by Sue Lyndon
“Yes, Papa,” she finally said. “I would love nothing more than to sit in your lap.” She smiled at him and allowed him to lift her onto his firm thighs.
Finally. Her spirits danced with joy. She finally had a papa of her very own.
The handsome Lord Grayson.
Grayson revelled in the feel of the petite blonde beauty in his arms. Miss Heathrow, who he’d only a short while ago learned had the first name of Hyacinth, or Cynny for short, was now Lady Grayson. His new bride. His sweet little girl. And he was now her papa and her husband.
He planned to take his duties as both her papa and her husband very seriously. Most of all, he would lavish her with affection, attention, and praise, but as he understood the way of things it was also his obligation to guide her and even punish her when she was naughty.
Spying through a peephole into Miss Wickersham’s study had been quite naughty indeed, though he didn’t plan to spank her too hard for the indiscretion. A scolding, a few quick smacks on her bare little bottom, and that would be the end of it. Lesson learned. He imagined taking her over his knee for the short disciplinary session and flipping the skirts of her wedding gown up and parting the folds of her drawers. He would stroke her behind for several minutes while imparting to her the importance of good behavior—well-behaved little girls do not sneak about and spy on others through peepholes—and then he would deliver a few slaps to her upturned bottom before…
“Papa?”
Hyacinth’s sweet voice interrupted his lascivious thoughts, and he glanced down at her and tightened his arms around her. “Yes, little girl?”
She squirmed in his lap and he almost growled at the wicked sensation of her grinding her behind over his hardening shaft. “Papa, I-I…” her voice trailed off and she plunged her face into her hands.
Worried, he pried her hands away from her face and placed a finger beneath her chin, then gentled his expression as he held her anxious gaze. “What is it, little girl?”
Storm clouds brewed in the depths of her pretty blue eyes, and for a moment he feared she might burst into tears. But she gulped hard and took a few deep breaths, and that seemed to help her settle. With his free hand, he rubbed up and down her back, hoping to soothe whatever fears were assailing her. But he didn’t release her chin. He didn’t want her to fall into the habit of hiding from him. He found he wanted all of her—her sweet smiles as well as her sorrow. If he didn’t know when she was sad, he wouldn’t be able to make it all better. And he wanted to make it better, no matter what was ailing her. Finally, she spoke.
“Papa, it’s just that when you arrived at Talcott House, you came at a most inopportune time. You see, Miss Wickersham was about to tell me what happens between husbands and wives, and I think she was also about to tell me what a cock looks like, and it was at that very moment that your carriage pulled up and she had to rush out of my room to see what was going on. Now I’ve come to you woefully unprepared, I’m afraid. I hope…I just hope you will not be disappointed by my dire lack of knowledge. I hope you will be patient with me, because I am oh so nervous about what will happen between us once we arrive at your home. I-I want to be a good wife to you, Papa.”
“Come here,” he said, drawing her further against his chest. He stroked his hands through her silken golden locks and hoped he was succeeding in comforting her. To his delight, she sighed and relaxed in his hold, and after a few seconds wrapped her arms around his center, hugging him back. “Little girl, my sweet Hyacinth, I do not expect you to know anything when it comes to marital matters. I intend to teach you all you need to know, and I vow to be most patient with you.”
“It pleases me to hear you say that, Papa. I feel much better now. Thank you.” She pulled back slightly and met his gaze. “I must confess, I think it was very gallant and romantic of you to arrive in a carriage only minutes before my wedding hour, prepared to fight for my hand in marriage. As long as I live, I shall never forget it.” A smile touched her lips and her eyes shone with pleasure. “But I must ask. What would you have done if Miss Wickersham had insisted I marry Lord Kensington?”
He leaned down, until his gaze was level with hers. “I would have knocked Lord Kensington to the floor, then I would have tossed you over my shoulder and carried you out of Talcott House as my stolen bride.”
“Oh my. That sounds most scandalous, Papa.” She giggled, and the sound of her laughter warmed his heart.
“Then I would have gotten us a special marriage license and tracked down a vicar so we could be properly wed before I took you to my estate in the country where I could hide you away from all others.”
Her breath caught and she wiggled in his lap for the umpteenth time. His cock quickly hardened, as he was no longer able to control his passions. God, he wanted her. His blood heated and he fought to restrain a growl as the carriage hit a pothole and she bounced in his lap.
“What would happen next, Papa? Oh, this is the most exciting story I’ve ever heard,” she said, peering at him from underneath her lashes as a blush stole over her delicate features.
“Well,” he said, “I would have to keep you locked away, just in case anyone decided to come looking for you. You would be my little prisoner, but of course I would not hurt you. I would only give you pleasure. That is, unless you were naughty. If you were naughty, I suppose I would have to discipline you.”
She exhaled a shaky breath and squirmed again. “How-how would you discipline me, Papa? What would you do?” Her eyes widened with excitement.
He ought to stop this nonsense. But he couldn’t. Not when she was so very thrilled with his story and couldn’t cease wriggling on his lap and rubbing herself on his engorged manhood. Did she realize how she was affecting him? In her sweet innocence, likely not. He took a deep breath and hoped his next words didn’t scandalize her too much.
“If you broke a rule, little girl, Papa would have to give you a good scolding. Then I would have no choice but to take you over my knee, bare your little bottom, and give you a well-deserved spanking that would no doubt leave your behind a deep shade of crimson.”
She gasped, but she didn’t appear frightened. Not in the least. If anything, she seemed…giddy at the prospect of receiving his discipline. No, not giddy. Aroused. His blood heated further and he was suddenly stifling hot in the carriage.
“Papa, I find your story so exciting I can scarcely catch my breath.”
“What part excites you the most, little girl?”
“Oh all of it! The part where you steal me away from Talcott House, the part where you keep me locked up like your prisoner, and even the last part.”
The last part. The spanking. He stared down at her, thinking he must be the luckiest man in the world to have gained this lively and beautiful creature as his bride. Passion flared in the depths of her eyes, and he found he could no longer hold himself back from tasting her.
He grasped her face in his hands and captured her lips in his, delving his tongue against hers and thrilling at the act of claiming her in this way. She squealed in surprise but didn’t attempt to pull away, and her acquiescence pleased him beyond all bounds.
She eventually gave a soft moan and pressed her tongue to his in a timid manner that nearly left him undone. Still kissing her, he released her face and placed his hands firmly on her hips. Then, holding her in place, he ground his hardening cock up against her bottom.
This elicited another squeal from her. “Papa,” she said breathlessly once they came up for air. “Papa, is that your cock I feel?”
Perhaps he should scold her for such bold language, but right now his thoughts were a bit muddled as all the blood in his body rushed south. God’s teeth, he had never known such heightened desire in his whole life, as if he teetered on the brink of madness. He wasn’t a rake by any means, but he had visited a bawdy house now and then. Most gentleman did. But unbridled passion—that was the only way he knew how to describe his current feelings toward Hyacinth—he had never known such a fierce emotion be
fore.
Yes, he would have planted a facer on Lord Kensington and stolen her away from Talcott House if he’d had no other option to make her his wife. Truth be told, he would commit acts far more atrocious than physical assault and kidnapping on her behalf.
Treason. Murder. Heresy. He didn’t care, as long as the end result was Hyacinth belonging to him forever. He stared at her, wondering if perhaps he should be aghast at the dark turn his thoughts had taken. He had always thought he would take a wife of his social stature, a bride of convenience with whom he was well-matched in every way, and enjoy a cordial relationship with her that mayhap one day led to tender regard, though perhaps not quite love. He’d never thought love and passion were a necessary ingredient in marriage, so long as an heir to the earldom of Shively was produced. Damn and blast, he’d had it all wrong, and he suddenly pitied all the members of the ton who settled for convenient, passionless marriages.
“Papa?” she asked again, and he responded by pressing her down on his lap even harder.
“Yes, little one,” he finally answered. “Yes, that is your papa’s cock you feel. But, we must try to contain our excitement for one another until we arrive at Grayson House.” He glanced out the window of the carriage. “Ah, it appears we are nearly there.”
A minute later, the carriage came to a stop. Grayson’s heart pounded and he tried to compose himself in quick order. He gently lifted Hyacinth from his lap and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The carriage door was opened and the afternoon sun beamed into the conveyance, gleaming on his little girl’s golden curls. He took her gloved hand in his, giving it an affectionate squeeze.
“Welcome to Grayson House.”
Chapter 9
Grayson House was larger and more lavish than Cynny could have ever imagined. Lord Grayson’s London residence was an impressive four story expanse with two wings, and though he’d yet to give her a full tour, she imagined it contained dozens upon dozens of rooms. Not little rooms either, but huge rooms with high ornate ceilings, if the rest of his house was anything like the room they currently occupied. In fact, the entirety of Talcott House could have fit into the drawing room, which is where they both now sat, enjoying a late afternoon luncheon.
She had thought her new papa might take her to his bedchamber immediately upon their arrival and teach her exactly what happens to married people, given the intimate turn their conversation had taken in the carriage, but when he’d heard her stomach growling loudly after they exited the carriage, he had insisted she take refreshment at once, hinting that she would “need her energy” with a waggle of his eyebrows.
After he’d taken her into the drawing room, within minutes two servants had appeared with a tea tray that also contained little sandwiches, cakes, and other delicious morsels for them to dine upon. Though she was impatient to continue the intimacies they had started in the carriage, she was appreciative of the meal, as she’d been too nervous to take more than one bite during breakfast.
“Everything is quite delicious,” she said. “Thank you, Papa.” She took another sip of tea and smiled at him over the rim of her cup.
“I am glad you like it. Cook, as well as the rest of my staff, will be pleased there is finally a lady in house.” His eyes darkened. “But none will be so pleased as me.”
A heated flush spread up her neck and covered her entire face, and in a bout of shyness Cynny glanced down at her tea cup.
“You’re adorable when you blush, little Cynny,” he said, addressing her by her nickname for the first time. “I think making you blush will be my new favorite activity.” He moved closer, and the heat of his body wafted against hers as the tension between them swelled. He took the cup from her suddenly trembling hands and set it on the table in front of the couch.
She became aware of the moisture between her thighs when she squirmed in her seat and wished she’d worn a pair of drawers. She felt her face grow hotter, knowing her papa might soon discover the wetness in her kitty. He would take her clothes off soon, surely, now that they were husband and wife. She tried to remember everything Cammie’s letter said, but as she gazed up at her handsome papa, all coherent thought fled from her mind.
“As much as I want to strip off your gown and ravish you here on this couch, Cynny, I shall endeavor to not be so beastly. You are a sweet little girl and you deserve every bit of the patience and gentleness I have promised you. Though I will claim you soon as my wife in truth, it will be in my bed after we’ve both had some time to recover from our travels.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Papa. I-I suppose it would be nice to refresh myself.”
“I’ve sent a maid upstairs to prepare your bedchamber, which is adjoined to mine. I will take you there now and she will help you prepare for the evening to come.”
The evening to come. Her stomach did a little flip at the serious note in his words—four little words that held so much power and promise. She wondered how a man as large as Lord Grayson would manage to be gentle. Part of her wished he would treat her with a bit of roughness, though she couldn’t understand where such thoughts were coming from, particularly given that she had no experience in the marital bed.
“I appreciate you and your staff making me welcome on such short notice,” she said.
He gave a playful tug on one of her curls. “The short notice is my fault. I should have stolen you away from Talcott House as my bride the first day I met you.”
“Ah, but you told me your bride awaited you in London,” she said in a teasing tone, though she hoped he hadn’t been betrothed to a certain lady in particular and broken his engagement. She imagined such a faux pas would involve lots of scandal and she would have a difficult time as it was being accepted into polite society, though she planned to make every effort to build a rapport with Lord Grayson’s peers. Her heart pounded as she awaited his explanation.
“I want there to always be honesty between us, little Cynny. No secrets ever, and certainly no lies,” he replied with just enough sternness to make a quiver race across her bottom. “That is why I must confess to you that I never had a bride waiting for me in London. Not precisely. I went to London at the start of the season and I attended many balls and partnered with many ladies on the dance floor, in an attempt to find the young woman who would become Lady Grayson, but I found I could not stop thinking of you. Every time I blinked, I saw a vision of you sitting on the bench in the gardens of Talcott House, smiling and fidgeting with your hat, your golden curls gleaming in the sun and your blue eyes sparkling with life. I heard your laughter and your sweet, soft voice at the most inopportune of times, so frequently that several times I feared I was going mad.”
His confession warmed her all over. She supposed she should be honest in return, at least when it came to her feelings toward him. She would decide how to resolve the situation with his pocket watch later, after she’d had more time to ponder her options. Stealing was one thing, but he apparently detested lies and secrets even more.
“Papa, your words please me more than you could imagine. In fact, I’ve had a similar problem since I first met you. Every time I thought of you—which was quite often—I felt warm and tingly. I’ve been harboring a secret, tender regard for you in my heart, and when you announced that you wanted to marry me it was the happiest moment of my life.” She leaned closer to him, inhaling his spicy masculine scent. “I hope we will make one another happy. I vow I will try my very best to be a good wife to you, and a good little girl for you.”
He grasped her hands one at a time, sliding off the delicate lace gloves that matched her wedding gown. Then he gathered her hands in his, and the heat of his bare skin against hers made her gasp. She curled her fingers in his and stared at their joined hands, shaken by the intensity of her longing for him.
“Come, my little bride, and I will escort you to your room.”
“Yes, Papa.”
Grayson surveyed the large bedchamber that had always been intended for the future Lady Grayson with satisfaction. I
n a short matter of time, the maid, Mrs. Hennely, had prepared the room for Hyacinth’s arrival. Her trunks sat at the end of the bed, and he was glad she’d come into the marriage with a few belongings, since he’d had no time to make the proper provisions for a bride or commission a new wardrobe for her.
As soon as could be arranged, however, he would take her to the most fashionable shops on New Bond Street to get her outfitted in a wardrobe fit for a lady of her stature, and he would spare no expense in the process. He wanted to dote upon her, to give her the finest dresses, shoes, hats, and jewelry, and he found he was rather looking forward to dressing her up like the little china doll he’d compared her to when he’d first glimpsed her at Talcott House.
“Papa, is this really my room? It’s so big!” She walked ahead of him and stopped in the center of the room, then spun in a slow circle, her blue eyes widened and her mouth slightly parted. “It’s so beautiful, too!” She eyed the bed and a mischievous grin spread across her face. With unrestrained excitement, she ran full speed at the bed and jumped on it, bouncing on her bottom and then laying back and running her hands over the coverlet.
Grayson’s heart swelled to see her so carefree and animated, like when he’d glimpsed her laughing and playing hopscotch, on that fateful day when his life changed forever. Meeting her had changed him. He’d once had a practical view of marriage and believed it to be the necessary next step in his life, now that he was the Earl of Shively, because he must fulfill his responsibilities to the earldom and produce an heir. But to have a sweet girl like Hyacinth by his side, to spend the rest of his days with, buoyed his spirits and left him eagerly anticipating all the moments they would share. Marriage was no longer a duty, but a pleasure. As he stared down at his beautiful little bride, still spread out on the bed and stroking the coverlet with a smile on her face, he silently vowed to make her as happy as she would no doubt make him.
