“But of course you will have more grandchildren,” Minette assured her. “My nephews and nieces must have cousins to play with when they visit Barrymore Park. And you know, Lord Townsend and his wife have just had a baby daughter named Felicity, which means ‘happiness.’ Isn’t that lovely? And my brother and his wife shall have their child soon. It’s my dearest hope they will all grow up together and be lifelong friends.”
Some emotion flickered in her husband’s eyes, and she remembered that his friendship with Warren was terribly strained at the moment. If only Minette knew how to fix the rift.
“I shall pray for you, dear Minette,” said the dowager, “and write to you soon.” The woman gave her one more peck on the cheek and did the same to her son. Dear Minette. The haughty lady had finally left off calling her Wilhelmina, and become something more like the mother Minette had never known. Indeed, she would miss August’s mother when she was gone.
“You must come and visit often,” Minette said as August helped the lady up the stairs and to her seat. Her lady’s maid had already settled into the other cushioned bench. “Try to stay warm. Would you like another blanket? Have you enough refreshments to last until you come to the first inn?”
“Minette, she’ll be fine. Mother, have a safe trip.” He squeezed her hand and stepped back to let the groom shut the door. His mother peered out the window and waved at them, her eyes alight with affection.
Yes, the dowager had changed a great deal. So much had changed in the two months since August’s father had died. Everyone was happier, as if some dark and poisonous cloud had lifted off the house and set them free from their emotional shackles. They mourned Lord Barrymore in public, in the proper fashion, but in private August and Minette set about creating a new tone in the house, one of kindness and patience, and comfortable warmth. August began to write new songs with less onerous chords and more bright harmonies. It was as if they swept Barrymore’s legacy from the corners, getting it out of the house like so much unwanted dust.
And now everyone called her Lady Barrymore, and August Lord Barrymore, except for Minette, who was still getting used to the transition. He said she might call him August as long as she liked, until they had a son to inherit the title. With the increased, almost frantic pace of their love play these days, she imagined a child would arrive very soon.
Making up for lost time, August said whenever he took her to bed. He would stay all through the night, every night, stroking and caressing her, and teaching her to please him in deliciously carnal ways. He pleased her too, doing things to her body she’d never seen in any of the books. She must write her own book one day, a romantic novel. The hero would be tall and reserved, with jet black hair and brooding hazel eyes. He would be a grand pianist and composer, who very much enjoyed debauching his heroine...
“Minette?”
She turned to her husband, and noticed she was still waving into the distance, although the carriage had disappeared from view. “Well, your mother is on her way,” she said, dropping her hand and hiding her embarrassment by fussing at her skirts. “She will be happier at Royston, don’t you think?”
“Indeed. The change of scenery will suit her well.” He offered his arm and led her back into the house. “We finally have the place to ourselves, darling. What should we do?”
Minette thought a moment. “I suppose the parlors and hallways might benefit from an overhaul. A bit of brightening, perhaps some fresh paint and decorations. And now that we’ve moved into the east hall, we ought to do up our old rooms for guests, don’t you think? And before too much time passes, we really must spruce up the nursery wing.” She noticed her husband’s arching brow, and the libidinous glint in his eyes. “Oh, you weren’t talking about renovations, were you?”
“No.”
“You meant...what shall we do...together...now that we’re alone.”
“Yes.”
Minette gasped as he swept her into his arms. “Good gracious. Where are you carrying me?”
“To my bedroom.”
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “That would be appropriate.”
She clung to his shoulders as he carried her up the stairs, right past the statue-like footman at the top. It was the same footman who used to collect her from various places in the house when she roamed in her sleep. She never roamed anymore—too blissfully exhausted, once her husband was finished with her. Her cheeks burned, although the servant pretended not to see either of them. It was rather unrefined to be carried about by one’s husband, especially straight to his bedroom, but in the past few weeks he’d proven himself an unabashedly ardent lover, and she enjoyed their private activities very much.
“Oh, my,” she said as he set her down in the middle of his bedroom. Rather than move into Lord and Lady Barrymore’s fusty old chambers, they had redecorated their own wing with adjoining rooms—and greater privacy. “How can you carry me so far without toppling over?”
He said nothing in reply, only set about removing her clothes. She tried to help as he untied and unlaced her, then watched in dismay as he tossed each garment on the floor. “Perhaps I should put them over a chair or something,” she suggested.
“I’ll put you over a chair,” he replied. “Leave them.” He lifted her shift above her head and tossed it down beside her gown and stockings and garter ties. She gazed up at him, thrilling to the hunger in his gaze. He pulled her closer, teasing the tip of her nipple as she arched against him. His buttons felt cold against her front.
“Aren’t you going to undress too?” she asked.
He undid his coat only, and threw it over the back of a chair. “We’ve a rather unpleasant matter to take care of first. I can’t seem to find the paddle Warren gave us. The one I keep in my desk drawer.”
Minette swallowed hard, staring at the outline of her husband’s muscular arms beneath his shirt. “Oh, dear. I suppose it has gone missing in the midst of all the moving. Perhaps it was mistakenly packed up with your mother’s things! How embarrassing, for her to find it. What will she think? Oh, do you imagine she will take it for a bread paddle?”
“I don’t think so.” He unfastened one sleeve, and began to roll it up. “She’d know at once it was a disciplinary paddle, and with your initials carved into it, no less.”
Minette put her hands to her cheeks to hide the rising flush. “This is terrible. Well, I guess we shall have to muddle on without it.”
“Minette,” he said, rolling up his other sleeve.
“I mean, you wouldn’t want to ask her about it. It would be far too humiliating for everyone involved. I suppose we must count it a total loss.”
“Not a total loss.” Her husband turned to pick up an oblong, charred piece of wood from his clothes chest. “The servants brought this to me a couple days ago. Do you recognize it? They fished it out of the kitchen fire.”
Minette stared at the paddle. Blast the kitchen servants. Why hadn’t they let the thing burn? “My goodness,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t incriminating.
“My goodness, indeed,” August replied drily. “Those are your initials, aren’t they? How did this paddle make its way from my study desk drawer to the kitchen fire?”
“I can’t imagine.” She bit briefly at her lip. “It must have been all the moving about.”
He stared at her steadily, in a way that made her feel shamed and excited at once. Then he turned away and opened a drawer. “Luckily, I have an excellent carpenter on staff, who was able to replicate the paddle despite the damage. In fact, I believed he’s improved it.” He withdrew a shiny new implement, turning it over in his hand so she could see the W.A.R. carved into one side. “He’s made it a bit larger, and thinner, to increase the sting and impart a stricter punishment. And he’s promised to make a few more, in case one...or two...should go missing. A man of his talents can provide me an endless supply. Isn’t that wonderful, darling?”
“I wouldn’t call it wonderful,” said Minette with a pout.
August smiled and tapped the paddle against his palm. She was glad he was feeling happier these days, but she felt anything but happy at this moment.
“I believe I shall keep one here in the bedroom,” he said, “for punishing my naughty wife when the situation calls for it. For instance, when she steals a paddle—which was a wedding gift—and throws it into the kitchen fire, and then pretends she didn’t do it.”
“It was a horrible wedding gift, you must agree.” Minette took a step back, and another. “I wish you would put that down, so we might get back to the embracing and kissing and...” She slid her hand down to the tuft of hair between her legs and caressed herself in what she hoped was a sufficiently seductive manner. “Don’t you want to touch me?” she asked. “Touch me here?”
“Indeed I do. After I paddle your naughty bottom.”
Minette stopped fondling herself and thought about the best way to escape him. Unfortunately, he was standing between her and the door.
“I only threw it in the fire because I considered that paddle a great detriment to our marital happiness,” she cried.
“I disagree with your assessment. On the contrary, I think it rather effective at keeping you in line. Come and bend over this chair if you please,” he said, indicating the one with his coat thrown over it. “Let’s make sure you understand that you mustn’t throw any more of my things into the fire.”
“I won’t. Oh, I most certainly won’t. I understand completely. I’m absolutely finished throwing paddles into fires, even if they belong there.” She searched her husband’s features for some hint of softening.
He only gazed at her, unmoved. “I will give you the usual warning: the longer you dally, the longer your punishment will go on.”
Blast. Well, she supposed it had been a wedding present, and she had snuck it out of August’s desk without permission. She ought to know by now not to meddle in his things, especially when he was one of those husbands who had no qualms about spanking his wife. She felt very remorseful as she crossed the room and bent over the upholstered chair. She hoped he wouldn’t make her cry, so she would drop tears all over his deep green coat.
“I’m terribly sorry I did it,” she said, resting her palms against the cushion beneath her.
“I know you are.” He rubbed a large, warm hand across her bottom. It felt rather pleasant, but then his caress was replaced by the hard wooden surface of the paddle. “Since I understand why you did it, there will only be ten strokes for your punishment. However, since I don’t wish you to do such a thing again, each stroke is going to be firmly applied.”