Never been on a picnic? He’d half a mind to ride to Oxfordshire right now and strangle the Duke and Duchess of Lansing for raising their daughter this way. “Why no picnics? Too subversive for an impressionable young lady? Too much dirt? Too many insects?”
“I was never permitted to run about outdoors or lounge on the ground. My mother said it wasn’t ladylike.”
Your mother was a blasted idiot, he thought to himself. “Will you raise your daughters that way?” he asked aloud.
She looked at him from under her lashes. “You mean our daughters?”
“Yes, our daughters, though you’ll have the raising of them, I suppose.”
“Well, I will want them to develop into respectable ladies, certainly.”
He couldn’t suppress a frown. “And I will want them to have picnics sometimes.”
Them. He was already picturing more than one daughter, just as he’d pictured more than one son. He was surprised by this, and a little unsettled. He slouched back upon the cushions, so their knees knocked together in earnest and she was obliged to shift hers away. “I think it a crime,” he said, “that you were imprisoned inside during your childhood. Your brother certainly had the run of Lansing Grange. The grounds around your father’s house, those old forests and meadows, were irresistible to me as a boy. I trespassed upon them all the time, sometimes with Severin, although he thought me a young, paltry fellow.”
“I never saw you at Lansing.”
“I didn’t come there because I didn’t want to see you. The few times I encountered you at the house, you seemed a big-eyed, staring sort of creature. Hair hanging down, and some glaze or something dribbling from your mouth.”
She glared at him. “I only dribbled as an infant, I’m sure.”
“Well, you were an infant then, practically. It was very off-putting to think of you as my future wife. It was not well done of them, to promise us to one another at such a young age.”
She unruffled a bit and eased back against the seat. “But you agreed, did you not? You signed the betrothal document. I was too little.”
“Yes. It was ridiculous stuff. It was a time in my life when I dearly wished to please my parents. One of the last times, I might add.” He staunchly pushed all such memories from his mind. “Ah, here are the gates, and the limits of the property. Welcome to Somerton.”
He was torn between watching out the window at his home—which had last housed a fortnight-long orgy—and watching her. Did he see some measure of awe in her gaze? Somerton was newer and more stylish than Lansing Grange. It was Palladian in design, with great columns and porticos, and wings flanking the great central manor. A road curved gracefully to the grand staircases framing the front door. A Roman-style fountain rose in majestic tiers from the center of the paved courtyard. All around, gardens and fields stretched in a sprawling fashion, easily seen from the head road.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, with what he believed was true admiration.
And it was beautiful, he thought, seeing it through new eyes. Her eyes. The liveried staff, well-trained by his capable steward, arranged themselves in welcoming lines leading down from the landing. Perhaps Lansing was doing Hunter a favor, making him stay dutifully at home to play master of the manor. How singular, this feeling of satisfaction.
“If you are not too tired, perhaps you’ll allow me to show you about the place,” he said.
To his pleasure, she cordially agreed.
*** *** ***
Aurelia wandered amidst her new rooms, noting lovely furnishings and delicate knickknacks, and sweet-smelling flowers. There was even a private bathing room designed in the latest manner of invention, with a tiled tub for soaking. But no matter the beauty and wonders, she kept returning to stare at the window seat.
It was not in the bedroom as in London, but in the adjoining drawing room, and it was not truly a window seat. Rather, benches had been arranged before the window, one on either side, and then draperies fixed on iron rods in the plaster ceiling overhead. The draperies framed the benches on all sides, creating a close approximation of her hideaway at the London household. There was still a bit of dust on one bench from where they’d drilled the plaster, which led to an inevitable conclusion. He had had this hideaway created quite recently—especially for her.
Rather than go within and sit, she stared at it from the middle of the room, plucking at the folds of her evening gown. She had felt rather speechless and awed at dinner, at the beauty of his house and the crisp industriousness of the servants, but now, staring at the window seat that was not quite a window seat, she fell a little bit in love with her husband. But only a very, very little bit.
If only she could despise him, but he made it impossible. He made her feel furious and powerless with his demands, and then followed with actions so kind she felt utterly unbalanced. No, it couldn’t be love she felt, but there was something unfamiliar and hot in her chest. Whatever it was, it made it impossible to sit in the window seat in peaceful docility. It made her want to pace, which, unfortunately, was not ladylike.
“Lady Townsend?” Aurelia turned to find a smartly attired maid curtsying her way into the room. “Pardon me, my lady. Lord Townsend wishes you to attend him now. I’ll be pleased to show you the way to his chambers.”
The last thing Aurelia wanted to do was go to Lord Townsend’s chambers and commence this “training” he seemed determined to put her through, but she gathered her courage and followed the maid. Better that than wait here for him to drag her where he wanted her—and he would drag her, she had no doubt.
The maid led her across the hall and tapped at a great, tall door, and pushed it open. Aurelia entered, nerves jarring. The room was dimly lit; flickering candlelight illuminated a large bed and heavy pieces of furniture. It was a male’s bedroom, top to bottom. She couldn’t suppress a shiver.
Lord Townsend stood from a chair by the fireplace, and Aurelia turned to him with her hands clasped before her waist. She stared at his broad chest, and the interesting contours of his jaw and neck, dusted with an evening’s growth of stubble. Her husband. When would she get used to it, the blatant, shocking intimacy of knowing this man?
She could tell nothing from his expression as he regarded her, whether he felt content, or angry, or sad. “Do you find your rooms satisfactory?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you very much for the...” Her voice caught a moment in her throat. “For the window seat.”
“You must have a mouse hole in every home, yes?” At her frown, he approached her. “But I remember you don’t like to be called a mouse. Forgive me.”
Before she knew what he was about, he’d grasped her face and tilted her head back by the chin. She bit her lip, staring up at him. He looked as if he would say something, but then he lowered his mouth to hers in a warm, exploratory kiss. She stood very still as his tongue caressed and encouraged her, teasing gently at her teeth. Without meaning to, she opened to him. Her arms and hands hung in space with nothing to cling to, for she was afraid to touch him even as he deepened his kiss. The hand behind her head delved up into her hair and massaged her nape, angling her just so for his passionate embrace. He tasted faintly of cinnamon and wine.
Was it normal to kiss like this? Was it normal to feel as if one was floating away in some kind of stupor?
He pressed her body to his, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Pins clattered to the floor as he brought her hair down, freeing lock after lock, kissing her all the while. She clung to him as if to seek shelter from the very chaos he created in her. Her breasts felt heated, her nipples tight. She was certain she was growing wet in that secret place, and just as certain that he would touch her there and realize it, and thrust his fingers inside and make her feel ashamed before he pressed his hard, thick manhood into her...
She pushed away from him. Not a great push, for she was even now wary of displeasing him. It was more like shying away. She felt cowardly and pitiable as he studied her.
“Are you quite all right?” he asked.
She touched her lips. “I am here as you commanded me.”
“You remember why?” He brushed a bit of hair over her shoulder. “You remember our purpose, the one I explained to you last evening?”
His tone was not the least bit romantic, although his kiss seemed to linger on her lips. “Yes, I remember,” she said. Even though I am not entirely willing, she wanted to add. But it would be pointless to do so. He’d brought her here to his secluded estate for this purpose, and she had no way to get away.
She took a step back. That, at least, he permitted. He unbuttoned his coat and shrugged out of it, tossing the fine garment over a nearby chair, then turned back to face her. Without his tailored coat pulling him together in the image of a gentleman, he seemed dangerously underdressed.
With a flick of his wrist, he rolled up the first of his linen shirtsleeves, then the other, fixing her with a purposeful look. “I don’t want you to become upset when I say this, but I believe it best to begin each evening together with a proper, thorough spanking. I believe it will go a long way in communicating to you the inexorability of your situation. It will focus your attention and render you more eager to perform.”