She sat back a little so she could face him, her blue eyes wide and sincere. “You’ve brought something to me, too. You’ve fallen in love with me for more than my talent and my voice. Your friend Lord Townsend professed to love me, but it was only because he saw me perform. Everyone always goes on about my talent, but I don’t think they see me standing there.” Her voice broke a little on the last words. “No, I don’t want to cry. It’s lovely to think that you care so much for me. I think we can be happy together, even though I hated you more than anything a few days ago.”
“Goodness. I forgot to mention your brutal honesty in my enumeration of your lovable qualities.”
“I will try to be sweeter,” she said, lying back upon the bed in a show of frustration. “It may take some time.”
“And some trips across my knee.” He winked at her. “We’ll work all of that out.”
“I think spankings will make me peevish, not sweeter,” she said, sitting up with another pout already in place. If only she knew how it affected him.
“Spankings are essential to a successful marriage.” He rearranged his rising cock beneath his bed robe so his arousal wouldn’t be so obvious. “There’s a closeness that comes from lovingly administered discipline, particularly when we respect one another.”
She tilted her head as if to argue, then thought better of it. Or maybe, deep down inside, she understood what he meant.
“Speaking of which…” He stood from the bed and held out his hand for her. “If you’ve finished your dinner, I believe we ought to make a trip out to the Greek temple in the garden.”
“Now? In the dark of night?”
“It’s not so late. You’re due a spanking, so we might as well take advantage of the temple’s, er, atmospheric qualities. And available implements.”
She frowned at his outstretched hand. “Why must I have a spanking when we’ve just been professing our love?”
“Because you earned one, haven’t you? Remember your foray to the roof, when I thought you intended to fling yourself from the battlements? Remember when you pointed my own sword at me in my armory?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, over her lovely nipples, barely covered by the sheer nightgown she’d put on. “I think you’re too fond of spanking women.”
“No, my dear. I’m too fond of spanking you.” He drew her from the bed and took her into her dressing room. “Come now, put on a cloak and some slippers.”
Her eyes pleaded for mercy, but he saw curiosity there too. “You’re going to bind me to the whipping post?” she asked.
He smothered a smile. “Perhaps, if you make a fuss. It’ll make it easier for you to stand still.”
She bit her lip, mumbling beneath her breath, but she did fetch a cloak and slippers and pull them over her night clothes.
“Once you spank me, my slate will be clean, yes?” she asked.
“For now, until you’re naughty again.”
She thought this over. “The problem is, spankings hurt, and I don’t want you to hurt me.”
“We’ve been over this before. They hurt for a reason, but since you’ve been on your best behavior this evening, I may be kinder than I would have been.” He had a sudden burst of inspiration and gave her a rakish smile. “If it makes it easier, pretend I’m your kidnapper, and you’re being taken to the temple for punishment. You’ve been very rebellious and bad, and tried to escape, and now you’re to be tied up and made to regret it.”
“I’m not sure that makes it any better,” she said in a soft voice, but he knew her body well enough by now to see that it had.
*
Ophelia held her hands where he showed her, gripping the whipping post just at the height of her shoulders. He buckled the cuffs about her wrist so they were too tight to escape from, but not so tight they hurt. His terse orders echoed off the marble walls, and the only light came from the pair of lanterns they’d brought from the house.
Oh, why had she agreed to this? After dinner, civilized people sat in a parlor and talked, or gathered about the piano. They didn’t come to a dark sanctuary of erotic punishment, outfitted with chains, benches, and cuffs.
You agreed to it because it’s exciting, even though it’s going to hurt.
Wescott had made her strip off her nightgown, as he played the gruff kidnapper exacting his due for her disobedient escape attempt. She was going to be spanked, so she shouldn’t feel excited, not in that way, but she did. At least her fictional kidnapper did not present any ginger to force into her bottom. He did, however, cross to a set of drawers and return with a supple leather strap affixed to a wooden handle.