A Season for Treason

by Golden Angel

  Smack! Smack! Smack!

  No longer holding back, Rex vented his ire on her rapidly warming cheeks. Despite her hands over her mouth, Mary was no longer able to hold back her shrieks and howls at the robust swats raining down, turning her vulnerable backside a bright red.

  Mary

  What was his hand made of, wood?

  Tears ran down Mary’s cheeks, and she writhed against the growing burn searing her bottom as Rex’s hand came down, over and over. The first few slaps had been almost tender compared to the assault he laid on her now. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, leaving her gasping and somehow unsatisfied.

  The palm that rested against her cheek felt warm, especially when he rubbed his hand over her sensitized skin, but the well of guilt that had bubbled up inside her had not been liberated. Part of her actually yearned for him to keep spanking her until she was freed from the heavy burden of shame curling in her stomach.

  She was well aware she had used him, used their connection, to investigate his secret club, and now he was trapped into matrimony with her. That the altar had been his eventual aim did not ameliorate her conscience since she had no idea if he would feel the same if he had full knowledge of her secrets.

  Knowing fingers dipped into the well of her womanhood, and Mary whimpered, her hips pushing back against the callused pads, seeking more contact. Her bottom might be burning, her middle churning with guilt, but that did not stop the growing need between her thighs. There might very well be something wrong with her, but she didn’t know how to temper her reaction, much less make it stop.

  “Is this what you were seeking in the conservatory?” His voice was a low, seductive murmur, a perfect accompaniment to the gentle fingers stroking where she was most sensitive. With her senses distracted by the heady sensation, it took a moment for his meaning to become clear—he thought she had been seeking an assignation in the conservatory!

  “No!” The word burst from her lips before she considered what an excellent deception it would make. The thought of him believing she had been meeting another gentleman for similar intimacies was something she instinctively rebuffed, though a moment later, she cursed herself. His fingers paused, and she could almost hear him thinking in the darkness, trying to puzzle out what she could have been doing instead.

  With a delicate groan, she wriggled, shifting her hips to press more firmly against his paused fingertips, the contact sending pleasure bubbling through her lower body. As expected, the movement distracted him.

  “Oh, no, petal,” he chided, withdrawing his hand. Mary almost whimpered at the loss. “Naughty girls are not rewarded for withholding information.”

  For some reason, when he called her a ‘naughty girl,’ her insides clenched. Mary had never been a naughty girl, not even when she had been young enough to be called a girl. She had always been a good, sweet, biddable child, hoping that good behavior would be enough to draw her parents’ attention and convince them to be home more often—or take her with them when they left. They had always said it would be a bother to have a child with them during their travels, so she had done her best to prove she would not be a bother.

  It had never worked, but the impulses had remained.

  Being ‘naughty’ was the antithesis to everything she had aspired to be, but when Rex said it, she didn’t feel the sinking feeling she normally associated with the word. She did not feel like shriveling into a shell and hiding away. If anything, it felt as though her body was blossoming, her arousal growing, as though he had stroked a finger through her wetness with mere words.

  Coldness swept through her when she found herself being removed from his lap, but he didn’t seat her back on the bench across from him. Instead, she fell to her knees between his legs, facing him. His hands were at the front of his pants, opening the flap, and Mary gasped when his manhood sprang free.

  The dim lighting of the carriage notwithstanding, she was struck by the impression he was very large. The masquerade she had attended at Hartford House had been very educational and given her multiple points for comparison, but none of those had been directly in her face, so his seemingly large size might be from perspective.

  “If you are not going to answer my questions, I shall make some use of that pretty mouth.” His hand cupped her chin, his thumb tugging on her lower lip, as he pulled her closer. Mesmerized, Mary went. When the carriage rocked, the tip of him pressed against her mouth—into her mouth, between her lips—as he pulled her chin down.

  “Just like that, petal, lick my cock… suck it…” There was a new quality to his voice, a feverish strain. Releasing her chin, his fingers curved around the back of her head, pulling her further forward.

  Mary had seen enough at the masquerade to have a semblance of an idea what he wanted. The salty, meaty taste of him filled her mouth, and he pressed deeper. Her tongue flicked over the underside, exploring as she wrapped one hand around the thick base of his cock. A male rooster? While his member might not resemble one, in many ways, Rex did—preening, posing, and completely sure of himself.

  Pressing her thighs together, she wriggled against the needy ache of her swollen folds, sucking a little harder as her arousal surged. Rex’s quiet groan urging her on, she dipped her head, gagging when the rocking carriage pushed him deeper than she was ready for. His fingers tightened on the back of her head, and he groaned again. He liked that.

  Sliding her mouth up and down the shaft, gently at first and slowly growing more sure of herself, Mary pushed her lips down until they met the side of her fist.

  “Good… bloody hell, that’s good, Mary.” The guttural way he said her name made her ache, then he groaned again when she rubbed her tongue along the soft underside of his shaft.

  The name of his secret society made so much sense now. It was not just that the ton found their past times sinful, the actual acts felt sinful in and of themselves. She had never felt so utterly wicked as she did now on her knees in a darkened carriage, her bottom still tingling from a spanking, her body swollen and throbbing with need, a man’s cock in her hand and mouth…

  The act was wicked. Depraved. Utterly and thrillingly perverse.

  Perhaps Mary was a naughty girl because she was already craving more.

  Rex

  The inexperienced but enthusiastic suckling of Mary’s hot mouth was getting to Rex. Knowing their time together in the carriage was dwindling added to the urgency of his need.

  Wrapping his hand around hers at the base of his cock, he guided her in pumping up and down, in the same rhythm she bobbed her head over the rest of him. The slick glide of her tongue over the sensitive skin had him groaning and his balls aching. He moved her hand harder, faster, squeezing his fingers over hers.

  Once she had the movements down, he released her hand and reached lower, seeking the soft, plush mounds of her breasts. Her moan vibrated over his cock when his fingers dipped into the neckline of her dress, curving over her flesh until he found her stiffened nipple. She gasped when he pinched the little button, tongue fluttering pleasurably against his cock.

  The dark carriage was filled with the soft slurps of her mouth, his low groans, and her muffled whimpers. He could feel the carriage slowing and knew they were coming close to their destination.

  One hand closed over her breast, squeezing almost harshly while the other pulled her down, holding her in place as his ecstasy crested.

  “Swallow.” The word came out as a harsh order. “Drink me down, Mary.”

  Pleasure erupted, and he jerked, gritting his teeth against the shout of climax. Hot liquid spurted as Mary’s mouth worked, pulling at his cock and swallowing his offering. She sucked, increasing his pleasure, and he emptied himself between her lips just as the carriage rolled to a stop.

  Replete, satisfied, and feeling much calmer, Rex smiled down at her, using his hand to lift her head. Light stole in through the window of the carriage, and he could see her swollen lips, slightly parted, with a milky drop of seed adorning th
em. Scooping it up with one finger, he popped it into her mouth. Staring up at him, her expression was dazed.

  “Up now, petal,” he murmured, helping her to the bench seat across from him, then quickly putting himself to rights. Mary did not need much, although strands of her hair had escaped the arrangement, and her skirts were somewhat rumpled. Mentally, Rex shrugged. It hardly mattered now, which was why the Viscountess had allowed him to whisk Mary off without a chaperone.

  “What… what about me?” Her eyes were wide, pleading.

  Rex took great delight in letting his smile grow, and leaning forward, he gently kissed her soft lips before pulling away.

  “Naughty girls have to wait.”

  Opening the carriage door, he climbed out before turning to assist her descent. If looks could kill, he would be dead before the engagement was officially announced.

  Chapter 14

  Mary

  If waiting for her uncle, cousin, and betrothed to hash out the details of their marriage contract was irritating under normal circumstances, under these circumstances, it was downright torturous. Her aunt’s carriage had pulled up right behind Rex’s, meaning Mary had not been able to castigate him properly after he had left her aching and wanting, the taste of him still lingering on her tongue.

  The bastard.

  As punishments went, it was a good one, though she did not like to admit it. The spanking had been hard enough to keep her bottom tingling, her lower body was still throbbing, and the breast he’d tormented felt swollen and achy. Thomas had looked extremely disapproving when he caught sight of them, Arabella almost gleeful, and Aunt Elizabeth had rushed in to speak with Uncle Henry. The gentlemen had promptly departed to her uncle’s study to make arrangements, which she would not be privy to until they needed her signature.

  Now, she was sitting with her aunt and Arabella, discussing wedding plans and doing her best not to squirm from both impatience and physical discomfort. Thankfully, Aunt Elizabeth seemed too distracted to notice Mary’s lack of composure.

  “You will certainly need a new dress. It will need to be something grand… but also made quickly.” Aunt Elizabeth paced back and forth in front of the couch, where Arabella and Mary were sitting.

  “Not so quickly, at least a month for the banns, and…” Mary started to argue, her voice trailing off when Aunt Elizabeth’s dark eyes pinned her in place. Her aunt raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, quickly. Despite Hartford’s quick action, the gossip is going to be fierce until you two are wed. Besides, with a rake, it is always better to have the wedding as soon as possible before, ah, complications arise.” The delicate phrasing made Mary blush when she realized what her aunt was insinuating.

  “He did not… we have not…” The hot blush rising in her cheeks gave her away. While she was still not entirely compromised, her package was significantly more rumpled than it had been before the carriage ride here. Besides, she knew in the eyes of the ton, being found kissing Hartford in the conservatory during a ball was enough to thoroughly ruin her. With his pursuit of her already acknowledged, the salacious tidbit would have every gossipmonger sure Hartford had made his claim.

  To be truthful, hadn’t he?

  “What actually occurred is not as important as what is perceived to have occurred,” Aunt Elizabeth said, confirming Mary’s thoughts. She eyed Mary, pausing in her repeated journey across the carpet. “If you truly do not want to marry him, this is the time to say so. It will be difficult, but the family will stand by you.”

  “Of course, we will,” Arabella said firmly before her voice dropped to a mutter. “Although I think plenty has probably occurred already.”

  That point was impossible to argue. Mary had put herself in this position. She had gone to his house for the masquerade, had thrown herself at him in the conservatory, and while she had done both things in service to her country, she had no excuse for her behavior at the end of the masquerade or during the carriage ride home from the ball. No justification… other than her own desires.

  She did desire him. Even now, she ached for him. But could—would—desire lead to love? The answer to that question was very much undetermined.

  Besides, she could not possibly expose her family to such scandal. Mary loved her aunt, uncle, and cousins far too much to force them to weather an unnecessary storm. Society would not be kind, and they would be tainted by association, even more so if they championed rather than repudiated her. To return the love and care they had heaped on her the past two years with such a burden would be unconscionable, even if she loathed Rex.

  “No.” She shook her head, lifting her chin stubbornly. “This may not have been the schedule I would have chosen for our courtship, but I have no major objections to the outcome.”

  “Good, good.” Aunt Elizabeth did her best to hide her relief. Mary silently vowed not to cause any more trouble for her poor aunt. “I will go get the fashion plates.” Giving Mary a bright smile, Aunt Elizabeth swanned out of the room.

  Arabella scooted closer on the couch, and when Mary met her eyes, she was startled to see an almost avaricious expression on Arabella’s face. It was not malicious, but her cousin’s wife loved secrets and scandal.

  “What happened in the carriage?” Arabella’s question was more of a demand, and Mary hesitated. There was no reason to think Arabella would share her secrets out of turn, but she did not know how much she wanted to confide in the other woman. Her jaw dropped open at Arabella’s next question, though. “Did he spank you?”

  “How—” She cut herself off, but it was already too late. Arabella sat back, nodding decisively.

  “I thought I recognized the look.” She smirked at Mary. “Thomas spanks me, too, you know, and Felix spanks Gabrielle.” Pausing, she tilted her head to the side, her gaze unfocused as a thought occurred to her. “I wonder if there is something about the family that attracts it…”

  Mary didn’t answer because she was too busy assimilating this new information. Her cousins spanked their wives? How on earth had she missed such startling knowledge? Although… now fully informed, memories of past looks, sighs, and blushes were cast in a new light.

  “No, it cannot just be the family because Wesley spanks Cynthia, too,” Arabella continued musing. “She enjoys it, though.”

  “She does?” Mary asked, much struck. It had not occurred to her that Arabella and her friends might actually have some experience with such depravities. Indeed, she could hardly imagine stuffy Thomas… well, but then he had married a hoyden, had he not? Clearly, there was some part of him that appreciated a bit of wildness in his life. She could imagine him playing the part of stern disciplinarian, although her mind shied away from what might come after.

  “Oh, yes, far more so than Gabrielle or I do, although…” Arabella’s appraised Mary with another glance before shrugging. “I do not mind earning the occasional spanking, but Cynthia deliberately provokes her husband for the sake of earning a punishment.”

  Oddly, Mary understood that completely. She had never expected to have something so unconventional in common with Arabella, much less with the wild Countess of Spencer. Shifting closer to Arabella, she kept her voice low.

  “Is… is there a way to make the ache between my legs stop?”

  Arabella’s eyes lit up.

  Rex

  Negotiations completed, Rex felt an extra spring in his step as he followed Viscount Hood into the drawing-room where Mary was waiting for him. Upon entering, he could see her and Arabella seated together on the couch, both of them sitting bolt upright when the door opened, rousing his suspicions. Still, considering some of the advice young ladies of the ton received before their wedding nights, he supposed Mary could have a worse confidant.

  Following Rex, Thomas Hood went straight to his wife, standing behind where she was seated on the couch. His stiff-necked posturing amused Rex to no end—Thomas was eminently displeased they would soon be related and was unable to hide his emotions. Thankfully, the Viscount was f
ar more welcoming—on the condition Rex keep Mary happy.

  “Oh, good, you are done.” The Viscountess came bustling back into the room, her arms full of magazines. “Everything is arranged?”

  “Yes, as long as Mary is amenable.” The Viscount glanced down at Mary, who was glancing over the marriage contract they had just hashed out. Her dowry was not insignificant, the Viscount admitting he had added his own contribution, and they had agreed Mary would receive control over her funds. Rex enjoyed her expression when she reached that part on the second page, her eyes widening in surprise, head jerking up to meet his gaze. Nodding in confirmation, he let a small smile curve his lips.

  Ducking her head back down, Mary nodded.

  “I am.” She smiled up at her uncle, far more serenely than Rex would have expected. He narrowed his eyes, studying her. Had the time apart to compose herself granted her such poise or… His suspicious scrutiny turned to Arabella. The little imp smiled smugly at him.

  “Then, a toast!” The Viscount rang for champagne before the discussion turned to how long they would need before the event.

  Disinclined to wait longer than he had to—he was sure gossip was already flowing, thanks to Lady Jersey and likely the Duchess of Richmond as well—Rex insisted on the ceremony being as soon as possible. He was sure he could obtain a special license, eliminating a need for the banns to be read. Mary put up a token protest, but no more than that before her aunt gave her a firm look, and she subsided.

  “I need more than a week,” the Viscountess said firmly.

  “Ten days?” Rex asked, glancing around. “The Saturday after next.”

  Tilting her head for a moment in thought, the Viscountess finally nodded. Mary sighed.

  “That will be enough time. Barely. But enough.” Viscountess Hood glanced down at the magazines she had fetched, the dresses on the cover indicating where her thoughts lay.