To Tame A Countess (Properly Spanked Book 2) (9 page)

Inside, painted ceilings soared overhead, with ornately wrought chandeliers, and every kind of molded trim. The floors were of waxed and inlaid wood, and they echoed when you walked on them. Hallways led off in every direction from the grand set of stairs. Footmen stood about in bronze livery trimmed in blue, bowing and assisting, and opening doors before one could touch them.

From the gleaming state of the fixtures and furniture, and the size of the staff, it seemed clear that servants maintained the home even when no one was in residence. Each person, from the head housekeeper to the lowliest stable boy, afforded Lord Warren a respectful deference, and of course, showed her the same deference as his new wife. It all seemed intimidatingly fine, especially when she thought of the ramshackle shelters she’d grown up in.

But there were no more steaming jungles or parched savannas, or wild animals, or snakes, or spiders the size of her head. There were no more leaking abodes or foreign faces giving one inscrutable and terrifying looks. There was no more danger, which she knew in her mind, but could not quite fathom in her heart.

Lord Warren’s face was not foreign as they dined together in his elegantly appointed dining room. No, she’d come to know it well over the many hours in the carriage, although his expressions were still difficult for her to figure out. She worried about his propensity for wild humors, and whether and when he might kiss her again, and what she would do when he did. She wondered why he kept looking at her in that assessing way.

“Do you like your new home?” he asked as the footmen shuttled dishes in and out.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” she replied. “It’s very grand.”

When she was young, her father used to tell her about the time he’d visited a pasha’s kingdom. He said there had been dancing horses and graceful, veiled women, and everything had glittered golden. Josephine always wished they might see something like that again but they never had, and she had started to wonder if her father’s stories were true.

Perhaps Lord Warren had dancing horses in his stables.

“If you don’t like the food, I can have the cook prepare something more to your tastes,” he said, interrupting her memories.

“The meal is fine. It’s delicious,” she lied, for she couldn’t taste a thing.

He put down his fork and knife, tracing the silver with a light fingertip. “I wish you would not be frightened.” The fingertip stopped its motion and he stood, and put down her knife and fork by taking them from her fingers. Then he leaned down and swept her into his arms.

She grabbed at him, rendered mute by shock as he carried her past footmen whose faces reflected no alarm at all. “Oh, you must put me down,” she finally managed to cry.

“Fears should be faced, don’t you think? We’re going upstairs, where I shall assert those dreaded marital rights. You’ll survive it. I daresay you’ll even enjoy it.”

“Oh, but— Must we? Right now?”

“Yes.”

He carried her up the curving staircase and down the hall, past more stone-faced footmen. When they reached his bedroom, she took in the surroundings with a wary glance: tall windows, stately wainscoting and furniture, and a massive canopied bed against the far wall.

“I think—perhaps—I would rather go back and eat,” she said.

The door shut behind him as he crossed to deposit her on his bed. “I’ll have them send up a tray later if you’re still hungry.”

As soon as he let her go, she scrambled off the bed and nearer the window. Faint light still shone from outside, but he lit more candles, and she was glad because she was sometimes afraid of the dark. Tonight she was afraid of so many things.

He began to undress, taking off his coat, his high collar and cravat, his waistcoat and shirt, and his shoes and stockings. He stripped with a focused intent that alarmed her, as he revealed shoulders, arms, chest, waist, broad and masculine parts comprising a startling whole. She had seen scantily clad natives, even fully naked natives in her travels, but this was different. She was used to seeing Lord Warren covered in layers of clothing, looking a civilized gentleman, and he looked less and less civilized the more he took off. When he wore only his breeches, he appeared positively primitive and more than a little dangerous as he turned to her in the oppressive silence.

She clamped her lips together as she stared at the physical reality of him. His shoulders were smooth and round and wide. A ladder of muscles defined his torso, two of them trailing to disappear below his waistband at either side of his hips, along with a trail of glinting hair. He looked tall and powerful, and even with his breeches on, she could discern the sculpted strength of his upper thighs. When he shifted, the muscles flexed, and when he moved toward her, she saw the same fascinating flexion in his arms and chest. She didn’t remember such showy musculature in the natives. Perhaps in the wild animals in the wood…

She was not yet ready to see him in the altogether. She simply wasn’t. When he approached, she backed away with a shake of her head. He dropped his hands, his expression softening. “Josephine. Come here.”

She didn’t want to go to him, but she had nowhere else to go. She had backed herself to the wall. She stared at him wide-eyed, wondering what he would do if she didn’t comply with his request. Would he lose his temper? Grasp her and drag her forcefully to the bed? She thought,
wild humors
. The idea frightened her so much she moved toward him as he asked, feeling leaden and scared.

She only made it halfway. He came the rest of the way and cupped her face in his hands. “How brave you’re being,” he said, even though they both knew it wasn’t true. She felt like her insides were about to melt out through her navel, like her face was about to catch fire. “Shall I help you undress?”

She understood it was a rhetorical question, as he turned her around and started on the laces of her second-best black gown. Her wedding gown. It wasn’t at all the thing to be married in black, but she couldn’t be bright and pastel when none of this was what she wanted, and when she had no control of her life and her future.

Marital rights…
She didn’t know why he should have the privilege of them, or anyone else.

“Please,” she whispered when he had loosened her dress enough to draw it down off her shoulders. “Please, I would rather wait a bit longer for the honeymoon to begin. A few more days.”

“This is going to happen now,” he said. “But don’t worry. It’s not a frightening thing.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s only… Well, if I knew you a little better…”

“Fortunately, you needn’t know someone extremely well to accomplish this task.” His fingers worked at her stays, giving gentle tugs. “You’re afraid because you’re not well informed, but I intend to change that.” His breath whispered against her nape. “My darling, there’s so much I’m going to teach you. Eventually, we’ll know each other very well.”

She could feel his heat against her back. She clutched at her stays as he unhooked the front and drew it from her waist. Next, he knelt and removed her shoes, as if she were helpless as an infant. At last she stood shivering in only her shift and stockings, feeling so vulnerable, so cold, that when he took her in his arms she went willingly, hiding herself against the expanse of his chest. He made a soft sound and then began to pluck out her hair pins, finding them with an oddly attuned facility, as if he knew where every pin was. She heard a faint clink as he put each one down on a nearby table.

When all of them were gone he ran his fingers through her hair, spreading it out upon her shoulders. “You’re every bit as beautiful as I imagined. You are beautiful, Josephine.”

“I’m afraid,” she said in reply. “I don’t want to do this.”

He gave her a long, silent, rather unnerving look. “You don’t even know what we are to do. Shall I show you?”

“Must you? I have no choice, do I?” Her voice sounded petulant as he dragged her toward the bed. “I have no choice in anything, whether I am rich or a baroness, or whatever.”

He lifted her up onto the mattress as if she weighed nothing. “You’re a countess now.
My
countess,” he emphasized with the arch of one brow. He came over her, a great, heavy shape that seemed to trap her. “You did consent before a priest, and signed the marriage lines. You signed a binding contract.”

“Because I had to,” she said, bracing her palms against his chest. “Because no one would let me live in my cottage.”

He gathered both her hands in his. “If you don’t leave off about your cottage, Lady Warren, I’ll spank you again.”

She hadn’t realized how close she was to tears until they burst out of her in a rough, broken wail. She couldn’t muffle the harsh sound for he still held her hands. Wetness flooded her cheeks as her body shook with tremors she couldn’t control. He frightened her so, with his power and his will. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, please, please,
please
.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, only that one word over and over in a hysterical repetition.

She heard him curse through the maelstrom of her terror. He let go of her hands and pulled her against him. She could feel the smooth fabric of his breeches between her thighs, where her shift had ridden up. She wanted to fight but was afraid of how he would subdue her. “Please,” she begged again.

“Please stop saying please,” he whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you. My God, this is more than a virgin’s fear.” He brushed her hair back and wiped away her leaking tears. “Did someone previously abuse you?”

If she lied and said yes, would he release her from this duty? But she felt too scared and raw to lie. “It’s just t—that— I’m— I’m a—afraid you will h—hurt me.” Her voice guttered out in fits and starts that humiliated her on top of the panic. “I d—don’t know what you int—intend to do.”

“You’re behaving as if you expect me to lop off your arms and legs. It’s nothing like that. Will you listen to me? Stop crying for a moment and listen. Take some deep breaths.” He paused and made her breathe, in and out, in and out, along with the rise and fall of his chest. He wiped away more tears and left his thumb there on her cheek, stroking back and forth. “Whatever you imagine is about to happen, you have been misinformed. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to try very, very hard to make you feel good. Although you are making it damnably difficult for me to maintain my confidence. Keep breathing, my dear. Would it upset you terribly if I kissed you?”

“Kissed me?” She lay stiff as a board, her palms open against the bed.

“Yes, kissed you. It’s this thing where we press our lips together and move our heads back and forth. We did it once before, you remember. Shall I demonstrate?”

Before she could reply, he lowered his lips to hers. She did remember this, of course, in a vague sort of way, although now, in a bed with him looming over her, it felt different. The first contact was carefully gentle, a solemn press of warmth underlain by control. “And now I shall tilt my head that way,” he said, and she knew he was making a joke. She couldn’t laugh. She was too tense, too nervous about what this might develop into.

Once he tilted his head, his tongue came out to tickle at the edges of her lower lip. “Open for me. Ah, yes, you remember now.” When she parted her lips, he parted his too and gave her open mouthed kisses that felt even more intimate than the previous ones. Now and again he licked her lips, or the tips of her teeth, in a way that made her think he was very practiced at this kissing thing. In fact, as time went by, her limbs relaxed and her body began to react quite outside the agitation of her mind. Her stomach muscles fluttered. Her back arched and her hips snuggled closer to his.

“That’s a brave, good girl,” he said in a hushed voice against her mouth. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

She shook her head, and he drew back. “You taste as beautiful as you look,” he said, rising a bit above her on his elbows. “May I…?”

His voice trailed off. He never actually asked a question, only set about untying the ribbon at the neckline of her ivory shift. Like the black gown, it was only an everyday thing, not fine or suited for a wedding night. He didn’t seem to care as he traced along the gathers and parted the placket with roughly masculine effort. His hand seemed as big as her whole chest.

Don’t think of that. Don’t think of how big he is!
She had only just emerged from her heart-racing terror and had no wish to plunge back into it again. No, this felt too pleasant, his stroking and caresses. He peered down at her, studying her face. Did he see the effort she made to keep the hysteria at bay?

“I would like to see your whole body, and admire it, and shape it with my palms, darling. May I?” His words sounded so pretty, so like poetry, that she couldn’t bring herself to say no. She leaned forward so he might gather her cotton shift and draw it up over her head. He laid it beside her as if to say,
there, it’s right there if you need it
.

“Lie down now,” he said, pressing her back by the shoulders. “Yes, just like that. Let me play with you a while.”

Play with her? Oh goodness. He dropped kisses down the line of her throat, wet, wicked kisses that lingered and heated her skin. He caressed her breasts, even though she shrank back and tried to push his hands away. He merely used his mouth instead, licking across the tip and laughing softly when she made a shocked sound at the sensation. The teasing touch made her hips move again, made her whole body arch to him. He licked the other nipple in a slow, lazy swirl that caused unsettling amounts of sensitivity. Then he closed his teeth and bit down upon the tip.

“Oh!” She tried to squirm away but he trapped her with his legs. “Oh, did you mean to do that?”

“Yes, I did mean to. I adore those lovely, frantic noises you make.” When she scowled, he grinned at her and went back to the languid teasing. And my, it felt very fine, though her one nipple ached with extra intensity. Then he held her down and bit the other, in a blooming eruption of pain. “I had to make them match,” he said when she protested. “I can’t nip one and not the other.”

“I wish you would stop nipping altogether.” Were these the wild humors her mother had warned her about? Gentlemen shouldn’t bite ladies. She was about to tell him so when he distracted her by kissing lower, along her torso to her trembling waist. He blew against the curving flare of her hip in the most tantalizing way and peeked up at her through his lashes. “The first time I saw you, I wanted to touch you here. I wanted to hold you and…” He smiled. “Well, I’ll show you in a bit. Is anything hurting yet?”