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She jumped at his touch, his hands roving over her behind, shifting her dress and petticoats aside, while continuing to caress her buttocks. Her breath hitched as he slowly inched his way down to the divide between her legs.
“Always so wet, so ready for me, thank goodness that has not changed. You are still my perfect little strumpet,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Her wicked response slipped from her quim onto his questing fingers. She moaned. Angele loved it when he spoke to her in such lewd terms. His manipulations elicited sounds of moist seduction. He made an appreciative noise deep in his throat. Then his body heat was gone from behind, and she braced herself for the first strike to fall. Instead of the strap, his hand landed swift and true on her left buttock, followed by a slap to her right. The spanking continued, fast and furious. Angele found this strangely reassuring. She understood that he was warming her flesh ready for the strap. Gabriel had never once harmed her during a chastisement, unlike many gentlemen of his generation who treated their wives worse than their hunting hounds, either ignoring them completely, other than to beget an heir, or beating them insensible whenever they felt liverish. St. Nicholas had always remained fair and consistent in his dealings with her, generous to a fault and openly loving whatever the situation. Unfashionable it may be to love one’s spouse, but what cared they for society’s scorn, yet now Angele shuddered at the thought of society’s whispered comments and hurtful asides should any one of them see her face.
A sudden blaze of pain streaked across her bottom. He had taken up the strap. It was difficult for her to remain still. In reaction to each strike, she dipped on her toes and wagged her bottom. He did not condemn her action but continued to wield the strap, landing each line of fire consistently across her backside.
Tears slid down her cheeks; gasps became groans of discomfort, even though she tried to remain silent. She’d always had a love hate relationship with punishment. In the five years apart she had missed the feel of his strap across her arse as much as she’d missed his passionate embraces.
“Do not try to be brave, my love. I will think no less of you for weeping. As soon as we are done here, I shall take you up to our chambers and place you in a warm bath. Brace yourself, I am about to lay down the final six.”
He did, in quick succession. She cried out—how could she not? Her weeping did not halt the rise and fall of his arm. Her scorched bottom stung, and she wept, wailing healing tears. She felt alive, the pain familiar and welcome. Her body recalled that after the blazing of pain there came bliss. The slickness of her quim increased with every blow of the strap.
When it was over, he placed the strip of leather back into the drawer. She remained where she was, hoping now he would pleasure her.
“Stand and come to me, my angel,” he ordered gruffly.
Although disappointed not to feel his hands upon her, she did as he’d asked. He gathered her close in his embrace, comforting her. She wriggled impatiently. He chuckled and, bending his knees, he scooped her up into his arms. She squealed.
“I know what you were hoping for, but these sessions are punishment for your foolish notions. You will have to wait until I determine when to pleasure you, but now it is time for your bath, my sweet.”
Angele buried her head into his shoulder to hide her embarrassment as he carried her with ease through the house, up the stairs, and along the corridor that led to their chamber. How she had missed his commanding tone, his control, his hard, masculine beauty, his domination and his strength. She would need her bath if the musky slickness between her legs was any indication of her desire. She hoped that he, or, God forbid, the servants could not smell the scent of her arousal.
When they entered the chamber, they found Ivy awaiting them. The girl dropped into a low curtsy.
Gabriel set Angele on her feet, and she approached her maid.
“I am sorry it was necessary to deceive you as to my identity, Ivy. I hope that you might consider remaining with me as my permanent lady’s maid?”
The young woman smiled. “T’would be my pleasure, milady, but what of my mistress at Churchton?”
“You have no reason to worry on that score, Ivy. I shall write and inform my sister as to your change of employment,” Gabriel interjected.
“I have your bath prepared as requested.” Ivy gestured towards the screen, where steam arose indicating the copper bath lay ready and waiting.
“I shall see to your mistress’s needs from here. You may leave us, Ivy.” Gabriel dismissed her.
“A moment, Ivy. Has Mrs. Berry found a chamber to your liking?” Angele enquired, concerned for the loyal young woman she had become quite fond of over the last few days.
“Oh yes, thank you, milady!”
“Good. Well, if there is anything not to your liking, please feel free to talk to me.”
“Thank you kindly, milady. Will that be all?”
“Yes, for now. Thank you, Ivy, you may go.”
“You have become less autocratic and more concerned for the servants,” Gabriel observed after the maid had departed.
She turned to smile at him.
“That is partially my cousin’s influence. Their Italian servants are treated like family and seem to voice their opinions about everything, from what we ate to what we wore. At first, I was shocked by such informality, but when Alessandro explained that these people had given their family many years of devoted service, continuing through generations, from grandfather to grandson and grandmother to granddaughter, I realised how special the bond is between man and his servant. The revolution in France also reinforced my belief that society needs to revalue their attitude to those who help and serve us.”
He gave her an approving nod and kissed her damaged cheek so casually, it was clear to her he had not even noticed her scar. She rapidly covered the spot with her palm. He frowned.
“The scar is barely noticeable, Angele. If you stop obsessing about it, then it will become as nothing to you and those about you.”
“Do you imply that I should not wear my veil in public?” she asked, shocked by the suggestion.
