Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Let go of me,” she said, squirming against his body’s bondage.
He tightened his grip on her wrists. “I will, when you’ve been spanked as you deserve.”
“You’re not even my husband yet,” she cried as he delivered a crisp smack to each of her tensing arse cheeks. “I’m not sure I want you to be my husband anymore, if you’ll spank me for every little transgression.”
He let out a bark of laughter at “little transgression.”
“That’s a shame, darling Rosalind, considering your situation.” He began to spank her in earnest, because she was lovely and vital, and so secretly naughty beneath her prim, proper posturing. This was his soon-to-be wife’s first official punishment. He would go slow, be steady, and make it last because she deserved it. Then, maybe then, he could think straight again.
*
Rosalind couldn’t believe Marlow was spanking her. She’d been raised in a home where disciplinary infractions sometimes called for corporal punishment, but that had been her papa’s right. The few times she’d been summoned to his study, it had been a businesslike process, a stern lecture and instructions to bend over a bench for a few strokes of the paddle or birch.
She’d never been thrown over a lap and held tight this way, and spanked with an open palm until the pain built to horrible levels. Marlow had no right to spank her this way, no matter what she’d done.
“Please! Oww!”
“Hush, darling, or someone will hear.”
Someone must already hear, the way he was smacking her bottom, but she bit her lip to stop her cries, realizing the last thing she wanted was for someone to break in her door and check on her safety. She still flailed each time his hand landed against her hindquarters.
This was not the sort of reunion she’d expected with her love, her Marlow. Tears ran down her cheeks, partly from the pain and humiliation of being spanked like a child, but partly from the sense of betrayal. After all the risks she’d taken, after the way she’d upended her life for him, he wasn’t grateful. He was furious.
“I’ll go home,” she said, trying to pull away. “If you don’t want me, I’ll go home at the first opportunity—”
“How? How will you go home?” The spanking intensified. “We’re in the middle of the Algerian Sea, Rosalind. You’re not going anywhere but over my lap for the moment.”
“Ow. I’m sorry. Please! I can’t go back and change anything now.”
She squirmed, arching to look back at him. How stern he looked, yet so handsome. Oh, how could she still find him handsome at a time like this? She turned away, moaning at the throbbing fire in her cheeks. He stopped, resting his hand atop her bottom.
“You believe I’m being too strict with you?”
“Yes! You are.”
“But you’ve done a terribly misguided thing. It was bad of you, Rosalind.”
“I know. I only thought…I thought you would be happy. I thought…” She cried in earnest. “I hoped you would want me.”
“My dear love, I do want you.” He groaned and righted her, settling her in his lap. “I’m happy you’re here but I’m scandalized too. Can you understand that?” He rubbed her back as she shifted on her sore bottom. “You have been scandalous, Lady Rosalind Lionel. You deserved to be punished for it.”
She curled into him, still miffed that he’d spanked her, but also fascinated to be so close to him. She’d never sat with any man this way, perched upon hard, masculine thighs, resting against a muscular chest. Lord Marlow’s muscular chest.
“Dear Rosalind.” He stroked her hair as she hid her face against the curve of his neck. She could feel his pulse against her cheek, a steady, comforting beat to soothe her racing thoughts. “I’m still trying to believe you’re here, even as I hold you in my arms. By God, I’m glad you’re here but I can’t think what to do with you now.”
“We’ll continue to India, won’t we? We can be married there and…and…” She sat up, wiping away her tears. “And after a year or two we can go back to England, when everyone is less angry and wrought up.”
“Your family will be wrought up forever. We might as well stay in India until we die.” He shook his head. “No, we shall have to return to England at the earliest opportunity and face what you’ve done. What we’ve done. I’ll be implicated too.”
“Implicated.” She sniffed. “As if there’s been some crime.”
He gave her a look that was so full of conflicted emotion, she felt momentarily lost. She had done this, had given him all these feelings. His pale blue, feline-wild eyes reflected anger, worry, fondness, and love, all at once.
Yes, love. It was still there, no matter how she’d shocked him with her caper.
“I’m sorry.” She held his gaze, intoxicated by his nearness even though she ought to be angry that he’d punished her. “Will you still marry me, even though I’ve done this?”