My Naughty Minette (8 page)

“I won’t cry anymore if it upsets you so,” she said, trying to squirm off his thighs. “I can be perfectly quiet if I try. I’ll go up to bed, silent as a mouse.”

“You had your chance to go to bed silent as a mouse. Instead you stood outside my library door and treated the entire household to your ridiculous histrionics.”

He flipped up the skirts of her dressing gown, brushed aside her shift, and brought his palm down hard against her bare bottom. He spanked one cheek and then the other, hot, sharp slaps that made her yelp in alarm. “Oh, please, you can’t spank a bride on her wedding night! I believe it’s against the law.”

But then she remembered that Lord Townsend had spanked Aurelia on her wedding night, and that any man in England might spank his wife whenever he wanted to. “I’m sorry,” she said instead, trying a different tack. “I ought to have gone to bed, but I wanted to tell you—oh—
ow!
”

The more she talked, the more he increased the intensity of his spanks. She threw a hand back to cover her smarting bottom. “Please! Please stop!”

“Move your hand.”

“I can’t.”

“Move your hand, or I’ll spank you with your paddle and it will feel considerably worse.”

“It’s not
my
paddle,” she said peevishly.

“It has your initials on it,” he replied. “And I can see why. I asked you very clearly to go up to bed and let me finish my work. Instead you’ve annoyed me until I have no choice but to discipline you. Now answer me. Do you want a paddling or not?”

Tears welled in her eyes at his heartless scolding. His hand rested on her scorched skin, warm and large. It reminded her of his touches, his caresses. He had been happy to caress her when he didn’t know who she was. “I don’t want the paddle,” she said, sniffling.

“Then move your hand. You won’t be warned again.”

The paddle looked evil, but August’s hand was pretty awful too. She jerked and squiggled as he resumed her punishment. No matter how she struggled, he only collected her tighter, spanking her steadily all over her bottom until the whole of it throbbed. The only way she could stop herself throwing her hands behind her was to make them into fists and press them to her mouth. Tears of indignation flowed down her cheeks.

“This is the worst wedding night ever,” she cried as she kicked at an especially smarting blow. “And you are the meanest, most horrible husband in the world.”

“That’s probably so,” said August. “Because I won’t tolerate stubborn and annoying wives.” He paused, and then Minette felt a whoosh and an explosion of fresh, stinging pain from the paddle.

“
Nooo
,” she screamed. “That hurts too much.”

She looked over her shoulder to see him regarding the implement with admiration. “It does pack a wallop. Do you need any more spanking, or have you finished being naughty for the night?”

“I’ve finished, I promise.”

He put the paddle down and hauled her to her feet. She could still feel the rectangular outline of the paddle across her bottom cheeks. Worse, she couldn’t seem to stop sniffling and crying like an infant. He tipped her face up and made her meet his gaze. “You’ve had that coming to you, young lady.”

It upset her to be lectured like a child. She wasn’t a child. She was his wife, and she wished to be treated as such. She wished he might kiss and embrace her, and fondle her, and do those outrageous things he’d done to her Hallowe’en night. She wasn’t a ‘young lady.’ She was a woman. A woman who didn’t appreciate being spanked on her wedding night.

“I’ll go to bed,” she said in a trembling voice, “if you’ll come with me.”

He stared back at her, his face set in authoritative lines. “I’ll come with you, but I won’t stay.”

“Then I won’t go.”

Something in his gaze flickered. “You are very brave to say that just now.” Before she knew what he was about, he’d swept her up in his arms the way he’d done that day when she was terrified of the dog. She wasn’t terrified of dogs anymore. No. She was more terrified of loveless, sham marriages, where one party stayed in the country while another stayed in the city, and everyone gossiped about them behind their backs. It appeared she had entered into one of those marriages. And when August went to London, he would probably go visit his lady of the night, and pay her to do the things he wouldn’t do with her.

But I’ll do them for you. I would do anything you wanted.

August carried her up the wide staircase and down the series of corridors, while Minette tried to think of the words that might thaw him. She was considered a gifted conversationalist, but she came up empty this night. She felt so very frustrated and tired, and oh, her bottom hurt. She laid her head against his chest, against the soft, fresh-scented silk of his waistcoat, and cried a few more tears before they reached her far-flung room.

A footman—a different one now—opened the door for August to proceed through it. Once inside, he passed through her dressing room to the bedroom and tossed her on the bed. He sat beside her, but not in a fond way. He sat on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees. He also looked very frustrated and tired.

“You must understand...” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is the way things have to be right now. I need time, Minette. I have a lot of other pressures, a lot of things going on. My father’s very sick and he’s not going to get better. I have duties in London. I have fences to mend and preparations to make.”

“Preparations for what?”

“My father’s death.” He said it in a very hollow way.

She wanted to comfort him, to embrace him, but she was terrified he’d push her away. So she only stroked the side of his arm, up and back, in a tentative gesture. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry your father’s going to die. I never really knew my parents so I don’t know what that feels like. Very bad, I suspect.”

“It does feel very bad, and you needn’t be there in the middle of it, trying to be my new wife with sadness all around. Give me some time to get used to everything that’s happened, please, darling. Give me a little space.”

“If that’s what you want,” she said. “I love you, August. I always have.”

He let out a sharp breath. “Why? Why have you loved me for so long? What do you even know of me, Minette?”

“I know enough. I know that I love you,” she said staunchly. “Please, let me come to London. I won’t addle you, I promise.”

He placed a finger over her lips. “I know you won’t mean to addle me, but you will. I’ll send for you when things have calmed down, all right? I’ll see you at the holidays, at least.”

“The holidays are six weeks away,” she said past his finger. She wanted to bite it, he made her so furious, and if he gave her another of those chaste forehead kisses, she believed she would fly into a rage.

But he didn’t give her a forehead kiss or any sort of kiss. He squeezed her hand and pressed his cheek to hers, then stood and walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

London was dreary as hell in mid-November. So dreary, in fact, that August occasionally questioned his decision to leave Minette in Oxfordshire, but at the end of it, he had no choice. Barrymore House was already full to bursting with his father’s illness and his mother’s grief. He wasn’t sure the mausoleum walls of their town residence could expand enough to contain Minette’s chatter and liveliness, and if she came here, she would expect him to sleep with her.

Which he couldn’t possibly do.

He tried to imagine it sometimes, tried to move his mind past his childhood memories of Minette, and his brotherly regard for her. If he thought about it enough, perhaps it would wear down those uncomfortable, incestuous barriers, but no. The uncomfortable, incestuous barriers were still there.

Damn him. He had no idea how he’d get heirs on her. The two of them would eventually need to have children, so at some point he’d have to overcome these reservations.
Just pick a night with no moon, and have her creep within the bed curtains...

She was easier to spank, because there were so many reasons to spank her. The marriage, first of all. Colton’s censure, for another. Priscilla’s powerful father had sent August a scathing note letting him know exactly what he thought of his manners. Now Priscilla would be out again next season, at every social event, and every time he saw her, she’d heap guilt upon his head. She’d whisper things about Minette, who was too sweet and good-natured to fight back.

He stood and walked out of his study to the back of the house, and the balcony that flanked the entire floor. He needed air. Maybe he needed Minette. He wasn’t sure. He’d been a week now without her, and he hoped she’d gotten over her anger at being left behind. He’d written to her the day he arrived, a polite and cheerful note for his polite and cheerful bride, sending his wishes that she was well. She’d never written back.

He thought he might go see Esme. Warren wasn’t in town to complain about it, and August could easily skulk in through the back door. Esme would take his cares away for precious moments. An entire evening. He’d never gotten his birthday favors, by God. A breeze blew, strangely warm, with only the slightest chill of autumn. Sun shone on his face as he squinted through his lashes. No, he wouldn’t go see Esme. Maybe someday, but not yet. His mind wasn’t in the right place, and his manhood had taken a blow this past week, when he’d mistaken innocent Minette for that serving maid. Blast, but he ought to have known.

The breeze picked up, ruffling his hair, airing his linen shirt sleeves now that he’d abandoned his coat. Why did he feel like he was waiting? What was he waiting for? A new year. A new season. His father’s death. A letter from Minette. Something. Anything. Someday things would get better and he wouldn’t feel this restless unhappiness.

The breeze died back and August heard voices in the house, in the grand main room that stretched from front to back. An older lady’s warble, and a younger lady’s bright, cheerful tones.

“Why, of course she shall be happy to be shown to her rooms,” the older lady said. “This is her home now, isn’t it?”

“But I should like to see my husband first.” Minette used the ingratiating tone she always affected around the servants. “If Lord Augustine is not terribly busy, would you tell him we’ve arrived?”

It was as if he’d conjured her with his thoughts. He took one last look at the lush serenity of the back garden and stalked through the door and into the house.

“August!” Before his eyes could adjust from the brightness outside, he was nearly bowled over by a barreling bundle of energy. Minette embraced him, all ivory skirts and blonde curls, squeezing him in her arms. He looked over her shoulder at the gargantuan hat and formidable bulk of her aunt and thought to himself,
I am not dressed for company.

“Minette.” He tried not to growl the word as he disengaged himself from her. “And Lady Overbrook.” He sketched a bow toward the smiling matron before turning back to his wife. “What on earth are you doing here, darling? I thought you were to stay in Oxfordshire.” His voice strained with the displeasure he felt.

“It was too dull in Oxfordshire,” said Minette. “I went to stay with Warren and nothing was happening there, except for Josephine getting rounder and both of them mooning at each other all the livelong day.”

“Minette,” her aunt chided.

“Well, it’s true. When my auntie wrote that she was coming to London, I knew I must come along too so I might set up here at Barrymore House for the winter. You don’t mind, do you? Oh, and Warren has written a note.” She poked around in her reticule and extracted a folded page. Behind her, servants unloaded trunk after trunk of female belongings, hauling them through the foyer and to the stairs.

August flicked open the seal on the embossed notecard.
I’ll make this short so I’m not tempted to go on about what a blighted coward you are
, it read in Warren’s handwriting.
She’s your wife. You live with her.

He closed the note and rubbed his eyes. The harried housekeeper arrived, bearing a hastily assembled tea tray.

“How wonderful,” said Minette. “I’d be delighted to take tea. Won’t you put on your coat and join us, August, and visit with Auntie before she’s off to Marlborough Square? Is your mother here? I’d love for her to join us too.”

“Mother is resting.”

Minette was already headed toward the front parlor. “Do you still take tea here on the flowered sofas? They’ve always been my favorite.”

The flowered sofas were still there, but he hadn’t taken tea with anyone the last seven days, and hadn’t planned to today. He went to the library for his coat, feeling unbalanced and stressed. By the time he met them in the parlor, Minette and her Aunt Overbrook were balancing tea cups and saucers on their laps, and asking for sandwiches. Such was her charismatic power that the overworked servants complied with nary a frown, and produced a tray of tea cakes and finger sandwiches in record time.

“I’m so glad to be out of that carriage,” said the Dowager Overbrook. “And how smart Barrymore House looks, Lord Augustine. I haven’t been to visit your mother in so long.”

“She’ll be sorry to have missed you,” he said. “She spends her afternoons at rest.”

“Of course. We’re terribly gauche to arrive at tea time and trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” August assured her, the only feasible response.

“But is your mother well?” asked the dowager. “And Lord Barrymore?”

“I told you he’s been ill, Auntie,” said Minette. “And Lord August has been here handling everything, and leaving me to my leisure in the country. But I ought to be here helping however I can.” She looked at him over the rim of her tea cup. He’d forgotten how small and delicate her hands were, and how blue her eyes. “It was nothing at all to come from Oxfordshire. Warren and Josephine would have come too, but she’s feeling awfully tired.”

“I would have liked to see your brother and his wife,” said August.
So I might punch Warren right between the eyes
, he added silently. What was he to do with her now that she was here? He couldn’t very well send her back, since her aunt had come to stay for some time, and he couldn’t spare the time to take her back himself. All he had in these hectic days was the predictability of his schedule and the quiet of the house, both of which Minette was already disturbing. She gave him a wide, happy smile he was hard pressed to return.