To Tame A Countess (Properly Spanked Book 2)

by Annabel Joseph

  Nothing. She had no memories, no connection to this place.

  No home.

  “Perhaps I’ll look upstairs,” she said, to escape his concerned regard. What must he think of her, coming from this place? She went up the creaking staircase while Warren called out to her to slow down and take care.

  She stopped and peered into the first room at the top of the stairs. It contained the same ghostly, slip-covered furniture, including a shabby looking bed. Her mother’s? Her father’s? The adjacent dressing room was empty of everything but some wrinkled bits of lace, and a pair of dusty slippers that looked to be Josephine’s own size. She followed the dressing room through to the next room and found what must have been the nursery.

  She heard Warren’s footsteps in the hall, and then his face appeared at the door. They both looked at the cradle in the middle of the room, and the discarded china doll slung over the side of it. She wondered why they had left the doll when they set off with her on their travels. Had she wished for it? Had she missed the comforts of her nursery room?

  It was a small space, lit by a high-set window. A cozy room, in a way, with more slipcovered furniture in the corners that might contain baby clothes, or child-sized tables, or toys. A pink and yellow needlework on the wall spelled out Josephine Victoria.

  She turned to him, the edges of her world turning as black as her lost dresses. “I wish to go.”

  He looked once more around the room, then nodded and followed her down the stairs. At the bottom she turned, throwing out her hands to indicate the ghastly, crumbling disappointment of the place. “Did you know what a pathetic pile of rubble this was?”

  “It’s not a pile of rubble, Josephine.”

  “Did you know?”

  “No, I didn’t know. I hadn’t spoken to anyone who’d been here.” He gazed at her, his lips tight. “Any house can be fixed up, you realize. This house has good bones. It’s mostly intact. After almost twenty years, what did you expect to find?”

  She had found exactly what she hoped not to: more shabbiness and more frustration. Now they would ride back to his own glittering place, with its soaring corridors and smartly attired servants, and this shame would roil in her chest, this house and property that gave even more evidence of what she was not.

  “I wish my parents had been proper people who kept a nice home, and stayed in England where they belonged.” Her voice echoed, shrill and angry, against the high walls. “I wish I had been able to grow up like those other ladies. I don’t know why they had to drag me around the world.”

  “I don’t either.” He came to her and embraced her. “It’s not your fault, the way you were raised. But you’re in charge now, remember? If you wish to revive this manor—”

  “I don’t,” she said, pushing away from the comfort he offered. “I wish it to go to the devil.” They weren’t ladylike words, but in this house, in this moment, she didn’t feel ladylike. She felt as if she were falling apart. “Please, may we leave at once?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry to have caused you distress. I only brought you because I thought you might wish to see it.”

  She said nothing, just turned and fled outside to wait by the curricle while Lord Warren wedged shut the sagging front door.

  *** *** ***

  Josephine brooded the rest of the day, lost in private misery. She kept thinking about the gowns, the visit to Maitland Glen, and Warren’s careful solicitude afterward. No matter how polite he was about it all, he must consider her property a disaster. She certainly did. She’d never imagined her baronial home might be a ramshackle shell of its former glory—which had never been much glory at all.

  At last, Warren took her upstairs, ordering her out of the clothes that had caused her such distress. They bathed together and had dinner in bed, though nothing on the trays tempted her appetite. Warren told silly little jokes, and flirted, and refused to let her cover herself even when she grew chilled.

  “It’s not that cold,” he chided. “It’s only that your hair’s still wet.” He brought over her hair brush to smooth her tangled locks, a ritual she had come to appreciate the past few days. He mussed it up in exertions of the most carnal type, and then fixed it back again, stroke by stroke.

  “I would be warmer if you gave me something to wear,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest.

  “Something black?” he replied acidly. “I want you naked a bit longer. Our honeymoon is not yet over.”

  She reached beside her to pluck at the soft bedding. Their honeymoon? She could hardly believe he still desired her after today.

  “Don’t frown so,” he said. “Once I’ve tamed your tangles, I’m going to warm you right up.”

  “That’s not going to help. I feel awful. I feel I’m nothing but rubble, just like my house.”

  “You said you’d be happy to live in a cottage,” he said, working through a snarl. “Now you’re upset that you own a manor house, however rough it is.”

  “My cottage would have been pretty, and kept up in good order. There would have been flowers in beds by the entrance, and clear windows without any cracks.”

  He put his hand on her cheek to still her head. “Is it your pride that’s hurt?” he asked. “I’m trying to understand you.”

  “I’m just angry. I’m angry at them, I suppose. My parents.”

  “You have to let go of that. They’re gone now. You’re holding tight to ghosts who never even cared for you properly. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons you’re so frustrated with yourself.”

  She twitched as he pulled at a knot. “I’m not frustrated with myself.”

  “You said you were nothing but rubble, not even a minute ago,” he reminded her.

  “Because I am. But that has nothing to do with being frustrated. It has to do with being a complete mess of a person who simply does not measure up. That is a fact. I don’t belong with you here. I belong…”

  “Where?” he asked. “In a cottage? With flowers? If it will make you stop fussing, I’ll have one built on the property. Perhaps then I can have a moment of peace without you whining about how miserable you are.” The brush caught in a tangle as he scolded her.

  “Ouch!” She shied away and turned to him. “If you’re going to pull so, I’d rather you didn’t brush it at all.”

  “Turn back around.” He waved the brush at her until she complied. “I wish you wouldn’t fret. The condition of your home and property means less than nothing to me, Josephine.”

  “Because your own is so grand.”

  “No, because my regard for you is not based on your fortune or the value of your holdings.”

  “Your regard for me?” Her voice trembled with indignation. “You only wed me because Lord Baxter forced you, so spare me your facile lies.”

  He stopped mid-stroke and palmed the hair brush. “Come with me, then,” he said, guiding her off the bed.

  “Come with you where?” she asked. “What are you going to do?”

  “I should think that’s obvious. I’m going to spank you.”

  “What! Why?”

  When she tried to resist him, he lifted her bodily and hauled her toward a chair before the fire. “Because you’ve done enough sulking for one day, and you called me a liar just now, to which I take great offense.”

  He pulled her across his lap, gathering her arms and legs and tucking them into submission. The more she tried to extricate herself, the more she realized his size and power far outstripped hers. Oh, she didn’t want to be spanked. This day had been awful enough with everything else that had happened.

  “Be still,” he said. “When you earn a punishment, you’re going to get it, one way or another.”

  “But I haven’t done anything! I’ll scream if you don’t stop. I’ll scream until the servants break down the door.”

  “They won’t break down the door when they hear the sounds coming from inside. They’ll assume you’re being disciplined and they won’t interfere, although they may mill about and list
en if you make enough of a fuss. Now, I suggest you lie still and submit to this paddling, or things will go much worse for you.”

  “I don’t know how they could go worse than they are right now,” she said, trying to wiggle away.

  “Then you don’t understand me very well. I’m going to give you to the count of three to stop flailing and kicking. If you don’t, I can’t be responsible for what happens after that. One.” He paused, holding her struggling figure. “Two.”

  Before he could utter “three,” she went still across his lap. “I think you are horrible,” she said. “I can’t believe you would do this.”

  “Can’t you? That’s strange, because I’ve spanked you twice already before.” He gave her some warm up smacks, until her buttocks tingled very uncomfortably. “As I’ve told you, behavior has consequences. You’ve been cross and ungrateful. You’ve snapped at me and named me a liar when I was only trying to be kind. I don’t behave that way toward you.”

  “No, you only spank me as if I were a child.”

  “When you act like a child, you’ll be spanked like one.” He corralled one errant leg, pressing it down into position. “Keep your toes on the floor, young lady. The more you resist, the longer this will go on. Now, you shall be paddled with the back of your own hair brush, and don’t think I won’t do such a thing again if the situation calls for it.”

  With that warning, he landed the first proper stroke. She screamed and arched off his knees, pulling away from him to cover her bottom. The hard, round back of the brush seemed to leave a brand upon her skin. “That hurts too much! Even worse than the switching! You can’t really mean to spank me like this.”

  “Move your hand.”

  “Please! Warren, I’m sorry.”

  “Move your hand or I’ll move it for you.”

  With a plaintive sob, she moved her hand from her bare cheeks and braced it against the floor.

  “No,” he said, on second thought, “you had better give it to me to hold out of the way.” When he had both her hands secured at the small of her back, he commenced with a very firm paddling, smacking first one cheek and then the other in an alternating pattern. Josephine wailed and kicked her legs, even though she didn’t mean to. It was impossible to be still with the fiery blows stinging her arse cheeks.

  “Ouch. Oww. Ohhh!” Whenever her toes came off the floor, he gave a tap to the back of her thighs to tame them down again. She jerked and tugged but he kept her in check, delivering a steady tattoo of cracks until her skin felt like it might explode. Her protests for mercy gave way to apologies and finally to whimpers, when she couldn’t find the wherewithal to fight anymore. At that point, he put down the hair brush and smoothed his palm across her red hot cheeks.

  “Now,” he said, pulling her up to stand before him. “You’ll apologize for calling me a liar and whining about everything in a most unladylike way.”

  She tried to reach behind her to soothe her throbbing cheeks, but he held her hands at her waist so she couldn’t do it. “Don’t rub your bottom,” he said. “Apologize for your poor behavior, or, if you feel you haven’t sufficiently learned your lesson, you may bend back over my lap.”

  She couldn’t bear to do that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry I whined and called you a liar.”

  “You know, I only meant to be kind when I took you to Maitland, and when I tried to comfort you afterward. You had no cause to cut up at me, even if you aren’t feeling quite happy about everything.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He let go of her hands and drew her against him. “Go ahead and cry a bit, if it will make you feel better.”

  “I don’t want to cry.” Even as she said it, tears flooded her cheeks. “You h-hurt me.”

  “I disciplined you,” he corrected her. “There is a difference, which you’ll understand in time. If I only meant to hurt you, I could have done a lot worse.”

  She pressed her fingers against her eyes. “But you did hurt me. Even now, it hurts.”

  “Corporal discipline is a method of molding behavior. It hurts, but not for the sake of hurting. There’s a purpose. You learned something, didn’t you, through this spanking?”

  “Yes!” She turned her head and sniffled against his shoulder. “I learned that I don’t like being paddled with the back of a hair brush.”

  “Exactly. You’ve learned to avoid unpleasant consequences by exhibiting better behavior.” He held her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I think deep down inside, you want to be made to behave. Deep down inside you want nothing more than to be a proper English lady whom other people respect, and I am going to make you that lady, Josephine.”

  “You won’t be able to,” she said miserably.

  “Oh goodness, let’s not start all over again. Go put away your brush, at least for the moment.” She obeyed, reaching behind her to rub her aching bottom a time or two. She couldn’t tell if it made things better or worse. Meanwhile, Warren watched her from the bed with his head propped on his hand. She waited across the room, staring at his thickening cock. He beckoned her with a crook of his finger. “Come on, then. Let’s not have any more sulking nonsense.”

  She crossed to him with a tiny bit of sulkiness, but not enough for him to fetch the hair brush again. Did he wish for love play now? She was tired and confused, and in more than a little pain. When she was near enough, he drew her naked form beneath him, settling his hips against hers. He took her hands and pulled them over her head, tracing his fingers along the delicate inner skin of her forearms and stopping at her wrists. “I want you to leave your hands right there. You’ve been a very naughty girl, and now you must let me do whatever I like, to put me in a better humor.”

  She stared up at him. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nice things.” He moved his hips, nestling the head of his shaft between her tightly closed legs. Her hands came down to check him but he pushed them back up. “Are you going to resist me?” he asked softly. “That is probably unwise.”

  After a moment, she shook her head. “I’m not resisting. It’s just that I don’t know… I don’t know how to feel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that you’ve lectured me and spanked me and made me feel awful. I’m not sure I’m ready to be close to you. Not like this.”

  He leaned down to whisper a soft breath against one flagrantly hard nipple. “Whether you’re ready or not, I plan to have my way with you, darling.” As he suckled her breasts, he ran one palm down her thigh and shoved her legs apart. “Leave them open wide for me, or you’ll be paddled again. You must allow me to do as I like. Marital rights and all that.”

  He trapped her beneath him, holding her open with his knees. The more she tried to close her legs, the more he pressed them open, until she desisted with a frustrated sigh. Marital rights! She wished she’d never heard of the concept, especially when her body responded—quite against her will—to his sensual manipulations. He squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples, and then kissed her as he positioned himself between her legs. She expected him to enter her at once, wanted him to enter her at once, but instead he drove shallowly against her, in and out, just the tip caressing her folds and the little pearl she continuously tried to thrust against him. He smiled at her frustrated noises and held her wrists against the headboard.

  “When will you come inside?” she asked when she couldn’t bear it anymore.

  “When I want to, Lady Warren. Not a moment before.”

  Her breath came in sharp pants as she gazed at him. How humiliating, to be teased and toyed with today of all days. She gritted her teeth and scowled at him, and tried not to respond to his nearness and heat, and his scent, and his caresses, but she was past the point of coldness. She burned for him to fill her up and chase away this nagging want.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered, tracing his thumbs across her brow and then cupping her chin. “It’s all right to enjoy this.”

  “I don’t e
njoy it,” she said with a pout.

  “You’re a liar. Shall I punish you again?”

  But he was already punishing her with this teasing, and his knowing, mocking smiles. “Don’t move your hands,” he reminded her. “Leave them against the headboard, if you please.”

  “I don’t please. Oh…” Her whining cut off in a sigh as he entered her slowly. Halfway in, he withdrew from her again.

  “Oh, don’t,” she said. “You’re being horrible.”

  “Sometimes you’re horrible too,” he murmured. “Perhaps this is like for like.”

  “You want to drive me mad.”

  “In some ways, yes. Do you want me?”

  She bit her lip and gazed at him. She wanted him more than anything, but she hated that he made her admit it. But if she didn’t admit it, she knew he’d leave her unsatisfied, and she’d hate that more. “Please,” she whispered.

  “You want me all the way inside you?”

  “Yes, please.” She twisted her hips, arching to him. He caught her swollen pearl between his fingertips and pinched it until she groaned.

  “How does that feel? Do you like it?”

  “No,” she whimpered.

  “But you’re awfully wet. Are you wet for me, kitten? Do you want me very badly?”

  She hid her face against her arm, and clenched her fists upon the headboard.

  “If you don’t answer, you won’t get what you want.” He stroked his cock, regarding her with a speculative expression. “Are you wet for me, Josephine?”

  “Yes, I’m wet for you,” she said. “You know I am. I don’t understand the point of putting me through this agony.”

  “The point is that you make those lovely noises, and your entire body strains for my touch.” He flicked her stiff, pointed nipples, first one and then the other. She gasped at the sharp bursts of pain. “Ask me to take you. Beg me. ‘Please take me, Warren.’”

  “Please take me, Warren. Please.” She beat her hands against the headboard, and yes, her body strained for his possession. Humiliation burned, but desire burned hotter.