by Ava Sinclair
“Well, then.” Royce pulled a chair beside the bed and sat down. “Perhaps a nappy is unnecessary. However, you will be in the nursery, like it or not. You’ve lacked a proper raising, Imogen, and I mean to give you a new beginning, with the father’s love and guidance that you’ve lacked. But maybe we needn’t start so far back.” He regarded her with warmth now, reaching out to pull away a strand of hair that tears had plastered to her cheek. “We can start somewhere else you like.” He gave her a small smile. “Tell me, little one. What was the last happy memory from your childhood?
Imogen fell silent, biting her lip as she tried to recall it. After a moment, she shook her head as a fresh tear slipped down her cheek. “I can’t recall.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can if you think about it,” Royce said patiently. He nodded over to Miss Quinn, who’d came back over with something new—a glass bottle with a rubber nipple on it.
Royce took it from the nurse. “As I told you earlier, the rules of Stonehaven Manor are to be obeyed. You declined the food you were brought earlier, so instead you will get this bottle of milk. You will drink it, Imogen, every drop. And as you do, you will think on my question. When I come for you in the morning, we will decide if you still need the nappy.”
He reached over and lifted Imogen up, replacing her on the bed once Miss Quinn had moved the blankets aside. Then he tucked her in personally and handed her the bottle.
“Drink.”
His eyes were on her mouth as he put the bottle to her lips. There was something intense in his gaze, seductive. Imogen found her eyes locked on his as she took the nipple and began to draw on it.
“That’s my sweet little girl,” he said, easing himself down onto the bed. Imogen felt herself growing warm and languid as the sweetened milk slid down her throat. Any embarrassment she’d felt melted away; as odd as her situation was, she found a comfort in his voice, in how he rubbed her hair as she drained the bottle. She was asleep as the last drop slid down her throat.
Imogen was vaguely aware of his words as she drifted off. “I’ll let nothing happen to you, my little one. I promise…”
Chapter Five: Papa
“Don’t let me die, sir…”
“You’re not going to die.”
“Don’t leave me here.”
“I’m not going to leave you, Robert.”
“It’s getting dark, Major Kingsley.”
“I’ve got you, Robert.”
“It was a pleasure serving with you, sir.”
“Hang in there, Rob. Do you hear me? Hang in there!”
Royce woke with a strangled cry, his broad chest sweaty and heaving. He pushed himself up, expecting to feel dry dust underneath his hands, but only felt the soft mattress of his bed.
It took him a moment to reorient, to remember he was home, finally. Standing, he walked past the glowing fireplace to the stand holding the washbasin. The water inside was cool as he splashed his face and toweled it try. He turned and walked to the window, looking down at the light snow glittering in the cold light of dawn.
He’d left the turmoil of Africa, but could he ever really leave it behind? He’d always be Major Kingsley, war hero. But he didn’t feel like a hero. The cries of young men like Robert would forever ring in his ears, as would his empty promises to save those beyond the help he wanted to give.
He had to move on. He could not live in the past. He could not save the broken and the dead. But he could save the one person he’d brought home along the way. His Imogen. His unexpected surprise.
Royce replayed the events from the night before as he stood watching the winter sun break over the vast lands of his estate. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the razor pulling away the foam and fleece from the pale outer lips of her pussy, could see how the dusky pink inner folds had become swollen and wet, in spite of her fear and embarrassment.
His cock had grown hard, and harder still when he watched her sweet mouth close around the nipple of the bottle she’d suckled until falling asleep. At first he thought he’d imagined her gaze, so enraptured, but he knew he had not. Imogen had responded to what was happening to her. In spite of her protests, she wanted it, even if she wasn’t sure just what she was getting into. She responded to being dominated, to being rendered helpless. He’d seen it the night he’d taken her virginity. He’d seen it the previous night, too.
Now as his valet arrived to dress him, Royce pondered his next step with Imogen. He’d always been dominant. That dominance had served him well as a leader of men. His desire for control extended to his sexuality. His service in the military had seen him enjoy a variety of liaisons; there had been no shortage of daughters of diplomats or young widows willing to lift their skirts for a handsome, discreet officer. These women reveled in his mastery without realizing they’d only glimpsed a shadow of his dominant nature. For Royce had been waiting—waiting for a woman whose capacity for submission matched his desire to control.
Royce realized now that he sensed that submission in Imogen. What’s more, her empty childhood made her the perfect reservoir for a man like him to fill. He could create for her a new childhood here at Stonehaven Manor. There would be pleasures and indulgences, but there would also be firm correction. And there would be an education; Royce intended to see Imogen schooled, not just in maths and reading, but in the art of pleasing him.
He smiled as he stepped back to assess his image in the mirror. It would take some time to get used to seeing himself in the suit of a gentleman, although his erect carriage was still that of an officer, and always would be.
“Thank you, Mr. Crane,” he said, and turned to pick up two letters he’d written before bed. “Please see that these are delivered to the village tradesmen. I’ll need them here as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.” The valet gave a respectful nod and turned away to obey his order.
Royce had requested that Miss Quinn join him for breakfast. He was pleased to hear that Imogen had slept through the night, owing to the sedative the nurse had put in her milk.
“She’ll need to be set up on a routine of cleansing,” the new nanny said over breakfast. “As far as the rest of my duties, that will largely depend on your direction, Major Kingsley. You are not the first man to keep such an arrangement; I have a cousin in the north who tends to a woman living as a baby. The duties of a nursemaid vary by the age the husband gives his wife.”
“I’m happy to see that we are of like minds.” Royce stood. “I will go up to her now. After I speak to her, I’ll let you know how we plan to proceed.”
“You don’t want me to get her up and bathed?”
“No,” he said. “I feel I must establish our relationship with both a firm and a gentle hand. Imogen knows I am not to be trifled with, but she will also be heard. This morning, I hope to listen to the little girl I know is inside her.”
“Very good, sir,” Miss Quinn said, rising. “Is there anything I can do while you tend to her?”
“Yes, actually,” he said. “You can accompany my valet into the village. He’s going there directly to meet with some tradesmen I plan to hire to put in a nursery. I’d like you to put the word out that we are seeking a tutor for a young lady of this household.” He paused. “Also, she’ll need a new wardrobe. I believe you know what is suitable.”
“Of course, sir,” she said.
Royce was pleased to give Miss Quinn some duty to take her away from the house, for while he knew he needed her services, he intended to be very active in his role as a papa. He was a man trailed by the phantoms of his military past, and her presence settled him. Just seeing her curled into herself in the bed, her little hand tucked under the side of her heart-shaped face, caused his pulse to quicken. For long moments, he stared at her.
The thin shift she wore hid little from his eyes. His gaze followed the line of her back down to the diaper she wore. Leaning down, he gently shook her awake.
“Imogen? Imogen. Wake up.”
She did, slowly at first, then
her eyes flew open as she sat up and looked down, aware of the nappy still fastened around her. Her face flushed red as the previous night’s events were obviously remembered.
“Major Kingsley,” she said.
“No. You will call me papa. Is that understood?”
She shifted on the bed, and dropped her gaze in sullen defeat. “Papa.”
“Good girl,” he said. “I’m having a bath drawn for you. Afterwards, you will be dressed and have breakfast.”
She shuddered. “Dressed… Must I continue to wear this awful thing?” She placed her hand on the front of the nappy.
“We will decide after your bath,” he said.
Servants came in and Imogen sat in the bed, waiting, until the tub was filled. Royce knew she was embarrassed and did not want to waddle across the room in the nappy. Once they were gone, he ordered her to lie back, telling her that the only way to be free of the nappy was to allow him to remove it. She did so, reluctantly, her fists balled at her side and her gaze fixed on the high ceiling. Soon he had her completely naked again, and Royce was pleased when she allowed him to scoop her up and take her into an adjoining room, where a deep tub had been filled with warm water. Taking a seat at the side of the tub, he picked up a washcloth and began lathering it as she watched.
“I can bathe myself,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “But I’m not going to let you. You will do nothing for yourself, until we have decided your station.”
“My station?”
He lifted her hair and began soaping her shoulders. “Yes. Did you give thought to my question? The one I asked last night about the last happy moment of your childhood?”
She looked back at him, her eyes mistrustful. “Do you really want to know?”
He smiled. “I really want to know.”
“Very well,” she said. “It was the day when I realized the father who’d left me would never return. It was before Mr. Blythe came into my life. So if you must know, the happiest moment of my childhood was when I finally understood I’d never have a father.”
The words were spoken bitterly, and he could almost feel the gulf growing between them—a gulf formed from the abandonment of her natural father and the rejection of the man who’d replaced him. Royce knew she was trying to scare him away. He wasn’t about to let that happen.
“So it was the day you gave up on having a father, then.”
“No,” she countered, “it was the day I decided I didn’t need one.”
“How old were you then?” he asked.
“I was five.”
“Goodness! You were quite young to have such an epiphany.” Royce studied her profile as he moved the washcloth to her other shoulder.
She shrugged. “No, I wasn’t. It was Christmas. One of my friends’ fathers gave her a dollhouse and a set of little wooden dolls. He’d made it himself. I asked mama for one. Being a child, I didn’t understand about money, didn’t understand that we could barely buy food. She said my friend had a father to make such things and I did not. She said I would have to understand.”
“I see.” Royce was quiet for a moment. “That seems like a rather sad moment, though.”
“Not really.” Imogen swirled her finger around in the bubbles collecting in front of her breasts. “Later that day my mother spent some money she’d saved to take me to the country. A man there had a gray pony, and I got to ride him. His name was Pebbles. My mother laughed and laughed. That day stands out to me like no other. It was my last really happy memory. After that, things got worse. We could barely feed ourselves, and so she sought a job from Mr. Blythe. My mother was so pretty. Rather than a job, he offered her marriage. I could tell right away that he was a bad man, and I believe my mother knew it, too. She didn’t love him, but needed protection. She hoped he would be good to us, but he was not.”
Royce smiled sadly at Imogen’s candor.
“Five,” he mused. “Then that is where we shall start. Imogen, look at me.”
She did, hesitantly. Her face was flushed from the warmth of the water. Damp tendrils of blond hair clung to her face. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“You’re five now,” he said.
“I’m not five,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m nineteen. Nearly twenty.”
“Perhaps in form,” he said. “But inside, you’re still that little five-year-old longing for a father’s love. I will raise you as such.”
“That is odd,” she said bluntly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But it is what you need. And what I desire.”
“And what of your other desires?” she asked suddenly, moving away from his hand so quickly that water sloshed over the side of the tub onto the floor. “You laid with me in the inn. And last night I saw…” She flushed deeper. “I saw you looking at… at my quim. Will you touch me there again?”
“Yes,” he said.
“How can you do that if you see me as your child?”
Royce began putting fresh lather on the washcloth. “There are two parts to you, Imogen. There’s the broken little girl who must be made whole, and the young woman ripe for a man’s practiced touch. I will tend to both those parts of you.”
“And if I don’t want you to touch me?” she asked.
He stared intently into her eyes. “Is that the truth? I saw the cream your little pussy made last night. Just my nearness causes you to ache with need. Do you deny that?”
She shifted in the tub. “No.” Then she looked into his eyes, her gaze again guarded and angry. “But that doesn’t mean I love you.”
“I don’t expect you to,” he said. “It will be some time before you do, I think. Little girls must learn to mind before they can fully love. I expect the road to love will be long.” He smiled at her. “But I am patient.”
The hand moved down then. “Spread your legs, Imogen.”
“No, please…”
“Would you rather be turned over my knee and spanked hard on your naughty, wet bottom?”
She’d squeezed her legs together, and he could see her parting them now with extreme reluctance. Royce knew why, and his touch as he slid his hands lower to wash her pussy confirmed it. The inner folds were delightfully swollen and sensitive, and she moaned at the contact. He washed her quickly, knowing when he withdrew his hand the ache between her legs would remain. He could see the need in her eyes, see how it confused her. She’d sought to bait him by questioning how he could desire a woman he regressed, and yet she obviously found the regression arousing.
Oh, yes. You were made for me, he thought as he helped her from the bath a few moments later.
He loved caring for her. He’d washed her hair and now brushed it out as she sat by the fire. When it came time to dress her, he replaced the towel with a white nightdress, telling Imogen that Miss Quinn would return from the village with a wardrobe made just for her.
“No nappies?” Imogen asked.
“Does a five-year-old need a nappy, my little one?”
“No…”
“No, what?”
“No… papa,” she said.
He smiled. “Good girl,” he said, and then sat her at the table by the fire.
A maid had brought up food—eggs, cheese, fruit, and a scone cut into pieces. Royce told Imogen he expected her to eat all that was on her plate, and to drain the glass of milk she’d been brought. He almost regretted her putting her age at five, for the thought of her sucking the bottle made him grow hard. However, he’d enjoy seeing her full pink lips wrapped around his cock. All in due course…
She ate all her food this time; he wasn’t surprised.
“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” he questioned when she’d finished.
Imogen answered only after regarding him for a moment. “I know you great men have curious ways,” she said. “I clearly must live by your leave. But do you mean to keep me a child forever? Don’t little girls grow up?”
“Yes,” he said. “Little girls gro
w up. But it mustn’t be rushed. You grew up much too early. Now you can take your time.”
“And if I want to grow up very quickly?” she pressed.
“Then you will have to prove to me that the well of hurt from your past has been filled and shuttered.”
He could see her bite her lip as she pondered his statement.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“What of you?” She asked the question quickly. “You know all about me now, but I know nothing of you. When I was serving you at the inn, I heard you say you were coming from a war. Where was it?”
For the first time, Royce felt uneasy. The room lost its warmth, or perhaps the chill he felt was from within.
Don’t let me die.
“War is not a suitable topic for little girls.”
“Why not?” she asked. “I heard some of the other men talking about you at the inn. They spoke about your war. They said you were defeated, and many men were lost. Were they your men?”
Royce stood suddenly. “I said this is not a topic for little girls! And you will not broach it again, understand?”
He’d raised his voice to her without meaning to. Imogen gave a barely perceptible nod, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, as she shrank back in her chair. Royce looked down, suddenly aware that his stance was aggressive, his fists balled tightly at his sides. He’d frightened her.
“Imogen,” he said, forcing himself to relax, but she was shaking her head.
“I’m sorry, Major Kingsley,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
He started to correct her, to remind her to call him ‘papa.’ But in a wave of shame he decided he had no right to ask her that, especially not when reviving the negative association she had with the word.
He took the pocket watch from his vest. “Your nanny will be back soon, and I have work to do,” he said tightly. “You’ll will stay here and wait for her, understood?”
She nodded and he turned away before she could see the sadness in his eyes.
Chapter Six: Nursery Rules
