Page 23 of To Ensnare a Duke

“Ask me again.”

My mind blanks as I blink up at him. I find I cannot remember the tenor of our discussion before he scattered my senses. “We were having a discussion?”

“I believe it was your request for what I should call you. You really wish for so intimate a connection before I punish you?”

My mouth dries as I watch his throat bob with emotion. “Please, call me by my Christian name?”

“I that a question or a request? You sound hesitant and unsure.”

Clearing my throat, I try again. “Call me by my Christian name.”

"If that is what you wish, little Augusta." Hearing my name on his lips makes my insides twist until I fear I cannot breathe. "But whether I call you by your Christian name or not, it will not save you from the wrath of the tawse."

He slaps the leather down against the desk with a solid thwack. I stare at it, my mind puzzling through the sensations it might wield. No one has ever used one on me before. It doesn't seem all that menacing. Not at all like the bundle of birches.

"And this is the fate Lydia would have suffered? Truly?"

"Oh no, my dear little sister, by proxy. She would not suffer nearly as much as you will."

CHAPTER 12

BENEDICT

Istare down at her back as she turns her head to rest it on the desk. Despite the fear thrumming through her, she seems so trusting and calm. It takes all my willpower to resist the urge to run my hand down her spine to feel the vibrations of anxiety trembling below the surface.

She's not mine in this way. I'm only supposed to punish her. Nothing more. Nothing less. And yet, her scent teases my nostrils, begging me to lean in and drink from her, dragging her deep into my lungs where she'll never escape. Ginger and spice swirl about the room, drowning me in its potent haze.

Has she always smelled this divine? Granted, when she was younger, I wouldn't have noticed. Her age precluded me from even thinking about her in such a way. But she's not a child. Not anymore. In the eyes of the Ton and the law, she is a woman fit for marriage.

Hell, she'll be producing babies soon enough. I'm allowed to indulge now in a way that wasn't available to me before, and that knowledge is frightening. Not because I fear I'll harm the poor girl, but because it whittles away yet one more excuse not to make her mine.

Shaking my head, I pull back from her, testing the weight of the tawse in my hand. I better get this over with before I lose my head completely. It's not like me to feel so out of control. No doubt it's because I haven't availed myself to any sort of release in a bit of time.

All the pent-up lust and emotions swirl close to the surface, and she's the nearest target. At least, that's what I tell myself as I study her pert backside as it jiggles while as she shuffles back and forth trying to get comfortable. It's a lie, but a comfort, nonetheless.

Biting back a groan, I cup my balls as I contemplate what to do. She can't see me touch myself, and thus can't possibly know the lewd thoughts racing through my mind. I want to impart a lesson to her, that much is clear. But exactly how far past the boundaries am I willing to go?

I tuck the edge of the tawse in the band of my trousers and grip the hem of her skirt. Her brother chastised her over the bundles of fabric, but I will not show her such mercy. Despite the arousal swamping me, I feel duty-bound to impart to her just how dangerous her actions were.

Obviously, Lord Hardon did not make enough of an impression if she thinks it's acceptable to walk about unchaperoned and put herself into danger. This is worse than what she did with the tree in that it could have caused irreparable damage to not only her name, but her brother's as well. Granted, what I'm doing is no better, but at least with me, a marriage wouldn't be detrimental to my friend.

In truth, our friendship will probably never be repaired again, but they could do much worse than aligning their house with mine. Again, I force those traitorous thoughts out of my head. They serve me ill. I can't fall for her. I won't.

With a mighty yank, I pull her skirts up around her waist, baring her backside to my gaze. Her shriek of indignation only makes the arousal worse, drawing precum up my tip until it smears against the fabric. As she squirms, I plant my hand on her back and step away from her flailing feet.

"What is the meaning of this?" she hisses, doing her best to keep her voice low.

Though I applaud her for her discretion, it still doesn't change the fact that any noise from her lips, no matter how slight, might draw unwanted attention. Bending low, I drink in her anger, using the acrid scent to shore up my defenses.

"I suggest you refrain from speaking. That is unless you wish to draw an audience to your humiliation."

Augusta peers over her shoulder at me, her lips screwed up into a thoughtful frown. Is the chit actually contemplating my words? Someone as gentle and delicate as her should be shrouded in fear. Yet, this beautiful specimen seems to weigh my threat with some unknown measurement in her mind.

It makes my knot tingle and my cock pulse. God help me, but I want nothing more than to drag her to The Rose and Thorne and strip her bare for all to see. I want to punish her in front of the others to see if, in fact, she does like the idea of someone watching.

A savage growl rumbles through my throat as I press my hand against her upper back, pinning her to the desk. "That idea should not appeal to you."

"I… It doesn't," she stammers. "Not in the least." Her words say the correct thing, yet her tone leaves much to be desired.