The Royal Wedding Night (Royal Discipline Book 2)

by Joseph,Annabel

  She swallowed a sigh as his hand slid between her legs and found the sensitive “flower” that felt better than anything else on earth. His fingers played over the bit of flesh, drawing wetness from her womanly parts to ease the way. His eyes were intent, his touch confident and sure.

  “Oh my... Your Grace...” A ragged moan escaped her lips at his sweetly sensual caress.

  “I think I ought to spank you, rather than this,” he said, bemused. “I’m not certain you deserve to be rewarded after your behavior this week.”

  “But I’ve been good. Most of the time, I’ve been good.”

  As her words trailed off, he pressed his lips to her temple and continued his skillful touches. She held onto him, her fingers scrabbling at the back of his coat as he applied the perfect amount of pressure to her flower. He was making it bloom.

  Her breath grew short. She reached to maneuver his fingers where she wanted them, but when she did, he took his hand away.

  “No, you don’t do it,” he chided. “Only me.”

  “Oh, please!”

  “Doesn’t it feel good when I do it?”

  “Yes, it does, but...”

  But it was so hard to give him all the control. She must accept that this would be her life beginning next week. It was her body, yes, but he’d laid claim to it, even before she knew they were to be wed. He’d trained her to respond to his control, even to crave it. She pressed her face against his neck and arched into his hand. “Please, Your Grace.”

  She wanted release, the climactic ecstasy she’d first experienced during a punishment session. Her shuddering response to his intimate choice of punishment had shocked them both. Since that time, he’d been very strict about that magical area between her legs. It’s mine. It’s best if you resign yourself to that from the start.

  “There,” he said, drawing away from her. “I think we’d best stop before you get too far.”

  “Too far? I’m already too far. I want to finish, please.”

  “But you shall not, until we’re lawfully wed. It’s only a week, my sweet.”

  She lay against him, feeling heavy and unsatisfied. He brought his fingers to her lips and she sucked them from sheer frustration, tasting her own spendings. His fingers were not the only part of his body she’d sucked since she’d made the duke’s acquaintance. Maybe he was remembering that now. She could feel the outline of his shaft against her hip, a familiar stiffness growing even harder. Perhaps he felt frustrated too.

  But not for long. One week. She didn’t know whether she felt impatient to marry, or terrified. She was afraid to ask if she would still receive nightly spankings as she had during her training at Thornton Manor. If the answer was yes, she might not be able to go through with it.

  Oh, of course she’d go through with it. There was no calling off this wedding now, but she’d rather go through it not knowing.

  Really, it was unlikely. He couldn’t spank her every night for the rest of her life.

  But as he pulled his glove back onto his large, strong fingers, she thought, yes, he very well might.

  “Do you want a spanking after all?” he asked, when he noticed her staring at his hand.

  “Oh. No, Your Grace. Well, on that subject... I would prefer to have a minimum of spanking in our marriage, at least compared to our time together before.”

  “I know those were difficult weeks for you.” He made her look up at him. “I know I hurt you very much, but every time I spanked you, it was an act of love. Every time I made you cry, it was in preparation for this. Now that we’re to be wed, we shall be so happy together.”

  “But I’d prefer to have mostly pleasurable things between us, like what you’ve just done, and less spankings, and chastity belts, and time in your discipline parlor, and things inserted into my bottom to make me behave.”

  “But if they make you behave...” He fixed her with a gently implacable look. “There won’t be any bargaining between us on this matter, I’m afraid. When I’m your husband I’ll have full charge of you, and you shall tolerate whatever disciplinary measures I require. I’ll demand proper behavior and unfailing obedience, and I’ll punish you if you don’t oblige me. Surely you expected nothing less.”

  “Nightly spankings?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer. He said everything with his look.

  She surprised herself by bursting into tears. The old Violet cried all the time, whenever she had a fit, but these weren’t those sorts of tears. These were worried tears. She worried about her future. She worried that she wouldn’t be good enough to please him. And yet...she still craved his closeness. She still wanted to marry him, for better or worse.

  “I want to be a good wife to you,” she said as he handed her his handkerchief. “I’ll try.”

  “That’s all I ask. Darling Violet, look up at me. Look at me, would you?”

  She complied, wiping her tears.

  “Do you realize the old princess would have been whining and manipulating, or throwing a raging tantrum? Instead you’re beautifully resigned to our union. I trained you well.”

  He brushed a hand across her cheek, taking his handkerchief back when she smiled at him bravely. Well, mostly bravely.

  “You’ll see. It will not be so difficult,” he said. “We’ll take things day by day, and soon we’ll be quite used to one another.”

  She could not imagine ever being used to the Duke of Thornton and his obsession with discipline, but at this point, she had no other path to take.

  Chapter Two: Wedding Day

  The night before the wedding, Violet had a horribly vivid nightmare. She stood at the ceremony, before all the citizens of Hastings, with her skirts tacked up in the back to expose her naked bottom. When she complained to the duke that she was about to expire of humiliation, he smiled at her and replied, You shall tolerate whatever disciplinary measures I require.

  She awoke in a tangle of sheets, trying to cover her backside. Oh, no, she couldn’t bear such a life. She couldn’t marry him. What had possessed her, to allow things to proceed this far? The sun was already coming in the window. Guests would arrive soon, ready to make merry the entire day. If she canceled the wedding now, she’d ruin everyone’s fun, but no, no, no.

  She could not go through with it.

  She felt the old Violet clawing to explode out of her, to rant and insist on her way. She pulled on her robe and stepped into some slippers, and left her room to hurry down the hall to her father’s chambers.

  “Papa,” she yelled, pounding on his door. “Papa, I need to speak with you. Papa!”

  A footman opened the door with an ingratiating bow. She shoved past him to where her father stood, being regally outfitted by a swarm of valets.

  “What is it, dearest?” he asked, as the men combed his hair and tugged at his royal lapels. “A question about the ceremony? Some problem with your gown? If there’s an issue, we shall soon correct it. This wedding has been planned by scores of people, to the tiniest detail.”

  “The wedding is the problem. I can’t marry the duke. You absolutely must cancel the wedding today, right now, this minute!” She noted one of the valets flinching as her voice escalated in pitch. She didn’t care. Her father must understand the seriousness of the situation. “I’ve had the worst dream. The worst nightmare. This wedding cannot take place.”

  “What did you dream?” her father asked with strained patience.

  “I would rather not go into specifics. The point is—”

  “The point is that it is far too late to cancel this wedding. The point is that you are going to marry the duke today as all of Hastings celebrates your auspicious union. The point, my dear, is that you’re having wedding day nerves.” He wagged a finger at her, but not in an angry way.

  No, Violet was the one doing the angry finger wagging. “It is not ‘wedding day nerves,’ nothing so simple as that. It’s that I refuse to surrender myself to that man for life. I don’t want to live under his dominion. I refuse. I will n
ot marry him.”

  “But I’m dressed for a wedding,” said her father. “And the duke has arrived to join the throng downstairs, awaiting your appearance. Go put on your pretty silver gown and the matrimonial diamonds, and prepare to be made a wife—for wife you shall be.”

  “Papa!”

  “Violet, return to your room and dress. I’m not saying that as your father. I’m commanding it as your king.”

  “But—”

  He held up a hand and Violet clamped her mouth shut. She was being awful, she knew. If the duke was here, he would already be spanking her, which was exactly why she was so afraid.

  “I can’t breathe,” she said, clutching at her throat. “I’m panicking.”

  “I can see that, daughter, but there’s no need. The duke will make an excellent husband. Now please, return to your room and make yourself ready. I’ll have some sweet buns and tea sent up, if you think it may calm your nerves.”

  “Nothing shall calm my nerves, and I’m not getting married today. I’m going to my room to go back to bed,” she shouted. “You may inform everyone, including the Duke of Thornton, that they must return home and forget the entire betrothal!”

  She stormed from the king’s chambers and thought about running away, but the palace grounds were packed with wedding guests and gawkers. She could hear the rumble of voices from the crowds gathering downstairs. She wouldn’t be able to get away, but she could certainly lock herself in her room. The ornate silver gown her father had commissioned would have to be packed away to wear for some other wedding at a future date.

  She could not marry the duke. No. She could not.

  “Your Highness?”

  The familiar, feminine voice broke through her scattered thoughts. Jeannie stood at the door to her rooms, dressed in her starched apron and cap. She wore a huge smile as she dipped into a curtsy.

  “His Grace thought you might enjoy an extra set of hands as you prepared for the ceremony, Your Highness, so he brought me to the palace to assist you.”

  Violet wanted to rail at the duke’s amiable maid, to smack her in the face and tell her to be off along with her master, but she couldn’t do it. Jeannie looked so happy to see her again, and, in truth, Violet was pleased to see her too.

  “You must help me,” she cried, gripping the maid’s elbow. “I’m in such a state. I don’t want to fall apart, but I can’t seem to help myself.”

  “Of course you’re in a state. It’s your wedding day. Please, come sit down and have some breakfast. You must eat and let us coddle you, and try to soothe your worries. The other maids are heating a bath with chamomile and lavender to relax you before you dress.”

  The dark-haired woman kept up a steady stream of prattle as she led her to the settee and poured tea into a delicate cup. The old Violet would have flung the tea—and the cup—into the fire. The new, trying-very-hard-to-behave Violet clasped her hands together and sat motionless as she was served.

  “When did the duke arrive?” she asked Jeannie.

  “About an hour ago, Your Highness. He worried you might be feeling at ends this morning, so he bade me give you this.”

  The maid drew a note from her pocket. Violet recognized the same fine paper he’d provided when she was a guest in his home. Well, she’d never been a guest in his home, more like a prisoner. When he took her back to Thornton Manor, she’d be his prisoner again. She opened the single sheet with trembling fingers.

  Dearest love,

  How pleased I am that this day has finally arrived. You mustn’t fret that things won’t go well. This is the beginning of our dream together, even if it feels overwhelming at the start.

  My precious princess, be brave.

  Thornton

  Violet closed the note and held it against her heart. Did he truly think her precious? She was a shrew, a wreck.

  No. She was his good girl.

  She tried to smile for Jeannie, but couldn’t manage it. “His Grace says that everything will be fine.”

  “And it shall be, Your Highness.”

  Violet took a sip of tea and then bit into one of the sweet buns her father had provided. It was coated in fine vanilla sugar. She knew he would serve a thousand of them to the wedding guests, along with more delicious dishes. Today was to be a celebration, not just of her wedding, but of the future prosperity of Hastings.

  “I’m still worried,” she said, even though it was not refined to blather on to servants. Jeannie was the only one who would understand. “I’m worried about being his wife. I’m worried we’ll pitch back into battle.”

  “Why would you? You’re not the haughty princess you were.” The maid ducked her head. “Pardon me. Oh, please forgive me for saying such a thing.”

  “Don’t apologize. I used to be worse than haughty. I used to be awful. I know I’ll never be that awful again, but what if...what if I’m not good enough either? He can be so exacting.”

  “Yes, he is exacting.” The maid’s eyes twinkled in the mid-morning light. “But he’s got a soft spot in his heart for you, Your Highness. You’ll see. It’s May Day, a joyous day, and everything will be well.”

  Violet’s glance strayed to the steaming bath that was nearly filled, and the shimmering silver dress that had been hung to air in the far corner. She hoped against hope that the smiling maid was right.

  * * * * *

  To her relief, her wedding gown had not been tacked up in the back. She doubted it could have been accomplished in any case, because of the full skirts and lengthy train. The magnificent attire was a showpiece, a fantasy made real for the subjects of Hastings. She was their princess, with a sumptuous gown, glittering diamonds at her neck, and white flowers adorning her long blonde hair.

  But in truth, she didn’t feel beautiful until she arrived at the altar and stood before her groom. A thousand people had pointed, gasped, squealed, and even applauded as she processed down the aisle, but she didn’t truly feel beautiful until the duke regarded her with widening eyes.

  “I’m speechless,” he murmured. “You are a vision, Your Highness.”

  His approving words warmed her, and helped her stay calm as he took her hand from her father and professed his matrimonial intent. Violet’s job was to stand and look pretty as the royal officiant recited all her names and titles, and all the duke’s names and titles, and all the tedious ceremonial words about the meaning of marriage and their sacred duty to the monarchy.

  Goodness, as if Violet didn’t know. As if she hadn’t been obsessing on the topic for weeks, ever since she’d learned she was to wed. She restrained her sighs, though, and stood as rigidly and attentively as the duke, determined to be the perfect bride. Her father’s eyes shone as she recited her vows, and then the duke recited his vows.

  After that, he slid a ring on her finger, a slender, shining band with a deep blue stone the color of his eyes. Later, she would examine it more closely. For now, she could only gaze at his lips, at that gentle smile that said My precious princess, be brave. His gloved hands were strong, supporting her. His matrimonial garments were midnight blue and black, lined with satin and decorated with an array of ducal medals. Stunning. That was the word for it. He was stunningly handsome, and he was her husband. It was time to make peace with that fact.

  The panic of the morning ebbed away as he led her back down the aisle, past smiling royals and her father’s councilmen, and out into the square. Once outside, he paused and turned to her. The gathered crowd roared in approval as he swept her close, and she realized that he meant to kiss her.

  Violet trembled, shocked to be so close to him, and so publicly intimate. His fingertips skimmed her cheek, guiding her face to his. He bestowed upon her a first real kiss, a possessive stamp of ownership. The warmth and passion in his lips set fire to her soul. She clutched at him, this man who was now her husband. His quick, rough embrace left her wanting more, but there were hours to go before they could be alone together.

  “You’re my wife now,” he whispered as the pe
ople cheered. “I can hardly believe my good fortune.”

  “Nor I,” she said, and she mostly meant it. But some part of her was still scared.

  Maybe he understood, for he held her hand more tightly as they processed into the Great Hall for the wedding feast. The duke’s coronation as her royal consort would not take place until the morrow. When Violet had asked why, her father had flushed red and blustered about marital duties and told her that was the way things were done. She wondered what marital duties were, and whether the duke would be expected to perform them at some time during the feast. She wanted to ask about it, but her father’s expression had not invited further questioning.

  Well, she was certain the duke would perform the necessary duties with aplomb prior to his coronation. And now that the ceremony was out of the way—without the least bit of humiliation—she was ready to partake of the endless stream of roasts, ale, wine, and puddings the kitchen staff produced.

  As they dined at the head table, guests rose to make effusive speeches, while the bawds and jesters occasionally burst into song. The royal poet recited a work composed especially for the occasion. Violet thought the man glossed over the facts when he referred to her “renowned elegance and grace,” but he soon moved on to lionizing the duke, and celebrating their “fated, perfect love.”

  Perhaps they were fated. Violet stole a glance at her husband. He’d told her how long he’d admired her, thinking her a “marvelous brat.” If she hadn’t noticed his attentions back then, it was probably because she was so caught up in her selfish dramas and desires. Oh, I hope you will continue to admire me. I hope I’ll please you.

  Her anxieties must have shown on her face, for he looked down at her in concern. “What’s the matter?”

  “There are so many people here. It’s overwhelming.”

  He took her hand beneath the table. “All that matters is you and me.”