His Wanton Marchioness

by Sorcha Mowbray

  Chapter Nine

  Carlisle sat in his study, shrouded in shadows and self-pity. Three days ago, his wife had picked up all her things and decamped to Carlisle Manor in the country. He’d made a decree about their sexual relations, and she apparently felt strongly enough about her point of view to run away. This was the exact result he’d been trying to avoid.

  Bloody hell!

  Since her departure, he hadn’t shaved, hadn’t bathed, hadn’t eaten more than a few nibbles of bread. Instead, he sat alone in his study and drank whisky. It dulled the pain of losing his wife. His stomach twisted. She had left.

  A knock on the study door interrupted his pitiful introspection. “Go away!”

  Whoever was on the other side of his study door did not do his bidding. It was becoming a damnably common occurrence. They knocked again. “Leave me be,” he yelled, loud enough for half of London to have heard him. Surely that would send the interloper away.

  Another knock. Well, he was wrong again. Annoyed at the persistent fool who would not go away. He rose from his slump on his chair and strode over to the study door. Swinging it open with more force than strictly required, he snapped, “There is nobody I wish to see unless my wife has returned home. Now go the bloody hell away and leave me to my misery!”

  His butler stood there, looking utterly unperturbed by his outburst. “Lady Heartfield is here to see you, my lord.”

  “Lady who?” He swayed slightly and reached out for the door to steady himself.

  “Lady Heartfield. She says she is a friend of your wife’s, and she wishes to speak with you.”

  Carlisle blinked. Why the devil would she wish to see him if she were friends with Lizzy? Did it matter? “No. I’m not interested in entertaining this evening. Send her away.”

  He closed the door, but a strong yet feminine hand splayed out on the wood and stopped his progress. “I’m afraid I am refusing to leave, my lord. You need—” she stopped talking long enough to look him up and down. “Good God, you need possibly more help than even I am able to offer.”

  “I don’t wish to see anyone. Go away.” He repeated sullenly as he tried to once more shut the door. His poor butler found himself caught between them as she pushed on the door, and he pulled to close it. Finally, his servant stepped out of the way, leaving the doorway unblocked. Lady Heartfield took advantage of his dulled reflexes and quickly strode into the study. She sniffed once, a delicate intake of air, and made a strangled noise in her throat. Then she crossed the room and unerringly found the drapes that had been blocking out the sunshine for the last three days.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, she whipped the drapes open, letting every blasted bit of sunlight into his study. He winced as the bright light pierced his eyes, throwing an arm up to ward off the pain of it. “Close the bloody curtains!”

  “No. You need to stop hiding in this room and do something to fix things with your wife,” the blonde harridan said as she threw the windows open.

  “My wife knows where to find me if she would like to mend the rift between us. And I don’t know how this is any of your affair.” Annoyance grated through him, although his eyes were slowly adjusting to all the sunlight pouring into the room.

  She snorted. “I am no doubt overstepping, but someone needs to sort this mess out, and it does not appear that either of you are prepared to do so.” The woman sounded downright annoyed with both of them.

  “Please, don’t feel responsible. I assure you my wife and I shall manage, eventually.” He plopped back down in his favorite chair and plucked his whisky from the table he’d placed beside it.

  She sighed. “The pair of you. Her, with her hying off to the country and you retreating into your cave like a wounded bear. You two are far too busy running away from each other to actually resolve the situation.”

  He huffed a partial laugh. She wasn’t wrong; they made a fine pair. But perhaps he was the worst of the two of them. He had married a woman believing he’d found a soft-spoken, sweet wife. Fool that he was, he was rather shocked to find his wife was every bit as strong-willed as her sister. And mores the pity, he liked it. Mostly, because he knew that when she chose to do as he asked, it truly was her choice. That notion was intoxicating.

  “In any event, we shall work out our issues or not as we see fit.” He slumped down in his chair.

  “My lord, do you love your wife?” She asked him archly.

  He scoffed. “I don’t see how that matters. Whether or not I love her, she has run away. And she has done so because…” He let his voice trail off because it was too personal to discuss such things with a woman who was not his wife.

  She laughed at him. “Oh, don’t go shy on me now. You’re sitting there with your shirt untucked and hanging open, your bare feet on display. I feel lucky you still have trousers on.” She moved around his chair and stood in front of him. “Your wife ran away because you pushed her away. You’ve been pushing her away since your wedding. Now, I understand that a big strapping man such as yourself might be leery of hurting your wife. But I assure you she is made of sturdier stuff than you suppose.”

  Her words pierced his heart, though he hated to acknowledge the truth. “I did not push her away. I protected her.” He swung his arm, letting the whisky slosh about in his glass as he did so. “I protected her from me.”

  He brought his glass back toward him so he could take another sip.

  “Heaven help all women whose husbands think to protect their wives from them. What she needs is not your protection. She needs your love, your attention, and most certainly the use of your cock.”

  Carlisle coughed and sputtered around the swallow of whisky he’d just taken. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t be so bloody delicate, my lord. Women use the word cock, too. What your wife wanted, needed, from you is to stop trying to protect her and to love her. To show her your love and care through physical intimacy, through the closeness of day-to-day conversation. But you, in your infinite wisdom, denied her both things. Instead, you paid lip-service to loving her, all while holding her at arms-length.”

  He glared at her. “That shows what you know, my lady. I’ve never told her I love her.”

  The harridan sighed and turned to the butler, who apparently stood there, still waiting to be dismissed. “You there. Please have a bath drawn for his lordship and send his valet to collect him. He needs to bathe, eat, and sleep this three-day drunk off. Be sure to hide all the spirits where he cannot get them. Send word once he is awake and coherent. I shall return and help him sort out the mess he’s made of his marriage.”

  Carlisle blinked. Was his butler smiling? The man never smiled.

  His long-time servant bowed. “Very good, my lady.” And then he turned and disappeared down the hall.

  “Did he smile?” He couldn’t help but ask, utterly flummoxed by the notion.

  “Indeed. It seems your wife has won the hearts of your staff as well as yourself.” She crossed her arms over her bosom. “Now, do work on sobering up so that we can set things to rights. I doubt you will recall much of this conversation, so I shall save my valuable guidance until you are sober enough to make use of it.” With that, she leaned over and took his glass from his hand. “While we wait for your valet, cease imbibing. No point in wasting good whisky.” She then slugged the remainder of the amber liquid and set the empty glass down.

  “My lord, you wished—” His valet pulled up short.

  “Excellent, your lordship is drunk and in need of a bath. I believe the water is being heated already. If you could assist him up the stairs and into the water, everyone in the household would likely appreciate it.” She said as she wrinkled her nose.

  “My lord?” He looked wary of taking orders from an unknown woman.

  Carlisle sighed. “Oh, very well. A bath it is, but I can manage to get myself upstairs on my own, thank you.” He stood up, swayed once, and then righted himself. His valet nodded and proceeded him out of the room and up the stairs.

/>   Alone again, he couldn’t argue that Lady Heartfield might not be entirely off. He certainly had made a mess of things. Perhaps once he cleaned up and slept a bit, he could figure out a way to untangle this mess.

  ~

  He sat in his study with Lady Heartfield once again, but today he was clean, shaved, and clear-headed. He’d slept for nearly forty-eight hours, but it was much-needed sleep. Now, he must figure out how to make things right with his wife, and he suspected that Lady Heartfield would have some ideas on how to do that.

  “It is good to see you clear-eyed and smelling fresh as a daisy.” She smiled benevolently.

  “Thank you for rousting me from my slovenly state. I apologize you had to see me in such a manner.” He nodded as he sat down behind his desk.

  “I have seen far loftier men in far worse situations than being a bit drunk and disheveled.” She had a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Now, your wife has taken off to the country. I understand that while her seduction of you was quite successful, something went wrong in the end that caused you to declare a reversion to how things were.”

  He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the personal nature of this discussion. “My lady,—”

  “Do not my lady me. I once owned and operated The Market. I have seen, done, and discussed far more intimate things than what we shall cover here. If I may speak plainly, my lord?”

  He nodded, still unsure about this but curious as to where she was going.

  “You need to cease worrying about hurting your wife. I understand you enjoy a little spanking in the bedroom.” She stared at him, drilling him with her green gaze. He nodded again, robbed of speech. “Excellent. I believe your wife has enjoyed your attentions in that area. You need only accept this part of yourself for her to also accept it. She is new to the ways of the flesh, and while innocent in many ways, she is eager and curious. I honestly believe there is very little you could request of her that she would not be willing to try. Trust your wife to know her own desires. Cease trying to think for her.”

  He took in her words, letting them soak into his own head. His heart twisted as he tried to accept what his wife’s friend said. “I am terrified I shall hurt her in some way and that she will run screaming from me. I had a mistress who agreed to certain activities and then later became angry, saying I’d hurt her.”

  Lady Heartfield growled. “Scheming hussy. And I suppose you gave her expensive gifts to make up for it?”

  “Of course, I felt bad for what I’d done.” He shrugged.

  “My lord, I would have thought you were worldly enough to catch on to a scheme when you fell victim to it. That kind of disingenuous fleecing of men was not something I permitted at The Market. That woman played you for your wallet. Your wife is not that mercenary, nor does she have such acting ability. Trust her when she says yes to something you would like to try. And for the love of God, talk to her. You must communicate to have a happy marriage.”

  He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I’m a bloody fool.”

  “Possibly, but most men are when it comes to the women they love. Now, do get on the road to Carlisle Manor and collect your wife. I’m certain she is stewing in regret for her ridiculous retreat to the country.”

  Carlisle smiled for the first time in days. “I imagine she is, just as I am stewing in regret for being such an ass. Thank you for your sound guidance, Lady Heartfield. Please come visit us anytime.”

  “Thank you, my lord. Now, on your way!” She shooed him from his study.

  Chapter Ten

  Carlisle rode as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. He did not stop but to change horses and eat a quick meal. Just after dawn, he was a few miles from Carlisle Manor and finally decided to stop at an inn. He strode into the familiar establishment and grinned at the proprietor. “Marcus, I need a good meal, a room for a few hours of rest, and a hot bath. I have ridden for the last twenty-four hours straight, and I stink of horse and sweat.”

  Marcus stared at him for a long moment and sniffed the surrounding air. “Right you are, my lord. A bath is imperative. Though I should think your staff could manage one upon your arrival.” He laughed as his serious face cracked into a wide smile.

  “Indeed, they could, but I refuse to offend my new wife by appearing on the doorstep exhausted and stinking.” Carlisle peeled off his gloves and gathered them in one hand.

  “A wise man, you are, my lord.” Marcus nodded. “I have a room ready for you. Would you prefer to take your meal there?”

  “That would be excellent,” Carlisle affirmed. He was ready to drop and truly did not wish to make small talk with strangers in the tavern room.

  Marcus waved him on, and they made their way upstairs to a room that he occasionally had used in the past. More often than not, he came to the inn to make use of the tavern. He’d never admit it to his cook, but Marcus’ cook made a superior beef pasty.

  Alone, for at least a few moments, he stripped off his coat and yanked his boots off. He was unwinding his cravat when a knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

  Two women entered bearing a large tub, followed by four men, each carrying a jug of steaming water. Once the water filled the tub, the women set out a towel and a bar of soap for him. “Do you need any assistance scrubbing your back or any other parts of you, my lord?”

  There was a time when he would have taken her up on her offer. She was all that he had once looked for in a wench. She was soft in the right places, curvy, and had long dark hair. He snorted as he pulled his shirt over his head. “No, thank you.”

  The woman sidled closer and reached out as though she would place a hand on his chest. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and halted her progress. “I said no. Now go on about your business.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” She shot him a disappointed look. “My name is Mirabelle if you change your mind.”

  “Have a good day, Mirabelle.” He turned his back and shucked his pants. He heard a soft moan and then the click of the door as it closed behind her.

  Alone again, he sank into the steaming water and let it soothe his aching body. It had been a long, hard ride, but well worth it. After a brief rest, he would head home and prepare to meet his wife head-on. Over the course of the long ride, he had plenty of time to ruminate on Lady Heartfield’s guidance. There was no question. He had been a fool to behave as he had, but his wife had made mistakes as well. They both had forgiveness to give.

  He rested his head back against the tub and relaxed. Soon. Soon he would have his wonderful wife back in his arms. All would be right in his world again.

  ~

  By mid-day, he had rested, cleaned up, and ready to go see his wife. He walked his mount up the lane, pleased with how good his grounds looked. All of the shrubs were trimmed and neat as he approached the house. His boots had barely touched the ground before the door opened, and his housekeeper and butler appeared. His wife was nowhere to be seen.

  “Welcome home, my lord.” His butler bowed.

  “Thank you. Is my wife at home?” He passed his reins off to a young stable boy as he turned to walk up the front steps.

  “She is in the morning room.”

  He nodded and strode into the house. “I’ll find her, thank you.”

  Walking down the main hall to his right, he tried to remember how far down the hall the room would be; it had been a few years since his last visit to the family’s country seat. If he recalled correctly, it was a lovely cream and pale blue room that his mother had loved, and it also had a very sturdy and comfortable couch. He found the door to the room ajar and walked in. “Good afternoon, wife.”

  Her head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise as her cross-stitching wobbled in her hand. “Carlisle, you’re here.”

  “Just so, my dear.” He closed the door, locked it, and stepped deeper into the room. “I believe we need to set a few things straight.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms and sat back in the wing chair she currently oc
cupied. “I agree.”

  “Excellent.” He flashed a predatory smile at her. “Then let me start with an apology. I should not have pushed you away as I did. I was a foolish man.”

  Surprise softened her features. “You apologize?”

  He dropped to his knees before her, pulled her cross-stitching free, set it aside, and took her hands in his. “Yes. I did not trust you to know the real me, to understand my desires. Belatedly, I realize how deeply I hurt you with my lack of trust. And I shall forever be sorry.” He bent over and kissed each of her hands.

  She pulled her hands free and cupped his face. “You foolish, overprotective man. Your apology is accepted. And I owe you one of my own. I should not have run away. I should have stayed and tried to talk this through with you. To be honest, I knew it as soon as I arrived here. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I can, and I have a suggestion to help us both move past our transgressions.” He rose and moved over to the couch he had remembered. He sat down and crooked his finger at his wife. “Come here, Lizzy.”

  She did as he asked, which made his cock perk up.

  “I’m going to bend you over my knees and spank you. This is not a punishment. This is the thing I have been hiding from you and perhaps from myself. It is time I shared my entire self with you.”

  Lizzy’s cheeks flushed, and she whispered, “Yes.”

  Then he tipped her forward and over onto his knees. She lay there, patiently waiting as he lifted her skirts and pushed them out of his way. Finally, he found her bloomers. His excitement growing with each moment, he reached down and grabbed the edges of the open slit of the fine linen and yanked hard. The thin cotton ripped open, shredding wide until her bare bottom proved exposed. He rubbed his palm over each mound, savouring the round, fleshy globes.

  “This is going to sting, but I’ll not cause you genuine pain. I’d never hurt you like that.” He rumbled, the words crashing around in his throat as if he swallowed a fist full of rocks.