times before as she positioned herself just so. Her husband rubbed her already
reddened cheeks and dipped a hand between her legs. Serenity cooed at his touch.
Felicity found herself envious of that touch and more so thinking of what was to come.
"Spread your legs wide for me." His tone sounded solicitous. "That's it. Now
don't move or you will be on the bench."
"Oh, the things you promise."
Lucien chuckled as he hit her with his hand, leaving a print on her right buttock.
Serenity barely moved. Several more smacks hit her in rapid succession, her flesh
reacting with increasing color. She seemed lost in the moment. Lucien again dipped into
her quim, teasing her nub.
"Yes." Serenity's voice was barely audible.
"Now your favorite, dear."
"Hard, please, Lucien."
"As you wish."
With a leather strap in hand, he cocked his arm back and let fly with a snap
across both her already reddened buttocks.
Felicity's eyes widened, her mouth gaped. She found herself stunned, while her
heart thrummed with excitement.
Lucien continued to spank Serenity with the strap, her moans giving every
indication of sexual arousal.
Felicity noted a change in the severity of the strikes, each one coming much
harder. The veins in Lucien's neck bulged through the last three. Now, Serenity was
begging him to take her, right there, as she was, bent over the chair. She gasped for air,
fidgeted from foot to foot.
Lucien turned to Felicity, his brows raised. Realizing she was no longer welcome,
she stood on weak legs and removed herself from the room. Sounds of their lovemaking
filled the hallway. Her heart beat wildly; her quim pulsed with excitement. She tried to
take herself away from their door, but her innate curiosity drew her closer to listen.
She'd become quite agitated during the spanking, wishing to touch herself, to relieve an
ache she didn't quite understand. Hearing the Damrills in the throes of passion, she'd
reached the limit. She needed something, not really understanding what she was
feeling.
She paced, trying to walk off the pressure she felt in her loins. Walking had no
effect. Leaving appealed to her, but she'd not paid attention when Serenity brought her
to the third floor and had no idea how to get back. At any rate, so many questions
troubled her mind.
She found an upholstered bench a short distance from the door. As she began to
think Serenity would never emerge, she did, looking flushed and quite happy.
Serenity acted as though nothing untoward had happened. She seemed quite
used to having someone observe her husband savage her bottom. "You waited, I am so
glad."
"Yes, I have so much to ask you."
"I have a suggestion. I give spankings and wondered if you would like me to
spank you, just so you can see if spanking might be something you wish the duke to do
for you."
Felicity thought for a moment and agreed. Her bottom itched with a need she'd
never experienced.
"When Lucien comes out, I'll take you back into the room. We will conduct a
session, just as though you were a client."
"I would like that." There was no doubt she was afraid, but she wanted to make
Thornhill a good wife, and if she offered herself in this way, maybe he would not be so
angry with her for having to marry her in the first place.
The ladies chatted for several minutes, until Damrill can out of the room, looking
fresh and well-groomed. He kissed his wife, bid Felicity adieu, and disappeared
through the wall panel.
"Come, let's get you prepared."
The room seemed smaller now and took on a different meaning than just an hour
ago.
"I won't ask you to disrobe, Felicity, but I will spank you on the bare. We will
start through your dress, so you can get an idea of the feeling, but when I really spank
you, it must be on your bare bottom."
"I understand and agree."
"Please bend over the edge of the bed, and I will spank you with my hand."
Felicity did as she was bid. She bent forward, resting her upper torso
comfortably on the bed. Her feet were firmly on the floor, knees tightly together.
"It might be better for your balance if you spread your legs a bit."
Felicity did as she was bid.
"Now, I will start." The words were barely out of her mouth before the first strike
connected with Felicity's buttocks.
"Ow!" She cried, but stayed in position.
Again, Serenity struck her. After the first few strikes, Felicity rather enjoyed the
pain, slight as it was. When she'd received ten spanks, Serenity stopped.
"Pull up your dress to your waist."
Felicity bent to grab the hem on both sides of her body and brought the
voluminous fabric up and over her back.
"You're wearing drawers. It is my experience that no husband likes these things.
My advice is to not wear them when you suspect an intimate moment between you and
the duke." She laughed. "I have lost many a pair when my husband has torn them from
my body."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
Serenity untied the ribbon at Felicity's waist, and the silk undergarment fell to
Felicity's ankles.
Serenity situated herself to the side. Felicity felt the woman's arm cross the small
of her back. "I will finish this spanking with my hand, since you are not used to being
spanked, or do you wish the strap?"
"I believe your hand."
With no further conversation, Serenity finished the spanking with ten more
spanks, showing no mercy. Felicity wiggled and cried, but Serenity kept about her
business until she'd finished with three, much harsher smacks.
Reduced to a blubbering mass, Felicity had undergone her first real spanking.
Minutes later, after she'd calmed herself, Serenity asked her, "Are you well?"
Felicity answered quickly. "I have never been better."
Chapter Six
Phillip paced before the hearth at Plimmswood House, as the lord and lady of
the manor fluttered about settling the guests who'd arrived to see him sent to his
figurative death. He smiled slightly when introduced, dreading the hours that would
unfold with painful slowness, until the time came when he would take his new duchess
away from this place and ensconce her as the mistress of his home and the anchor
around his neck.
Much muttering went on; he suspected speculation as to the precipitous nature
of the nuptials. He rather liked the idea that only he and Felicity knew the real story
and neither were likely to inform the rest of these vultures. She could well be incubating
his child at this very moment for all they knew. Nine months from now they would
have to admit to themselves how wrong they'd been.
"I will go see what is keeping her," Lady Plimmswood announced, as she
scurried out of the large drawing room, where all had assembled and waited for the
bride—his bride—oh God, his bride. He hadn't seen her since the ball. He frankly hadn't
wanted to see her, nor did he feel any closer to wanting to now.
The tap, tap, tap of Lady Plimmswood's slippers on the marble in the entrance
hall heralded the arrival of the young woman whom God had placed in his path to
answer for all of his many and varied sins.
"She's coming. She's coming." Then there she was.
Despite his less than benevolent feelings, his heart fluttered when she made her
appearance. She was dressed in an ivory silk, high-waisted dress. A veil of lace adorned
her head, nearly covering her auburn hair. She held a simple posy.
He was struck by how demure she looked, young, naïve, and dangerous—
mostly to his heart. If he'd ever wanted a wife, admittedly, he'd want her to look like
Felicity. As she neared, he saw her adorable freckles peeking out from under whatever
cosmetic attempt was made to cover them. He'd always had a weakness for freckles.
He walked to greet her, bowed his finest ducal tribute, and offered her his arm.
None of these biddies needed to know he felt as though the noose was tightening. He
made every attempt to look happy, but since he'd rarely experienced the feeling, he had
no real idea what might make him appear so.
A fire raged in the grate, appropriate since he felt as though he were being
condemned to hell. The vicar waited for them in front of the fireplace, his smile making
Phillip wish to slap the man back to reality. However, he didn't wish to give the gossips
more to talk about so he stifled the urge.
With Felicity's hand resting on his arm, the ceremony began.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here . . . ."
Phillip looked ahead, standing ramrod straight. He felt Felicity shift slightly
beside him.
"Marriage is the union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind. It is
intended for their mutual joy."
He could think of only one of the three, and he'd almost guarantee neither would
experience joy.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Felicity looking up at him. He
didn't return the gesture.
"Who gives this woman in marriage to this man?"
Lord Plimmswood stood, puffed his chest out, and proudly declared before God
and the assemblage. "Her mother and I do."
"This relationship stands for love, loyalty, honesty, and trust, but most of all, for
friendship. Before they knew love, they were friends, and it was from this seed of
friendship that is their destiny."
Phillip's stomach rebelled; he swallowed hard. Lord, he didn't even know the
color of her eyes, nor sadly, did he care.
"Marriage is an act of faith, and a personal commitment, as well as a moral and
physical union between two people."
Felicity's hand tightened on his arm at the mention of their physical union.
"Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her . . . ."
He was about to lie, because he didn't love her, which would give her no
comfort. Marrying her was the most honorable thing he would do . . . and keep her? In
misery, maybe.
"I will," he said, the words burning like acid as they slid over his tongue and left
his mouth.
The same question was asked of her, to which she answered with a subdued, "I
will."
The rest of the ceremony flew through his head as a rush of noise. He danced
from one foot to the other. He thought he'd heard Felicity whimper and sniffle, but too
afraid to look in her direction, he never confirmed—not even with a quick glance.
Simply heartsick, no longer was he angry, at least not with her. They were bound
to each other with no hope of ever fulfilling the vows as the vicar had presented them.
He was positive he wouldn't know love if it slapped him in the face.
"What—therefore—God has joined together—let no man put asunder."
And it was done. He'd acquired a duchess and she'd acquired a husband who
would surely make her life a living hell.
The room exploded in joyful shrieks from the bride's mother and proud
pronouncements from her father, while the bride and groom forced smiles for the sake
of propriety.
The wedding breakfast seemed never-ending. Phillip held a gag at bay as guests
toasted with champagne, wishing the couple years of happiness and many children.
Whatever happiness was to come to them, would do so on this day, for once alone, their
misery would start in earnest.
After what seemed to be hours of eating and drinking, Felicity's mother ushered
Felicity away for what he understood was a change of clothing. She reappeared in a
short enough time, saving him from a lengthy conversation with her father on his
desperate need for grandchildren, given that he and his wife had only been blessed
with the one child.
Her eyes seemed to plead with him for an end to this misery and for the
beginning of the next. More than happy to oblige, he announced he'd be escorting his
new bride to their home in Grosvenor Square. He'd had no time or any inclination to
plan a wedding trip. Grosvenor Square was far enough away. They could be unhappy
anywhere, to be sure.
But for the horses hooves on the cobbles and the occasional order shouted by
John Coachman, the carriage ride was short and silent. Phillip knew they'd have to talk
at some point, but what was there to say, really?
They'd go through the motions of a wedding night; though, he dreaded the
consummation and the inevitable pain it would cause Felicity.
* * * * *
Upon their arrival at Thornhill House, Phillip introduced her to the household
staff, but all the names and faces were a blur. When shown to her bedchamber, she felt
nothing short of relief.
She stood in a beautiful room, complete with the requisite adjoining door,
papered in sunny yellow watered silk, a color that
definitely
did not reflect her
disposition. The plush rug beneath her feet was a combination of garden colors—reds,
yellows, greens—in every imaginable shade. Large, heavy furniture in dark woods
populated the space in vivid contrast to the ivory velvet draperies at the long,
mullioned windows. Paintings of flowers hung on the walls, bringing spring indoors,
despite the chill of autumn outside.
This would likely be the room in which her husband would make love to her for
the first time, possibly where her first child would be born. It would also be the place