Claiming His Wife Page 4

  She sighed. Marriage, as she'd learned, could be very complicated. "Perhaps when she comes to visit me this summer I'll be able to ask her."

  "You don't think she'll come for the wedding?"

  "No. She and Wesley know each other but they aren't close, whereas Lord Brooke is a particular friend of his." Although Eleanor rather wished Grace was coming. She would love the opportunity to observe Grace and Lord Brooke in the same locale again; there was something between the two of them that just didn't make sense.

  ******

  Meeting Wesley's other friend, Viscount Petersham and his wife, was not an occasion for misbehavior, Cynthia reminded herself. Even if she wasn't feeling particularly pleased with her future husband. Two days after he'd tied her to her own bedpost and done unspeakable - and incredibly pleasurable - things to her body, she still didn't know how she felt about him.

  On one hand, she'd loved tracing the welts from his belt on her bottom and the subsequent soreness in her nipples from the clips he'd put on them. The pleasure that he'd brought her to had been intense. On the other, he'd done unspeakable things to her bottom. Inside her bottom. The poor little hole was still tender and yet... that had been part of the pleasure. It was humiliating.

  Even more so since he'd barely touched her again since then, when she was still craving him so desperately. Rubbing herself, the way she'd done before, just didn't fulfill her the way he had. She'd learned that there was a very keen difference between pleasure she gave herself, and pleasure given to her. Touching herself wasn't nearly as exciting as when Wesley touched her. Besides, shouldn't he want to touch her more? Every other man she'd met had constantly been coaxing her to allow them more liberties; the man she was going to marry barely kissed her hand or cheek.

  Well, except when she'd pushed him to punish her.

  But she wasn't sure she was ready to do that again; the last time had left her wary of him. She remembered telling him that she wanted a husband who wouldn't bore her. He would certainly be that, but now she was unsure if that was a good thing. The things he'd done to her... well, they'd been unimaginable. Far beyond anything she'd thought of doing with a man. Even if it had been both exciting and pleasurable, for the first time in her life she'd been frightened by her reaction, because he'd gone far beyond the bounds she'd even thought possible. Which was why she was on her best behavior tonight, doing the pretty for Eleanor and Edwin, and the Viscount and Viscountess.

  The Viscountess wasn't at all how Cynthia had pictured her, not after meeting Eleanor. Although, the Viscount was. He was as goldenly handsome as Eleanor was angelically beautiful, with piercing blue eyes and a quick, flashing smile as he looked down at his wife. The Viscountess wasn't a fashionable beauty; she had red hair and freckles, for one, but she was quite pretty even if she'd never be a Diamond of the First Water. Quite shy too, from the way she practically clung to her husband's arm as she was introduced to the Countess.

  Cynthia hoped the Viscountess wouldn't be boring. She had the look of a woman who would be horrified by impropriety. Or, if she was, that her presence wouldn't make Eleanor prim and proper as well.

  "May I present my betrothed, Miss Cynthia Bryant," the Earl said, pressing his fingers briefly against hers on his arm, as if telling her to behave. She stifled the impulse to stick her tongue out at him. The Earl might be wildly unpredictable in private, but he was a stuffed shirt in public and she wasn't about to purposefully court his displeasure.

  She curtsied prettily, and smiled demurely. "It's very nice to meet you."

  To her amusement, everyone in the room looked at her slightly askance, as if waiting for her to do something naughty. Cynthia kept the demure smile on her face, feeling her fiancé’s arm tense under her fingers. From the narrow-eyed look he gave her, she was quite sure that he thought her good behavior was a cover and he was trying to figure out what mischief she was up to. How galling it would be for him to discover that she wasn't up to anything at all.

  It was sure to frustrate him greatly.

  Cynthia asked after their travels, the way a young lady should, and felt Wesley stiffen even more, if that was possible. Oh, this was going to be fun. The better she behaved, the more wound up he would get. She didn't realize that the gleam in her eye was only making the Earl feel even more on edge, but she would have been quite satisfied with that knowledge as well.

  ******

  "I'm disappointed," Hugh announced, settling down in his seat, a snifter of brandy in his hand. The ladies had withdrawn to the drawing room, leaving the men at the table for their drinks. "After all the descriptions of Miss Bryant as a hellion, I expected a much more debaucherous showing."

  "Perhaps Wesley has had a steadying influence on her," Edwin teased. He shot his friend a look. "Although, I have to admit, I was expecting something from her this evening as well. She certainly looked as though she was plotting mischief."

  "Did she?" Hugh asked, looking somewhat confused. To him, Miss Bryant had seemed the very picture of a sweet young miss. Granted, she had quite a figure for a young miss, which he was sure had attracted Wesley, but he hadn't seen any of the spirit that he'd expected.

  "It's in her eyes," Wesley said, glancing at the door. Tension had gripped him all evening as he'd waited for Cynthia's behavior to degenerate. It hadn't, not once, and he didn't know whether he was relieved or disappointed by it. He certainly hoped he hadn't put her off misbehaving entirely, but going by her expression he hadn't. He just didn't know what the damned chit was up to. "She was playacting, although I don't know for whose benefit - yours, mine or my mother's. I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity to see her antics before the wedding."

  "Although she has been on better behavior the past couple of days," Edwin observed, raising his eyebrow at Wesley. "Eleanor wondered what you had done to her."

  The memory of Cynthia's last punishment made Wesley grin, even as his cock hardened slightly. He'd been in a state of almost perpetual arousal following that night, which he'd only managed to deal with by keeping his distance from his bride. Given the opportunity, it was all too tempting to divest her of her virginity before the wedding night, which was absolutely not something he was going to do. Especially not in his mother's house.

  Still, he wouldn't object to punishing her again. He'd taken one virginity from her the other night, indulging in his most depraved fantasy, as he'd buried himself in her tight arse after belting her creamy cheeks to a dark red. The little wanton had enjoyed herself too, for all she'd been embarrassed by the act. As much as Wesley enjoyed indulging in that particular perversion, he knew he was going to have to keep it strictly for special punishment occasions or it would lose its potent effect on her. There wasn't much his little minx was embarrassed by, and he certainly didn't want to cure her of that particular one.

  "Well, well," Hugh said, raising his eyebrows. "It appears Wesley did anticipate his wedding night." He looked at Edwin. "You owe me twenty pounds."

  "No." Wesley glared at his friends, although he wasn't truly angry. It was the kind of thing he'd bet on, and he wasn't entirely surprised that they had. "She's still pure."

  "Damn," said Hugh, as a triumphant Edwin held out his hand. Hugh dug into his pocket and pulled out several notes, slapping them down into Edwin's palm.

  "So what did you do?" Edwin asked, curious. "Whatever it was, it definitely set her on edge."

  The smile that stretched across Wesley's face was pure, smug, male satisfaction. "I just used the little implements that I brought back from India. There's nothing like filling a woman's bottom to make it quite clear who the Master of the House is."

  Edwin guffawed as Hugh shook his head.

  "I don't need that to assert myself as Master of the House," Hugh said. "Other than the oils, I haven't used your wedding gift at all."

  "You don't know what you're missing," Edwin said, his eyes gleaming as Hugh pretended to try and cover his ears, a useless exploit since he refused to let go of his brandy while he did so. Before Edwin had
married his sister, Hugh hadn't minded hearing about his exploits, but now he preferred not to know the details. Laughing, Edwin leaned towards Wesley, whispering loudly as Hugh pretended temporary deafness. "I haven't used the dilators yet, but I've gotten a bit of use out of your other gifts."

  "At least someone is," Wesley said, grinning. Although he wasn't entirely surprised. Hugh had been the one to first introduce himself and Edwin to the idea of feminine discipline, when he'd invited them to watch Eleanor receive a birching from her father, but in many ways he was a prude. Edwin was far more adventurous, even if he hadn't reached the level that Wesley had yet. While it was strange to think about Edwin and Eleanor together that way, it didn't bother him the way it did Hugh.

  "I don't need such sundry instruments to discipline my wife," Hugh said loftily. "All Irene needs is a spanking now and then to keep her in line."

  "This coming from the man who wanted a wife he didn't have to discipline at all," Wesley reminded him.

  "Well... I have found that it does have some benefits." Hugh smirked and gave them a significant look. "After all, disciplining a wife is very different from disciplining a family member."

  "I should hope so," Edwin muttered, considering that it was his own wife's bottom that Hugh had learned on. But, he still remembered how unaffected Hugh had been when he'd brought Wesley and Edwin in to watch Eleanor's birching. Not having a sister of his own, Edwin couldn't quite imagine what it must be like to discipline someone he wasn’t interested in sexually, but he knew how shocked Hugh had been by his own reaction when it was Irene under his hand instead of a family member.

  All three men sipped at their brandy, contemplating their marriages. Hugh was smugly happy, having received everything he wanted and more from his marriage to Irene. His redheaded goddess was sweetness and passion, and he enjoyed slowly breaking through her demure walls. Still uncertain over Eleanor's behavior, Edwin had been much happier with his wife since their retreat to Bath; she seemed to have calmed down considerably after their first few days in town. The atmosphere here seemed much more conducive to their happiness than London had. He was in alt over her conception, and was looking forward to when she finally confirmed it and they could celebrate.

  Wesley, like any soon-to-be married man was thinking about his upcoming wedding night, as well as what life would be like once his little hellion was his wife. Dark fantasies shifted around his head, all of which had sprung up since he'd belted and buggered his fiancé and she'd so obviously enjoyed it.

  None of them wanted to share their current thoughts, however, so the conversation quickly turned to Wesley's company and the trade with India. Much safer topics altogether.

  ******

  The Countess reigned supreme over the conversation between the ladies, which meant that only socially conventional topics were discussed. Irene, like her husband, was somewhat disappointed by Cynthia's decorum. However, unlike Hugh, she was also relieved, as she didn't quite know how she would react to misbehavior. She wasn't comfortable enough in high society to know how a lady would react - although it would be helpful to see the Countess and Eleanor's reactions.

  Not for the first time, Irene inwardly railed at her own mother for the lack of training she'd received. She was so used to being told exactly what to do and how to do it, that being on her own was quite frightening, especially in the presence of a woman like the Countess. Wesley's mother wore her authority like a mantle, easily and confidently. Irene could only hope that one day she would do so as well.

  Eleanor invited both ladies over for tea the next day, but the Countess had a prior engagement and had to decline; however, Cynthia gleefully accepted. Irene wondered if being away from the Countess' presence would mean that Cynthia's true mischief would emerge. She almost hoped so. Just so she could see. Perhaps it would make her feel less guilty over her own untoward behavior a few weeks before.

  ******

  Grace had never thought she'd be relieved to arrive in a sleepy place like Bath, not while the Season was still going on, but she truly didn't think she could stand another hour in the carriage with her husband. The man was driving her batty.

  Both nights on the road, she'd had to sleep in the same bed as him - which, of course, meant she got very little sleep at all. Her tingling awareness of his proximity meant that she could barely relax. Especially since the few times she did so and managed to fall asleep, she invariably awoke in his arms. She couldn't even blame him, because it was quite obvious from their positioning on the bed that both of them had moved towards each other.

  Riding in the carriage wasn't any better. She'd truly expected him to spend at least some time on his horse. Instead, the blasted man joined her in the carriage both morning and afternoon. The confines of the conveyance seemed to shrink, as if he filled it with his very presence, far beyond his physical form. Sometimes he spoke, sometimes they rode in silence, but he was always watching her.

  The worst was when she fell asleep in the carriage, exhausted from lack of sleep the night before. Every time, she awoke in his arms. The first time, she'd cursed him and immediately thrown herself across to the other side of the carriage. To his credit, he'd released her immediately, but she'd been well aware of his arousal. By the third time, she'd no longer been startled and had been weak enough to relish the feel of his arms around her. She hated herself for pretending to still be slumbering, just so she could feel the press of his warmth against her, pretend - for just a moment - that they were back in time, before she'd overheard his conversation with her father.

  But she could never hold back the memories, or the bitterness, for very long. Especially because she didn't understand why he was doing what he was doing now. He hadn't spanked her since that first day, thankfully, but then again she'd been doing her best to ignore him. Once she'd realized that fighting him was futile, that, for some reason, he'd decided he preferred reconciliation over divorce, she'd done her best to shut him out. It didn't seem to matter to him that she never answered; he sometimes filled the silence by speaking to her.

  Things about his estate, about his company. About his life. Sometimes she caught herself beginning to smile when he made a rare quip or witticism. She could only hope he didn't notice. She didn't want him to think she was softening towards him, although she was. Even if he had apologized about the way he’d handled the original situation between her and Irene, there were so many other issues between them that they didn’t discuss at all.

  So she was relieved when the carriage rolled to a stop in Bath and Alex helped her out. The torment of traveling with him was over. There would be no more falling asleep and waking up in his arms, no more being forced into a tiny space with him, and no more temptation to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

  "Grace?"

  Eleanor's familiar voice, filled with shock, was all Grace needed to push her over the edge. She looked up, into the face of her best friend, who was gorgeously attired in a blue dress and bonnet, obviously out shopping, and burst into tears. Immediately, slim arms surrounded her shoulders, even as strong fingers pressed against her back. The rush of emotions was overwhelming, and she clung to Eleanor, burying her face in the other woman's shoulder as she sobbed.

  "Come here, Gracie," Alex said, his voice low and almost tender. She obediently let go of Eleanor, too overcome to even try and fight him, and let him sweep her up into his arms. Part of her knew she should be protesting his high-handedness, but another part felt comforted being held by him, letting him take over and get her off of the street before she utterly humiliated herself. Besides, her legs felt weak, and he was obviously feeling strong. "If you wouldn't mind coming in with us, Lady Hyde, I think Grace could use your company while I see to opening up the house for us."

  "Of course," Eleanor said, her voice filled with worry and confusion. “I was just out shopping… I didn’t realize you were here… I… just a moment.” Grace heard Eleanor giving her maid directions to return to her own house and inform Lord Hyde of wh
ere she was. Relief that her friend wasn't abandoning her made Grace go even limper in Alex's arms, she even felt grateful to the brute for asking Eleanor to come in with them.

  How could he be so considerate and simultaneously so uncaring? Yet, she'd had proof in the past that he was. He'd fooled her for their entire honeymoon into thinking that there could be more to their marriage than just convenience. Right now, she found strange comfort in the illusion.

  A few minutes later, Grace and Eleanor were deposited into the main drawing room, and Grace's tears had subsided to small sniffles. Alex asked a maid to bring them tea before retreating from the room, leaving the ladies blissfully alone. For the first time in days, Grace felt like she could breathe. Unfortunately, some tiny part of her also felt a bit forlorn at the loss of his presence, but it was only a very small, very foolish part of her.

  "Grace..." Eleanor's voice trailed off and she shook her head, tugging off the blue bonnet and placing it on the couch beside her as she searched for words. Or, more likely, searched for what question she wanted to begin with. "What are you doing here? With him?"

  "I wasn't given a choice," Grace said, sniffling again. She knew she must look a fright, but neither Alex nor Eleanor had commented on it. Eleanor just reached into her reticule and retrieved a handkerchief, silently passing it over to Grace to wipe her tear-stained face with. "Peters betrayed me... he was working for Alex all along. All of my servants were." Tears started to flow again as she told Eleanor everything.

  About riding in the carriage with Alex, his insistence on sleeping in the same room, his behavior towards her every time she fell asleep, and his determination to reconcile. Her confusion. Eleanor was the only person in the entire world that knew everything; all of Grace's humiliation, her bitterness, and her loss when she'd discovered that Alex saw her as nothing more than a bargaining chip. Although Grace had been determined to keep the hurtful words to herself, this past Season she hadn't been able to hold her tumultuous emotions inside any longer when she and Alex had been in the city at the same time for the first time in years. She'd needed her friend, and Eleanor had been there for her.