Man and Wife: A Sweet Historical Love Story Read online

  When she would have told him how good it was, her mouth still full of cake, he took a step forward and laid the tip of his index finger onto the tip of her nose, leaving a large dollop of blue frosting on the end of it that she nearly went cross-eyed trying to see.

  When she would have swiped it off with her finger, he caught her wrist in his hand and leaned down to her, whispering, "Allow me."

  Essentially trapped against the wall, the table, and him, one hand out of commission—still full of cake, the other held out from her body by him—she didn't have much choice but to allow him to swoop down and kiss it—loudly, with lots of accompanying lip smacking—away.

  "Mmm. It's even better when it's Marielle-flavored," he declared, wiggling his eyebrows in a blatant attempt to get her to laugh.

  She snickered a little at his outrageous compliment but froze again at the unexpected knock at their door.

  "Yes?" Con called.

  "It's Sugden, sir. I'm to be your cabin boy. The captain sent me down to see if there's anything I can get for you or do for you."

  Con had an idea that wasn't really why Lawson had sent the lad to interrupt them, but he'd deal with that practical joker later.

  "Yes, boy, come in."

  He was a small, short lad, who looked as if he'd never enjoyed a solid meal in his life. But he saluted Con smartly, nonetheless, and remained at attention until Con told him to be at ease.

  "Sugden, please send Cook up then locate Danvers; she's the duchess's lady's maid."

  He was out the door almost before he was in, and Cook appeared immediately, received their compliments and his orders, leaving with the cake, the rest of which would be consumed by the crew.

  Danvers took her time arriving, from where they had no idea, but Mari found herself growing more and more nervous by the second. She hadn't heard much about what happened between a man and his wife—except what her mother had told her during a conversation where it was excruciatingly obvious she would have preferred to have stuck her neck beneath the falling blade of the guillotine rather than have to mention anything of the sort—what little she did—to her daughter.

  "It's your duty to bear your husband's lusts," she began nervously. "It's extremely distasteful, but you must yield your body to him any time he requires it. I suggest that...while it's occurring, even when it hurts a bit, you think of the dresses you want for next season, or plan the next ball you're going to throw, something pleasant to counteract the unpleasantness. Hopefully, he won't be too demanding in that way and will mostly leave you alone to pursue your own interests."

  What caught in Mari's mind, of course, was the casually thrown out, "Even when it hurts a bit."

  Not if it hurts, but when it hurts.

  She'd learned more from her know-nothing friends than she did from that stilted, stiff speech, although not by much. And none of them had mentioned pain. Mari knew that he would touch her in a way that would make her feel embarrassed—that must've been the unpleasantness to which her mother had referred—but she had no idea where or why or how, and the girls around her didn't seem concerned with much that was going to affect her shortly.

  But she did notice that—despite the way they had laughed together—he was tense and she was uneasy because of it. She really didn't have much chance to be more comfortable—she didn't want to sit in her wedding gown, but it seemed she wasn't going to have much choice or she was going to drop soon, but the bed was definitely not an option either.

  Finally realizing that they had descended into an uncomfortable silence, during which he had been pacing back and forth as if he'd never had a woman in his life, Con had had enough of waiting for her maid.

  "Mari, you look very uncomfortable. Come here and let me get you out of your gown, at least."

  He was standing about five feet away from her, and he watched her instantly begin to back away from him at his words, her eyes locked on his in a way they never had been before. It had always seemed to him that she had avoided looking at him as much as she could, but now she was staring at him with rapt attention—the way a rabbit did when it was caught in a mountain lion's mesmerizing stare. He recognized the look. He only wished he knew of a way to wipe it off her face. She looked scared and stricken—two things he had hoped to help her avoid feeling with him, and now here they were, presenting themselves before he'd even touched her.

  Regardless of how she was feeling, though, he intended that when he asked her to do something, whatever the circumstances, that she would obey him.

  And he would only wait so long for her to do so, although he did his best to soften his stance and expression, so that he, hopefully, looked more inviting and less formidable.

  Yet she continued to stand there, gazing up at him from across the room, as if awed and enraptured by the sight of him. He could see that she was trembling, and he would have loved to comfort her, but he meant to begin as he intended to continue, and his wife would obey him, even if she was a little scared, even if she was a little hurt, even if she thought there was some better course of action.

  "Mari." Just her name, softly but firmly spoken, hanging heavy in the silence of the room.

  When it looked as if his small attempt at coaxing her to him—which he did not intend to become in the habit of doing—might work, and she had even taken a hesitant step towards him, there was another knock at the door.

  Con's jaw clenched at the interruption, and he seriously considered telling whomever it was to go to the Devil, even though he had a good idea that it was Danvers come to help her do exactly what he wanted to do—now more than before.

  So he didn't answer the knock immediately, preferring instead to take the steps that remained between them slowly, holding her eyes with his the entire way. "I'm going to go out now and let Danvers in. She'll help you more expertly than I could."

  Mari nodded, and he saw her relax at his words.

  Then he reached out to cup her cheek, whispering in a deliberately calm, quiet tone. "But don't make the mistake of thinking that you can get away with disobeying me, Duchess."

  Her mouth opened to defend herself before he finished his declaration, but he put a finger on her lips to stop her

  "When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it. It might not be considered all that husbandly any more to think like that, but I was a ship's captain for too long to change my ways, I think, and I'm used to being obeyed instantly. Luckily for you, your consequences for disobeying me will be much, much lighter than any man who had simply stood there and stared at me when I'd given him an order."

  Suddenly, she no longer seemed so afraid. "Am I to understand, then, that in my position as your wife, I am no better to you than a member of your crew?"

  It was much less her words than the obvious disdain with which she said them that had him drawing himself up to his full height and snatching her to him, ignoring her almost pained, "oomph," when she found herself jerked against his solidness. "I didn't mean to convey that in the least. The men on my crew have to prove their usefulness and skills before I've hired them. You have yet to do either, nor have you even shown yourself capable of following the simplest of orders."

  More, louder knocking, that neither of them acknowledged.

  Mari struggled in his arms, wanting nothing more at that moment than to be free of him, but she knew all of her writhing—as well as her outrage at his insulting characterization of her—was in vain.

  As much as he wanted to flip her over his knee and give her a thorough spanking—if only to wipe that sneer off her face—then carry her to that ever ready bed and truly make her his, he let go of her instead, causing her to stumble a bit before he caught her chin. "Do not leave this cabin," he warned before turning to the door. "I'll be back shortly."

  When he swung it open, Danvers was in the act of knocking again, and she ended up rapping her knuckles on his chest instead, which flustered the older woman considerably.

  "Oh, dear, I beg pardon, Your Grace. I was just coming to s
ee after…"

  But he was already gone, pushing past her without a word.

  When she entered the room and closed the door, Mari fairly launched herself at the woman who had been a surrogate mother to her, and to whom she was much closer than she was to her real mother.

  "There, there, child. He didn't take you already, did he?"

  "Take me where?"

  Danvers shook her head. The girl's mother had specifically prohibited her from speaking to Mari about the marriage bed. In fear for her job, she hadn't. Now she was wondering whether she should have erred on Mari's side, especially considering that no one seemed to be considering her much in the equation at all—they were all just salivating over the Duke's money.

  Sighing heavily, she hugged the girl she'd known since she was born for a while, rocking and patting her. Then she set her a bit away and began the business of undressing her, talking to her the entire time about that which everyone seemed to think no innocent girl who was about to enter womanhood at the hands of a man she barely knew ought to know anything about.

  If the duke found out about it—although she couldn't imagine how he would, then she would deal with that when and if it happened—after all, it was her family's rule that she remain ignorant, not specifically the duke's, that she knew of, although she supposed it could be. That's what some men liked, she supposed.

  But it was more important to her now to help Mari than to worry about her own future, as she realized with regret that it should have been all along.

  "So, my girl, he hasn't touched you yet?"

  Touched her? "No. He's kissed me quite frequently." She wasn't about to admit—even to Danvers—that the rogue had already spanked her.

  "Well, there's a lot more to it than that," she said, bustling around busily. "Did he say what he expected you were going to change into?" She wasn't sure if a nightgown might be anticipating a bit, so instead, she chose a pretty day gown of russet and pink and vine green, with mutton sleeves and a relatively modest bodice that hinted at, rather than displayed, her charge's attributes.

  When she was done, she sat the girl down, determined to tell her—frankly, and in no uncertain terms—exactly what she really needed to know, leaving Mari's head spinning. Especially since Con returned much more quickly than either woman had expected, ordering Danvers out and closing—and locking—the door behind her, practically in mid-sentence—and at the most crucial point of their discussion, prior to having revealed the exact details of what she might expect.

  Practically shoved out of the room, Danvers drew a deep breath and smoothed her dress before heading for her cabin. There was nothing more she could do now. The master seemed quite taken with Miss Mari—the duchess, she corrected herself—and that would have to be enough.

  If it wasn't, she'd be there to pick up the pieces when he was done with her. In Danvers' long experience as a lady's maid, men quickly tired of their wives—preferring mistresses who were much more expert in the boudoir—and turned quickly away from them once the novelty had worn off.

  Chapter 3

  Although she had a bit of a better idea of what it was that her husband was going to expect of her, they'd been interrupted, and Mari had been left hanging at a most inopportune point. She also hadn't any chance at all to digest the information that she'd been given, and, frankly, she thought that some of it was pure poppycock that Danvers had told her just for the sensationalism of it, just to get a rise out of her. The older woman had always relished being the bearer of news, and, despite her deep love for the servant, Mari had long since noticed that she had a distinct preference for imparting bad news, especially.

  Con was surprised to see that she was dressed, although he had been in too much of a hurry to get out the door before he unmanned himself right there, simply from holding her tightly in his arms and telling her that she was going to be spanked for disobeying him, to give her maid any specific instructions. And going topside wasn't the help he had hoped it would be—despite the bracing cold—since every man he saw thought it was his duty to give him a knowing look or a soft snicker, and those who were closer to him came right out and teased him—albeit respectfully—about what he'd been doing with his bride.

  He knew better than to engage them at all—even Lawson, who gave him a sly wink while inquiring about his bride's welfare. Con thanked him and asked him to thank the crew for the nice touches to the cabin, then began a long, slow walk around the deck—without a coat, hoping it would cool the sudden rise of his ardor.

  It didn't.

  He was in worse shape when he arrived back at the door he'd just come out of than when he'd left through it, most of his brain arguing that there was no need at all for him to wait. She was his to have any time he wished.

  But there was another, smaller voice in his head—the one that trumpeted the more tender feelings he harbored for her and was trying to bring those to the forefront. It reminded him that she was terribly innocent and that falling on her in a frenzy of lust would guarantee that she'd hate him for the rest of their lives, and would, perhaps, even drive her into the arms of someone else.

  Like Holyoake, who, despite his purported engagement, always seemed to be waiting in the wings to swoop in and take Mari from him. Con had known that the younger man was going to be at Alden Hall, which was why he had been anxious to avoid it in the first place. He didn't need to have the man his wife was in love with flaunted before him at his own wedding reception.

  Just the thought of that man was enough to make his blood boil for an entirely different reason.

  But he forced his jealousies aside, rapped on the door once and proceeded to herd the older woman out of the cabin, to lock it, then lean back against it, contemplating the loveliness that was his wife.

  She was in a beautiful dress, its colors setting off long blonde hair piled high on her head, leaving her nape open and exposed to him. Small diamond drops fell from her ears, and a small diamond necklace draped over the gentle, beginning swells of her breasts. Her eyes sparkled in the lamplight...

  And she was, again, trembling before him, although he could tell that she was trying desperately not to.

  Taking a deep breath and pushing himself off the door, he doused lights here and there, as he headed towards her. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, settling her face down over his lap as comfortably as he could manage while allowing her to exhaust herself attempting to escape, which she did. Every time he did something she took umbrage at, she began again, although each successive attempt rapidly became less and less enthusiastic. When he finally slipped a finger beneath her bloomers—having already bunched first her skirt and then her slips at her waist to expose them, trapping her hands there so that she was helping keep her own clothes from interfering with her punishment—which should have received her loudest, most vociferous protest, she didn't have the energy to do so.

  But she did find her voice.

  "No! You can't do that!" She sounded so thoroughly scandalized that he might see her bare bottom that he had to suppress a laugh.

  "I can and I will, my darling wife. I am your husband. You will have no secrets—not even of the flesh—from me," he pronounced while slowly tugging those frilly drawers down.

  She heartily wished he would not call her that. Only someone who truly loved her, and that was not him, should have said endearments such as that to her! But that was a matter for another time.

  "Con! No! You can't make me bare! It's not proper!" Desperate, Mari seized on something she was sure would scandalize him into stopping. "Not now," she wheedled. "It's the middle of the afternoon!" No matter that the room was below decks and only had two small portholes that let in a meager amount of natural light at best.

  That, he did have to chuckle at, and as he arranged her under things at her knees, where they would help keep her legs together and her from being able to kick her legs up, he answered, "I know. I quite relish the thought of seeing you like this. And you might as well start ge
tting used to it, because you're going to be bare anytime, anywhere, I want you to be."

  She went stiff as a board, as if she couldn't comprehend what he'd said, whispering forlornly, "No. Not like this!"

  His response was just as soft, but with a thread of steel running through it. "Yes, I'm afraid so, Mari. Often. You'll always be bared for a spanking, like the one you're going to get now, and you'll be bare when I make love to you, too."

  "But why am I getting a spanking? I didn't do anything! You told me to stay in the cabin and I did!" she whined.

  Con brought his hand down once, not even at half strength, and Mari screamed in indignation. "You're not stupid, my dear, so stop pretending that you are. You can never play dumb with me, because I know you aren't."

  She wasn't sure just how she should feel at that somewhat backhanded compliment, but he didn't give her time to contemplate it.

  "What did I say to you just before I left, just before I let Danvers in? Tell me."

  This time, he barely waited a beat for her to respond, and when she didn't, he brought his hand down again, a bit harder.

  Another scream, this time tinged with anger and accompanied by a renewed—if futile—effort to free herself.

  Three more smacks, each progressively harder, and three more screams, each progressively louder and angrier.

  She was crying at the second to the last one, but that didn't seem to faze him in the least, since he delivered another crisp swat, seconds later.

  "All right, all right," she yelled. "Because I didn't come to you when you told me to."

  Another smack.

  "What?" she shrieked. "I said it, didn't I?"

  "Say the whole thing. 'I am being spanked because I disobeyed my husband by not coming to him when he told me to.'"

  More weeping and wailing at that and the cracks that landed on her sore behind.