Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  His tone is light, but I can hear the admonishing quality beneath it. For some reason, the sound makes my heart quicken. “She did, My Lord!” I answer, wanting to defend the maid who has proven to be so good to me. “It was my suggestion to continue.”

  “Was it?” he says, his right brow rising with the enquiry. “Does that seem wise to you?”

  I inhale slowly. “My Lord?” I ask, as though I do not comprehend his meaning, which of course I do.

  Once again, I am aware of the weight of his stare on me. I feel certain that he could sear through me with such a gaze. “Did I not tell you earlier that I am now responsible for your safety and welfare?”

  His question is loaded, and I nod as he speaks. “Yes, Lord Markham,” I admit, wringing my hands in front of me like a schoolgirl.

  “Hmmm,” he says. “So you can imagine it does not please me to see you this way? You will become quite ill if this is to become a regular occurrence, My Lady.”

  I flinch at his tone. “I am sorry, My Lord,” I say, genuinely rueful to have displeased him with such a trivial err.

  “Are you?” he asks, standing without warning. He begins a small circuit of me. “You know, this little performance,” he pauses, and I turn to see his hand gesturing toward my wet gown, “arriving here in this condition, makes me wonder if you are not trying to land yourself back over my knee, My Lady?”

  Once more his change of tack is startling, and I am left reeling. I hear him moving behind me, before he finally comes back into sight as he completes his circle. My breath quickens at the sight of him, his question pooling arousal at my core.

  “Is it true, Lydia? Are you trying to provoke a reaction in me? Do you need to take another trip over my lap to remind you of my rules?” His voice is low and steely as he goes on, “Is that why you have disobeyed me, and allowed yourself to get into this state?”

  “My Lord, I…” My throat dries as I try to speak, a low panic rising in me. The strangest thing is that I wonder if he may be right. Had I deliberately pushed the boundaries in the hope of seeking his punishment? I look to him wildly, unable to respond. I cannot deny that I am utterly overawed by this gentleman, and yet, I am also all too aware of the passion stirring inside of me, pooling in desire at the apex of my thighs. He is the first man who has ever stood up to me, and for better or worse, my body has been totally enraptured by the experience. Perhaps there is a part of me which craves another spanking? Had I not admitted as much to him in this very room earlier?

  “I-I…” I stammer. “It was not my intention, My Lord!”

  The corners of his mouth curl at my reply, as though he does not believe a word. I clench my intimate muscles at his response, half wishing that he would just turn me over his breeches right here and now, yet the other half fearful of being found by Lucy.

  As though he can somehow read my mind, he smiles, visibly relaxing. “Now is not the time, Lydia,” he says, almost to himself. “But there will be a time, My Lady—do you understand?”

  I understand very well. My inability to catch my breath is a testament to exactly how I feel on the subject. “Yes, Lord Markham.”

  He smiles, once again moving to within an inch of me as his right hand rises slowly to my face. I feel the warmth of his palm at my cheek, and then the weight of his thumb as it caresses the soft, moist skin there. “I think, at this moment, that I should very much like for you to call me by my first name, Lydia.”

  I gaze up at him, watching the contours of his face as they are lit by the fire. I can say nothing, feeling the loud thrumming of my heart within the walls of chest, my desire mixed with fear, awe, and uncertainty.

  “Do you understand?” he asks patiently. “Do you know the name to which I speak?”

  I nod, leaning in toward his gentle caress. “Yes… thank you, Thomas.”

  The word sounds so unfamiliar to my lips, and yet it draws a sincere smile from his face. “I like the way you make that sound,” he says, leaning over me.

  I blink upward, unable to take another breath. His eyes convey a meaning which I can barely decipher. The hand at my cheek falls south to my neck, before moving around to my hair. I feel the weight of his long digits as they bury themselves against the pins there, his hand holding me in place as they hold my tresses.

  “You are my ward, Lydia, and yet I find I am inexplicably drawn to you.”

  I do not intend to speak, but a small moan escapes my lips as his face comes closer.

  “I have decided upon something…” He pauses, his face just inches from my own open lips.

  I gape at him, willing him to continue, desperate to know which decision he has made. His expression is hot and intense, and I wonder if he really feels the same lure toward me as I do to him. “Please, Thomas,” I implore him. “Tell me what you have decided?”

  There is a moment of silence, when only the sounds of the fire jumping beside us fill the room. And still, through all of this, he holds me there, leaning so near—and yet so far—from my needy body. Finally, he tips his head to one side slightly as he speaks. “I have decided that soon I will turn you over my knee to spank you for pleasure.”

  Chapter Fifteen: The Countess

  I emerge from my rooms with Lucy in tow. It is some hours later, and having been warmed by a deep, hot bath, redressed, and readied for supper, I am now on route to meet Lord Markham and his mother, the countess. I have chosen one of my more expensive and fine-looking gowns for the occasion, feeling the need to showcase myself for the evening’s audience. Nonetheless, I am unsettled and unprepared for what lies ahead.

  There is a knot of anxiety in my belly about the whole affair. The prospect of dinner with the countess is daunting enough, without the backdrop of my last encounter with His Lordship lingering in my mind. I shiver reflexively as I recall the way he had held me by the fireplace. I remember the searing look in his eyes, and how I had trembled inside when he had requested I call him Thomas. Moreover, I recall how I had felt; the way he had made my body come to life with every word and each touch. I also remember his promise to me; that soon I will be spanked for pleasure, and not for punishment.

  My head whirs with the idea, and I pause, reaching for a nearby dresser to steady me.

  “Are you quite well, My Lady?” I hear the concern in Lucy’s voice, from beside me.

  Turning, I smile to reassure her. “Yes, thank you, Lucy,” I reply.

  She arrived just moments after Lord Markham announced his decision, finding me resting by the fire, as His Lordship read in a nearby chair. Of course, she mentioned nothing about the energy in the room, or the strained silence which met her, but somehow I am certain she was privy to it. After all, how could she not? Although His Lordship is my guardian, it is still highly irregular to find a young woman alone with a gentleman, and Lucy, I am certain, is well aware of this.

  “You look pale, My Lady,” continues Lucy. “After your turn this morning, perhaps you should rest? I can give word to His Lordship?”

  For one moment I consider her words. Feigning illness does present the perfect opportunity to avoid supper with the countess altogether; an idea which is unsurprisingly enticing. She has already made it evident how she feels about her son’s new ward, and I am certain to expect more of the same this evening. However, whatever her view, His Lordship has made his position clear, and my absence may only serve to increase her fervent objections. I weigh the arguments in my head, as Lucy stands by, watching me. An odd pang of guilt fills me at the prospect of deceiving Lord Markham; I know now what his expectations are, and the idea of displeasing him is strangely disturbing.

  “No, I feel I am well enough to attend,” I tell her. “Thank you, Lucy.”

  We make our way through the upper corridors to the head of the stairwell, before she makes her excuses and continues on to the servants’ quarters. I realise for the first time that I am beginning to navigate my own way around the maze of hallways; a thought which is remarkably pleas
ant to me. I head down the stairs slowly, drawing in a deep breath as I make my way left to the dining room.

  Mr. Gregory stands waiting in the open doorway. He smiles as I approach. “Good evening, Lady Franklin.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Gregory,” I respond politely.

  “How elegant you look this evening,” he replies.

  The compliment is unexpected, but helps to bolster my confidence. I nod to him, acknowledging his words without further comment as I pass next to him into the waiting dining room.

  I enter the room, my head deliberately held high as I make my way to His Lordship’s preferred end of the long table. He rises immediately at my presence. The first thing I notice are his long coattails dragging across the seat of the dining chair. My eyes appraise him, rising up the length of his body to the strong jaw of his face. He looks astonishingly handsome in his evening attire, the garments serving only to elongate his already tall and powerful body. I catch the smile on his lips as he assesses me.

  “Good evening, Lady Franklin,” he says. That voice… The sound of it washes over me, and just for one moment I want to pause and shut my eyes to enjoy it. I am momentarily transported back to the library, and to the intimacy we had shared. I picture his face in my mind, the memory of him just a few inches from me suddenly overwhelming. His lips move toward me, his hot breath upon my flesh as his mouth grazes mine. Yet, all at once the wanton image disperses and I am forced to compose myself, taking a deep breath before answering His Lordship.

  “Good evening, My Lord,” I reply.

  It’s then that I notice something else. The countess is already in place at the table. She is seated in the chair which has recently become my own—the one to the left side of Lord Markham. For some odd reason, the idea that she is at the place I consider to be ‘my own’ disgruntles me more than it should. For a second I freeze, my eyes landing on the lady across the table from me.

  “Good evening to you, Countess Markham,” I say, intentionally sounding more upbeat than I feel.

  Her eyes flash over me, as cold and grey as I had remembered them. “Lady Franklin…” Her reply is curt and uninviting.

  Seemingly aware of the growing tension in the room, Lord Markham intervenes at once. “Please, sit by my right side, My Lady,” he remarks, gesturing to the chair he means.

  Gregory appears, taking hold of the seat in question and pulling it back from the table. “My Lady?” he asks, offering me the place.

  Smiling, I regain my composure as I seat myself. “Thank you, Mr. Gregory.”

  I settle, permitting the butler to help me with my napkin, and he moves to the decanter sat between the three diners.

  “May I offer you a glass of wine, My Lady?” he asks, turning his gaze on me.

  I pause, my eyes quickly assessing the already full glasses at His Lordship’s and the countess’ places. I recall my first evening here at Markham Hall—just a few days prior—when Lord Markham had expressly forbidden me to take a glass. Since then we had both taken water with our evening meals. I look to him for a moment, then turn to Gregory to reply. “No, thank you, Mr. Gregory. Water will be fine for me, please.”

  From my peripheral vision I see Lord Markham smile. I wonder if he is proud of me? Obscurely the thought that he might be is warming, and I turn, repaying his smile.

  “So, how long is it that you intend to stay with my son, Lady Franklin?”

  The sound of the countess’ voice slices through the comforting feeling. Her tone is clipped, somehow reinforcing my status as a burden on His Lordship. I sigh, a small sound that only Lord Markham’s ears will be able to discern.

  “Lord Markham has kindly offered to make Markham Hall my home, My Lady,” I reply as congenially as I know how.

  The lady across the table snorts, causing both myself and Lord Markham to look in her direction. “Surely you cannot be considering taking permanent residence?”

  The discussion is interrupted by a number of staff, who enter the room carrying our first course. I feel my face colour at the countess’ tone, gripping my napkin at my lap between my fingers.

  “This has been discussed already, Mama.” It is the sound of my guardian’s voice which breaks the silence around the table. “Lady Franklin is welcome to stay here for as long as we are both agreeable to the notion.”

  The countess shakes her head, scoffing at her son’s proclamation. “Thomas, you cannot mean to say that Lady Franklin can reside here when you choose to take a wife?” She pauses, taking a sip of her wine. “That would never do!”

  I watch Lord Markham’s face redden at her words. His irritability is clearly visible. “I am not prepared to have this conversation again, Mother.”

  A plate of sliced meats is presented in front of me, just as the words leave His Lordship’s lips. I almost miss the look which passes between the two of them.

  “Thank you,” I murmur to the young man who has delivered it as he passes behind my chair to attend to Lord Markham. Once we are all served, the servants leave the room, except for Gregory, who—upon filling my glass with water—falls back to the entrance.

  “Do not be irritable, Thomas,” says the countess, her tone lighter than before. “I am thinking only of your future—your happiness.”

  “I know full well what you are thinking about,” snaps Lord Markham. “Let us eat, now, before our meal grows cold.”

  I glance up at the two of them from under my eyelashes, sizing up the tension between the mother and the son. I had always had a fairly good relationship with my father, yet with hindsight I can see that I was royally spoilt by him. As for my mother, she died when I was so young, I can scarcely recall her. As such, I am intrigued by the dynamic between my guardian and his mother. I watch, rather captivated, as the discourse continues.

  “Of course,” says the countess, slicing a piece of beef with her knife and fork. “You must do as you will, Thomas.”

  I hear Lord Markham inhale sharply at the comment. “I must, and I will, Mother. Lady Franklin is my ward, and she will stay here—with me—at Markham Hall.”

  The authority in his voice rings around the room, causing my muscles to clench beneath my napkin-covered gown.

  “As you wish,” replies the countess, clearly not wishing to rile her son any further on the matter. “What will you do with your time here, Lady Franklin?”

  I am not expecting this question to be directed at me, and for a moment I simply watch her, considering my answer. “I like to embroider and to play, My Lady,” I reply between mouthfuls.

  “What do you play, My Lady?” asks His Lordship, from my left.

  I turn to him as I reply. “The piano, My Lord.”

  “Good Lord!” he says, smiling. “A pianist! How fabulous. Perhaps you can play for us? There’s a grand-looking piano in the ballroom which rarely gets use.”

  “A ballroom, My Lord?” I answer, genuinely bemused. “I have not yet found such a room on my journeys.”

  “What a travesty, My Lady,” he beams. “We shall have to ensure that this is rectified at the earliest convenience.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking a drink. “I would very much appreciate it.”

  “Aside from such frivolous activities though,” continues the countess, “how will you fill the hours here at Markham?”

  “I do not know yet, My Lady,” I say truthfully. “I confess I do not know this part of England well.”

  “You will soon be old enough to find a husband of your own, as I understand it?” she asks in a fashion which makes me believe that she already knows the answer. “There will be balls and dances to attend. Thomas, perhaps you should think about hosting one here, at Markham?”

  “Perhaps,” agrees my guardian. “I will endeavour to do whatever I can to support Lady Franklin.”

  I look in his direction as he makes this comment, but he does not return my gaze. “Perhaps there is some charity work I can assist with?” I remark, meaning to change the d
irection of the dialogue away from my courtship.

  “Charity?” I hear the scorn in Her Ladyship’s voice. I glance at her across the table. Her face is lit by the flaming candelabra, and provides a striking contrast with the darkening view from the window behind. It is a mature visage, and the lines hide a severe-looking expression. She peers at me, clearly expecting an answer.

  “Yes, My Lady,” I reply. “Aunt Jane and I would sometimes produce some needlework for local charities in London. They would help to raise funds for those who are less fortunate.”

  This is both true and a lie of course. My aunt had indeed made contributions to such organisations, although I myself had rarely been so engaged.

  “Why offer assistance to those who are weak and slothful, Lady Franklin?” she asks me disdainfully. “The poor are deserving of their position, as are we all. I have no interest in supporting them in their endeavours.”

  I put down my glass, assessing the old lady with interest. “I cannot say I agree entirely,” I begin. “I think…”

  “There will be time enough for decisions of this nature,” proffers Lord Markham, interrupting me with a smile. “Lady Franklin has just arrived. For now, it is enough for her to become accustomed with her new home.”

  He turns to me as he concludes, and I nod at his words, admiring the way he has steered the discussion. Although he has cut my sentence short, I know it is I he seeks to support.

  The meal passes with a variety of courses and conversations. The food here is utterly delicious, and I say so to His Lordship, who greets the news with a knowing nod. He speaks mainly to the countess, about family members I do not know, and the marriages of people they have met in society. I smile, making informed comments where I can, but on the whole, feeling a little ostracised from the dialogue. I notice that Her Ladyship leads the conversation, seeming to deliberately speak of people and organisations of which I am not acquainted. I wonder if this is not an intentional technique on her part.