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He loaded his bought goods onto the trap—a sack of grain, two pounds of salt, and two ounces of precious tea, which was a treat for Dara. Having removed the feeding bag from Bert’s nose—the horse protested with a neigh—he started his journey home. Riding on her mare, Dara would have a head start, which suited his needs. He wanted to think.
His mind wandered to the matter of discipline. He couldn’t help it. He hadn’t applied either his firm hand or belt for two weeks. She’d been good company and behaved well toward the lads, only smiling when they smiled, and making sure she bathed when they were busy elsewhere, and with Matthew’s express permission. At some point, he planned to watch her bathing in the river, and perhaps take advantage of her state of undress. Having her wet and surprised by his sudden appearance was one way to teach her to always be prepared.
However, today his mind was not on a tumble in the grass by a river. He mused on a suitable punishment. Was it time to introduce her to the sting of a nettle? A brief whipping using a brace of young stems was a good inducement to apologise for misbehaving. He imagined her naked, tied face down on the table, arms above, legs parted and tied to the table legs. He would administer the nettles with three, possibly
four swishes. Her divine arse would rise up into mottled red welts... she would more than likely cry.
Matthew sighed. What once would have been easy now proved too hard to contemplate. She was not his. He could not tame her like that, not when he would not have the benefit of it. Her husband, the rakish Lord Coleman, was supposed to be the custodian of her love and devotion. The man was absent because he could not face his responsibilities and shunned the deeds that Matthew considered at the heart of a good marriage. Was it right that Matthew had taken on that burden on training another man’s wife? Especially as it was something Lord Coleman cared little about?
For the rest of the journey, he muted his conflicting thoughts about Dara and made a long list for the lads. The harvest was due in a few weeks.
* * *
Dara raced to tidy the kitchen and make good all of her tasks, so that Matthew would not notice her prolonged absence from the farm. She had released Mary into the field and waved at Kurt, who was mending a fence. Tomorrow was Sunday and he would be away visiting his sweetheart in a nearby village. The brothers went to their mother’s house, leaving Matthew and Dara to explore each other all afternoon, as had become their traditional leisurely occupation. She looked forward to it, dreamily wondering if he might expect her to gift him all three of her sweet points of entry. She liked the build-up, the gentle harmony of his cock in tune with the motion of her body. From lips to drenched sex, he visited them according to his needs, and always ended his meandering journey in the safest place for his seed. Sometimes he did so with vigour, but increasingly, she noted he was less hasty and more inclined to hold her tight against his body, as if the embrace made the act more appealing.
She boiled some water in a pan over the fire. She planned to stew some apples and make a pie. The recipes continued to be extremely useful.
She heard Bert neigh, the wheels churn up the yard, and Matthew shout to Kurt to collect the horse and unload the trap. She smoothed down her apron and waited for the door to open.
Matthew dropped his travel bag on the kitchen table and emptied it. She thanked him graciously for the pure tea—unadulterated by dried sheep’s dung, he assured her—and the salt for preserving the meat. She had learnt a great deal in such a short space of time.
He said nothing as he emptied the contents of one pocket.
A dozen pretty buttons. Exactly the same ones she had chosen.
“How did... oh.” She stepped away from the table. “I’m making pie—”
The attempt at changing the subject was foolish.
“You’ll be pleased to know I’ve set up an account for you. In the name of Prudence Denzel. For obvious reasons. I’m protecting your reputation from scandal, as I thought you wanted.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“But you know that would not be necessary if I hadn’t spotted you enter and leave the shop. In fact, nothing you’ve done today would need my attention if you had done as you were told and stayed here.” He banged his fist on the table. “You foolish girl. You were seen.”
“I know,” she whispered. Her heart was pounding. “Did he know it was me, do you think?”
“The footman? He suspected, but he was convinced otherwise. I overheard them talking in the street.”
She sighed, deep in a state of relief. “Thank heavens.”
“Thank heavens?” he growled. “If he’d recognised you, then your deceit is revealed, your husband recalled from his travels, and your family informed. Your name would be dragged through the filth of the worst kind of gossip and your reputation ruined. Even if my name isn’t linked to yours, nobody would believe you spent this time apart from Lord Coleman as anything other than an attempt at abandoning your duties.”
She rose up, her back snapping straight. “May I remind you, sir, that is exactly what I have done. I have left him to his own devices, as he has with me. I care not what he thinks or does. He neglected his duties before I chose to forgo mine, and once he is back home, I shall perform them begrudgingly for the sake of my family, not his. As for my visit to town, you advised me—”
“I did more than that—”
“Not to go and I chose to do as I wished. I am not your prisoner, as you pointed out, Matthew. I am a lady of rank, and I choose to stay with you because you offered me respite from a loveless marriage, and you have taught me many things a young lady might not know, and for that I’m grateful, but you cannot expect me to bow to you unconditionally when I am not your wife.”
He briefly clenched his fists, then released them, sighing heavily. “I can’t protect you, Dara, if you chose to flout my wishes and skedaddle off to town on your own.”
“I did not skedaddle.” However, her chin sank lower and she felt a pang of guilt; she had offended his sensibilities more than she realised. “Protect me?”
“Aye.” He scooped up the buttons. “That’s all I wish to do. You’re precious to me, I suppose. I hadn’t realised how much until I overhead them talking about you in town, thinking you’re a pretty maid for the taking. I wouldn’t share you with anyone, Dara. I dread your leaving, but know it has to be done, or both of us will be ruined if they find you here.”
She moved around the table and touched his sleeve. “You mean to punish me? Spank me for going?”
“I had.” He puffed out his lips. “But seeing your shame, hearing of what happened in the shop, for a lady like yourself, the humiliation is punishment enough. I’ll not do any more. Say you’re contrite, though, Dara.”
