by Debra Glass
He’d said a somewhat cold goodbye to her, along with his family, and hadn’t mentioned when he might return.
She’d been disappointed, but hadn’t realized just how disappointed. Three days later, her body yearned even more desperately for his touch. It warmed indecently at the thought of him and she found the only way to get any relief was to touch herself in the quiet of night.
A ray of bright sunlight shone through the trees and she shielded her eyes against the glare.
She hadn’t counted on the entirety of her walk being in the woods. The path had taken so many twists and turns, Cathleen was now grateful Charles was along. Otherwise, consumed in her thoughts, she might get lost and never find her way back to Byrne’s End.
The narrow trail mostly meandered alongside a rippling creek, and Cathleen found the rush of the water surprisingly soothing.
Charles walked a few feet ahead. He’d picked up a stick and presently used it to flip over rocks. Whenever he discovered a worm, he sharply pounced on it and shoved it into his pocket.
He’d explained—in lurid details Cathleen could have done without—that he used them as bait.
Cathleen had tried to listen to his tales of which creeks were the best to fish and which bait was used for what species of fish, but her thoughts remained fixated on Ransom.
Fear nipped at her every time she wondered if he had reconsidered the agreement they’d made. A part of her knew she’d be devastated if he came to her with the news he didn’t want to continue dominating her.
Dominating?
Alarm sparked that she’d thought of it that way.
Dominated. She sucked in a sharp breath. Warmth unfurled in her belly and spread downward, igniting parts of her anatomy on which Ransom had lavished attention the night before.
Her rear practically tingled in anticipation of another thorough spanking. She giggled. Who would have ever dreamed Cathleen Ryan would submit to being spanked by a former officer in the Confederate Army?
It was utterly scandalous.
And yet, the discovery of this side of her nature excited and intrigued her.
It changed her.
The realization of that struck terror in her heart. As a self-avowed spinster, what would happen to her once she left Byrne’s End? Most assuredly, Jenny would grow up and would come to her senses and allow that besotted boy to court her.
Ransom Byrne probably wouldn’t stay unattached for long either.
Charles suddenly stopped on the path, dragging Cathleen’s attention back to the present.
A few yards ahead, several crudely built cabins sat in two rows. Steam rose from a black iron cauldron in their midst. A skinny black woman, clad in a tan colored dress with a faded red kerchief on her head, stirred whatever was in the pot. She reached for a pitchfork, stabbed it into the cauldron and when she withdrew it, a pair of dripping wet trousers hung from the tines. She flicked them into a basket and then stood, holding the pitchfork and staring at the pair coming up the path.
Charles turned. “Let’s go back now.”
“Go back?” Cathleen asked warily, eyeing a bony red hound that loped between two of the cabins. “But she’s seen us. It would be impolite not to acknowledge her.”
“Aunt Chloe told me to stay away from the shanty.”
“Shanty?”
Charles pursed his lips and nodded. “They used to work on the farms around here.”
Cathleen nodded. “I see.” So, these people were former slaves. She glanced back at the pitchfork-wielding woman who continued to stare as if she were daring them to come any closer.
“Are they dangerous?” Cathleen whispered.
Charles shook his head. “I don’t reckon they are.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “But they’re not like me.”
“Not like you?”
He shook his head again. “No ma’am. These folks don’t know how to read.”
Realization dawned on Cathleen. The South observed almost strict caste systems, but she’d never dreamed those standings existed within the black race.
Her gaze flicked once again to the woman. Cathleen couldn’t imagine not being able to read. How would these people ever rise above what they were right now? Refugees. From the looks of these ramshackle dwellings and the threadbare laundry the woman had already thrown over a clothesline, they were practically indigent.
Cathleen straightened, summoning courage. “Excuse me, Charles.” With that, she strode purposefully toward the woman. She extended her hand. “Good afternoon. I am Cathleen Ryan, hired by the Byrnes as a teacher for their daughter.”
The woman gaped at the outstretched hand and clutched the handle of her pitchfork tighter. “Momma!” she called toward one of the cabins.
Up close, Cathleen could tell this woman was barely that. She looked no older than eighteen or nineteen.
An older version of the laundress appeared on the porch of a cabin. She spat tobacco juice on the ground. Her gaze scrutinized Cathleen. “There sumthin’ we can do for you, miss?”
“I was thinking there might be something I could do for you,” Cathleen responded.
* * * * *
Asteroid didn’t let up until he reached the stone posts at the entry of Byrne’s End. Though he’d been gone for nine days, Ransom tugged the reins and reluctantly Asteroid slowed his pace. The horse blew through his lips and twisted his head proudly as he trotted past the big house toward the stable.
Charles was nowhere to be found, so Ransom dismounted and began unsaddling Asteroid. That was unusual. Charles normally enjoyed attending to the famed horse and eagerly awaited his arrival.
Ransom draped the saddle on the table in the tack room before he drew out his pocket watch to check the time. He’d just missed the dinner bell. Doubtless, Charles was eating supper with his own family.
After taking care of Asteroid, Ransom strode down to the big house. Sally would be miffed that he was late, but he’d make it up to her by buying her some of the chocolates she adored the next time he was at the mercantile.
After raking the mud from his boots on the boot scrape, he walked into the house.
“Ransom!” Jenny cried from the dining room.
A tendril of joy snaked through him at the sound of her voice. The idea that she knew him merely by his footfall encouraged him.
And also sparked admiration for Cathleen in his heart. She’d been a good and patient teacher for his sister.
He stepped into the dining room.
“About time you got here,” Sally muttered. “You’ve been gone for a month of Sundays!”
“Any news from Franklin?” Father asked.
Ransom nodded a greeting to them. “Jenny,” he acknowledged as he moved to bestow a kiss on her cheek. But disappointment flared when his gaze landed on Cathleen’s empty chair. That dismay was quickly followed by alarm when he noted that Charles had been conspicuously absent from the stable as well.
Had she already backed out on her promise not to stir up discontent among the local women? And if so, did that mean she no longer intended to continue their blasted arrangement? His jaw ground down at that word again.
“Where’s Miss Ryan?” he inquired tersely.
Sissy’s eyes widened. Jenny actually smirked.
“She’s been taking long walks all week and—” Jenny began, but Sally cut her off.
“Ain’t none of his business where that Yankee girl done got off to.” She handed him a plate heaped with mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and pork roast, then tossed a buttered cornbread stick on top of the pile. “Now sit yourself down and eat.”
Sissy cleared her throat. “She’s been taking her supper early.”
Ransom placed his plate on the table and drew out his chair. “What about Jenny?”
“Oh Ransom,” Jenny chirped. “You’re so concerned, someone might get the idea you’re sweet on her.”
Heat flashed his cheeks. Annoying, revealing, embarrassing heat. “My concern is for Charles.”
F
ather took a healthy drink of his sweet tea. “Not to worry, son. Charles accompanied Miss Ryan on a walk.”
That could mean anything.
Having thoroughly lost his appetite, Ransom barely picked at his meal.
“Funny,” Jenny teased as she felt her way into the bread basket for a second cornbread stick. “Miss Ryan seemed a little perturbed that you’ve been gone for so long.”
“Jenny!” Sissy scolded. “Your brother knows better than to court the attentions of your teacher.”
“Of course I do,” Ransom blurted.
Father laughed heartily. “With all the belles in the county shamelessly chasing after Ransom, I highly doubt that plain wren of a Yankee schoolteacher could turn his head.”
Ransom battled the urge to snort. Naked and bent over a bed with her jet hair loose and streaming over the cotton-white sheets, Cathleen Ryan was anything but a plain wren.
After supper, Ransom excused himself and stepped out onto the porch.
Walking, eh?
He doubted that. Most assuredly, Cathleen had forsaken their arrangement and had traipsed back into town to stir up more unrest among the women.
He was just about to go looking for her when he noticed two figures emerging from the woods on the path that led to the Primitive Methodist Church the former slaves attended.
Ransom leaned against one of the columns and watched as Cathleen and Charles strolled toward the house. Charles passed her a stack of books before trotting off in the direction of his house.
Cathleen waved and continued up the path. She stood out, salient against the lavender hues of twilight. A persistent breeze played in her black skirts, making her look like the subject of a painting.
Ransom admired her. The things he’d once found oddities—her black glasses and her severe hairstyle—he now appreciated as unique to her.
She thumbed a wayward strand of hair off her cheekbone and tucked it behind her ear. The innocent gesture caused Ransom’s cock to swell against his form-fitting breeches. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Her chin lifted and he knew she’d seen him. She hesitated for a scant second and then continued moving forward.
A sense of possessiveness rattled through him. He’d practically had this woman. He understood things about her, about her desires, about her body, that no other man save him knew.
As she got closer, she looked out across the rolling hills, down at her bundle of books, anywhere but directly at him. Finally, she pressed her top teeth into her bottom lip and gazed at him over the tops of her spectacles.
Was that a blush coloring her cheeks or merely the result of her exertion?
Words played in his head and on his lips. He uttered none of them. Instead, he waged an all-out war against the compulsion to haul her into his arms and kiss her.
God in heaven. I’ve lost my damn mind. “Miss Ryan.”
She gulped and hugged her books closer.
“I trust you haven’t already reneged on our…arrangement.” Ransom shifted his weight again, hoping she didn’t notice the obvious bulge in his trousers.
“No,” she said, her voice but a breath.
“Might I ask, then, where you’ve been?”
“Walking.” She never blinked.
She was lying. “Walking? With all those…what do you have there? Books?” Up close, he realized she carried a small slate and box of chalk. Recognition consumed him. Sissy’s McGuffey Reader—the same reader that had been used to teach everyone in the Byrne family.
“What have you been up to?” he asked, peering hard at the trouble-making schoolteacher.
“Walking,” she repeated. This time, her voice rose an octave.
Anger and something Ransom couldn’t grasp twisted inside him. “Put your things away, eat your supper and come out to my house as soon as it’s dark.”
“But—”
“No refusal. We’ll discuss your…indiscretions when you arrive.”
Cathleen’s lips parted. For a moment, she looked as if she might argue, but then those same luscious lips stretched into a wry smile.
Something indecent flared in Ransom’s chest. He stepped off the porch and started toward his house. “Don’t wear any drawers. They’ll just be in the way.”
* * * * *
Cathleen’s fingers trembled as she untied the ribbon holding up her pantalets. Excitement intoxicated her. Ransom would be waiting.
And then…
Hesitating, she drew in a deep breath. Was this foolish? Was she being irresponsible? Rash?
She didn’t care. All that mattered was finding that moment of bliss where her mind went blank and her body came alive. She would willingly give her pleasure over to Ransom.
It made her head spin to think just how willingly.
She dropped her pantalets and the soft cotton slithered down her legs. Standing with her skirts bunched around her hips, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. A dark black vee of curls stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she raked her fingers through the soft hair, wondering how she looked and felt to Ransom.
Already, dampness coated the folds of her hidden flesh.
“What in the blazes am I doing?” she asked herself and dropped her skirts. The fabric billowed down around her ankle boots. She wondered how he’d react if she just didn’t go to him.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit back a scream. She wanted to go. She wanted him to put his hands and his mouth on her. She wanted it more than anything in the world.
What did it matter? It was a private thing shared between two people. She’d never let societal mores hold her back before.
And she wouldn’t now.
She rinsed her mouth out with a tincture of spearmint and vinegar, smoothed back her hair and then eased outside onto the upstairs balcony. The stairs creaked as she crept down them, and then with only one look back, she lifted her hem and hurried up the path toward Ransom’s house.
A lone light glimmered from inside and it was extinguished as she approached. She stopped at the bottom step of the porch to catch her breath, but did not tarry too long before she slipped in the door.
“Close it and lock it.” Ransom’s voice came from the shadows.
Shaking, Cathleen pushed the door closed and then turned the key in the lock. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear the blood thrumming in her ears.
“Now come here.”
She swallowed hard as she crossed the floor to where he sat. The room was cast in varying shades of dark, but Cathleen could tell that he wore dark trousers and a white shirt. He’d discarded his frock coat and vest, making Cathleen wonder if he intended to finish undressing soon.
She didn’t dare look into his eyes—not that she could have seen them. His face was almost completely in shadow.
“Hand me that belt.” He lifted a finger and gestured toward a chair across the room on which a wide, black leather belt lay.
Pulse firing, Cathleen retrieved it. The leather was soft. Worn. Her body heated at the thought of feeling its sting. She placed it in Ransom’s hands.
“Did you take off your drawers like I told you?” His voice was quiet. Terse.
“Yes.”
“Good girl. Pull up your skirt and bend over my knees.”
Her soft petticoat brushed maddeningly against her backside as she bunched up her skirts. Her clitoris throbbed almost painfully. How could she consent to this? But even as she debated, she leaned over Ransom’s thick thighs. The toes of her boots slipped on the wood floor. Finding leverage with her knees proved impossible. They hovered inches from the ground.
She was at his mercy.
And there was no other place she’d rather be.
A warm palm settled on the curve of her bottom. Fingers splayed, reaching toward places that made her want to shift and wriggle. Her blood seemed to thicken in her veins and every beat of her heart sounded like a rhythmic thud in her head.
Ransom leaned
forward. “Where’d you go this afternoon?”
Cathleen tried to speak but could produce no sound. Why was her mouth so dry? She dampened her lips with her tongue. “I…I went walking.”
“Walking, eh?” That hand began to roam. Down her thigh. Between her legs.
Her lashes fluttered as they descended, as she absorbed the heaven of heat and flesh moving over her skin.
“Is that all you did?”
“Yes.” She was lying of course, and knew she’d be swiftly reprimanded for it. Without a doubt, Ransom had quizzed Charles about where they’d been.
The hard swat to her bottom surprised her. She let out a little yelp.
“Try again.”
The buckle rattled as he readied the belt to use on her. Her inner tissue clenched against its own emptiness.
“I walked with Charles to a clearing and then came back.” Her voice trembled when she spoke.
Unlike Ransom’s hand, the belt stung with a vengeance when it smacked her. She gnawed her bottom lip, weathering the sharp bite until warmth took its place.
“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth.”
“If I do,” she asked, riding a sudden wave of boldness, “will you taste me?”
She felt movement beneath her rib cage and realized it was the hard shaft of his cock pressing against her.
“You’re not in any position to make bargains.”
She let out a seductive-sounding laugh that surprised even her. “If I tell you, will you spank me with your hand instead of that belt?” Once more, his cock lurched. Triumph budded inside her.
The belt clattered to the floor and shortly afterward, she received three successive, firm smacks to the backside. She felt as if she were sinking deep inside herself, shrinking and then blossoming in the wake of giving over control of her body. She was just about to disappear into the sensation when he bounced one knee, rattling her back to the moment.
“What were you doing there?”
She looked over her shoulder at him. His features were cross. Set. That muscle flexed in his jaw. His fingers barely grazed her swollen clit and she dipped her spine, intent on pushing closer. His touch flirted with her.
