Pleasing the Colonel (3 page)

Her mouth fell open. Clearly she'd been prepared for the worst.

“But I don't need to tell you how serious I consider lying about your references to be.”

She nodded her head. “I understand, Colonel. I am terribly sorry. I just was afraid you wouldn't accept me without real work experience, and I had none.”

“No,” he agreed. “Miss Downy, I have spoken with everyone in this household and not a single person could make any critique of your care and education of my children. That is the only reason I have decided to keep you on.”

She heaved a sigh, which drew his eye to her décolletage. Her skin was creamy white and her breasts were lifted and framed alluringly in a square-cut neckline. Feeling a prick of heat rising from the sight, he quickly looked away with a mental shake.

“Thank you, Colonel,” she gasped.

“I cannot allow your lie to go unpunished, however,” he said firmly. He would treat her as he would an errant soldier. In the military, they certainly couldn't dismiss the men for not following orders—they needed them. Instead, they flogged them so it wouldn't happen again.

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a leather strap.

Chapter Two

Her hands turned ice cold as she realized what kind of punishment he had selected for her. She willed her body to move and stood up.
Be brave, Mandy
, she told herself. She clenched and released fistfuls of her skirts at her sides.

The Colonel had walked around to her side of the desk. He patted the top of the desk. “Bend over,” he said.

Her breathing was coming in fast, short gasps. She stepped to the edge of the desk and hesitatingly leaned over it.

“Lift your skirts,” he commanded.

Oh mercy.
She had not adopted the new fashion of wearing drawers under her dresses, so lifting her skirts would mean completely baring her backside for his view and punishment. Embarrassed by the mere thought, she slowly reached back and gathered the skirts of her dress and petticoat in each hand, hiking them up to her waist to expose her bare bottom for his view. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the humiliation that was making her skin feel hot and flushed all over. The edges of the skirts still hung over her bottom, offering a bit of cover, but she felt the brush of his sleeve and the skirts were flipped up onto her back. She shivered involuntarily and for some reason remembered the feel of his hands on her bottom the night before, boosting her out of the crevice.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She had not been whipped since she was eight years old and had smashed her sister's china doll in a fit of jealousy. She imagined an adult whipping would be much, much worse. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, her eyes still squeezed shut in anticipation. She heard the whistle of leather swinging through the air the second before it struck her buttocks and she gasped at the sting. Another fell and then another and another. Tears came to her eyes and she tried hard not to cry out, embarrassed beyond belief at the humiliation of having her bare bottom chastised by her stern employer, and she was determined to take it all with a stiff upper lip. By the time he had applied the strap up and down her bottom two times, she found the pain was unbearable. She was starting to dance in place, jerking and flinching to avoid the strap, making soft little sobs. She felt a firm hand at her low back then, pressing her torso down and holding her in place. For some reason it made her feel further chastised, as if she had failed to hold still and take her punishment properly.

The strap continued singing through the air, its stinging bite now causing her to cry out each time it struck and tears to flow freely onto the desk. It struck her upper thighs and she nearly screamed. On and on, he continued to apply the strap until she was sobbing. Her backside was on fire, a burning tingle on the surface and a tender soreness down deeper. Finally, she realized the strap had stopped swinging and she started to lift her torso, but the Colonel's hand on her back pressed her back down.

“I'm not finished,” he said. “It just seemed as though you could use a break.”

She wasn't sure whether to feel grateful for the break or to curse him that it wasn't over. She lay there, prostrate over the desk, her legs trembling, her face a wet mess of tears and her flayed bottom still on full display to her employer. She tried to stop her cries, but it only caused her to make awkward snorting noises.

“Shhh,” he said, and the hand at her back made the slightest motion, as if to gentle her.

She gave up all struggle for control then, and lay her face down on the desk and let herself cry. She reached back and rubbed her burning cheeks with both hands. She had no idea how much time had passed before he cleared his throat, which she took as a warning that it was to begin again. Her hands were still covering her sore bottom and he took hold of one wrist gently and brought her hand back up, passing her head and extending it until her arm was straight. He repeated the same action with her other hand, so that she was now pressed flat on the top of the desk, her arms extended above her head where she could grip the opposite edge of the desk. She tightened her fingers around the edge of the desk as the strap struck her again. She screamed immediately—the agony of the strap biting into her already chastised flesh was overwhelming. He hesitated, as if her scream had given him pause. Then he brought the strap down three more times and stopped. She prayed this time he was finished. It seemed he was, because she felt his hand lift off her back and he smoothed her skirts back down to cover her throbbing bottom. She hissed, as even the fabric of her skirt felt rough against her chafed skin.

She remained bent over, trying again to calm herself, not wanting to show her face. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand and she buried her face into it, sobbing until there were no more tears left to cry. As the cries slowed, she felt his large, warm hand grip the nape of her neck and gently lift her from her position. She was stiff and he allowed her to erect herself slowly, and when he turned her around she kept the handkerchief to her face, not wanting to look at him or be seen. To her astonishment, he pulled her against him, so that her wet face pressed against his broad barrel chest. He was a large, burly man—tall enough that her head rested below his chin without needing to tuck it. She hiccupped a few times and then let go and pressed her face into the comfort that was offered, grateful for the small kindnesses he had shown her throughout the horrible ordeal.

He smelled clean—of soap and faintly of cedar—and she could feel the hard muscles of his chest against her face. He still held her only at the nape of her neck, like a kitten held by the scruff, but she somehow felt enveloped by his strength. She remembered the way he'd taken charge of the situation the night before—calm, efficient, and so very capable in an emergency. Despite the pain and humiliation of her position, she found Colonel Watson more than a little arousing.

* * *

He hadn't planned on holding Miss Downy. Well, technically he wasn't
holding
her, since he'd just put his hand on her nape. He felt the urge to wrap his arms around her and offer her comfort and reassurance. Punishing her had been so much more difficult than he'd expected. He'd found he didn't want to hurt her at all. At first he'd been aroused by the sight of her bared to him that way, the quivering moons of her cheeks more lovely and enticing than he was prepared for, but that quickly disappeared as he'd administered the chastisement and listened to the poor lady's sobs. He was so stricken by her pain that he'd cut the punishment short.

That was how it had been with Gracie, his deceased wife. Punishing her for a serious infraction (which only happened twice) was one of the most difficult tasks he'd ever had to complete. It was odd that he would feel the same way about his new governess, who he'd only known for twenty-four hours. Yet her tears pained him.

When her crying calmed, he tipped her head back to face him. “I want your word that you won't lie to me again,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. Her thick hair had come unpinned during the whipping and a lustrous brown wave was falling into her face. Her lower lip trembled and he couldn't help but watch it, fascinated by the lushness of her mouth, lips the color of ripe raspberries. Though he should release her, he kept his hand there at the back of her slender neck, keeping her quite close to him. Without it, she surely would have taken a step or two back and he found he did not want her separate from him.

“I promise.”

“I'm going to consider your employment to be on probation for the next three months, Miss Downy. If you've proven yourself a capable and trustworthy governess by the end of that time period, you may stay.”

This pronouncement seemed to deflate her. Her shoulders sagged and she looked quite hopeless, which gave him a renewed stab of guilt. She must be extremely worried about her financial situation.

“Miss Downy, why is it that you needed to take an advance to visit your mother? What have you done with the wages you earned since you arrived?”

She blanched, as if she were to be chastised for her debt as well. He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek—the tension created by his holding her nape was already building to the point of crackling. “We incurred some debt with our move—the relative who took possession of the house charged us rent for the month it took us to make arrangements to leave,” she said bitterly, and he recalled what she had said about that relative the night before.

“So you used your wages to repay your relative?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. And to support my mother and the relatives who have taken her in.”

“Well, I am going to cancel the debt of your advanced wages. I am certainly willing to provide you with the means to visit your sick mother.”

She looked moved. “Thank you, sir,” she breathed with gratitude.

Without thinking, he picked up the lock of her hair that had come undone and whisked it back, re-pinning it deftly. She looked surprised and only then did he realize that it had been too intimate of a gesture. Not that the way he'd been holding her against his chest wasn't.

He took a step back. This young woman had an intoxicating effect on him.

“Why don't you go on to bed now,” he suggested stiffly. His tone had made it sound more like an order than a question. It seemed he had been too long in the military to remember how to speak gently to a lady.

She curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”

He watched her walk stiffly out of the room, feeling strangely agitated. He went to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy, swirling it in the glass before sipping. He was
not
feeling this way because he was attracted to his new governess. That simply wouldn't do.

* * *

In the morning her bottom felt tight and from what she could see by twisting around, it was still marked with several red welts. She'd slept on her belly that night, replaying the entire scene with the Colonel over and over in her mind.

Now she was worried about having to face him. She felt exceptionally embarrassed that he had bared her bottom and taken a strap to it. Though the Colonel had been a complete gentleman in the way he offered his handkerchief and even his chest to comfort her, the whole experience had still been humiliating. She also worried about her probation. How strict would he be? She needed this position desperately. She wondered if she shouldn't start to look for a new placement.

She washed and dressed and headed downstairs, just as the breakfast bell rang. The Colonel was sitting at the table already, reading the London Daily Journal, his face hidden by the newspaper. She felt herself flushing just at seeing him again. Hearing the children's happy voices, she turned from the dining room entrance back to the stairwell and waited as they came down the stairs with Julie.

“
Bon matin, enfants
,” she greeted them.

“
Bon matin, mademoiselle
,” Rosie answered brightly. Tom repeated the phrase, doing his best with all the syllables in “
mademoiselle
.”

“They can eat with me in the dining room,” she said to Julie, who grinned her thanks.

“Great! I'll see you after lunch, then,” she said, probably eager to sneak off and flirt with Lenny, the carriage driver.

She took Tom's little hand in hers and listened to his stream of morning chatter, which was mostly recapping the activities of the day before. “Can we go the park again,
Mademoiselle
? Can we?”

“Tom, it was Papa who took us to the park, you'll have to ask him,” Rosie said with great authority.

“That's true,” she said.

Tom raced into the dining room but then slowed down shyly when he arrived at his father's side. The Colonel put down his paper and looked at his son. “Good morning, Tom.”

Tom ducked his head a bit. Then he turned around and ran back to her side, grasping her hand to pull her with him to face his father. She protested a bit, but allowed the boy to drag her. When they arrived at his side he looked up, expectantly. Tom wrapped his little arms around her leg and hung on tightly. “Is there something you wanted to ask your father, Tom?” she prompted.

Tom looked up at her for help.

“Go on. Ask him. Or else go have a seat for breakfast.” She wasn't about to help him out by making any request of the Colonel. She didn't want him to think it was her begging a favor, nor did she want the children to use her as a buffer between themselves and their father. Tom stood there a moment longer, but then he turned around and pulled her back to sit at the table. She could hardly blame the child—she certainly had no courage when it came to facing that stern face of the Colonel, either. Did the man ever smile? She sat down gingerly, trying not to wince at the soreness from her strapping and praying above all that no one else at the table was watching her.

Miss Watson and Mrs. James were seated and the toast and marmalade was on the table already. A kitchen maid carried in a covered plate of poached eggs and set it in front of the Colonel. When he passed it to her, Mandy couldn't meet his eye—instead she focused intently on the plate of eggs, which she used to serve the children and then herself.