringing the grass down on her bottom. “Alas, it broke,” he said, earning another giggle.

He rubbed the head of his cock over her welcoming slit and she moaned, pushing back at him.

“That’s my good girl,” he encouraged, guessing she was probably sore from their recent coupling, and trying to be gentle. “Open up for me,” he said and felt her muscles relax so he could slide in. “Yes, that’s it.”

He slid in and out of her, gently at first, then forgetting himself as he reveled in the sheer baseness of the way he was taking her—like a village girl out in the open air. He squeezed her nipples through the fabric of her clothing and thrust deeply, causing her to cry out with each upstroke until he climaxed, pulling her torso upright against his chest, cupping her breasts in his hands as he spilled his seed. She climaxed too, jerking in response to his finish, moving her hand between her legs as if to hold him inside her.

He kissed her neck. “Are you all right?” he asked before he could bite back the habitual question.

She giggled. “And if I wasn’t?”

He gently pulled out of her and gave her bare bottom a light slap. “Then I would say I’m terribly sorry, but it’s your duty,” he teased.

She whirled around and yanked the end of his cravat, untying it. He laughed, pulling her into his arms for one more lingering kiss before they remounted and rode back to the estate. They dined after a lazy afternoon of talking and laughing, but by supper’s end, he could see Kitty was turning a bit agitated.

“Are you nervous for your spanking?” he asked gently.

She frowned at him. “Is it really necessary?” she demanded.

“I’m afraid so, kitten. It’s a lesson I need to be sure you’ve learned.”

“I have learned it!” she promised.

He nodded. “I believe you, but I’m still going to spank.”

Her shoulders sagged and she dropped her eyes to her empty plate.

“Let’s get it over with now,” he said, standing and escorting her upstairs to the bedroom.

* * *

“Take off your clothes.”

She swallowed. Having him tear them off her earlier had been one thing, but being commanded to remove them while he watched was quite another. She hesitated and he raised his eyebrows in that thoroughly authoritative manner at which he was so skilled. She willed her heartbeat to slow to a normal pace as she offered her back to him to assist her with the hooks. The brush of his fingers ignited a fire in her low belly, even as her knees wobbled with anticipation. She removed all her clothing, even the stockings and garters.

As he had that morning, he methodically removed his waistcoat and cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. His expression was blank, but his eyes still seemed to contain the warmth she’d met in them all day. A shiver of something other than fear ran through her.

She’d thought about her spanking all day, growing more and more anxious over it, but her desire to please her husband had grown as well. His taking her in hand
did
make him more attractive to her. But that still didn’t mean she wanted a “long, hard spanking.”

She sat on the bed to shield her most intimate and vulnerable parts. Harry pulled the dreaded razor strap out of his travel case and slapped it lightly in his palm. She bit her lip, tempted to throw herself at his feet again and beg for mercy. He walked to the head of the bed and propped the pillows against the headboard, leaning back against it with his legs long. He patted his lap meaningfully.

She managed to stifle the squeak rising in her throat and crawled over to where he sat, starting to drape herself across his knees. “The other way, please,” he commanded.

“Oh!” Embarrassed at getting it wrong, she awkwardly rearranged herself to face in the opposite direction.

He ran his hand lightly over her bottom, eliciting gooseflesh all over her body. “Why am I spanking you, Kitty?”

“For leaving you,” she said, her voice muffled in the covers. His hand came down sharply on one cheek. It was not as hard as he’d spanked that morning in the parlor when she’d felt the full brunt of his anguish in the sting of each slap, but it still smarted. He slapped the other side and then directly in the middle, then he repeated the pattern: right, left, center. She wiggled at the sting as he continued the same rhythm, smacking her in the same three spots over and over again. Her initial perception that he was not spanking with as much force faded as he increased tempo and intensity. Her breath quickened to a shallow pant as she struggled not to panic. After a few interminable minutes, he paused and rubbed her flaming bottom.

The feel of his caress on her backside was so tender that she found herself lifting her rear in the air, as if to beg for more of it. She thought she heard Harry’s breath catch.

He was not distracted, however, as she sensed him picking up the strap. She immediately squeezed her buttocks together, hunching her shoulders.

He brought the strap across her cheeks harder than she might have imagined was possible whilst lying across his lap. Her cheeks clenched and her bottom wobbled away from him and returned. A line of fire was blazing across her cheeks. The second one landed just below, the third below that. She buried her screams in the blanket so the servants wouldn’t hear. He gave her several seconds between each one to recover, though she wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. The next one landed at the juncture of her thighs and she screamed into the covers again, her sobs starting afresh. He worked his way back up her bottom, then back down again. It was pure agony—each stroke raising a fresh weal, the new strokes crossing the earlier ones so that the pain exploded exponentially.

“Why did you leave me?”

It took her a moment to understand he was picking back up with the conversation he’d begun when he started and another moment before she could pull herself together enough to answer. “Because I’m a naughty wife!” she exclaimed.