Pleasing the Colonel (10 page)

She never thought she'd be wishing for a whipping, but in fact, she was absolutely praying for that end. It was far better than losing her position. But he'd put her on probation to prove her trustworthiness and surely he would consider this a violation. She felt tears burning behind her eyes again. On top of her fear of being dismissed or taking whatever punishment the Colonel might mete out, she felt disappointed in herself for breaking her word to the Colonel. She hadn't realized it until that moment, but she had come to truly value her employer's regard for her, and to think that she had lost it now was devastating.

* * *

It was against his better judgment that he whipped Julie rather than dismissed her. It was not solely based on Miss Downy's appeal to him, though she had more influence on him than he cared to admit. But the children loved Julie and she'd been with them since Rosie was born. She'd practically raised them since Gracie had died. He didn't think it was fair to them to lose anyone else who they loved, despite the fact that she was not as reliable as she should be. He could only hope that the riding crop had instilled some fear in her so that she would not shirk her duties again. She certainly did seem appropriately remorseful.

He went to the sideboard and poured himself a snifter of brandy as he waited for Miss Downy. He drained it and went to sit behind his desk. The sense of heaviness he felt about dealing with her was not based in anger. He was hurt. She neither trusted his judgment, nor respected him enough to speak the truth.

He heard a light tap on the door and she entered. Her eyes filled with tears the moment she looked at him and the weight on his chest only increased. She shut the door and crossed the room to sit in the chair opposite him, not waiting for the command. Her lips were trembling, and she brought one hand to her mouth to cover it, meeting his eye with tears now streaming down her face. Her eyes strayed to the top of the desk, where the riding crop was still resting, and he saw a muscle jump at her temple.

She uncovered her mouth. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I'm really, really sorry.”

“I need to know I can trust you, Miss Downy.”

“I know—I know. I understand and I won't try to deceive you again.
I promise.
I was just—I was afraid you would dismiss Julie, and she has even fewer people in this world to turn to than I do.”

“I understand that. Perhaps instead of lying you could have made an appeal on her behalf.”

She blinked at him and then nodded. “I should have done so,” she said, bowing her head.

“You appear truly remorseful, Miss Downy,” he said, standing up, wanting to get this over with as quickly as he could.

She stood up as well. “I am, sir. I truly am.”

“Very well. Bend over the desk.”

The look of relief on her face disturbed him as he realized that once again, she must have worried that her position was in jeopardy. It saddened him that she'd been so afraid. That desire to protect her, to soothe her and make her feel safe, surged up again. He shook his head, wondering at the tumult of emotions he felt surrounding this young lady.

She'd leaned over the desk of her own accord, and had pulled the skirts of her dress and petticoat up before he commanded it. She started weeping before the first stroke fell. He delivered a stinging blow, and she cried out. He brought the riding crop down again. She clenched her cheeks and gasped. She shifted from foot to foot as if to alleviate the sensation. He brought it down again and she cried out each time, then began quietly sobbing. Each time he brought the crop down to bite into her tender flesh he left a red line that stood out as a welt. Again and again he brought it down, gritting his teeth at the unpleasantness. When he decided it was enough, he smoothed her skirts back down and tossed the riding crop on the desk where she could see it.

After a moment, he handed her his handkerchief. She erected herself and then stunned him by throwing herself into his arms. The heaviness in him drained, replaced by a deep warmth of affection. He held her and stroked her hair and back as she pressed her wet face into his chest. He allowed his lips to brush her hair, smelling the faint lavender scent and feeling the silky smoothness of her thick mane. Perhaps she felt his lips on her head, or maybe she realized she should not be standing in the circle of his arms, because she tried to pull away then, except he did not let her go. He held her tightly against him.

“I don't want you to be angry with me,” she said into his chest, her words muffled by his shirt and distorted by her tears. “I've been working so hard to please you. I feel like I always bungle everything.”

He lifted her face away from his chest, but then turned it to the side and pressed it back so that her cheek was leaning against him. He stroked the side of her face with his thumb, drying her tears at the same time. “I was hurt by your lie, Miss Downy,” he said with genuine pain. “It tells me that you don't trust in my discipline or my authority.”

She seemed to consider that. She pulled her head away from his chest and met his eye. “You're right. I mean, you're right that I didn't trust. But I should have. And I do now.”

“Thank you,” he said simply. He felt as though she spoke the truth, and it soothed his ruffled feelings. They stood there in silence for a moment. Then he said, “You were extraordinarily brave today up there on the roof. I can't thank you enough for the way you rescued Tom.”

He gradually released her. Then, feeling a throb in his hand, he opened and closed it a few times. At least three dozen splinters were embedded in the meat of his palm from his fall on the roof. The flesh was red and inflamed now.

“Oh, your hand!” she exclaimed. “Colonel, your poor hand.”

“It's all right. I just need to get a knife to try to pry the slivers out.”

“A knife, no! I will get a needle from my sewing bag. That will work far better. Wait here—I'll be right back,” she said and scurried away, wiping at her face and trying to straighten her hair. When she returned, he had seated himself on the settee. She sat beside him and pulled out her pin cushion and selected a needle. Removing her gloves, she took his hand into her lap and started to work on the splinters, one by one. She worked at them with patience and care, squeezing and pressing at the flesh to get to the splinters, her eyes darting to his face as if to gauge whether she was hurting him.

It was difficult because of the direction of their entry; the angle of his hand was all wrong. She kept trying to turn his wrist until he laughed. “I don't think my hand turns that way, Miss Downy!”

“Oh, I'm sorry!” she gasped, chagrined.

That made him laugh again. “Here, let's try it this way,” he said. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, then gave her the hand that was around her. The angle was much better now, and he liked the feel of her nestled against him. She was practically in his lap, and his body responded with a flush of warmth and a tingle across his skin. Miss Downy seemed to relax, which was such a rare occurrence that he found he wanted the moment to never end. He watched her deft, slender fingers working out each sliver and imagined taking up her naked hand and kissing it.

“Am I forgiven?” she asked timidly, darting another glance his way.

“Yes, Miss Downy, you are forgiven,” he said soothingly. “I would never punish and not forgive.”

Her cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink, and she avoided his eye, working diligently on his slivers. Her submissiveness and her obvious desire to please him moved him. He had a momentary vision of pulling her all the way onto his lap and burying his face in her inviting décolletage. Instead, he allowed the pain of the needle and the slivers to assuage the hunger building within him.

* * *

Mandy felt alternately happy and like she might burst into tears at any moment the following day. The intensity of Tom's mishap, the strain of having disappointed the Colonel, the residual pain of her spanking, and the extraordinary closeness she had shared with the Colonel while tending to his slivers left her quite shaken. She felt quite shy for the next several days and it was only a household illness that allowed her to put it behind her. By the end of the week, almost everyone in the manor had fallen ill—servants included.

“Miss Downy, I dare say you have your hands full here,” the apothecary Mr. Sutton said as he handed her a bottle of laudanum and instructions for how to use it. The members of the household were all laid up in bed with fevers, rashes, and sore throats.

“Thank you, Mr. Sutton,” I appreciate your coming here. She saw him out and went to the kitchen to stoke the fire and heat some water for tea. No one had eaten anything in at least a day, but she was trying to press them with tea and now she had the opium to take the edge off their discomfort. She brought it to the Colonel first, as his fever seemed to be the worst. She leaned over him and mopped his brow with a wet linen and he woke, blinking and staring at the view she was accidentally providing of her bust. She withdrew the wet cloth and busied herself with giving him a healthy dose of laudanum. He took it, thanked her, and laid back down, promptly closing his eyes and going back to sleep.

She made the rounds of the rest of the house. Julie was not well, but was still doing an admirable job caring for the children despite her own discomfort. Most of the servants were ill, but those who'd been ill first seemed to be improving, which helped calm her worst fears that the entire household was going to die. It was a miracle she wasn't sick. She'd felt a little tired and her throat had been scratchy for a couple of days, but that had been the extent of the plague's effect on her.
Thank God.

By the time she'd made the rounds of the house, it was time to check on the Colonel again. She went in his room and wet the linen cloth, sponging his forehead and face. He groaned and covered her hand with his own. She tried to extricate it gently, but he reached out with his other hand and grasped her breast, kneading it gently, rubbing her nipple with his thumb. She froze, the shock of thrilling sensation shooting from her peaked nipple to her low belly. The Colonel's eyes were only half open and they were unfocused. He made a soft little moaning sound. Surely he did not know what he was doing—it was the opium that caused him to behave this way. She tried to ease away, but his arm snaked out around her waist and pulled her off her feet and into the bed with him.

“Ah, Gracie,” he mumbled.

Gracie. That must have been his wife. “No, it's Miss Downy,” she said, but he went on as if he didn't hear her. He pulled her in snugly against him, so her back fit against his front and his hot feverish hands roamed up and down her body.

“Why are you wearing clothes to bed?” he mumbled. “You know that's not allowed…” The words were strict, but he spoke them in a warm, rumbling purr. She tried to roll away, but it was impossible; he was holding her firmly with an arm about her waist. His other hand was searching her body, pulling up her skirts until he found skin and growled in approval. His hand ran up her leg and over her hip, then stroked the curve of her bare bottom. She was paralyzed with the sensation—too shocked to breathe, too entranced to speak. The hand made its way back over her hip and dipped between her legs, fingers tangling in her silky curls, probing deeper.

She clamped her thighs together as tightly as she could, but then the Colonel spoke right into her ear, his hot breath warming her face, the deep timbre of his voice making her shiver. “Open for me,” he murmured and her legs parted of their own accord.

His fingers slid up and down the slick entryway of her sex and then one finger gently entered her. She gasped and clutched at his hand, tightening her thighs again, but he whispered, “Shh.” The movement of his fingers felt so wonderful, yet at the same time her mind was frantic with the impropriety of what was happening. She felt a great sensation building in her, half need from the pleasure he was producing, and half terror that he would suddenly wake up and realize what he was doing. But he did not realize and there was nothing she could do to move out of his arms, anyway. At least that's what she told herself as she closed her eyes and followed the delicious sensations he was producing in her. As the pleasure became more urgent, she thrashed her legs about, still clutching his hand, rolling her head from side to side until she reached the crescendo, her muscles tightening around his finger, her thighs gripping like a vice, her own voice crying out.

“Mmm… that's my girl, Gracie,” the Colonel murmured and kissed her ear. Hearing him call her Gracie helped pull her from her languor and she struggled once again to free herself. He laughed, though. “Where are you going? I'm not nearly finished with you yet,” he said.

She felt his hand moving behind her and then the tip of his hardened sex pressed against her entryway and she panicked completely, kicking and thrashing until she'd freed herself and jumped to her feet. The Colonel sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, staring at her, still unable to focus. He seemed to know now that she wasn't Gracie, though—his look was full of confusion. She turned and fled the room as quickly as she could.

Chapter Six

He woke feeling like death itself. His mouth tasted like it was filled with cotton, and his limbs were heavy and aching. He'd had a dream about Miss Downy. No… oh, Lord.
Not a dream.

Had it been real? She'd been nursing him and he had pulled her into bed with him. God forgive him, he hoped it had been a dream. He threw the sweat-soaked sheet off and climbed out of bed. He needed to find out for certain. He pulled on a pair of trousers and a shirt, but didn't bother with anything on his feet. After searching the upper floor for the governess and not finding her, he went downstairs.

“Miss Downy?”

He found her in the kitchen. She jumped and made a little shrieking sound as she whirled to face him where he stood in the doorway. The look on her face said it all. It had not been a dream. She had never looked less happy to see him.