When they were alone, Charles finally turned around, regarding Kate, who had slumped into a chair and was sitting there with her head in her hands, shaking visibly. Not so much from fear of his anger—though there was certainly that—but mainly from wretched exhaustion. She looked up, though, and shuddered at the look of stormy anger in his deep gray eyes. "I'm sorry, Charles," she said softly.
"So am I," he said. "Kate, what happened? Why did you do that? You've looked as if you were about to jump out of your skin all night."
"B-because I knew you'd be so angry," Kate said miserably. "Because I ruined everything."
"But why?" Charles persisted, his tone just slightly gentler now as he perceived how close his wife was to the point of true exhaustion. "Kate, did you overspend the household money? I'm not thrilled about that, but you might have told me. It would certainly have been better to tell me before this happened. It'll cost at least a hundred to pay Edward back, for Lord knows what price they made him agree to, to have the stuff so quickly."
"Yes." Kate's voice was low and dull, and now that Charles stood before her, she did not lift her gaze to him, but sat there, head bowed, trembling. "Yes, I spent too much."
He gave a long sigh. "Show me the books," he ordered.
Kate made no protest, but stood up and led him into the little study and took out the big accounts book. But she said, "It's not in there, the mistake I made."
Charles looked exasperated. "You know I expect you to keep proper accounts, Kate, have you let them get into a muddle?" And he opened the book to flip through it. But there was every bill, every expenditure neatly noted, up to and including the cheap wine for the party.
"Just punish me," Kate said sadly when he looked up from the books, a question in his eyes. "Please, Charles, I overspent and I didn't tell you and I—I risked your reputation by doing everything so badly. I deserve it." There was a depressing irony to realizing that she had indeed risked the reputation she had given so much to preserve.
He didn't answer, but caught Kate by the wrist and led her into the bedroom. Kate supposed he was going to punish her, and she hadn't even the strength of mind to dread it. Part of her knew that she should tell the truth now—that she risked something more precious, even than Charles's reputation with her obstinate silence. Yet she couldn't bear it! To speak those things... it would seem as though she believed them. Charles would feel as though he had to answer the charges, and he'd still be angry, and that would be worse, for him not to understand that she had only done it for him. Better that he shouldn't know.
Dumbly, feeling numb and hurt and broken inside, Kate lifted up the skirt of her party frock and, without being told to, bent over the bed. But Charles caught her arm and pulled her up. "I'm not going to punish you until you've told me the truth," he said, coldly now, his anger roused by her obstinate resistance. "I'm not an ogre, Kate. If you bought some overpriced confection of a hat, just tell me." Despite the displeasure that was clear in his voice, there was a hint of pleading too, something that hurt even worse than his anger. For now, Kate knew, he was worried. What must he be thinking? But what could he think, when Kate would tell him nothing?
"It's not a hat, and I didn't waste the money Christmas shopping," she said in a flat voice, quite limp in his grip. She still wouldn't look at him. "It doesn't matter. The money is gone."
Charles put his hand under Kate's chin and tipped her face up towards him. She was too meek and miserable to resist the implicit order, and her bright, sea green eyes sparkled with tears as she looked into his eyes. But she did not speak, and finally he released her. "All right. Get undressed—it's well past time we were in bed, and I did promise Edward not to be too hard on you."
That caused Kate another horrible little pang. Why did Edward have to be so kind, such a good friend, when it would have been so much easier if she could have hated him? And now Charles was sparing her his anger because he'd promised Edward—not because his wife deserved the mercy. Peeling off her dress, she murmured in a dejected tone, "I love you, Charles."
But he did not answer, and they went to bed in a silence broken only by the occasional, muffled sob as Kate curled up on her side and tried to drown her pillow with tears.
*****
The next few days were worse, Kate felt, than all that had gone before. Charles did not reprove her, nor did he question her again, but she could feel his coldness towards her all the time, and how displeased he was. It hurt horribly, and Kate began to wonder if she had indeed destroyed her marriage in her eagerness to save her husband. It became clear that she would have to tell him—the easy intimacy between them was now entirely gone, and Charles showed no interest in his wife at all beyond speaking a few curt words over the breakfast table. He began working longer hours at his office, or sitting up late in the study over his drafting table.
On Christmas Eve, Kate was so low she could barely make herself get out of bed. The next day was Christmas, and she had nothing for Charles except a half dozen handkerchiefs she had hemmed and monogrammed herself. A poor showing of her love indeed! And it was only going to get worse. Watkins had said he would return in January, and then what? Perhaps Charles wouldn't even give her the housekeeping money now that she'd shown him how little she could be trusted with it.
They had been invited to another party that evening, but Kate had declined, and as the early winter darkness fell over the freezing city, she stared out the window with tears in her eyes. She would have to tell Charles. She would have to speak the awful thing and hurt him, and he would be angry and disappointed. And what would he do? It didn't matter. Even if her father could somehow give her seven hundred dollars in January, that wouldn't be the end of it. Why should Watkins stop when he could get all he wanted from her? She could not keep the secret.
It took some time to gather up her resolve, but the dreadful quiet over the dinner table only made her task the more imperative. After the table was cleared, when Charles was just about to take his coffee cup into the study, she said in a low, trembling voice, "Charles..."
He turned to look at her, and there was a weary look in his gray eyes, and something worse—a hint of the cynicism she had not seen in him in months. But he did not speak, and Kate continued in a hurry. "Please, Charles, I will tell you everything."
The line of his mouth relaxed a hint, and he held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded and led her by the hand into the sitting room, closing the door carefully behind them. He sat down in an armchair, and Kate drew up an ottoman so she could sit very close, her head bowed before him like a prisoner before a judge. "It seems... it seems mad now that I shouldn't have told you," she said softly. "But I thought it would hurt you, and I couldn't bear that. I can never bear that. And yet I've hurt you anyway, and perhaps the worse because I've made you doubt me..."
His stern face softened further, and he took her little hands in his, though he still didn't speak. Kate lifted her eyes then, and a strong wave of pure love overtook her merely at the sight of his face and the gentle contact through which he sustained her. "A couple of weeks ago," she said slowly, "a man came here. He said he was a friend of yours, but he wasn't. He was no friend to anyone. His name was Felix Watkins."
"Watkins?" Charles frowned. "I know a Watkins, but I'm quite sure I don't know a Felix."
"That was the name he gave," Kate faltered, and she began to describe him. "He was not very tall—and his clothes weren't quite the thing. He was clean-shaven, but the sort of man who needs another shave by noon. Oily—with deeply set eyes."
"Fred Wilson," Charles said positively, with a look of distaste. "Yes, I know the man—or used to. What the hell did he come here for, and why didn't you tell me?"
"I am telling you now," Kate reminded him, and she continued with the story, omitting not the slightest detail. She told of the insinuations Wilson had made and the money she had given him, of her visit to her father to borrow money, and how she had tried to cover up her actions from Charles. She began crying helplessly
halfway through, but still she continued doggedly until she had told him everything. "And I thought I was doing it to save you, but now I see how wrong I was... that I risked what is dearer than all in trying to protect it." She fell silent, gazing up at Charles from damp, pleading eyes as she waited for his judgment.
Charles had still not released her hands, even though he was frowning rather severely by the end. "Why on earth would you keep all this from me?"
"I don't know!" Kate cried, and it was true now. "I thought you would be angry—I suppose I was afraid you might do something rash and make him angry so that he'd say those horrible things..."
"Which aren't true," Charles said emphatically. "You know that, Kate, don't you?"
"I... I didn't think they were," she said, faltering only a little. "I-I know, sometimes young men try things..."
"The only thing Edward and I ever 'tried' together was absinthe, and that was sufficiently depraved for me. I can't pretend Edward isn't... rather Greek in his affections. But he's never troubled me with it; it's his affair. I'm going to find Wilson and knock his teeth out for him," he growled. "As though anyone would regard a word that came out of Fred Wilson's mouth."
"Then... then it was all for nothing," Kate stammered tearfully, bewildered, torn between relief and despair that all she had suffered had been entirely caused by her naïveté and foolishness in not telling Charles directly.
"I daresay Wilson's bookmaker is glad you did it," Charles said sarcastically, but then he gentled. "Kate, truly, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because..." Kate searched deep within herself. "It... it was such an ugly thing. And it seemed, somehow, that if you never knew, then it could never hurt you. Then I would have done rightly."
He gave a long sigh. "I haven't got to teach you that my troubles are yours, it seems, but you must learn that your troubles are mine. What hurts you hurts me—I've spent the last week trying to work out what on earth could be so bad that you wouldn't tell me. And now it's this. It's nothing at all. Yet you let it lay between us and poison everything."
"I know," she sobbed. "I did wrong. I did everything wrong. I nearly ruined our party, and only Edward saved it—oh, and I was so awful to him." A fresh wave of shame assailed her, and Charles was obliged to pull her onto his lap and caress her as she wept frantically.
"Shh," he whispered. "Hush now, Kate. The worst is over—you must be punished, for I can't let you keep secrets like that. But we're together now. It's all right."
"You still love me, Charles?" Kate pleaded, in a rather muffled voice from where she had buried her face into his neck. The warmth and strength of him lulled her, but she still clung closely, as disarmed and needy as a forlorn child.
"Of course I love you," he chided gently. "Why would you even ask that?"
"Because I'm a fool and I listened to the lies and gave three hundred dollars to a scoundrel," she said miserably. "Because I haven't even a proper gift for you tomorrow. Because I'm the worst wife ever."
"I can't pretend I'm thrilled by any of that," Charles said wryly, "Except for the worst wife ever part, which is nonsense. But I will always love you, Kate. And if the worst fault you ever prove is being too eager to protect me, we may consider ourselves fortunate indeed."
Then there was quiet for a while, as Kate kissed his dear face passionately, her warm breath and tearful demeanor testifying to her penitence. He allowed her to do as she would, his arm tight around her waist, holding her fast. But soon she said softly, "You will punish me tonight, please? I only want it all to be over..."
He nodded. "Yes, sweetheart. We'll get it all over with. I'll hunt down Wilson day after tomorrow and make it clear he's got nothing to come back here for. He won't bother you again, and I shall make damned sure he doesn't even think of trying this on Edward." Charles stood up and led Kate by the hand into the bedroom. Then he released her. "Undress," he ordered, his tone not harsh, but very stern.
Kate quickly obeyed, laying aside her blouse, skirt, underthings and stockings until she stood quite naked, shivering a little. Charles nodded, then went into the adjoining bathroom to take down the heavy razor strop that hung on the wall. He almost never used it on her, but Kate knew she had earned it, and she made no protest. At a word from Charles, she bent over the foot of the bed, pushing her rear up obediently while she hid her face in her arms.
"You understand why you're being punished?" Charles said.
"I kept secrets from you. I acted like a fool and wasted your money. I know I deserve it," Kate said with a little tremor in her voice. "Please punish me."
Charles laid one big hand at the small of Kate's back to hold her in place, then lifted the strop, bringing it down in a heavy thwack across her pale bottom, immediately raising a glowing red stripe there. Kate gave a little involuntary yip at the sharp sting of it, then bit her lip hard to force herself to silence. Though she was already crying more or less continually, she was determined to accept what she had earned quietly and show Charles that she understood her fault. How could she ever have imagined to keep this from him, when only he could make everything right? Never mind—it would be all right now. All she had to do was obey and take her punishment meekly. No whipping, no matter how long or hard, could be worse than all she had gone through since that horrible man had come into her life.
He brought the strap down in another hard blow, just below the first, and worked his way down her backside and over her thighs, raising painful welts on the sensitive skin there. Kate shifted and squirmed on her toes, but his hand was hard as iron on her back, holding her in place. She was grateful for that, grateful for the restraint as she was grateful for his discipline. Charles had never punished her in anger, and so it was easy for Kate to understand the hard whipping for what it was: an expression of his love and care for her. And so, though she gasped and pitched forward and sobbed, especially as he worked his way back up her bottom, crossing stripes and making her wail aloud, yet within she was fundamentally at peace.
"You will not keep secrets from me," Charles said sternly, punctuating the order with another hard blow. "You are my wife, and I'm not going to let anything keep us apart. If I have to spank you every day to teach you to trust me, then I will."
"Ow! Oh, no, Charles, please, I will trust you," she wept. "I am so sorry... so sorry..." Her voice was soft and broken as she caught her breath at another painful thwack. "I will be good... I will tell you everything..."
He gave her a few more hard stripes that made Kate whimper and clench her hands in the bedclothes, then threw the strop on the bed. "Stand up," he ordered, and when Kate had obeyed, he said, "Go get your hairbrush."
If Kate had been at all inclined to plead for mercy, she would have done it then, for her whole rear was already hot and glowing red, burning painfully. But she was determined to accept all that Charles gave her quietly, to show how sorry she was, and to put a finish to the whole awful episode. So, on shaky knees, she walked over to the vanity and got the heavy ebony hairbrush. She kept her eyes downcast as she held it out to Charles, but he put his hand under her chin, making her look at him again. "I'm sorry this has to be such a hard punishment," he said quietly. "But you must learn to trust me, Kate—you must learn it with every part of your body. You aren't alone anymore; do you understand that?"
Kate swallowed hard, for the gentleness of his words unsettled her more than the punishment he had given her. She was not alone anymore. As a girl, she had never really understood how very alone she had been, the strong-willed daughter of weak-willed parents, her mother's chief comforter and her father's prop. Only when Charles had come, reducing all her burdens to nothing at all, had she even begun to understand what it could mean not to be alone. And so she nodded tearfully, even finding a little smile for him. "I understand," she whispered. "I love you, Charles."
Charles brushed back the tendrils of sweaty, damp hair that clung to her face, then kissed her forehead. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he patted his knee. "Come here, then."
&n
bsp; Kate went into position very docilely, pushing her poor, welted bottom up into the air to receive all the punishment she had earned. Charles wrapped his arm around her waist and pinned Kate's legs with one strong thigh; then he began spanking—not very hard, but with a fast, remorseless sting that quickly became more intolerable than a heavier but slower pace might have been. Kate was trying hard to swallow her cries, but it was impossible, and she gave choked sobs as Charles continued heating her backside into an intolerable blaze. Restrained as she was, Kate did not have to worry about keeping still, and her little feet kicked helplessly under the assault. "Oh... oh, Charles, please... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."
"I know you are," Charles said mildly, not slowing in the least. He paused for just a moment, pushing her legs a little further apart so that he could lay stinging smacks on the delicate skin of her inner thighs, where she was most sensitive. That made Kate buck and wail. She tried to squirm forward away from the painful spanks—she could not help it—but his arm around her waist held her fast, and Kate could only issue little, pitiful pleas and promises of good behavior as the heavy brush taught her again and again the cost of keeping secrets from her husband.
"I will be good, Charles, please, please... Hurts so much... Ah!... Please, I've learned my lesson..." Kate wept frantically. For though the blows of the brush were not so severe as the whipping he'd given her with the strop, the constancy of the pain and the way he made sure to cover every inch of her skin made it even harder to bear. "Please... oh, please..."
But he did not stop or regard her pleading in the least, and by the time the spanks slowed and finally stopped, Kate was crying softly and wordlessly, all resistance, even subconscious, entirely destroyed. Then his big hand rubbed her sore, bright red bottom soothingly for a moment, and finally he helped her stand up. Kate slid immediately to her knees before him, for in such a humble state of mind, she could not stand before Charles even if the weakness in her legs had allowed for it. She caught his hands and kissed them passionately, weeping over them. "Thank you... so sorry... never do it again," she whimpered, lavishing him with the sweet adoration that the stern punishment had only increased.
Blackmail For Christmas (Blushing Books 12 Days of Christmas 12) Page 3
