by Renee Rose
Feeling restless and disturbed, she checked on the children before she retired. Lying in bed, she listened to the sound of voices and footsteps that gradually quieted as the house settled down. Then she heard the low rumble of a male voice coming from one of the rooms in her corridor—which didn't belong—the Colonel's bedroom was at the other end. She listened closer and thought she heard someone crying out. It seemed to be coming from Miss Watson's room. Thunderstruck, her first scandalized thought was that Miss Watson had a man in there with her. But who? And how? Her heart picked up as she wondered if she ought to inform the Colonel. But listening intently, she realized instead that she was hearing noises that ought to be familiar to her after her ordeal the night before—the sound of leather slapping bare flesh and the cries of a young lady being punished. The Colonel was whipping his sister.
She realized with dismay that if she could hear Lucinda's punishment, there was a good chance that her own had been heard by the household the night before. That thought was completely mortifying. Her thoughts strayed again to that painful and intense interaction. She felt a flare of heat low in her belly and a shiver ran down her spine, remembering the scene. There was something about the Colonel's willingness to wield his authority with a leather strap that some traitorous part of her found extremely arousing. It was diametrically opposed to the part of her that found it absolutely barbaric. Well, he was a military man, after all. She imagined him in Burma, giving orders to troops of men. Had there been women under his authority there? The thought made her sear with jealousy.
She allowed her fingers to wander between her legs, touching herself slowly, surprised to feel more wetness there than she had ever noticed before. She drew in a ragged breath and thought of the feel of the Colonel's muscled chest under her cheek, of that warm, sure hand at the nape of her neck. What if he had punished her in her own chamber? Right here on this bed? She kicked the covers off her body, feeling suddenly feverish with heat. Her fingers dipped deeply into her slick folds, probing the eager opening there. She rolled over onto her belly and pulled her nightshirt up, exposing her bare bottom to the open air. She imagined herself lying prostrate before him, her quivering flesh expecting the cruel sting of his strap. She pushed her hips into the bed, her middle and fourth fingers breaching the entry to her sex, diving deeply as the heel of her hand undulated over the sensitive area above it. How would he comfort her after a whipping in her bedroom? With a hand on her back? On the backs of her exposed legs? On her bottom? She stopped her breath as a climax rocked through her and she squeezed her legs together, pumping her hips over her hand and tightening her still-tender cheeks so that they ached in the most pleasurable way possible. She remained frozen like that for a long moment, panting, dazed. Then she slowly relaxed and released her cramped fingers, ashamed at where her thoughts had just led her.
Chapter Three
“We will be moving to the country house tomorrow, ladies, so please pack your things and plan accordingly,” the Colonel announced at breakfast the following morning. He was determined to get his household in order. He had punished Lucinda the night before for her scandalous behavior at the ball, and now he was going to remove her from London for a time, until he could be certain she could act as a lady should.
“What?” Lucinda protested in a shocked voice. “Charles, no! There's nothing to do in the country, no dances, no one to call upon—nothing!”
“Mind yourself, Lucinda,” he said warningly, and she had the grace to flush. Miss Downy stared at him with her big, pretty gray eyes and Mrs. James looked flummoxed. When breakfast was over, he cleared his throat. “Mrs. James, in my office, please.”
She followed him in and he indicated a chair. This woman was not an employee worth punishing. He let her know how disappointed he was in her service and summarily dismissed her. The woman burst into tears and rushed out of the room. Next, he made sure all of the household staff knew to make preparations for their departure.
By the middle of the following day, he had successfully relocated his family to their country manor, and felt satisfied that it was exactly where they needed to be. When everyone was settled in, he walked out to the stables, eager to see the horses he hadn't seen since he left the country. He was surprised to see that he was not the first member of the household to visit the stables.
“Miss Downy!”
She gasped and whirled around, looking uncomfortable.
“Are you fond of riding?”
“Yes, of course,” she said, a bit flustered. “Your horses are beautiful.”
He smiled. He liked the way she'd said the word “beautiful”—she had a breathy quality to her voice that made his blood rush. And when she spoke French… he brought himself back to focus on the horses. “Yes, I'm quite proud of all of them.” He considered her. She probably could ride as well as she could do anything. She certain had had an excellent upbringing. “How well do you ride?”
“Well enough,” she said modestly. “Quite well, I suppose. Will you permit me to ride?” She was always cautious with him and on one hand, he appreciated the respect, while on the other, he'd love to see more of that natural charm he had glimpsed at the ball, before he'd angered her. She glanced up at him and their gazes locked—her unusual gray eyes holding his captive so that heat flooded his senses.
He took a step closer to her. “Of course, you are welcome to ride anytime.”
She smiled at him—a slow, sweet, grateful smile that lit up her face. “Thank you, Colonel. Do the children ride?”
He shook his head. “Regretfully, no. I haven't been around to teach them myself, and I haven't trusted it to anyone else.”
“Perhaps you will find I am trustworthy,” she said.
“Perhaps so. Though I am happily not leaving them again.”
“Right, of course,” she said quickly. “Quite so.”
“Would you care to go for a ride now?”
“Now?” she was surprised. “Well… yes, I'd love to!” Her smile was breathtaking. He felt suddenly that there was nothing he wouldn't do to see that look on her face more often. Pleasing Miss Downy had just jumped to the top of his priorities.
He gave the stable boy orders about which horses to saddle, and soon they were trotting off. Miss Downy rode side saddle on Pina, the pinto mare, and he on Banto, a large brown steed. She followed as he led slowly at first, pointing out landmarks, giving her a tour of his family property. He'd grown up here and loved it deeply. He found he wanted to show her all of it—the small stream that gurgled through, the outskirts of the dense wooded area to one side. The lush meadow, speckled with wildflowers. He was gratified by her appreciation of everything, her periodic murmurs of “how lovely!” or “look at that!” and the way her thick waves of hair bounced as she rode.
He breathed in the country air and relaxed into the gentle lope of his horse. Even Miss Downy was relaxing into the ride. He had never seen her look so comfortable and content… not that he'd known her for long.
He picked up the pace to a gallop on the way back, and asked her to lead because he liked to watch her ride. She cantered off, tossing her thick glossy hair, a natural smile of joy stretching her face. His pleasure turned to fear, though, when she urged the mare over a series of jumps. Though she took them expertly, his veins had filled with ice and it was not until she had executed them all flawlessly that he relaxed in the saddle again.
Back at the stables she dismounted, a healthy glow in her cheeks and a happy expression on her face.
He dismounted and grasped her by the shoulders. “Miss Downy, if you ever scare me like that again, I will bend you over my knee and spank you raw!”
Miss Downy stared at him in amazement. Her cheeks colored but her mouth twitched as if she were hiding a smile.
“Colonel Watson, did you think I was in danger?”
He shook his head grudgingly. “No. Clearly you're an excellent rider. But warn me next time before you go showing off like that!”
Her face broke in
to a broad, beautiful smile and her eyes danced on his face. “I suppose I was showing off a bit,” she admitted. “But I assure you I do not take unnecessary risks.”
“See that you don't. Especially where my children are concerned,” he said, more gruffly than he meant to.
Her smile faded and she curtsied. “Of course, Colonel,” she murmured, tension closing her expression. She turned and walked swiftly back to the manor.
He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, cursing his talent at offending his governess. It was for the best—maintaining an appropriate distance from her was only proper. Except why, then, was he so disappointed at losing her smile?
Supper that evening was a tense affair. Lucinda was seething about the move to the country, which he had expected. She didn't like being taken away from London and having her companion dismissed any more than she liked getting spanked for her behavior at the ball. He needed to connect with her in a positive way, but hadn't had a chance yet.
At the moment, she was watching Tom struggle to butter his bread with a look of impatience. She snapped at Miss Downy, “Why on earth aren't you helping that poor child?”
“Because he gains dexterity by doing, not watching,” Miss Downy replied evenly.
Miss Watson had nothing to say to that, other than to sniff, which made Miss Downy frown. When the governess remarked that the chicken cordon bleu was excellent, Lucinda pounced again. “I suppose, being half French, you know how to cook dishes like these?” she asked condescendingly. Miss Downy didn't miss the barb, which was meant to point out her lower status as someone who had to cook her own food.
“Actually,” she contradicted, “I was not raised to cook. We had servants for that.”
“Oh really? How strange it must be for you to be working now.”
That was probably too close to the truth not to hurt, and Miss Downy's jaw clenched as her ears colored, and her eyes dropped to her plate.
He gave Lucinda a cold gaze. They were going to have to have another “talk.”
* * *
“I've just put the children to sleep,” Julie said, poking her head through Mandy's door. “Jane and I were going to meet in the cellar for a bit of girl talk if you want to join us.”
Girl talk? She wasn't sure what that entailed, but it sounded better than sitting in her room alone. She closed her book and smiled. “Thanks, I'd love to,” she said, following Julie out.
She had never been to the cellar before, but it was clear that it was the place where the staff could relax, away from the eyes of their master. It was clean and comfortable—crates had been set up as chairs and there was a jug of ale and glasses. Jane, one of the kitchen staff, was pouring the ale as they came down and she stopped short when she saw Mandy.
“I invited Miss Downy to join us,” Julie explained, brushing her mop of strawberry blond curls away from her face.
Jane gave her a curious look but then smiled broadly.
“Welcome, Miss Downy. Ale for you?”
“Thank you for the welcome. And no, thank you, on the ale,” she said, hoping she would not come off as too stiff and starting to feel like she really should not have come. If she considered herself a lady and not a servant, what was she doing passing time with the servants?
“Violet's coming too. Should be here by now.”
As if on cue, the cellar door opened and Violet, the chamber maid, traipsed down the stairs with a broad smile. She also stopped in her tracks when she caught sight of Mandy and Julie was forced to explain her presence once again.
“So, why do you think the rush to get out of London, eh?” Violet asked once she'd been reassured that Mandy was in their inner circle.
“I think Miss Watson must've got herself into some kind of trouble. Do you think that's true, Miss Downy?”
Mandy's belly tightened. She felt distinctly uncomfortable about gossiping about the family. She shook her head. “No. I don't think there's any trouble.”
“Well, can you believe it about Mrs. James?” Julie prodded.
“Served her right,” Violent declared. “She was never anything but nasty to me.”
“I agree. She was a right old cunt,” Jane said stoutly.
Mandy tried to hide her shock at the language her ears had never been permitted to hear before.
The sense of anxiety she'd had since the ale had first been passed was growing stronger with this sort of talk. She was on probation, after all. What would the Colonel think of her participating in this little conversation?
“What do you think of the Colonel, Miss Downy? You'd never met him before had you?” Julie prodded.
To her chagrin, she felt as though her cheeks might be turning pink. “I… I don't really know what to think yet,” she stammered.
“He's handsome, isn't he?”
“Oh well, yes, if you like stiff military man who never smile,” she said, sounding more cranky than she meant to.
The girls giggled. “He used to smile, back when Mrs. Watson was still alive,” Violet said.
That made Mandy feel even crankier. “Oh really?” she asked stiffly. “What was Mrs. Watson like?”
“Oh she was delightful. Quite charming—always thanked us and told us how great a job we were doing. She was the type of lady you work hard to please because she makes you feel like you're doing her a special favor.”
Mandy felt she disliked the perfect Mrs. Watson. “How did she die?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“She took a fever two years back,” Julie said.
“And was the Colonel quite distressed?”
“Oh aye. Devastated, he was. Poor man. He hasn't been the same since, I'd say, wouldn't you, Jane?” Violet said. “Will you pass the ale?”
Mandy picked up the jug of ale and slopped a little passing it over. Dear Lord. She really needed to get herself out of here.
“Well I, for one, hope we don't stay in the country for too long. I like London,” Julie said.
“You like flirting with your carriage driver!” Jane teased.
“Oh I doubt it will be too long before we head back. Miss Watson will complain to 'igh 'eaven 'bout how bored she is without her balls and parties to attend.”
“I'm not sure the decisions are up to Miss Watson anymore,” Mandy heard herself say tartly, though she regretted it immediately. Joining in this gossip was unbecoming.
The others laughed. “Right you are,” Julie said with a smirk. “I imagine that's why he's dragging us all to the country, isn't it?”
She didn't want to confirm it and she hid the smirk that threatened to twist her lips. “Well, I'm feeling a bit sleepy,” she said, hoping for the opportunity to extricate herself without giving offense. “If you will excuse me?”
“Oh sure, thanks for joining us!” Jane said.
“Good night,” the other two chorused.
She got up and gave them all a friendly smile before she headed up the stairs, hoping it didn't look like she was rushing. She opened the door to the kitchen, only to find the Colonel standing there with a piece of bread and jam in his hand. She stifled a gasp, praying he had not overheard her gossiping.
* * *
“Where have you been, Miss Downy?” She had just emerged from the cellar steps wearing a distinct look of guilt on her face.
She sucked in her breath. “In the cellar, having a word with Julie,” she said quickly.
He could smell ale on her. “Have you been drinking?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Certainly not!” she retorted, drawing herself up.
Her indignation seemed truthful. He looked at her closely. “You smell of ale.”
“Oh…” She looked flustered and glanced down at her dress. “I… I guess I spilled a little on my dress,” she stammered.
He pursed his lips. “Who else is down there?”
She hesitated and looked like she didn't want to tell him.
“You promised me the truth, remember?”
She
nodded and swallowed. “Violet and Jane,” she confessed. His house staff. Probably down there gossiping about the family. He was disappointed that Miss Downy would join them. Actually, he was surprised to find that he felt almost hurt about it.
“Tell me again what you were doing down there,” he said grimly.
She took a deep breath and then spoke in a rush. “Well, Julie stopped by my room after putting the children to sleep and invited me down. I agreed—I didn't really know what to expect. I quickly realized my mistake but it took me a little bit to extricate myself politely.” She gave him a pleading look, which melted all his irritation.
He hid a smile. “I see,” he said mildly. “Then I don't need to tell you that it is entirely unseemly for you to be in my cellar with the staff?”
“No, no. Not at all. I understand that completely, Colonel, and I apologize.” She looked relieved.
“Very well. Good night.” Somehow, as she turned to go, his hand moved of its own accord to deliver a sharp slap on her backside. He froze, realizing that he certainly should not have done that. She had frozen, too, but did not turn to look at him. She started toward the door, only turning back when she reached it. “Did you require assistance in the kitchen? Shall I make you a cup of tea?” she asked.
He could feel his ears growing hot. “Thank you, Miss Downy, that won't be necessary,” he said stiffly.
She curtsied, and he could swear he saw a slight smirk playing on her lips as she turned to go. He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. What on earth had caused him to do such a thing?
* * *
“The weather actually looks nice enough to walk today,” Miss Watson observed at the breakfast table.
Mandy felt like rolling her eyes. Miss Watson only went outside when the weather was the perfect temperature—not too hot, not too cold, no wind, no clouds that looked like they might rain. “Are you sure?” she intoned, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. “I think there might be one tiny cloud in the sky.”
