Serenity's Dream (17 page)

Marjorie sensed his anger when she answered his summons. And it was nearly time for

Serenity's spanking.

* * * * *

Serenity stretched as she woke, savoring the advancement in her marriage to

Lucien. She knew he saw red when it came to Martyn, and eventually, she would have

to explain the entire situation to him. But she hoped she might distract him as she had

last night. She rolled over, a smile on her face as she contemplated the most pleasurable

way to distract him, when Marjorie entered the room without knocking.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Damrill. Your husband has summoned you immediately.

Please hurry, he is angry and does not wish to be kept waiting. 'Be prepared', he said."

Her heart began to pound. He was angry. Her bottom began to tingle for she

knew her bottom would suffer. She did pray he would temper his anger before picking

up the implement.

Chapter Fifteen

He'd selected her favorite strap, conceding that much to her. He couldn't bring

himself to speak, lest he betray his emotions. He would get this session over with and

then he could leave her presence.

"Stop, Lucien, please."

Her cry cut through his mindlessness. She fought the restraints on the spanking

bench and had begun crying fiercely.

"Please, Lucien,
stop
!"

He'd lifted the strap in midair when he finally heard her and staggered away

from the bench, not at all himself.

"I said 'stop' several times, Lucien. You hurt me. Let me up, now."

He had, indeed, for the first time, lost control. He looked down at her, stunned

and mortified at the condition of her bottom. It was deeply bruised and he'd broken the

skin in several places. He released the restraints and stood her up. Her knees threatened

to buckle, and she whimpered loudly as she searched for her night rail.

He couldn't let her leave the room in her condition. He didn't want the servants

thinking he'd purposely done her damage. "Please, I am sorry. Please."

"You said to say 'stop' and you would. But you didn't."

Lucien paced the room. "I am sorry, Serenity. I should have never done this."

She put the night rail over her head and stalked up to face him. "What the hell

were you thinking?" She trembled visibly, and tears streamed down her face.

Instead of turning his back to her, he stood fast. "I have things on my mind and

should have never conducted this session."

"I'm bleeding, Lucien. You promised you would never do that to me."

He took her by the arms and brought her close to his chest. "I am sorry. Let me

get Marjorie to treat your bottom."

"No, I don't want her to see me like this." She marched to the door, checked the

hallway, and ran to their bedchamber, leaving Lucien alone with his thoughts and his

guilt.

* * * * *

Serenity spent the evening questioning her own judgment and wondering if she

should continue on with Lucien. He'd spanked her in anger, something they had agreed

would never happen.

She'd rung for Marjorie and asked for an unguent, which the maid cheerfully

delivered. Serenity applied the greasy balm to her injuries but was still quite

uncomfortable several hours later.

How could he do such a thing?
She needed to calm herself and think this through.

Decisions needed to be made. She didn't feel safe in his hands any longer, something

she'd n ever thought would happen. He'd breached her trust. Where was she to go from

here?

There was a light knock on the door but she remained silent. She had no desire to

see anyone, especially Lucien. There was nothing he could say or do to make this right.

The door opened but it was Marjorie. "Mr. Damrill wishes to see you in the

punishment room, ma'am."

Serenity began to shake uncontrollably. Beads of perspiration formed on her

forehead and ran down her back, stinging her open wounds. "Please tell Mr. Damrill I

decline his invitation."

"Are you sure, ma'am?"

"More than sure."

"As you wish, Mrs. Damrill." The door closed quietly.

"The unmitigated nerve of that man," she shouted, not the least bit concerned

who might hear her tirade. "He wants to do this all over again. Not in this lifetime."

She began to cry again, wailing uncontrollably. She threw herself on the bed and

sobbed into the pillow for what seemed like hours. The fire in the grate turned to

embers, and the candles sputtered and eventually gutted. She ached horribly, and the

unguent had not sufficiently mitigated the burning and stinging of her posterior. She

would never be able to sleep in this condition but she'd no idea how to get relief. Any

affection she'd begun to develop for her husband vanished in a firestorm of anger and

recriminations.

The thought of leaving entered her mind unbidden. It seemed like the natural

course to take. She knew she would have to put distance between them before he did

this again and refused to heed her signal to stop.

At the thought of leaving she began to cry again. She had nowhere to go. Martyn

had found her, and it was only a matter of time before he would tell Lucien everything,

though most of it was nothing more than a Banbury tale.

Suddenly, her mind cleared, and she knew the source of Lucien's anger. Martyn

must have called and told Lucien his version of what had happened in Italy. Good lord.

Lucien was angry because he'd found out his wife was being accused of murder.

* * * * *

Prentice found Lucien in the library, drowning is sorrows in brandy and selfrecrimination. "I received your summons, old chap; what is so urgent?"

Lucien looked up forlornly. His shirt hung loose and wrinkled and his hair must

have looked as though he'd just come from bed. The fact that Campion had not shaved

him certainly did not help his appearance, making him feel like a late-night reveler at

his own club.

"My God, Lucien, what is it? You look as though you have lost everything. Please

don't say the club is closing."

Lucien belched out his disgust at Prentice's assumption. "It's not the club, you

fool, it's her. I should never have trusted her again."

"Am I to deduce we are talking about the inimitable Mrs. Damrill?"

"Yes, we are."

"That's the exact reason that I have never credited the holy state of matrimony

with anything more than it being a sudden and distinct lapse in a man's good judgment.

Pray, what has she done to cause this total destruction of your sensibilities?"

"How does having committed murder strike you?"

"Murder? Good lord, Lucien, you must be joking. That little slip of a woman

would never do harm to an insect, let alone a human being."

"Well, that's apparently not what the Italian authorities have to say."

"Italian authorities? What do they have to do with this?"

Lucien went on to explain to his friend about the trip Serenity and her lover had

taken and the fatal outcome for the very dead Earl of Chetwood. A humorous aside

reared its ugly head when he thought it was indeed the wrong Chetwood who had been

found dead, suddenly realizing along with everything else, he'd taken a rather

murderous dislike to Martyn Thorndyke.

Prentice did not seem the least bit alarmed or empathetic about Lucien's plight.

"What is it you wish me to do, Lucien?"

"Do you know anyone in authority in Florence who might be able to tell us what

actually happened?"

"Of course I do. I know everyone. A good friend of mine, Arturo Mosca is an

Italian equivalent of one of our Runners."

"Prentice, I need answers as quickly as possible. I need to know if the Italians are

looking for my wife. If she is a suspect in a murder. I don't credit Chetwood's story

fully, as he is a grieving brother, but she did abscond before his body was found."

"Have you talked to her about any of this?"

"No."

"We really should get her story before I send Arturo in a direction he might not

need to go."

"I suspect you're right. However, she is rather angry with me at the moment."

"What did you do to her?"

Lucien lifted his eyes, allowing Prentice to read what was written there.

"You didn't harm her, did you?"

Lucien nodded. He could never admit to such a breach of trust to anyone but

Prentice. "I should have never conducted her last spanking, when I'd only just learned

all this. I hurt her, Prentice."

"Well, arses heal. You can make up for it, but if you want me to help you with

this, we need to speak to her, and then I shall be on my way."

"What do you mean, on your way?"

"I shall leave for Florence at daybreak. Ships leave for Italy every day, and I shall

be on one and back here before you have the chance to miss me. Now, summon your

charming wife."

Lucien chuckled with little enthusiasm. He rang for Hampton, who in turn sent

Haynes to escort Serenity to the library. He did not particularly relish seeing her, but

this discussion was necessary. He knew in his heart she was incapable of harming a

soul, but she most certainly had some explaining to do.

* * * * *

As her explanation swirled in her head, there came a knock at the door. Upon

answering it, she saw it was Haynes.

"Mr. Damrill wishes to see you in the library, ma'am. He says it is urgent."

"Tell him I don't wish to see him." She attempted to close the door, but Haynes

stopped it with his foot.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but he said I should carry you if you did not agree." Haynes'

handsome face flushed.

"Very well." She stomped out of the room and down the hidden staircase. By the

time she reached the library, she'd worked herself up into a fine semblance of fortified

anger. She had her reasons why she shouldn't be made to heel every time he

summoned. She was his wife, not a servant. How degrading to have a footman tell her

she would be carried if she refused to meet with her husband. Her fury simmered to

overflowing only to be stopped short upon entering the room.

Lucien sat slumped behind his desk. He looked as though he himself had been

beaten. Dark circles etched the skin beneath his eyes, and he didn't appear to be in

possession of enough strength to even lift his head. His friend, Prentice Hyde, stood in

front of the fireplace, looking as dapper as a man had a right to be, a charming smile

upon his bronzed face.

She approached carefully. "What is wrong, Lucien? Has someone died?"

Lucien's head swung in her direction, and he jumped from his chair. Prentice

stepped into the breach. Serenity stood stock-still, waiting for whatever came next.

"Yes, my dear, it would seem someone has most certainly died. Do you know

anything of the death of one Winsor Thorndyke, the late Earl of Chetwood?"

Serenity felt the blood drain from her face, and the muscles in her body turn to

mush. She melted onto the floor, though she maintained consciousness.

Prentice knelt by her side, lifting her head. "My dear, are you unwell?"

"It's as I thought. He knows."

"Yes, my dear, he does, and he wishes to hear your side of things. Please,

compose yourself and impart all you know of this dreadful situation."

"Yes,
wife,
please enlighten us as to your part in dispatching young Chetwood to

his maker."

Several moments passed as Serenity got to her feet and arranged herself on the

chair beside Lucien's desk. She tried to affect a regal demeanor, but inside she was

dying by bits.

"Lucien, you cannot even remotely believe me capable of harming anyone, can

you?"

"I don't know, frankly, given what you have done to me."

Tears scorched her cheeks as they fell freely. She'd been wrong to come to

London, she knew that now. She brought her hands to her face and sobbed

uncontrollably.

"Mrs. Damrill, who was Winsor Thorndyke to you?" Prentice asked matter-offactly.

After several moments, Serenity gathered her thoughts and began to speak

quietly. "Winsor was a dear man who loved me, unlike my lawfully wedded husband."

She allowed her bitterness to wash over her words. He and I went to Italy, and he died

there."

Lucien grumbled in exasperation. "You know what we want to know. Now tell

us."

Resigned to the inevitable, she took a deep breath. "I woke early that morning.

We'd had a very late night."

Lucien interrupted with a loud snort and a rude laugh.

She ignored him and trudged on. "We'd had a late night, and I had no wish to

disturb him. I bathed and dressed and broke my fast on the terrace. We had a beautiful

view, and I always enjoyed spending time outside." She stopped, realizing she'd

revealed a part of her life she'd never wanted Lucien to know.

"Go on."

"I spent several hours reading and enjoying the breeze, but as early afternoon

approached, I became restless and wanted Winsor to escort me to the Uffuzi Gallery.

We had spoken of going there for weeks, and I wished to see it. I went to the bed and

attempted to wake him, but he did not respond. I felt his head, and he was cold." She

began to cry, remembering the terror she felt at the macabre discovery.

"He was dead," she whispered. "He was dead."

"Do you believe he was dead when you rose that morning?" Prentice asked with