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“If you wish to remain in England, you must follow English rules,” he said, his voice sharpening in measure with hers. “You mustn’t be careless of gossip, for my sake, if not yours.” He glowered at her as she wrapped herself in a towel. “I beg you to remember, I married you as a kindness, at great detriment to my accustomed way of life. I have an interest in politics and social reformation, so the regard of the ton is important to me. I’m also a peer with a number of material and financial obligations. I can’t allow your disdain for societal rules to endanger my interests or my career.”
Cold rivulets of water ran down her shoulders and back. “If I’m such a detriment to you, why don’t you get rid of me?”
“What a capital idea. Shall I throw you from the tower, or push you out the window?”
She pursed her lips at his jest. “Either would work. Then you could marry someone more suitable, some simpering mouse who follows all the ‘English rules.’”
Warren toweled off with considerably less modesty than she did. In fact, he stood quite naked, his broad shoulders and rippling torso displayed to intimidating effect. “Do you truly wish to argue and be disagreeable, and anger me again, Josephine?”
The tone of his voice, coupled with the memory of her latest spanking, prompted a wary response. “No, my lord.”
He moved closer and traced a fingertip down her cheek. How could he be so frightening and yet so gentle? “I don’t want to throw you from any towers,” he said. “I’d miss you terribly when you were gone. I only ask what any man would ask of his wife, that you respect me, and protect the honor of my name. I mean to respect and honor you too. Have I bullied you, or abused you in anger, or ignored your basic needs? Have I forced my attentions upon you without your consent?”
She stared into his piercing blue eyes, and knew he had done none of those things. He’d spanked her, yes, but only when her behavior fell outside the bounds of polite comportment.
He took her arm and turned her around. “Lift the edge of the towel, if you please, so I may inspect the damage to your bottom.”
She did as he asked, feeling exposed as he crouched down to examine what he’d done to her.
“It appears you’ll survive,” he said. “And you won’t cut up at Madame Lafleur again, will you?”
There was only one acceptable answer, no matter how cross she felt. “No, my lord.”
He released her and launched into yet another lecture. “I suppose you don’t enjoy having a hair brush taken to your backside. I’m sorry for it, but you may expect these disciplinary measures to continue as long as your attitude or behavior calls for them. I didn’t sacrifice the pleasures of bachelorhood to join myself to a scold and a shrew. I don’t require you to become a simpering mouse; I only ask that we show consideration to one another in this marriage.”
You’re a hypocrite, she thought. Was it considerate to be overbearing, haughty, and self-interested, and constantly paddle your wife? But she didn’t want another punishment, so she kept her lips shut tight against those condemnations and obeyed with stiff docility when he ordered her to bed.
Chapter Eleven: Missing
The ball was a day away, and it seemed to Warren that Josephine had finally resigned herself to her new role as his countess. She’d been docile as a lamb during the final fitting of her gown, a lovely work of pale green with voluminous skirts and tiny pearls and flowers on the bodice. They’d spent a few hours in the ballroom, practicing how to dance. She proved naturally graceful at following his lead.
Very much as she did in bed.
Perhaps at some point she’d realize things like bondage, sado-masochism, and sodomy were not standard marital practices, but he hoped by then she’d be too corrupted to care.
No, not corrupted. He didn’t wish to think of his wife in terms of corruption. Certainly, he’d had to pay women a great deal of money to perform the services Josephine now happily performed, but Josephine was an innocent to the core, so innocent and earnest and raw that he didn’t feel capable of enjoying other women anymore. Most men did stray within their marriages, but for him, her erotic surrender seemed a fantasy unlikely to be surpassed by anyone else.
If only her surrender extended beyond their marriage bed. Though his wife was perfectly aware of the dinner hour, Warren waited with Minette alone at the table, the soup going cold. With the ball the following night, they had much to discuss. He beckoned a footman and directed him to send upstairs for his absent wife.
After a few minutes, the man reappeared.
“My lord, the countess is not in her rooms.”
“Well, where is she?” He glanced at Minette. “Do you know where Josephine’s gone?”
His sister shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since breakfast. I believe she wasn’t feeling well. Nerves, you know, about the ball. Perhaps she’s gone for a walk in the garden?”
After twenty minutes of searching failed to produce his countess, Warren experienced the first pangs of alarm.
“Where can she be?” asked Minette, her large blue eyes shimmering with tears.
Warren questioned the staff, who couldn’t remember when or if Josephine had left. His mind turned with unhappy possibilities. Had she run away? Had she only slipped out for a walk, and had some mischief done to her? The more he considered such a scenario, the more worried he became. His wife was a damned nuisance sometimes, but she was his responsibility and he cared for her. He rather suspected he was growing to love her, a realization that terrified him almost as much as the fact that she was gone.
He sent word to Townsend, August, and Arlington that Josephine was missing and asked if they could join the search. They responded at once and set out to various areas of town to ask if anyone had seen a lady fitting her description. Warren grilled the servants, down to the quietest kitchen maid, and then took to the streets himself, riding through surrounding neighborhoods. Had she called on a friend? Had she walked or taken a hack? Had someone abducted her? Were they holding her for ransom?
I want a cottage, just big enough for me. I want it to be in some quiet town, with a garden and a…a little fence.
Had she run away from him? He had to consider it. No. She wouldn’t dare. Something had to have happened to her, something unexpected that had detained her. Unfortunately, he was accomplishing nothing wandering about town. Perhaps there was news
at home. Perhaps she’d even showed up, out of breath, having gotten lost on an unauthorized afternoon stroll. He turned his horse for Park Street when a familiar voice hailed him in the misty night.
“Ahoy, Warren.” The Earl of Stafford rode up, his mouth curved in a half-smile of mockery. “I hear you’ve misplaced your wife.”
He scowled at the man. “If I have, it’s none of your affair.”
“You look awfully worried. But when you marry a madwoman, what do you expect? Have you checked the docks? The scurvier parts of town?”
“I’ll knock you off your horse, you bleeding bastard. See if I won’t.”
Warren hadn’t the time or inclination to stand about trading barbs with Stafford. He continued on his way, only to have the bloody idiot fall into step behind him.
“Go on, then, if you’re not going to help look for her,” Warren snapped over his shoulder.
“Why should I help? I didn’t marry her. You did. You stole her right from under me, and you call me a bastard.”
“She was never under you,” Warren said, trying to erase that imagery from his mind.
“She could have been, if not for your interference. I never would have told you about her if I knew you’d take her from me.”
“I didn’t take her from you. She was never yours.” The sharp words came out like a cracking whip. “We fell in love. Lord Baxter approved of the match, so we decided not to wait.”
“Of course, that’s the drivel you’ve been putting around, but no one believes it.”
“Speaking of drivel that no one believes, if you continue to disparage my wife’s name—”
“I never would,” Stafford said, feigning horror.
“If you continue to disparage my wife’s name with your whispers,” he continued, talking over the man, “then rest assured every future heiress you angle after is going to know the precise nature of all your crimes.”
“What crimes?” He flicked his bejeweled fingers. “I’m no worse than you, my lewd fellow. Might explain why your doting wife took herself off to God knows where.”
