by Golden Angel
Benedict’s Commands
Book 4 of the Bridal Discipline Series
By Golden Angel
Copyright 2017 Golden Angel LLC
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
I have a lot of people to thank for helping me with this book. Marie for all her help with editing, catching small errors, and the continuity issues that I occasionally struggle with (I swear, she remembers all the things that I can’t). Karen for catching my lack of commas and commas in the wrong places, mixed-up words, and my overuse of certain words and phrases. Katherine, for her ever-lasting support, encouragement and suggestions. Michelle for her comments, questions, and suppositions, which always end up changing the way the plot and character development flows. And Sir Nick for providing the much-needed male perspective, requests for clarification when my writing is confusing, and making me aware of continuity issues.
As always, a big thank you to all my fans, for buying and reading my work… if you love it, please leave a review!
Prologue
Warmth surrounded Christina’s body, making her feel cocooned. Safe. It was a feeling she quite liked. When the large male body shifted behind her, turning onto his back, she lost her little cocoon, rousing her from sleepy drowsiness to full wakefulness. She’d always been a light sleeper.
Opening her eyes, she turned to face her lover; her body curled up to his, her head nestled into his shoulder.
Benedict Windham was an incredibly handsome man. His mahogany hair curled around the strong features of his face - his high brow, Roman nose, full lips, and a masculine jawline that her fingers had traced many times. With his broad shoulders and muscular build – the man had no need of padding beneath his garments - he was the kind of rake many ladies of the ton sighed over.
And for the past month he’d been her lover.
She’d led him on a bit of a merry chase before succumbing to his seductions. After marrying the first young man to court her turned out to be such a disaster, Christina now required the gentlemen who pursued her to work a little harder to gain her favors.
Benedict Windham, brother to the Duke of Manchester and the titular Marquess of Dearborn until his brother produced an heir, had been quite fervent in his pursuit. Last month, Christina had finally allowed herself to be seduced. She’d been a bit hesitant initially - her physical reaction to him had been almost overwhelming, reminding her too much of her initial reaction to her late husband.
But she was glad she’d finally given in.
He was the most demanding, exciting, and satisfying lover she’d ever had.
Listening to his heartbeat, Christina slid her fingers down the center of his chest, through the curls of his hair. Grumbling in his sleep, he turned his head towards her, a faint smile curving his lips. Christina knew from experience it took quite a bit to wake him.
Once she’d managed to get his whole cock in her mouth before he’d completely come awake. He’d let her suck him dry before turning her over his knee for ‘impudent perversity,’ spanking her bottom a bright pink before taking her from behind, continuing her spanking all the while. She’d nearly passed out from the pleasure when he’d finally allowed her to press her fingers to her clit and rub herself to orgasm as he plowed her from behind. His dominance and sexual control over her was as arousing and exciting as it was frightening. Christina struggled with giving over so much control to him, although somehow the struggle also made both of them more excited by each other.
Compared to her husband’s disinterest in lovemaking once he’d taken her virginity, Conyngham’s skilled but indifferent pleasure-giving, and Haversham’s eager but often uninspired maneuvers, Benedict was by far her favorite lover. He was the one who had taught her the ecstasy of combining pleasure and pain, who had shown her the joys of being bound and helpless to questing hands and lips, and he was the only man whose orders she’d ever obeyed - at least, as long as his orders were part of their bed play.
Not only that, but outside of the bedroom, he was thoughtful, generous, and actually interested in what she had to say. They discussed everything from books to politics to art, and he was just as happy walking with her in Kew Gardens as he was taking her to a play at St. James’. They both adored Oscar Wilde’s works, although neither was opposed to a night of Shakespeare, and Benedict had even snuck her into bawdier entertainments like gaming hells and masquerades while wearing a hood and a mask. She hadn’t been the only lady thus attired, which had given her greater confidence about attending, even as she’d thrilled to the illicitness of the experience.
He made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t since before her marriage.
Which was why she had to give him up.
Just the thought of it made her heart ache, and that’s how she knew it was time. Already she’d stayed with him longer than she should have, even though it had been a rather short amount of actual time together. But Christina measured her relationships by the quality of her feelings, not the length of time spent in them.
Despite the lesson she should have learned after her husband’s betrayals, she was still far too emotional. She struggled with separating the physical from the emotional, although with Benedict the struggle was far greater than she’d been prepared for. By now she would have thought it would be easier.
The moment she’d felt a stir of jealousy at the thought of another woman with Conyngham or Haversham she’d ended the amorous part of the relationships immediately. She’d felt rather possessive of Benedict from the very beginning, which was part of why she’d been so hesitant to become involved with him. Still, the love-making had been worth it… so far.
But now, the very idea of not being with him tore at her. Thinking of him with another woman was enough to make her chest feel as though it was about to burst from the pain.
She’d held on for too long, telling herself that she would end things before Christmas; her reasoning being she would have the whole holiday and several months to compose herself and wrangle her wayward heart back in line before she would have to face him again during the Season. By then he would probably have found a new lover, and she would have control over her emotions again, so it wouldn’t bother her to see him with someone else. The same way she’d felt about Conyngham and Haversham. A bit of wistfulness that their time together was over, a touch sad, but certainly not hurt - no jagged edges of betrayal and no hours of sobbing tears that did nothing to ease her misery. The lack of deep emotion was what Christina desired above all else - passion, mutual enjoyment, and then a quiet parting with no pain on either side.
Despite the shortness of their affair, she’d become far too attached to Benedict. She wanted to spend more time with him, she wanted to make excuses… which was why she needed to cut herself off from him. Because she was too close to falling in love with him and she would never - ever - make such a foolish mistake as loving a rakish gentleman again.
It was her great misf
ortune that rakish gentlemen also seemed to be the only kind of man which she was attracted to.
Sighing, Christina forced herself up from his bed. He would wake to find her gone, as she sometimes was wont to do. Benedict was quite a heavy sleeper, especially after a night of passion. She still throbbed between her legs from his lovemaking and her breasts were deliciously sore from his rough handling as she eased on her corset and dress. The soreness of her bottom would probably linger for several days as well.
She needed to return home, to finalize her packing, and depart from London. She’d decided to spend the Christmas holidays in Bath again. The town was rather insular, which she appreciated. There would be enough social gatherings to entertain and distract her, and yet still give her time to mend her broken heart.
Hesitating in her dressing, Christina looked at the sleeping figure in the bed.
Yes, perhaps her heart was breaking a bit.
She was certainly making the right decision.
How much worse her heart would hurt if she tried to hold on to him, if she let herself truly feel something for him. Benedict was worth a little bit of heartbreak, and she certainly did not regret her time with him, but a greater heartbreak? No man was worth going through that again.
Steeling herself, Christina averted her eyes from the bed as she finished dressing. Walking out of the room without looking back was even more of a chore. Leaving his townhome, the house they’d always met at to indulge in their passions, she felt like Sisyphus, but the boulder she was pushing was her own desire to turn back around, climb back into his bed, and pretend nothing had changed.
But she could not allow herself to do so. She had to leave to protect herself.
When she returned to London she would be over this affliction of her heart. She would greet Benedict as a friend, the same way she had Conyngham and Haversham after those affairs had ended. And then she would find a new lover. As would Benedict, if he didn’t already have one by the time of her return.
Ignoring the pang in her heart at the thought - as that pang only strengthened her resolve - Christina exited the house, sure it was for the last time.
******
Dearest Benedict,
Our time together has been a wonderful interlude for the little season, but, alas, all good things must come to an end. I will be spending my holiday away from the capital. I hope you will not hold it against me that I left without saying a proper goodbye; I’ve never been very good at farewells and I find it easier to take my leave with a note.
I have so enjoyed your company, and I hope, if our paths should cross next Season, that we shall meet as friends.
All my best,
Christina
The paper was soft from being re-opened and re-folded over and over again; Benedict had lost count how many times he’d re-read his lover’s dismissal since he’d received it. Often enough he’d memorized the words, and yet he found he couldn’t bring himself to dispose of the letter. Nor even set it aside. He kept it in his jacket pocket over his heart, and his valet knew better than to suggest it be consigned to the flames.
Soft footsteps approached the door to the library where he was currently hiding away, and he hurriedly re-folded the note for the umpteenth time and replaced it in his pocket just as the double doors opened. Looking up from the comfortable leather chair he was currently reclining in, he smiled with some relief as he saw his sister-in-law rather than either of his siblings or any of their guests.
Lydia, his sister-in-law, was a sweet, easy-to-get-along-with, calm woman who had had a rather hard time of it the past few years. Her stepfather had behaved in a very unfatherly manner towards her, causing her to become desperate enough to trap Benedict’s brother into marriage in order to escape her childhood home. Now the man resided in Bedlam, after drink and grief over Lydia’s mother drove him mad (at least, the rest of them could only assume those were the causes of his insanity), and she and Isaac had fallen quite in love. She was a wonderful wife and sister-in-law, and a much-needed restraining influence on Arabella, the youngest of the Windham clan.
Always a lover of the Yuletide, upon discovering Lydia hadn’t experienced a real Christmas since her mother had passed away several years prior, Arabella had turned into a whirlwind of plans, decorations, and (according to Isaac) forced participation. She’d driven Isaac quite batty until he’d written to Benedict, begging him to return to the estate and rescue him from Arabella’s holiday mania.
“What are you doing tucked away in here?” Lydia asked with a small smile. Her honey-blonde hair was swept back in a loose bun, tendrils escaping to frame her lovely face. The sky-blue dress she was wearing skimmed her curves, silver trim bringing out the astonishing grey color of her eyes.
“Hiding from my sister?”
Lydia’s soft laughter was more sympathetic than mocking as she moved to the chair across from him and sat down. She was moving just a touch gingerly, and Benedict knew she and Isaac must have had a very… rousing evening the night before. While he’d occasionally ribbed his brother for their shared bedroom proclivities, Benedict would never embarrass his sister-in-law by showing any notice of his knowledge.
“She and my sister are directing the hanging of mistletoe in the ballroom,” Lydia said, eyes sparkling. She leaned to the side, resting her chin on her elbow, openly studying him. A little wrinkle formed in her brow and she looked rather nervous, catching his curiosity as she began speaking. “Benedict… I know we do not know each other well yet, but from the little I saw of you before you went back to London… well, I do not wish to pry but you seem to have returned to us rather troubled. After the great service you did me, if there is anything I can do for you…”
The great service had been overseeing her stepfather’s move to Bedlam, of course. After the man had run both mad and criminal Benedict had taken him to London to have him admitted, as well as to facilitate the passing of the man’s Earldom onto his heir. As the Duke of Manchester’s man-of-business, as well as personally eager to return to town to court Christina, Benedict had been all too happy to assist in the matter.
Still, Lydia’s delicate offer was not unappreciated and might actually be quite helpful. There were not many women Benedict could truly feel comfortable speaking too candidly on the subject. He did not count any women as close friends, nor could he speak with his sister about his former lover. Actually, he could not do so with Lydia either, at least not in explicit terms, but he could certainly be more frank with her than with Arabella.
“I am just troubled by… well, a woman, let us say,” Benedict said with a slightly bitter smile. “I do not wish to be indiscreet or tax your sensibilities.”
“Oh no, of course,” Lydia said, raising the hand on her lap to open it in understanding, gesturing for him to continue. “If you would like to speak in the most general terms, I am sure I can extrapolate from there.”
“I find myself in a position I am unaccustomed to,” he confessed, leaning back and looking up at the ceiling. He found it was a bit easier to speak if he wasn’t looking directly at his sister-in-law’s clear grey eyes, which could be a little too knowing at times. “There is a woman I cannot get out of my mind, and yet she no longer wishes to continue our relationship in the way which we were conducting ourselves. I have never before been troubled when parting with a – a lady… but I miss her.” He paused and then added, rather wistfully, “I had actually considered inviting her here, to Christmas.”
“That does not sound very discreet,” Lydia observed, sounding rather amused. He didn’t dare turn his head to see her expression, as he already felt far too vulnerable. “Nor as though you wished to continue your relationship in the manner it had been previously conducted.”
“No. It does not.” He tapped his fingers against the armrest of the chair, feeling rather jittery all of the sudden. “I had not decided to do so… It was just a thought I had. But I was not ready to make such a definite declaration.”
Because doing so would have
been tantamount to moving their relationship from clandestine lovers to a more socially acceptable one; in which case marriage would be the clear goal. Clear not just to himself and Christina, but to Society as a whole. It was the only scenario in which inviting her to Christmas with his family wouldn’t cause a scandal.
He hadn’t thought he was ready for marriage, but he hadn’t been ready for their relationship to end either. Especially not so rudely cut off without even a discussion or proper goodbye. She’d left his bed and him simultaneously, without any warning. Had she been upset over a lack of discussion about their future? Had he been taking her for granted? Or had it been a play for attention? None of his suppositions felt right.
“It seems to me, perhaps your indecision is your larger problem,” Lydia said thoughtfully. “If you value your relationship with a woman, you must show her. If you can no longer continue on as before, then you must decide what kind of change you would like to make to your relationship. Decide what you want and then move forward from there.”
Now he did turn his head to look at her, a teasing smile curving his lips. “As you did?”
“Well, I was rather successful,” she replied, a bit sheepish at the reminder of how she’d decided she wanted to marry and had trapped Isaac into it. Although, Isaac had planned to marry already; he’d just thought to have a say in his bride. “Even if events did not play out entirely as I planned.” Her smile brightened. “However, I certainly cannot complain about the outcome.”
Very true.
Benedict was immediately sunk deep into contemplation. Obviously sensing his preoccupation, Lydia stood, stepped forward to drop a kiss on the top of his head and left him to his thoughts.
All he had to do was decide what he wanted.
And then move forward from there.
Chapter 1
The matrons and misses of the ton swirled and stuttered in their movements and conversation, the equivalent of Society tripping over itself. To anyone accustomed to the ebb and flow of a ball, it was clear something was amiss - a shark had entered the waters. Lady Christina Rowan, the Marchesse of Stanhope, turned her head towards the staircase of the Wutherings’ ballroom, to see whose presence had caused the disturbance. Beside her, the Countess of Marley was also leaning forward curiously.
