The Reddington Scandal

by Renee Rose

  “I certainly do not want her!” Teddy exclaimed, causing her to laugh with relief.

  She tipped her head up to gaze at him. “I adore you, Lord Fenton.”

  “And I, you, Lady Fenton.” He bent his head to hers and met her lips with a soft, adoring kiss.

  Chapter Eight

  Phoebe’s pale face was pinched with nerves. Perched on the settee in Teddy’s study, she clutched her first volume of poetry, which was fresh from the press. She leafed through the pages with a glassy-eyed, frantic quality.

  “Phoebe,” he said gently. “You don’t need to keep preparing. You already picked out the poems you are going to read.”

  She ignored him and continued the quick fluttering of pages.

  “Phoebe.”

  She did not look up or stop her manic behavior.

  He opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out the ruler he’d gotten to replace the broken one, smiling to himself. She hardly noticed him sit down beside her, but when he upended her over his knee, she gave a howl of protest.

  “Teddy! What are you doing?”

  He lifted her skirts over her head and slipped his hand in the slit of her drawers, rubbing lazy circles over her bare skin.

  “Teddy, I don’t have time for this!”

  He opened the slit of her drawers wide and picked up the ruler. “That was the wrong thing to say, little dove,” he scolded, bringing the wooden ruler down with a snap.

  “Ouch! Teddy! Stop!”

  He continued to spank with the ruler. “No, love. I think this will help you focus and relax. And besides, this is how it all began, do you remember?”

  She wriggled on his lap, her frustration obvious. “How what began?” she asked, sounding exasperated.

  “Your book. Remember? I found you at my desk, and—”

  “Yes, yes, I remember! Ouch! Teddy, do stop!”

  “You should know by now, telling me to stop will do you no good. If I intend to spank you, I shall.”

  Her squirming bottom was turning a lovely shade of pink and the inviting sight of her dewy sex made his cock grow hard. He stopped the assault on her quivering cheeks and ran his finger down the cleft of her buttocks. “I have not taught you to take me here yet, have I?” he asked, circling the little flower of her anus. She gave a little shriek and clamped her cheeks closed, holding them together. He picked the ruler back up and applied it with more force for five strokes.

  She continued to squeeze, now twisting back to try to cover with her hand.

  He made a tsking sound. “What is my rule about covering?” he asked, applying the ruler to the backs of her thighs, which caused her to howl.

  “I’m sorry! Teddy, please! Do stop!”

  “Tell me what you fear about the reception.”

  “I fear they will hate me!”

  He gave her three sharp spanks with the ruler. “They will not hate you. What else?”

  “I fear I will lose my place when I am reading.”

  He gave her two more swats. “I forbid you to lose your place,” he said with mock authority.

  She giggled.

  “What else?”

  “I fear Maud will say something to make me feel like a goose.”

  He rubbed her bottom. “If Maud says one thing to demean you, I shall drag her into the study and apply a ruler to her backside until she screams for mercy.”

  She giggled. “I would almost enjoy that. Except I seem to recall you have spanked her before and the thought makes me mad with jealousy.”

  He felt a pang of regret. “I wish I had never, ever had your sister. I am sorry the thought hurts you.”

  “Well, if you had not had my sister, I would not be your wife, now would I? So I am not sorry. But I am sorry you are spanking me now. Are you quite finished?”

  He gave her several hard smacks with the ruler. “Impertinent! I think the lady needs to be put in her place.” He lifted her off his lap. “Get on your knees,” he said sternly.

  Her face was flushed from being bent over his knee, making the blue of her eyes stand out as she blinked at him in surprise.

  “You heard me. On your knees, bending over the settee.”

  She slowly bent to comply as he stood up and lifted her skirts once more, pulling down her drawers to expose her plump, chastened bottom. He knelt behind her and reached his hand around the front of her to stroke her sex, eliciting a shiver and moan. Her slit was ripe for the taking, swollen and dripping with her natural juices. He made slow circles around her nub of pleasure, feeling it harden and lengthen under his fingers. Applying a generous amount of saliva to the head of his cock, he parted her cheeks.

  “Teddy!”

  He responded with a small slap to her sex. “Naughty wife. Take your punishment.”

  “O-oh!” she grunted as he applied pressure to the tight ring of her anus as his fingers moved rapidly over her slick sex.

  “Open for me. Push back a little,” he coaxed. “That is it. Good girl.” He breached the opening and slid in.

  Phoebe gave a strangled cry.

  He increased the tempo of his fingers in her sex and her muscles relaxed and opened for him. “Good girl,” he repeated, moving slowly, gently.

  “Yes, Teddy! Teddy!” she gasped.

  The idea of taking his wife in this manner was as intoxicating to him as the feel of it, and he found he was ready to climax remarkably soon. Slapping at her sex with quick little spanks, he drove himself to climax, her keening, pleading cries the music that sang him home. When he reached his summit, he gave a cry and Phoebe tightened her muscles with her own, constricting his cock in a stranglehold that made him shoot his seed with a ferocity he had not expected.

  When it passed, he eased carefully out of her. “Sweet Phoebe,” he crooned softly. “My little poet. You are amazing.”

  She twisted to smile over her shoulder at him, her hair falling out of her pins so the silken waves fell over her flushed face.

  “Do not move,” he said softly.

  “Why not?” she asked, looking perplexed.

  “Because I wish to remember the way you look just now—you are so beautiful.”

  She laughed. “Somehow, I doubt this is how I ought to show up at the Westerfields’ for the reception,” she said.

  He smiled fondly. “Probably not. Do you feel better now?”

  “Much,” she said and it was clear she did. Her face and shoulders had relaxed and there was a glow to her now that made her look lovelier than he’d ever seen. “Is it time to go?”

  * * *

  Teddy stroked her hair back from her face. “Yes, love. Why don’t you go get ready while I call the carriage?” He helped her to her feet, and held her elbow as she walked unsteadily at first out of the study. Her bottom was warm from the spanking, and her anus felt sore as well, but a sense of bliss was coursing through her body.

  She climbed the stairs on wobbly legs and sat at the dressing table to repin her hair. All her nerves about the reading and reception the Westerfields were holding for her that afternoon were gone. Instead, she was filled with a calm sense of grace. The peace stayed with her for the carriage ride and meeting the guests Lady Westerfield had invited.

  She did not even swoon when Lady Westerfield introduced her to the entire gathering and invited her to read. It was as if she floated on a cloud looking down at them all—Teddy, Wynn, Kitty—three new people in her life who truly cared about her. People she was beginning to believe she could trust. They were all smiling at her encouragingly. Maud was there, too, but she did not ruffle her. As if in a dream, she opened her book of poetry and began to read:

  Bulrush

  Today I’ll set my insides free—

  Seep fuzz from ears and mouth

  Explode cotton from the crown of my head.

  It’s been a long summer, sucking sunlight, storing the

  Season. I’ve bided my time, keeping the outsides neat.

  How the ladies will stare at my weasel-pop spring.

 
; She read several more poems before returning to her husband’s side, where he took her into his arms and kissed her full on the lips in front of everyone.

  “You were splendid.”

  “I love you, Lord Fenton.”

  He smiled, tracing her lower lip with his thumb.

  “Thank you for this—for publishing my poems.”

  “I did not publish your poems—the credit only belongs to you,” he said, gazing at her as if she were the most interesting lady in the room.

  She melted at the attention. After two months of marital bliss, she still could not believe he was really hers, and yet there he was, doting on her, taking charge of her in the bedroom, demanding she give her whole self to him and giving his entire being back to her. “The only act I will take credit for was tricking you into marrying me, Lord Fenton, for it was the most clever move I’ve ever made.”

  He smiled indulgently. “The damsel who rescued her knight. I shall never live it down.” He bent his head to deliver another kiss. “You saved my life in more ways than one that night, little dove.” He turned her around so she faced away in the direction of the crowd and gave her bottom a little pat. “Now go and be congratulated by all your new fans.”

  The End

  Disobedience at the Dressmaker’s

  Note: This is a bonus short story set in the world shared by The Westerfield Affair and The Reddington Scandal.

  “Kitty,” Lord Westerfield said, a deep furrow between his brows. “Didn’t I just forbid you to have any new ball gowns made without first asking my consent?” He was holding a bill in his hand, which must have just arrived from the dressmaker’s.

  A knot twisted in her stomach. She’d fretted all week over her brash rebellion, in which she had purposely disobeyed him out of ire. She’d seen the folly of her actions as soon she’d acted, but by then it was already too late. Her ribs pressed against the boning of her corset as she filled her lungs and blew out her breath. All the snappish retorts she’d prepared to throw at him on that day dissolved and no words rose to take their place. “Oh—well… I must have ordered those before you forbade it,” she stammered.

  He frowned at the date on the bill and then looked up, eyes blazing. “Are you lying to me?” he demanded incredulously.

  She winced, shocked back into good sense. “Yes, that was a lie, but I wish it were true,” she confessed with her more characteristic frankness. “I…” she pursed her lips. “I ordered the gowns without permission because I was angry with you. It was a foolish thing to do.”

  Harry looked mystified. “Angry? Over what?”

  Her jaw tightened, her anger still unabated. “The letters,” she hissed. “In your dresser.”

  Comprehension dawned on his face. A week earlier, she’d discovered a box of letters in his drawer written in a female scrawl, calling him ‘dearest Harry.’ Her fingers had turned ice cold as she plucked out the pages one by one, turning them over to catch damning declarations of love. “Harry?” she’d croaked, her throat constricted. “What are these?”

  He’d glanced over from where he was donning his cufflinks and smiled, as if a box of letters from another woman was something amusing. “Ah, those are from Catherine Hart, my childhood sweetheart.”

  “Who?” she’d demanded.

  “My first lover. A girl from the village where I grew up.”

  Her fingers had trembled as she unfolded one of the letters, scanning for a date. Harry appeared entirely unconcerned. “Are you still in contact with her?”

  He had snorted. “Do not be ridiculous. I went to university and she married a village boy. I haven’t even seen her in at least ten years.”

  “Throw them away,” she’d demanded, thrusting the box at him.

  “What? No. I like to remember.”

  Her heart had slammed against her ribs. “Then I will throw them out. There is no reason for you to keep them!”

  “I wish to keep them, Kitty. Now put them back,” he had commanded, his voice and gaze growing firm.

  She had stared at him, angry heat rolling over her in waves, alternating with chills.

  Seeing her defiance, he had pointed back at the dresser and raised an eyebrow. “Put them back, Kitty.”

  He looked at her now, considering, the angles of his face still hardened from anger. “Go and fetch the letters,” he ordered.

  “What?”

  He did not repeat himself, but merely leveled her with a stare that turned the soles of her feet itchy. She whirled with a toss of her hair and marched out of the room, defiantly obedient. When she returned with the letters, he had taken a seat on the settee, from which he beckoned her. She thrust the bundle of letters into his hand, the skin of her face tightened with emotion. He flung them into the fire without a word.

  She spun around to witness their demise, surprised at this unexpected turn. Silence stretched between them as she stared at the curling pages, sensing his gaze upon her. A tug on her wrist pulled her down into his lap.

  “Kitty,” he began, a caress in his voice. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to hurt you with those. I thought you knew that you are the only woman I have ever loved.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but pride made her look stubbornly away. He caught her face and turned it, tenderness in his gaze. “I should have allowed you to throw them away. I apologize. She means nothing to me—it was a fond memory of coming into my manhood, but I can see how keeping those letters would offend you.” He stroked her lower lip with his thumb. “I was madly jealous when I thought you had feelings for Fenton,” he said, referring to her best friend’s brother with whom she had once purposely sparked Harry’s jealousy. “I should have realized you would feel the same way.”

  Her chin quivered and she lowered it to hide the betrayal of emotion, but his hand cupped and lifted it. “You were angry so you punished me by ordering dresses?” She thought she detected a trace of amusement on his face.

  “Well, I was defying you. I have no doubt it is my backside that will be punished,” she said wryly.

  “If I had known you were willing to get your bottom blistered over those letters, I would’ve burned them when you asked me the first time.”

  Her face grew warm. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  He leaned back on the settee, his fingers interlaced around her waist. “What should you have done, instead?”

  She swallowed and lifted her eyes to his. “I should have told you how angry I was.”

  He nodded. “You must remember I am daft when it comes to understanding women.”

  She nodded. They’d had this conversation before.

  “How shall I punish you?”

  She chewed her lip. Was this a real question? Or rhetorical? She stole a glance at his handsome face. He seemed to be awaiting an answer.

  “With a very small spanking?” she suggested.

  His lips twitched, but he shook his head. “I don’t think so, kitten. Not a very small one. You disobeyed me and you lied. It was the lie that most offended me.”

  She shook her head. “That was very foolish. I apologize.”

  He nodded. “If you had not come clean immediately, I would switch you,” he said, threatening the implement that most terrified her. “I think I will spank you once for the lie and once for the dresses.”

  She shuddered.

  “Come, let’s go to the bedroom,” he said, nudging her to stand. He wrapped an arm around her to guide her out, as if he knew that her knees wobbled beneath her. “Don’t swoon on me,” he murmured in her ear. When they reached their room, he turned her around and unhooked her dress and corset. “Take off all your clothes and bend over the side of the bed,” he commanded, then left.

  The air in the room seemed to leave with him. Kitty stood in the emptiness, needy of his presence despite her mounting fear of the two spankings he’d promised. With effort, she made the statue of her body move, stripping her clothing and bending over the bed as he commanded, cringing at the vulnerability of her position, her b
ared bottom facing the door so that anyone who entered or was passing by when her husband entered might see it.

  * * *

  Harry fetched a large wooden spoon from the kitchen, earning shocked looks from the cook and serving girl. He opened the bedroom door and drew in his breath at the intoxicating sight of his wife prostrate over the bed. It was this very view that had tempted him into taking her before they married, adding to the scandal surrounding their engagement.

  His Lady Westerfield was maddening and frustrating and absolutely adorable. He loved her with his whole heart, and he regretted that his actions had hurt her. Still, he couldn’t allow her misbehavior to go unpunished. He shut the door and stood behind her, running his hand over the soft skin of her bottom. “How many strokes, Kitty?”

  “Ten?” she suggested hopefully.

  He chuckled. “I don’t think so. Let’s say fifty for the lie, and we’ll deal with the dresses when they arrive. You can put them on and prance around for me. Do you know what they do to horses to make them show better?”

  Kitty turned to look over her shoulder, a wrinkle between her brows. “No.”

  “They put a piece of ginger in their arse. It’s called figging. It makes them step lively. I imagine it will make for a memorable experience.”

  “Har-ry,” Kitty groaned, burying her face in the quilt and squeezing her cheeks together. He smothered a laugh and gave her bottom a slap, the sound echoing through the room as her body absorbed the impact. He gave her several more slaps with his hand and then switched to the spoon, applying it swiftly, the small surface area making it necessary to repeat the blows in close proximity to cover the lower half of her bottom.

  “Ow! Harry!” she protested. After twenty smacks, Kitty reached back with both hands, covering her reddened cheeks, forcing him to stop short to avoid striking her fingers. He lowered his aim and smacked the backs of her thighs instead, earning a howl of protest.

  “Kitty, go stand in the corner,” he said.