by Dinah McLeod
After only three strokes, Delia could no longer contain herself and was crying out. As a fire erupted on her tender, bare sit-spot, she began to weep in earnest. Another stroke, given lower still, make her shout and squirm.
“That will not do,” the admiral told her. “You must remain still as you are punished. Now, I will give you that stroke again, and another to remind you to stay in place.”
“Please,” she sobbed. “I did not mean to. I swear it.”
“I know, my lady. But I also know that you have never been disciplined properly, and as you are aboard my ship and under my command I intend to see that you learn a thing or two.”
“I have,” she insisted, her lower lip trembling. “I have learned a great deal. Please, please do not cane me anymore!”
“None of that, my dear. I have promised to cane you well, and so I shall.”
Surprised by the endearment, for a moment Delia forgot what he had promised. She remembered as soon as the stroke fell right on top of the one before. It was all she could do to stay in place as it burned across her naked skin. Then there was another, at the top of her bottom, and she cried out at the top of her lungs, all thoughts of the guards outside forgotten.
“Almost done, my lady. Only a few more.”
Delia was crying too hard to protest. All she could do was brace herself for the next stroke, which fell low and hard. She yowled in a most unladylike fashion before she was caned again. Tears blurred her vision and the next stroke made her shudder. She froze immediately after for fear that she would be punished again for moving.
But the admiral must have seen that it was involuntary, for he put the cane down and turned her to face him. Immediately, without invitation or want of one, she fell into his arms, sobbing. To his credit, he was the picture of a gentleman and gently patted her back while she cried into his crisp white shirt. By the time her sobs calmed into soft whimpers she had left a wet patch on his shirt bigger than her fist.
“There, there. It is alright now. You are alright.” He patted her back once more and took a step back.
“I am not alright,” she objected, sniffling. “My b-bottom is s-so so-re.”
The admiral’s lips curved. “I am afraid that is the point, my lady. A proper lesson is always taught with the help of a very sore bottom. Is that your way of telling me I have instructed you well?”
She screwed up her face at him but was not brave enough to talk back.
“Come, let us return you to your room.” He dropped down to one knee and carefully restored her clothing.
Delia’s face burned with the humiliation of it, though she could not help but feel grateful that he cared enough to preserve her modesty. Ducking her head down, she followed behind him, trying to shrink behind his back so that no one would see her. There was no doubt in her mind that all the fuss she had made during her chastisement had been heard by many. And try as she did to hide, she still could not escape the burning stares that followed her as they walked across the deck and down the stairs.
“Why do you have all those paddles and canes?” she asked suddenly.
“What a strange question, I thought that would be quite obvious by now.”
Though she did not look at him, the smile in his voice was unmistakable. Delia shook her head. “If you do not have women aboard, why would you keep those implements?”
“Ah, do you think that everyone aboard the Victoria is not under my command and subject to punishment as I see fit?”
Her eyes flew to his face to see if he was teasing her. She could see at once that he was not. Which meant that if she gave Barnabee away, he could expect to have his very own caning, perhaps worse than she had. Delia felt faint with the thought.
“Here we are. After you, my lady.”
She walked into her room, her plain, dull room, and yet she had never felt so relieved to be there. Here, she was away from all the probing stares, the amused smirks. Here she could hide away until her bottom was healed and some of her dignity was restored.
“Have a seat, please.” He gestured toward her bed.
Delia was quick to obey, though she braced her hands against the bed and kept her bottom from completely touching the mattress. She had a feeling that she would regret it at once. She saw the admiral’s lips twitch, but he said nothing about her unusual hovering over the mattress.
“I hope that you now understand how seriously I take disobedience.”
Oh, did she ever! She doubted she would be able to forget. Her bottom would surely bear the marks for days. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. As such, I am sure you also understand that whoever did this—whoever helped you to disobey me—must also be punished.”
She stared back at him, unblinking.
The admiral sighed. “I admire loyalty a great deal, Delia. I only hope yours is not misplaced.” He waited, but when still she did not answer he tsked his tongue. “Very well. I shall come again in the morning and set this inquiry to you again. And I must urge you, my lady, to think very carefully how you wish to answer.”
Before she could think how to answer, he had turned on his heel and strode from the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
Delia looked at the closed door and could almost imagine that she could see through it, and see the admiral walking away in his quick, confidant stride. Unhurried and purposeful, all at once. His commanding presence was one of the things she admired most about him, although it lent to his fearsome air at times too.
In truth, despite the unfortunate incidents between them—in which she had been spanked—she was coming to care for the admiral a great deal. Which made this situation she found herself in most difficult indeed.
Barnabee helped me at risk to himself. How can I now betray him?
She began to wring her hands as she considered the predicament she found herself in.
But how is James ever to trust me if I am not truthful with him? Will he punish me yet again if I still refuse?
She had to admit that it seemed likely he would. And worse still, if there was some small part of him that was beginning to care for her as well, she might snuff it out with her refusal to reveal her accomplice.
This is unbearable.
Unable to stare at the door for a moment longer, Delia threw herself face first on the bed, taking deep, heaving breaths as she dissolved in frustration. There was no good answer, none that she could find. Either way, she lost something. The only question now was what did she desire more—to stay in Barnabee’s confidence, or the admiral’s affection?
* * *
The knock at the door the next morning came almost too soon for Delia’s liking. She had not slept well, having tossed and turned and fretted over her decision into the wee hours of the morning. Even after having made her decision, her dreams were plagued with the face of a disappointed admiral or a frightfully angry Barnabee. No matter what she did, she betrayed one or the other, she soon realized. What a mess she had gotten herself into! If she had only stayed put as James had instructed in the first place!
Knowing she could put it off no longer, she rose to her feet and stood, hands clasped, when James opened the door and stepped inside.
“Good morning,” he greeted her pleasantly.
Delia had not realized the depth of the feelings she had developed for the admiral until fretting over this decision, and as such, saw him with fresh eyes. Her heart turned over in her chest and she sucked in a sharp breath. Oh. She had heard so many romantic tales from her governess through the years, and had read countless others. But was this what it felt like to love someone?
“Delia?”
“Good morning,” she said at once. Did he hear the tremble in her voice? Her eyes swooped to him, then away again, for if he hadn’t, she did not wish to draw attention to it.
“I trust you slept well.”
Oh, the wait was unbearable! Delia decided to dispense with the pleasantries at once. “I did not, actually. I...I know what you’ve come to ask me and I’v
e decided...well, that is...I shall...I shall tell you.” She faced him at last, quivering from head to toe.
“There is no need, my lady. The vagrant who assisted you has come forward.”
She was so astonished that she spoke before she thought. “Barnabee has come to you?”
The admiral nodded. “It seems that word got back to him that you were caned. When I did not come to find him, he knew you must have kept his secret, and knowing me as he does, knew that meant you would face more chastisement. He came forward to protect your bottom, as it were.”
It took several moments for his words to sink in. When they did, the combination of all that she had been forced to endure—the agony of making such a decision, her exhaustion, and the irritability that followed as a result—overwhelmed her. “Well, why didn’t you say so at once? That’s a fine position you put me in, and then you stand there as though nothing has changed!”
The admiral raised a dark brow, and Delia colored with shame at once. “As it happens, I wished to see what you had chosen.”
“It still wasn’t very nice,” she muttered.
“Neither was your tone.”
“What did you...” She trailed off, for though she desperately desired to know if Barnabee had suffered her same fate, she could not bring herself to ask.
“He has received additional chores and his rations have been cut, along with the knowledge that if he missteps again, it will mean the same for his salary.”
Delia took all that in, wondering if she hadn’t gotten the better end with a sore bottom after all.
“Now, as for your tone, my dear...”
Hearing the endearment, her eyes sought his face once more. He was stern as usual, but was it her imagination, or was there something more? Perhaps she was overthinking things. Just because she had come to her own realizations last night did not mean anything had changed with the admiral.
“You surely know I cannot let that sort of cheek go unchecked.”
Miserably, she nodded.
“Very good. Go to your bed and bend over, holding onto the mattress, if you please.”
Biting back a sigh, Delia did exactly as he had ordered. She did not have long to wait before she felt all of her skirts being swept up over her back.
“While I am very pleased that you were going to confess, you are the one who made the error here, and you have none to blame but yourself for your own choices. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And as such, you have no right to speak to me as you did.”
“I know, sir.”
“Well, in that case, a sound slippering should handle this nicely.”
“A... a what?”
“Hand me your slipper, my lady.”
Understanding at once, she bent at the waist and procured the requested implement. She handed it to him without a word.
“Very good, thank you, my lady.”
It seemed most strange to assist in one’s own whipping, so Delia remained quiet. Though he had removed her skirts, the admiral left her drawers closed. When he began to apply the bottom of the slipper to her ass, she no longer thought herself lucky for this change in protocol. Having been soundly caned the day before, her bottom remained quite sore and the thin layer of fabric did not provide much protection. From the first swing, she knew that he meant business and her cheeks began to burn anew. His speed was quick and his aim was sure. By the third swat, Delia was mewling with pain upon impact. By the sixth, she was drumming her toes on the floor.
“Please, no more,” she whimpered. Her plea was met with a sound thwack and the resulting pain shooting across her tender bottom. “Please!” she howled in the most unladylike fashion.
“Almost done, my lady.” The slipper promptly smacked across her bottom, bringing tears to her eyes.
“But I will never be b-bad again.” She hiccupped. “I-if on-only—”
The slipper landed smartly, making her rise to her tiptoes as she tried to no avail to avoid the fearful implement.
“If only you’ll s-stop!” she finished in a yelp. Her bottom radiated with pain, and all she wanted—aside from the slippering to stop—was to reach behind and sooth her poor, battered rear.
“I’m afraid I cannot. A dozen was promised, and a dozen you will receive.”
“I w-won’t t-tell if you do-don’t.” Was it her imagination, or was that a chuckle? She could not tell, nor did the question trouble her for long because he went to work on her aching hindquarters once more.
“Two more, Delia. You can do this. Be still, lest I need to begin again.”
The thought made her shudder, and with tears gathering in her eyes, she braced herself and stiffened in preparation. The moment that the slipper landed across her bottom, she regretted it. It seemed that tensing up only served to increase the pain that exploded in her backside. She bit down on her lip to conceal the pitiful moan that threatened to spill out.
“Last one.”
But he made her wait, until Delia was acutely aware of just how badly her bottom ached, the searing pain moving across her cheeks. She was doing her best to hold herself still to make him proud of her, but the tension that built as she waited, and her body began to quiver. This delay was a punishment all in itself!
At last, the final stroke came, landing with a sound quite like a gunshot to the back of her drawers. She could tell at once that he had used more of his strength than in any of the previous swats and her hands flew to her backside. Forgetting her noble birth, Delia danced around the room, howling in protest. She could feel the admiral’s gaze, but her only concern was for her scorched cheeks.
After what felt like hours, she settled down, brushing tears from her cheek with the back of her hand.
“Better?”
Something in his tone tugged at her heartstrings. Delia turned to him, looking for what she did not know.
He must have sensed that something had changed in the way she gazed at him. “What is it?”
Delia’s cheeks flushed. “Nothing. Only... you almost sound like you care.”
“Of course I care.”
Delia gave him a wry smile. “I meant about me, as a person, not merely your responsibility.”
The admiral surprised her by coming to stand beside her. He reached out a hand and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Why can it not be both? Is it not possible that you are a responsibility I never expected to have, and yet, one that I cannot imagine myself relinquishing?”
Her breath hitched. “Do... do you mean it? Truly?”
The admiral reached for her, hooking a finger under her chin and tilting her head back so that her gaze was level with his. “I am not a man who says things he does not mean. Surely you know that by now.”
“But... how could you... I have been such terrible trouble to you.” She dropped her eyes.
“That is true.”
She tried to pull away from him, but he held her chin firmly.
“Look at me, Delia.”
Hearing him say her name was akin to a magnetic pull and her gaze slid to his face.
“Yes, it is true that you have needed a few lessons. That is what I would expect from any lady, highborn or no.”
“Is that what you do with your wife?” The words slid out, and when they were spoken she held her breath, hardly believing her own daring.
“Ah, I have no wife, my dear.”
My dear. Warmth flowed through her, making her smile. “But when you marry...”
“When I marry, if my wife needs a lesson over my knee I will certainly oblige her.”
Though her backside throbbed to the point where sitting would be impossibly uncomfortable, Delia still found her envying this woman, whoever she would be. “Is that... the normal way of things?”
“I am certain that some men do not. But when I marry, I do not want to quarrel and then ignore each other as we lick our wounds. No, I will marry a woman who understands that I chastise her because I love her, that I hurt her
bottom for her own good.”
“But... you punish me.”
The admiral chuckled. “Yes, I believe we have established that.”
Her cheeks warmed until she was sure they would be hot to the touch, but she ignored it and continued. “What I mean is... if you chastise me... and you said you would with your wife...”
The admiral’s intense blue eyes found hers and she could not look away. “I have known you but a short while, my lady,” he began. “And yet, I would think that no one who met you could help but love you.”
The breath she had not even realized she had been holding left her body in a rush. “I hardly know what to say.”
The admiral reached for her hand and held it to his breast. It was more intimate than any contact she had ever had with a man. “You could perhaps start by saying that you have come to care for me, too.”
“I... I do.” When she spoke, it was with complete sincerity.
He bowed his head over her hand and placed a kiss on it. “In that event, things must change here.”
Delia’s brow furrowed. “Whatever do you mean, change? I like things just the way they are. Although I would not object to a room with a view,” she added.
James chuckled. “Indeed. What I mean is, if I am to court you then we must do it properly.”
Her face lit with a smile. “You wish to court me?”
“If you will have me.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out yes. She desperately wanted to, but one lingering thought stopped her.
James seemed to read it on her face. “What troubles you, my sweet?”
“It is nothing. Only...”
“Yes?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “Only that when we spoke the other day you told me of your dream of sailing, and then being in charge of a ship.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“Well... I only mean... are you certain that you want a wife? Do you want children?”
