Page 21 of To Ensnare a Duke

What could my brother possibly have against him? What on earth would make him want to cast Portswell away when he smells so intoxicatingly divine? Granted, I'm sure my brother isn't moved by the scent of another male. ‘Twould be odd to have that as a factor.

My mind melts, scattering all thoughts as he leans forward even closer, as if he wants to meld his body with mine. Just as quickly as the sensations wash over me, however, he steps back, putting distance between us. My body screams as he denies me what I so desperately long for.

Even if my mind and heart are not in complete accord that he's the suitor for me, my body wants him. That much is clear. Turning, I study his face, noting the blackness in his gaze. An odd scent surrounds me, as if the clove part of his base smell turns darker, spicier.

"You know not what you ask for, Lady Hunt," he grinds out, sliding his fingers under his cravat to loosen it. "I should not be here with you, let alone punish you."

"Please," I beg, my soul rending at the idea of my poor friend suffering in my stead. "I'll do anything."

"Again," he growls. "You do not understand."

Confusion muddles my brain as I shake my head. "I ask for a punishment. What else is there to know? I've been birched by my brother before. Such a horrid experience, but one I'm well familiar with. Would the butler do worse than that?"

"No. But I would."

My heart stutters for a moment as I place my hand on my chest. "What would be worse than a birching?"

"I will ask you this one last time. Whatever your answer is, it will stand. Do you wish to find out?"

Guilt nearly chokes me as I think of my lady's maid suffering the birches, or worse, on my account. "Please, Your Grace. You must punish me. I beg of you. Allow me to find absolution."

His fingers flex as he looks at me, searching for something I cannot fathom. "Very well then. You will do as I say, exactly as I say. Understood?"

The deep timber of his voice rushes through me, causing more of that infernal liquid to gather. I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to dissipate the ache, but it only makes it worse. Resisting the urge to groan aloud, I stand as prim and proper as I can, even though my insides feel as if they are about to combust.

He strides over to the other side of the desk and pushes my brother's chair out of the way. "When your brother birched you, how did he do it?" I go to open my mouth, but he holds up a finger. "I want every little detail. I want to know what you did, why you did it, and every moment of your punishment."

Heat licks my face as I grip my fingers together. "It's rather silly, really. In all honesty, I don't quite feel as if I deserved to be punished."

"Hmmm. But for this infraction you do? Curious. Is it because it was your sin alone and not shared with another you cared about?"

I duck my head, refusing to meet his gaze. "It was an accident. Soon after our parents passed, I was climbing the large tree on our property-"

He holds up his hand. "Climbed a tree? You?"

Attraction turns to irritation as I plant my hands on my hips. "You know full well I'm capable of such. When I was younger, I was all over the trees in our yard. You and Greyson both had to climb up and gather me."

"Well, yes," he sputters. "But you were a child. You mean to tell me, as a grown woman, you're still frolicking about like a common urchin?"

"I'm only eighteen. Not all that much older."

With a sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. "What possessed you to climb the tree?"

Pain lances my heart as I think back to that dark time. Thankfully, as the memories fade, so does the hurt. It's not completely gone, but I can at least revisit past moments and still retain my breath.

"I wanted to be somewhere alone, where no one could find me or bother me. I wanted to be close to the sky so I could speak with my parents. I figured the closer to the heavens I was, the easier it would be for them to hear. I didn't mean to be out that late. I didn't mean to worry him so… He was as wroth as I've ever seen him."

Portswell grips the desk so hard his knuckles turn white. "And he struck you in anger?"

"Oh," I cry out. "Oh no. You misunderstand. He was angry, to be sure. But he waited until the anger had passed. We had a calm, rational discussion, and if I'm being honest, I felt wretched that I caused him even a moment of anxiety. It's only now that I look back on things I can sort of laugh at the whole situation."

"And the punishment?"

"He felt birches were the correct implement. Apparently, Father used them on him as he was growing up. My poor brother fumbled a bit as he had me stand at the desk. That one, right there."

"And your state of dress?"

I blink up at him, confusion muddling my senses. "You cannot expect me to remember what sort of clothes I wore. Why, I fear they aren't even with me anymore. No doubt they've either become worn out or reside at our country estate. That is, if I even still fit them.”