Taming the Wilde

by Renard, Loki

  “No!” I tried to stop him by putting my hand back, but I received a sharp slap to my palm and instead of fiddling with the ties any further he hooked his fingers in the waistband and yanked my underwear clear down to my knees. I was then half-naked over his lap and I must admit that I set up a shrieking and squalling that very well could have been heard back in England.

  His hand met my bottom with a harsh slap. “Stop your squalling, Miss Wilde!”

  “You mean to molest my person!”

  “I intend to do no such thing. I mean to thrash you until you understand that striking me is completely unacceptable.”

  And he proceeded to do just that, landing his hard palm on my tender flesh over and over, creating an aching burn, a deep pain that transcended my bottom and seared through my body, jolting and striking me in every place I owned. It was not possible to be stoic and I wailed from the very start, though my cries soon became waterlogged as my tears began to fall. It was grossly unfair, this brutal treatment of my bottom, which he considered to be his to do with as he saw fit.

  When he was finally finished I slid backwards off his lap and sank to the floor, quite inconsolable. If I had been next to the railing I might very well have thrown myself off it – not solely because of the punishment I had received, a punishment I knew I would feel for several days, but because Roake had revealed his thoughts about me to be not only impure but entirely derogatory.

  I could hear him breathing heavily next to me. The thrashing had been quite a physical affair. He had worn his arm out on me. As I knelt and wept I heard him get up and move across the room to splash some water on his face from the basin next to his bed. “Oh do cheer up Miss Wilde,” he said heartlessly once he was refreshed. “That was less than you deserved and well you know it.”

  “I do not know what you think I deserve,” I said through gasps of tears. “But I do know that your thoughts concerning me are both impure and foul.”

  He stood over me, then leaned down and took my chin in his hand, forcing me to look up at him like a puppy looks up at her master. “I do not think ill of you, Miss Wilde,” he said gently. “But if striking a man is the way you respond to flirtation, then I understand your innocence.” There was humor in his eyes. He was laughing at me, mocking me, just as Captain Morrow had.

  “You could never understand innocence or purity or the intentions of those pure of heart,” I swore. “You are a black hearted devil sent to torment me with pain and filthy temptations of the flesh.”

  “Ah, so you are tempted.” There was triumph in his gaze as he stood tall above me. “Quite an admission, Miss Wilde.”

  “You have twisted my words,” I replied, gathering myself from the floor. “I made no such admission.”

  “Ah but you did.” His smile was quite broad. “And we both know it, don’t we?”

  “Damn you, Master Roake. I will not be another conquest on this vessel. I will not face the prospect of Lizzy’s unfortunate condition and I will not give myself to any man who is not my husband.” I drew myself up to my full height and a little bit beyond as I lifted myself on my toes. “You may take amusement in imagining your beatings to be the advances of love, but they are no such thing. The man I give myself to will be a gentleman. He will never deign to strike a woman and he certainly will not stand by idly whilst she is distressed and imprisoned. He will be sweet and he will be kind and he will have a sensitivity of understanding that you could never hope to have.”

  Roake listened to my tirade with a glimmer of a smile still on his lips. “Oh Miss Wilde,” he said when I was finished. “You truly are an innocent. You would tear the sort of man you are describing to shreds, he would be dead within a year of marriage from nervous consumption.”

  Chapter Nine

  “So I am so terribly broken that I am only fit for a man who will beat me?” I sneered at Roake. “Save your stories for some poor soul simple enough to believe them.”

  “You are not broken, Miss Wilde,” Roake said. “You are spirited and entirely without guidance. A good wife is submissive to her husband, but you have no understanding of what it means to be submissive at all.”

  His insults were never ending. “Now you dare say I would make a bad wife?”

  “Again you put words in my mouth,” he said, sighing. “You would make a fine wife to a man capable of appreciating you for what you are, and handling you as you need to be handled.”

  “Handling me? You make me sound like a horse.”

  “An unbroken filly,” Roake agreed with an unrepentant smile that made my innards tumble.

  “I will thank you to keep your impure thoughts to yourself,” I said, girding myself with a failing sense of dignity.

  “And I will thank you to remember who is in authority here,” he replied. “You have become increasingly troublesome of late, Miss Wilde and the captain’s patience wears thin – as does mine. You can expect more nights in the brig if you do not curb your tongue and behave as a prisoner should.”

  I began to drop into one of my deeply sarcastic curtseys, but he stepped forward and took me by the chin before I could perform it. “Enough, Miss Wilde. I will not tolerate any more of your antics.” His dark eyes bored into mine with a serious gaze and I felt certain that to continue to provoke him would be vastly unwise. I stood straight again and lowered my head with a muttered apology.

  “Run along Miss Wilde, I will see you tomorrow morning for lessons.”

  I escaped from his lair at haste. The spirit of goodwill that had been extended to me by those in authority truly was beginning to wane. I felt the tide turning against me as I took refuge in the relatively comfortable bunk at the back of the prison deck. Lizzy was snoring in the bed below mine and I looked on her fondly as I prepared to lay my head down. I would have put myself in harm’s way a hundred times over to protect her and the spark of new hope that resided so innocently in her womb. If that meant enduring Morrow’s ire and being tossed into the brig, so be it.

  As I laid myself down my thoughts went inexorably back to Master Roake. He claimed to care about me, yet he had not had the slightest trouble letting me languish in a dark hold for three days. Indeed he had the nerve to tell me he had quite enjoyed the notion of my being locked away in that miserable place. It occurred to me that he was only interested in simple carnal pleasures - a physical release and nothing more. I was not at all interested in sating Roake’s lusts and I became quite agitated there in my bed as I thought about the nerve he’d had to so much as address them.

  When the next morning came I marched straight to his cabin and announced myself with the stiffest propriety. “Master Roake,” I said, my head held high. “I have thought upon your statements of last evening and I have come to the conclusion that if we are to continue this arrangement, certain conditions must be met.”

  Caught halfway through the act of tying his cravat, Master Roake was taken aback at first, but he recovered from his surprise with admirable haste. “Do enlighten me, Miss Wilde.”

  “You will not speak to me in common, filthy terms,” I said. “You will not claim to have an interest in me, nor will you make uncouth references to my person. You will behave as a gentleman. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Quite clear,” he said with a small smirk I found most irritating.

  “And you will not lay a finger on me. I find the familiarity with which you feel entitled to…to… handle my person to be entirely inappropriate.”

  “Miss Wilde, I would not ever have had cause to handle your person, as you so put it, if you did not require a great deal of handling.” His mustache quirked as he smiled with a deep amusement. He enjoyed it far too much when I made my delicate allusions to the way he thrashed me.

  He was making me furious. “I am not some slattern to be teased and pricked,” I insisted.

  “Am I teasing you, Miss Wilde?” He drew close to me, his voice lowering a touch. “Is that why you are in this rage, because you have been teased too long and can no longer stand t
o go unsatisfied?”

  Cold fingers tickled down the length of my spine as I felt myself becoming prey once more. “I do not know what you mean.”

  “You know precisely what I mean,” he said, reaching for me and drawing me so close that there was barely light between us. I could smell his scent, a rich musk that pervaded my senses as he lowered his head and gently tipped my face up to his with his forefinger. My breath came short as his lips drew closer and then they were pressed against mine, his heat reaching into my skin as our mouths met.

  Time itself ceased to march as his chaste kiss warmed me and then my lips were parting, his tongue snaking into my mouth. I quivered, startled at the intrusion but he gentled me with a touch and as I felt his limber tongue caress mine it was as if my whole body became caught up in the kiss. I became weak just as he grew stronger and bolder, wrapping his arm about my waist and holding me close, pressing his hard frame against my softness.

  When he drew his mouth away I was left dazed in his arms, entirely speechless. I made some small noises, but no words came out as I stared up at him, quite amazed by what he had done to me. His eyes were soft as he returned my gaze, brushing the rust red strands of hair back from my face with gentle fingers. “Have my lips shown you what my words could not?”

  “I…” I had no answer for him. Words were beyond me in that moment. My body was still reeling and I felt almost as if I were drunk, but my senses were not dulled as alcohol would have made them. They soared with joy. I forgot my proper speeches as I lifted my face and was once more rewarded with another of those hot kisses as Master Roake’s agile tongue penetrated me, went inside my mouth and pleasured me in a way that made my very toes curl. When he pulled himself away a second time I felt hot and faint. “I think I am ill,” I said, putting a hand to my forehead.

  “That heat you feel is not illness,” Roake chuckled with deep amusement.

  In an instant I understood what the poets meant when they spoke of love as a burning flame. Every part of my body was tingling with new sensation and my face was suffused with heat. “You should not have done that.”

  “I will never apologize for having tasted heaven,” he replied, brushing the pad of his thumb across my lower lip in a delicate caress.

  As the excitement of my first kiss faded, a panic took over. “I will not give up my virtue so easily, Master Roake! I will not end up in Lizzy’s condition.”

  “You are unlikely to find yourself in Lizzy’s condition as a result of a kiss,” Roake said with a wry smile. “Now come, we have work to do.”

  I did not feel at all in the mood for teaching, but there was no avoiding it and so it came to pass that I instructed my students in short words whilst every glance from Roake made me go hot and cold all over. I could still feel his lips on mine and the memory of his tongue, now deployed sharply against those who would shirk their eduction, pleasuring me in ways I had not properly comprehended, lingered on for hours.

  My distraction was so evident that Roake took me aside between classes and cautioned me. “Your mind is elsewhere Miss Wilde, that much is plain, but do try to at least pretend to be paying attention to your students.”

  I blushed. His presence was sending tingles through my belly. I had alternately feared, loathed and admired Roake over the course of our association, but now I desired him and that was perhaps the most dangerous feeling of all. My mind felt too dull to attend to simple matters, like making a reply. All my attention was focused on the hand at my elbow, wishing that it would move elsewhere on my person. I fancied I had gone mad. How could I possibly desire him so? Could a kiss alone inflame passion so deeply? I was in dangerous waters, I knew that much and now Roake was circling me like a shark. “Are you hearing me, Miss Wilde?”

  “Yes, I understand,” I mumbled quickly.

  He gave me a piercing look that only served to fluster me further. Everything about Master Roake was intense, in that respect he and I were matched quite evenly. But in these matters, matters of the heart and body he had a distinct advantage. He was older than I, he was undoubtedly more experienced than I, and he was devastatingly male which meant he had far less at stake than I. If we were to take a mad tumble on the high seas I would lose my virtue and perhaps find myself with child but he would be free to sail back to England unencumbered by my woes. These thoughts prompted me to pull away from him and straighten my dress. “I apologize for my distracted state,” I said, “I will mend my ways this afternoon.”

  My polite response seemed to confuse him, but he said nothing more as the women returned from their exercise. During the afternoon session I was deep in thought. I knew my purity was at stake, Master Roake’s touch seemed to disable my common sense entirely and when he pressed his body against mine I felt sinful stirrings that demanded action.

  By the time afternoon classes drew to a close I had come to a decision. It was this decision that compelled me up to the deck, ostensibly to take a little air and exercise. I walked about the main deck, once, twice, three times before I finally gathered my nerves and made a mad dash up to the ship’s wheel. Nobody stopped me; perhaps they thought I was taking a brisk run for the good of my health. At any rate I went directly up to Captain Morrow entirely unimpeded, made a jump and seized the captain’s hat by the brim. I tugged it away from him and a great shout went up as his greatest secret was revealed – a baldpate.

  I dashed away from the wheelhouse and made for the rigging. Clasping the hat between my teeth I clambered up the ropes, finding the going very difficult indeed. There was a great deal of commotion all about the place and Morrow was roaring with anger, but I had committed to my plan and I had to see it through.

  I could hear shouting, but the wind carried much of the sound away before I could properly catch the gist of the threats. Morrow shouted up at me several more times before he stalked away. He returned quite promptly sporting a fresh hat and with Master Roake in tow. I was glad that I was high enough not to be able to make out the expression on Roake’s face, for I was certain it would have frightened me terribly and I had quite enough to frighten me already. Things were not precisely pleasant up there in the rigging. Every movement of the ship was multiplied many-fold and I found myself clinging to the ropes with all my strength as I was flung back and forth with the motion of the waves.

  “Come down at once!” A loud hailer had been employed, allowing me the full benefit of the captain’s ire.

  I considered my sins to have been great enough to probably warrant sufficient punishment and I had no desire to attempt to live in the rigging so I did as he said, carefully working my way down the ropes. It took a great deal longer to descend than it had to ascend and with Morrow and Roake glaring up at the underside of my person, matters became more hair raising the closer I got to deck. When I drew within arm’s reach, Roake plucked me from the rigging and set me down before the captain.

  “Two weeks in the brig!” Morrow declared fiercely. “And count yourself fortunate I don’t have you horse whipped.”

  “Yes sir, thank you sir,” I said, handing him his hat with a humble expression. He snatched it from my hand and glowered at me quite fiercely. “I think you must have lost your mind, my girl,” he said in a high temper. “To provoke me so blatantly.”

  “It is almost as if she wishes to be thrown into the brig,” Roake growled as he stalked around to confront me.

  Both their eyes were now turned upon me and I quite quailed beneath those hard stares. Roake had fathomed my plan in an instant, and Morrow was cottoning on in his own way. “But why would you want to go to the brig, Miss Wilde?”

  “Maidenly panic,” Roake snorted. “The foolish, childish machinations of a woman afraid of her own passion.”

  Blood rushed in my ears as I sank into the deepest depths of humiliation. Laughter rose round me as Morrow burst into hearty peals, along with several of the guards. “Would you have yourself locked away like a female dog in heat?” He slapped his thigh as he bent almost double with merriment at my e
xpense.

  Outrage finally overcame humiliation as I drew myself up to my full height. “You will not speak to me in such foul terms. Take me to the brig and leave me be!”

  Morrow straightened and wiped a tear of amusement from his eye. “Oh no Miss Wilde. I will not send you to the brig. Master Roake is the master of discipline on this ship and you will answer to him.”

  Morrow was throwing me to the wolves, no, to the wolf. A wolf I knew would surely consume me as he stood there, licking his chops with anticipation. I had become little more than a weak jest, my escapades serving no purpose other than to draw humiliating attention to myself. As Roake beckoned I could do little other than meekly follow him back to his cabin, my head bowed, my heart in my throat.

  In mere moments we were alone. The door was closed and he stood so near to me I could almost taste him on my lips. “You made yourself a spectacle with your antics,” he censured me with a low growl. “Do you truly think so little of me, Miss Wilde? Do you think so little of yourself?”

  I was in tears as I tried to make a reply, to explain that I did not understand the feelings that were consuming me, that I felt my doom when I looked into his eyes and that every bit of yearning I felt seemed to me to be a seed of future discontent.

  “Please do not cry, Jane,” he said more softly. “There will be plenty of reasons to shed tears ahead, do not spill them for love.”

  “Love? Is this what you call love?”

  “If it is a pain that makes you mad with desire, that is love.” Roake brushed away some of my tears with the pad of his thumb. “But you will have to answer for your actions, Miss Wilde, we can not have love sick girls dangling from the mast.”

  “Master Roake, I am at your mercy,” I said. “Please do not torture me with punishments, I am sorry enough already. Just leave me be, we have but a few short weeks left on this voyage and then you and I will be rid of one another.”

  “A young lady who steals the captain’s hat and climbs the rigging will surely be punished for it,” he said, dashing my hopes. “But I will allow you to keep a layer of modesty and I will give you the choice of how your punishment is to be administered. You may go across the desk, or you may place yourself over my lap.”