CHOCOLATE, TEA AND THE DUCHESS (6 page)

times before as she positioned herself just so. Her husband rubbed her already

reddened cheeks and dipped a hand between her legs. Serenity cooed at his touch.

Felicity found herself envious of that touch and more so thinking of what was to come.

"Spread your legs wide for me." His tone sounded solicitous. "That's it. Now

don't move or you will be on the bench."

"Oh, the things you promise."

Lucien chuckled as he hit her with his hand, leaving a print on her right buttock.

Serenity barely moved. Several more smacks hit her in rapid succession, her flesh

reacting with increasing color. She seemed lost in the moment. Lucien again dipped into

her quim, teasing her nub.

"Yes." Serenity's voice was barely audible.

"Now your favorite, dear."

"Hard, please, Lucien."

"As you wish."

With a leather strap in hand, he cocked his arm back and let fly with a snap

across both her already reddened buttocks.

Felicity's eyes widened, her mouth gaped. She found herself stunned, while her

heart thrummed with excitement.

Lucien continued to spank Serenity with the strap, her moans giving every

indication of sexual arousal.

Felicity noted a change in the severity of the strikes, each one coming much

harder. The veins in Lucien's neck bulged through the last three. Now, Serenity was

begging him to take her, right there, as she was, bent over the chair. She gasped for air,

fidgeted from foot to foot.

Lucien turned to Felicity, his brows raised. Realizing she was no longer welcome,

she stood on weak legs and removed herself from the room. Sounds of their lovemaking

filled the hallway. Her heart beat wildly; her quim pulsed with excitement. She tried to

take herself away from their door, but her innate curiosity drew her closer to listen.

She'd become quite agitated during the spanking, wishing to touch herself, to relieve an

ache she didn't quite understand. Hearing the Damrills in the throes of passion, she'd

reached the limit. She needed something, not really understanding what she was

feeling.

She paced, trying to walk off the pressure she felt in her loins. Walking had no

effect. Leaving appealed to her, but she'd not paid attention when Serenity brought her

to the third floor and had no idea how to get back. At any rate, so many questions

troubled her mind.

She found an upholstered bench a short distance from the door. As she began to

think Serenity would never emerge, she did, looking flushed and quite happy.

Serenity acted as though nothing untoward had happened. She seemed quite

used to having someone observe her husband savage her bottom. "You waited, I am so

glad."

"Yes, I have so much to ask you."

"I have a suggestion. I give spankings and wondered if you would like me to

spank you, just so you can see if spanking might be something you wish the duke to do

for you."

Felicity thought for a moment and agreed. Her bottom itched with a need she'd

never experienced.

"When Lucien comes out, I'll take you back into the room. We will conduct a

session, just as though you were a client."

"I would like that." There was no doubt she was afraid, but she wanted to make

Thornhill a good wife, and if she offered herself in this way, maybe he would not be so

angry with her for having to marry her in the first place.

The ladies chatted for several minutes, until Damrill can out of the room, looking

fresh and well-groomed. He kissed his wife, bid Felicity adieu, and disappeared

through the wall panel.

"Come, let's get you prepared."

The room seemed smaller now and took on a different meaning than just an hour

ago.

"I won't ask you to disrobe, Felicity, but I will spank you on the bare. We will

start through your dress, so you can get an idea of the feeling, but when I really spank

you, it must be on your bare bottom."

"I understand and agree."

"Please bend over the edge of the bed, and I will spank you with my hand."

Felicity did as she was bid. She bent forward, resting her upper torso

comfortably on the bed. Her feet were firmly on the floor, knees tightly together.

"It might be better for your balance if you spread your legs a bit."

Felicity did as she was bid.

"Now, I will start." The words were barely out of her mouth before the first strike

connected with Felicity's buttocks.

"Ow!" She cried, but stayed in position.

Again, Serenity struck her. After the first few strikes, Felicity rather enjoyed the

pain, slight as it was. When she'd received ten spanks, Serenity stopped.

"Pull up your dress to your waist."

Felicity bent to grab the hem on both sides of her body and brought the

voluminous fabric up and over her back.

"You're wearing drawers. It is my experience that no husband likes these things.

My advice is to not wear them when you suspect an intimate moment between you and

the duke." She laughed. "I have lost many a pair when my husband has torn them from

my body."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Serenity untied the ribbon at Felicity's waist, and the silk undergarment fell to

Felicity's ankles.

Serenity situated herself to the side. Felicity felt the woman's arm cross the small

of her back. "I will finish this spanking with my hand, since you are not used to being

spanked, or do you wish the strap?"

"I believe your hand."

With no further conversation, Serenity finished the spanking with ten more

spanks, showing no mercy. Felicity wiggled and cried, but Serenity kept about her

business until she'd finished with three, much harsher smacks.

Reduced to a blubbering mass, Felicity had undergone her first real spanking.

Minutes later, after she'd calmed herself, Serenity asked her, "Are you well?"

Felicity answered quickly. "I have never been better."

Chapter Six

Phillip paced before the hearth at Plimmswood House, as the lord and lady of

the manor fluttered about settling the guests who'd arrived to see him sent to his

figurative death. He smiled slightly when introduced, dreading the hours that would

unfold with painful slowness, until the time came when he would take his new duchess

away from this place and ensconce her as the mistress of his home and the anchor

around his neck.

Much muttering went on; he suspected speculation as to the precipitous nature

of the nuptials. He rather liked the idea that only he and Felicity knew the real story

and neither were likely to inform the rest of these vultures. She could well be incubating

his child at this very moment for all they knew. Nine months from now they would

have to admit to themselves how wrong they'd been.

"I will go see what is keeping her," Lady Plimmswood announced, as she

scurried out of the large drawing room, where all had assembled and waited for the

bride—his bride—oh God, his bride. He hadn't seen her since the ball. He frankly hadn't

wanted to see her, nor did he feel any closer to wanting to now.

The tap, tap, tap of Lady Plimmswood's slippers on the marble in the entrance

hall heralded the arrival of the young woman whom God had placed in his path to

answer for all of his many and varied sins.

"She's coming. She's coming." Then there she was.

Despite his less than benevolent feelings, his heart fluttered when she made her

appearance. She was dressed in an ivory silk, high-waisted dress. A veil of lace adorned

her head, nearly covering her auburn hair. She held a simple posy.

He was struck by how demure she looked, young, naïve, and dangerous—

mostly to his heart. If he'd ever wanted a wife, admittedly, he'd want her to look like

Felicity. As she neared, he saw her adorable freckles peeking out from under whatever

cosmetic attempt was made to cover them. He'd always had a weakness for freckles.

He walked to greet her, bowed his finest ducal tribute, and offered her his arm.

None of these biddies needed to know he felt as though the noose was tightening. He

made every attempt to look happy, but since he'd rarely experienced the feeling, he had

no real idea what might make him appear so.

A fire raged in the grate, appropriate since he felt as though he were being

condemned to hell. The vicar waited for them in front of the fireplace, his smile making

Phillip wish to slap the man back to reality. However, he didn't wish to give the gossips

more to talk about so he stifled the urge.

With Felicity's hand resting on his arm, the ceremony began.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here . . . ."

Phillip looked ahead, standing ramrod straight. He felt Felicity shift slightly

beside him.

"Marriage is the union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind. It is

intended for their mutual joy."

He could think of only one of the three, and he'd almost guarantee neither would

experience joy.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Felicity looking up at him. He

didn't return the gesture.

"Who gives this woman in marriage to this man?"

Lord Plimmswood stood, puffed his chest out, and proudly declared before God

and the assemblage. "Her mother and I do."

"This relationship stands for love, loyalty, honesty, and trust, but most of all, for

friendship. Before they knew love, they were friends, and it was from this seed of

friendship that is their destiny."

Phillip's stomach rebelled; he swallowed hard. Lord, he didn't even know the

color of her eyes, nor sadly, did he care.

"Marriage is an act of faith, and a personal commitment, as well as a moral and

physical union between two people."

Felicity's hand tightened on his arm at the mention of their physical union.

"Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her . . . ."

He was about to lie, because he didn't love her, which would give her no

comfort. Marrying her was the most honorable thing he would do . . . and keep her? In

misery, maybe.

"I will," he said, the words burning like acid as they slid over his tongue and left

his mouth.

The same question was asked of her, to which she answered with a subdued, "I

will."

The rest of the ceremony flew through his head as a rush of noise. He danced

from one foot to the other. He thought he'd heard Felicity whimper and sniffle, but too

afraid to look in her direction, he never confirmed—not even with a quick glance.

Simply heartsick, no longer was he angry, at least not with her. They were bound

to each other with no hope of ever fulfilling the vows as the vicar had presented them.

He was positive he wouldn't know love if it slapped him in the face.

"What—therefore—God has joined together—let no man put asunder."

And it was done. He'd acquired a duchess and she'd acquired a husband who

would surely make her life a living hell.

The room exploded in joyful shrieks from the bride's mother and proud

pronouncements from her father, while the bride and groom forced smiles for the sake

of propriety.

The wedding breakfast seemed never-ending. Phillip held a gag at bay as guests

toasted with champagne, wishing the couple years of happiness and many children.

Whatever happiness was to come to them, would do so on this day, for once alone, their

misery would start in earnest.

After what seemed to be hours of eating and drinking, Felicity's mother ushered

Felicity away for what he understood was a change of clothing. She reappeared in a

short enough time, saving him from a lengthy conversation with her father on his

desperate need for grandchildren, given that he and his wife had only been blessed

with the one child.

Her eyes seemed to plead with him for an end to this misery and for the

beginning of the next. More than happy to oblige, he announced he'd be escorting his

new bride to their home in Grosvenor Square. He'd had no time or any inclination to

plan a wedding trip. Grosvenor Square was far enough away. They could be unhappy

anywhere, to be sure.

But for the horses hooves on the cobbles and the occasional order shouted by

John Coachman, the carriage ride was short and silent. Phillip knew they'd have to talk

at some point, but what was there to say, really?

They'd go through the motions of a wedding night; though, he dreaded the

consummation and the inevitable pain it would cause Felicity.

* * * * *

Upon their arrival at Thornhill House, Phillip introduced her to the household

staff, but all the names and faces were a blur. When shown to her bedchamber, she felt

nothing short of relief.

She stood in a beautiful room, complete with the requisite adjoining door,

papered in sunny yellow watered silk, a color that
definitely
did not reflect her

disposition. The plush rug beneath her feet was a combination of garden colors—reds,

yellows, greens—in every imaginable shade. Large, heavy furniture in dark woods

populated the space in vivid contrast to the ivory velvet draperies at the long,

mullioned windows. Paintings of flowers hung on the walls, bringing spring indoors,

despite the chill of autumn outside.

This would likely be the room in which her husband would make love to her for

the first time, possibly where her first child would be born. It would also be the place