Disciplining The Thief - Complete Series (Historical Victorian Forbidden First Time Steamy Romance)

by Georgia Fowler

Abigail groaned and knew she had no choice but to meet her new guardian.

  The maid gave a quick knock on the study doors. “Come in,” a deep voice intoned. The maid opened the double doors and curtsied immediately before entering. She pulled Abigail in after her.

  “I’ve brought the little miss as you’ve requested, milord,” she said. Lord Brynwood nodded and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. The maid curtsied once more and left, closing the doors behind her.

  Lord Brynwood sat behind his massive desk and appreciatively took in Abigail’s new clothes. He couldn’t believe how perfect they looked on his new little guest. For a long time, he had heard of many other men of rank and title who had purposefully married women who would be their little girls instead of their titled wives. Lord Brynwood had never had any desire to follow suit. Colette was both educated and sophisticated and he wouldn’t have her any other way.

  Yet now seeing Abigail dressed as such a perfect little doll, he began to get a glimpse of understanding in what drove so many men to find those special little girls. But he could see, with a wry grin tugging at his lips, that his little girl was not as pleased with the new wardrobe.

  Lord Brynwood stood and walked towards his new charge. Abigail instinctively took a step back. She had yet to grow accustomed to seeing such a large man. Never had she seen someone so tall and so broad in physique.

  Leaning his back against his desk, Lord Brynwood gestured towards her new dress. “How do you like your new dress? You look like quite a proper little girl now,” he said, admiring how her pinafore emphasized her small waist.

  Abigail glared at the earl. “Except I am not a little girl, milord. I am a grown woman of eighteen,” she said, trying to keep a modicum of respect in her biting tone so as not to receive another punishment.

  Lord Brynwood seemed unconcerned with her remarks. “A grown woman would know how to eat with fork and knife. A grown woman would not have stolen goods in her pockets. A grown woman would not try to assault an earl. And a grown woman would not have recklessly ran into a horse,” Lord Brynwood listed off, his voice mild and low. Pinpricks of embarrassment and shame heated Abigail’s cheeks. “No, these are the acts of a little girl. And a foolish one at that. So, in this house, you will learn to be a proper little girl who will have good manners and a good education.”

  Abigail’s head shot up at the last word. “Education?” she said slowly, as if tasting the word for the first time. She had education aplenty—how to pickpocket, how to dodge angry shopkeepers, and how to not cry when beaten by Pinzer’s fists. But somehow, Abigail suspected that wasn’t the kind of education the earl was speaking of.

  Lord Brynwood nodded. “The doctor has prescribed little physical activity for you and your ankle. I think your time would be best spent then in gaining a proper education. I’ve hired a tutor for you. He will come every afternoon and will give you a good lesson in mathematics, grammar, history, and languages.”

  “A tutor,” Abigail parroted again. Only a few days ago, she had been sleeping in an abandoned factory on cold dirty bricks. Now she was being told she would learn history and mathematics. The sudden shift in realities made her head spin.

  “This tutor come with the highest references, I assure you,” the earl said, his voice teasing. In fact the tutor had been referred by a duke of good standing whose own little girl wife had benefited tremendously from his tutorage.

  Abigail shook her head, unable to take the teasing. “You are mad! I refuse! I say again, I am not a little girl for you to dress and educate! I won’t have a tutor and I will not wear such clothes!” Abigail tore the pinafore off of her and threw it onto the floor.

  She hardly had time to look up before a long arm shot around her waist and threw her over a hard lap. Sitting on such a high desk, Lord Brynwood’s lap allowed very little in the way of stability for Abigail. Neither her hands nor her feet touched the floor. Desperately she clung to the earl’s leg.

  “I can see we have our work cut out for us,” the earl said grimly as he pulled up her short skirts and pulled down her frilly drawers.

  “No!” Abigail protested, realizing another spanking was just around the corner.

  “A grown woman would’ve leapt at the chance of bettering herself. Only a stubborn child would refuse what was good for her,” Lord Brynwood said before giving Abigail’s exposed and raised bottom a hard spank.

  Immediately Abigail howled at the pain. Her bottom, already sore from her previous spanking, immediately began to burn from the punishment. Lord Brynwood was merciless and let loose a flurry of hard, punishing spanks that seared across Abigail’s poor little bottom.

  After the last spank had been given, Abigail was left crying and defeated over Lord Brynwood’s lap. Slowly rubbing his large hand over her reddened bottom, Lord Brynwood commanded, “Now say, ‘Thank you, milord, for my punishment.’”

  Abigail sniffed and sobbed in response. Lord Brynwood sharply pinched her abused bottom eliciting a sharp cry of pain. “T-Thank you, milord, for my p-punishment,” she sniffed.

  Lord Brynwood continued rubbing her bottom, his fingers massaging the punished mounds. Abigail moaned against the pain. Soon his fingers were slipping lower down her bottom till he felt moistness. Pleasant surprise crossed the earl’s face. So this little one had been just as aroused to the spanking as he had been. In fact, his hard cock was pressing against Abigail’s waist. He slowly fingered her wet cunny making Abigail moan and squirm in futile protest.

  “Tell me, little one,” Lord Brynwood murmured huskily. “Are you a virgin?”

  Abigail froze over the earl’s hard lap. She couldn’t deny the warmth that seeped between her legs. But she could deny anything else beyond that? Feeling the pulsing pain of her bottom, she decided to play it safe and be honest. Shrugging her shoulders as best she could while over a lap, she whispered, “Virgins lose out on the few shillings you can get from lonely men.”

  She felt the thick fingers pause against her moist cunny. She gulped feeling somehow as if she had disappointed the earl. She tried to shake off the feeling, realizing how foolish it was to feel guilty towards a man who had just spanked her.

  Lord Brynwood slowly removed his fingers. He strove to maintain control over his anger. What kind of cruelty had this child faced to need to sell her body for a mere shilling or two? His protective dominance roared in anger at the injustice of it all. Not wanting to take out his anger on the wrong person, he straightened Abigail onto her feet. Her drawers pooled around her feet. He pressed his two glistening fingers against her lips. “Suck off your juices, little one,” he murmured thickly.

  Abigail’s eyes widened as her lips opened instinctively. She tasted herself, sweet and clear, on the earl’s hand. She gasped as he plunged his fingers deeper into her mouth. But just as suddenly, he pulled his hand away.

  “Do no pull up your drawers. Now find a corner to acquaint yourself with. You will face it with your nose to the wall and your skirt above your waist to showcase your punishment. And you will stay that way till the maid fetches you for your lunch,” Lord Brynwood said, straightening himself up.

  Abigail stared in stunned silence. Lord Brynwood raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning if she needed a further lesson in obedience. Quickly, Abigail shuffled towards a corner, her drawers dragging the carpeted floor. Hiking her skirts above her naked bottom, Abigail shamefully put a nose to a corner and waited for the maid. She heard the earl return to his desk, scratching away at his work, leaving her in the corner like the petulant child she was being treated as.

  Five

  “That is remarkable, Jeremiah!” Lord Anthony Sutton cried, as Lord Brynwood finished explaining the tale of Abigail. Lord Sutton had come out to Brynwood Manor on one of his regular visits. He had immediately noticed the change in his friend. There was a lightness, a relaxation, that was present that he had never seen before.

  Something akin to this kind of happiness had been present in Lord Brynwood when he had declared himself fo
r Colette Livingston. But that had been different. Lord Sutton, and anyone else with a drop of sense, could see that that pairing had been a recognition of two kindred souls. For years men had been trying desperately to win the heart of the beautiful Colette. Dukes, both foreign and domestic, had dueled for her love. But it was only when she had crossed paths with Jeremiah did she recognize someone equal to her.

  But now Lord Sutton could see something different in his friend and it pleased him immensely to see it. Lord Brynwood was his oldest friend and he knew how much he had suffered and battled in life to get to where he was. He could think of no other man who deserved all the happiness the world had to offer him.

  “When will I get to meet the lucky little girl?” Lord Sutton asked. He was also quite familiar with the trend among the higher class to prefer wives of younger natures. In fact, he had just dined with Viscount Bergooth and his little girl wife, Countess Amelia, but otherwise known as little Milly.

  “Right now, if you’ll join us for dinner,” Lord Brynwood said, draining his brandy snifter.

  Lord Sutton followed suit and fixed his friend with a wry look. “I will indeed. I did not ride out into the middle of nowhere to be turned out hungry on the streets.”

  Lord Brynwood laughed and walked out of the study, leading the way to the dining room. Lord Sutton stood stunned. He had known Jeremiah for over ten years and never once had he heard the man laugh. Never had he been so intrigued to meet a girl as he was tonight.

  “Abigail, curtsey for Lord Anthony Sutton, our guest,” Lord Brynwood commanded.

  Abigail, dressed in a blue and white striped dress with a white pinafore, nervously curtsied to the guest. She had thought to never see a man of such towering height as Lord Brynwood yet here was another man just as tall!

  Lord Sutton smiled. “My, my, what a sweet little thing,” he murmured. “Truly a little doll, old boy.” Lord Sutton clapped his hand on Lord Brynwood’s shoulder. Abigail blushed feeling awkward and shy as the men discussed her as if she weren’t there, as if she were a child.

  Lord Brynwood smiled and nodded. He motioned for them to finally be seated. A lavish dinner was served. As platter after platter was set, a maid stepped forward and pulled out a pink linen fabric and wrapped it around Abigail’s neck.

  Lord Sutton looked curiously at the fabric as his friend explained, “A bib. Our little Abigail is still gaining mastery over her silverware. Too protect her dress, I’ve decided a bib to be necessary.”

  A deep blush stained Abigail’s cheeks. She still felt the embarrassment acutely of wearing a child’s bib at the dinner table. But it was true. She found the forks and knives to be slippery to use. Her hands often itched for her to just grab the food and eat as comfortably as she used to.

  Lord Sutton chuckled. “I’m sure. It protects her dress and your pocketbook, my friend,” he said laughing. “I don’t think you can keep buying her dresses for every one she spoils!”

  With his vast fortune, Lord Brynwood could buy Abigail a new dress for every day of the year if he so chose. But he knew his friend was teasing him for clearly spoiling the little girl. Abigail’s tastes weren’t quite yet as refined as Lord Sutton’s, who could clearly see the expensive fabric the childish dress was made of and the well made leather flats that donned her feet.

  “Colette is going to just eat her up, I can see,” Lord Sutton remarked, a smile touching his lips. A similar smile touched Lord Brynwood’s lips.

  “I should hope so,” he replied.

  Abigail was confused. She had never heard the name before. “Colette?” she asked. Lord Brynwood gave her sharp look.

  “Do not interrupt the conversation of adults, Abigail,” he lectured. Abigail felt her cheeks redden in embarrassment. She was an adult too, she thought stubbornly. But the thought was hard to maintain when she felt her bruised and spanked bottom against the chair seat.

  “Colette Livingston,” Lord Sutton informed her, pitying her pouting face. “Lord Brynwood’s intended.”

  Abigail’s mouth dropped open at the information. Lord Brynwood had a fiancé? She had never heard any such word mentioned in the manor before. Why had she not been told? Abigail thought about Lord Brynwood’s fingers stroking her intimately, a thought she had fallen asleep to more times than she cared to admit. She felt confused and uneasy now with the intimate touch.

  “I’ve written to her and informed her of our new little guest,” Lord Brynwood said, stabbing a bit of potato. “She has replied of only her delight and anticipation of meeting Abigail.”

  Abigail stared at the earl. Now she was truly confused. Lord Brynwood’s fiancé had heard about her and was delighted? Where was this Colette Livingston then? With each new piece of information, she only felt more confusion.

  “I hear you are being educated, little Abby,” Lord Sutton said, distracting her from her thoughts.

  Abigail narrowed her eyes. “My name is Abigail,” she said quietly.

  Lord Brynwood’s fork paused midair as he gave his charge a stern look. Abigail knew she should’ve bitten her tongue but she couldn’t bear to be further regressed with a childish name.

  “...milord,” she added quickly.

  Lord Brynwood gave her quelling look before returning his attention to his friend, who couldn’t have been more amused. “She is. I’ve hired a Mr. Ian Oglethorpe who came with excellent references.”

  “Ah, Oglethorpe! I know the man! Wasn’t he the tutor for Old Stanton’s little girl as well?” Lord Sutton asked, enjoying the roast duck immensely.

  Lord Brynwood nodded. “And a great many others. He is experienced in dealing with the petulant little girl who is reluctant to higher education,” he said, giving Abigail a pointed look, which only made Lord Sutton hoot in laughter.

  “And how are her studies going?” Lord Sutton asked.

  “Well, we’ll find out how she did today after dinner. Abigail,” he said, his voice stern with command, “bring your report from Mr. Oglethorpe into the study after dinner.”

  Abigail swallowed hard against a piece of duck. Maybe with a guest present, the earl would be lenient upon reading her poor report. She looked up from her lashes at the harsh cut features of the dark man.

  No, she thought miserably, probably not.

  At the end of every tutoring session, Mr. Oglethorpe wrote a detailed report of Abigail’s lessons and conduct. He sealed with wax and his own signature stamp to prevent tampering from little hands. It was unnecessary in Abigail’s case since her writing was still progressing from a child’s scrawl. There was no way she could forge the tutor’s own elegant script.

  Dragging her toes, she entered the study and waited to be acknowledged by the men. Lord Brynwood, sitting in the leather wingback, motioned for Abigail to come forward. With reluctance, she handed over the sealed report.

  With a quick rip, Lord Brynwood began reading the note, his expression growing darker with each line. “Three days of tutoring and you have yet to have a session without punishment, I see,” he murmured in a low voice.

  Abigail lowered her head and wanted to cry out that it wasn’t fair. Mr. Oglethorpe nitpicked about everything. He was constantly correcting her posture and her speech. If she stumbled over a passage, he made her read it over and over again and then write it over and over again. With little patience over her own ineptitude, Abigail had yet to be able to control her temper during her sessions. And Mr. Oglethorpe had no qualms about teaching such little girls a harsh and punishing lesson.

  But the worst was showing the report to Lord Brynwood in the evening. No matter how harsh Mr. Oglethorpe’s punishment was, Lord Brynwood’s was harsher.

  Putting the report aside, Lord Brynwood stared angrily at Abigail. “I’ve had quite enough of your misbehavior, little one. You will learn tonight exactly how completely exhausted my patience has become,” he said.

  Grabbing her arm in a quick snatch, he reached under her short skirts and yanked down her drawers. Abigail tried to grasp at Lord Brynwood’s
arm. “But Lord Sutton...” she protested weakly, fully aware of the guest’s presence.

  “Very little privacy is entitled to little girls and no privacy is entitled to naughty ones,” Lord Brynwood said sharply. “Push over that ottoman, will you, Tony?”

  “Certainly,” Lord Sutton replied, pushing over the large velvet ottoman near his feet. He relaxed against the sofa, ready to enjoy watching a punishment. He so enjoyed watching the humiliation cross a little one’s face as she was punished in front of her betters.

  Grabbing her by both arms, Lord Brynwood seated was still several inches taller than the petite Abigail. “You think your bottom is the only place you can receive your due punishment? You are sorely mistaken, little one, and you will be sorry to pay the price!”

  Standing abruptly, he strode to his desk and pulled out a thin paddle from a drawer. Mr. Oglethorpe had been paddling her in punishment but his was much larger than the one Lord Brynwood held. Abigail couldn’t help but sigh a bit in relief.

  A dark eyebrow quirked in dry amusement. “Oh safe, is it, you think you are?” Standing in front of her, he nodded towards the ottoman. “Lay on your back.”

  Abigail felt shame flood her as Lord Sutton watched her every movement. She couldn’t bear the idea of being so publicly punished yet she had no other choice. Gingerly she lay back against the ottoman. It was large enough that her legs hardly dangled off the edge.

  Lord Brynwood watched as she tried to lie down with some measure of composure. Snorting, he roughly pushed her skirts up to her chest, revealing her nakedness. Abigail cried out and tried to pull down the fabric.

  Instead of trying to restrain her arms, Lord Brynwood grabbed both her legs and bent them towards her chest. He made her grab her own legs, effectively having her present her own cunny to him.

  “You let go of your legs and I will let Lord Sutton help punish you for your poor classroom behavior,” Lord Brynwood threatened darkly. Abigail’s eyes widened in horror at the idea. Her little fingers turned white as she gripped her legs tightly to her chest, her embarrassment still acutely felt.