Saffina's Season Page 4

I laughed softly, heady now, filled front and back and giddy from release.

  “You made a noise, sir. You can cry out, and I cannot? What kind of partnership is that?”

  His growl I took for pleasure. Next second I found it was—but at my expense. Pleasure for him meant something very different for me.

  “Your third mistake.”

  His snarl of triumph sent a shudder through me. I felt a sudden throb in my groin as I sensed I’d crossed some line he’d already set.

  “Now we’ll finish back in the Leather Room. A whipping for your first mistake, a flogging for your second and the strap for your third.”

  Back in his room of torment, my punishment was brief and brutal.

  “Two strokes of each, to give you a taste. We’ll build up to full measure in stages.”

  His stern look startled me, but his touch—and his skill with the whip—was all I’d hoped. Its harsh snap was a swift reminder of how this took him, once in the mood.

  But I knew him well. I sensed more to this than his urge to punish.

  “Jacquard? May I speak?” With tears smarting, it was all I could do to prevent myself from sobbing out loud at the sharp blows on my stinging ass, but I had to ask.

  “Saffina?” He sounded surprised as he replaced the strap on its rail, stroking the leather with a lingering caress that betrayed his reluctance to give it up so soon.

  “Are you doing this for fun? Or are you truly angry with me?”

  His eyes flickered as he towered over me, legs astride, chest still heaving from his effort.

  “You are your own woman,” he said slowly. “I respect that. And I value your independence. But you are also my wife. Even I have limits. You may flirt and visit where you please. I promised you a Season, and I want you to enjoy it to the full. But regular sessions in here will remind you where your true duty lies and who controls your body.”

  He took up the rose again and placed the stem in my teeth.

  “This will be our signal. In future, I’ll make you hold it in your mouth during punishment. You’ll earn extra if it falls.”

  I swallowed, heat building again. My pulses throbbed faster. With a twinkle in his eyes, he gently removed the rose and laid it carefully on the bed beside him.

  “Regular discipline may even do you good. I shall certainly enjoy it. And rest assured, I mean to be thorough. We’ll give your Season added spice. Agreed?”

  I licked my lips. A leather rose for a signal? How romantic. How wicked.

  How cruel.

  “Agreed, sir. I look forward to our next…review.”

  But was this review a game? I trembled. Something felt different tonight, something more sinister than pretty silver balls, however arousing.

  Now he let me straighten up. As I did so, he captured my mouth with a ferocity that robbed my breath.

  “I love you more than life. Never doubt that, my sweet. But here in the capital, there are temptations even you cannot imagine. Come. We’ll wash. Then we’ll to bed.”

  “What about—the balls, my lord?” As I said it, they chimed softly. I saw his eyes gleam.

  He likes the sound. He knows it unnerves me.

  He touched his lips to my forehead. “They’ll stay in place tonight. I want to feel the full effect while we fuck. Then tomorrow, after the opera, we’ll put our new routine into practice.”

  His slow smile sent heat straight to my groin. The look in his eyes made me pulse again. But the soft touch of his finger along my throat and under my chin brought a warm glow to my heart.

  We’re still at play.

  “So I’m to play the devoted wife, my lord? Or the wanton?”

  I spoke in fun, but to my alarm, his smile vanished. His expression grew tense and drawn.

  When he spoke his voice was husky with emotion.

  “Understand this. You do more than play the devoted wife. You are the devoted wife. At all times—for all others. And you do more than play the wanton. You are the wanton. At all times. But only for me.”

  Something in his manner made me tremble.

  He’s afraid I’ll do something rash.

  And in a flash, I guessed what it was that scared him so much.

  He thinks I’m unfaithful.

  I leaned up and laid a whisper-soft kiss on his jaw.

  “Have no fear, sir. I know my place.” It’s with you. It will always be with you.

  But for the first time since our marriage, I sensed something new had come between us.

  Suspicion.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Jacquard left early. As he left by the front, I slipped out a back way. Avoiding my devoted footman and the coachman Jacquard had assigned to me—and without even taking my maid—I set off to Chelsea to find Martin Lucas.

  By daylight his tenement looked even shabbier, but the stink of his paints and his chemicals proved a blessing after the reek of the hallway.

  He blanched as he opened the door.

  “Surprised to see me, sir?” I walked in with a breezy smile, cheerfully ignoring the debris of his room.

  “I—I never expected to see you again, milady.”

  To put him at his ease, I quickly explained my mission. I wanted my portrait painted, as raunchily as possible, and in secret.

  “You understand,” I said anxiously, “that my husband would be furious if he knew I came here alone. It’s for his birthday, so it must stay a secret. If he finds out, our arrangement will cease. That’s why I chose you. If I go to a fashionable painter, everyone will know. And your work is remarkable, I think,” I added quickly, unwilling to hurt his feelings.

  In truth I knew little of art. I thought his pictures merely striking, with none of the éclat of Mr. Turner’s lively brushwork. But they had a kind of flair. And his style—his paintings mostly images of whores from his tenement, in shocking poses—suited me perfectly.

  “I’ll pay a fair price.” When I named a sum, I took his startled look for assent. I swiftly explained how I wanted the portrait done, what pose I wanted and how many sittings I could manage.

  When I’d finished, he looked thoughtful. “It can all be done discreetly, milady. I share a studio at a smarter address than this. And the friend who shares it can act as go-between, so you can avoid seeing me.”

  To my relief he thought my reserve simple modesty and seemed anxious to put my mind at rest.

  “We need never even meet, milady, if that is your wish. I can paint you easily from behind a pierced screen. You can wear a veil in the street to hide your visits. My friend can arrange all if you feel safer that way. There would be no link between us.”

  We arranged that his friend would find me soon, perhaps in some casual way in the street to avoid calling at my home.

  I outlined my movements for the next few days—walks at Vauxhall, riding in Hyde Park, a party in Kensington, dinner at Cavendish House. What else?

  Nearby the church bells rang out the hour. Time to go. I made for the door, racking my brains. “Oh, and tonight I visit the opera. Afterward, our carriage always takes an age. There’s bound to be a crush. So if your friend slips me a note with instructions how to find your studio, perhaps with a suitable time jotted on the back…?”

  I raced downstairs, leaving him two sovereigns on account.

  As I reached the street, he was still calling after me. “Wait, milady. I must tell you about my friend—”

  “Yes, yes. Another time, sir.” Keen to get away, I hurried back to the splendor of Endale House, glad to be out in the fresh air.

  Secret sittings… What fun!

  Chapter Five

  My homecoming was tricky. Jacquard was pacing the entrance, his face like stone. When I walked in, he briskly dismissed my maid and the anxious footmen.

  As he turned to me, his cold look and the patrician flare to his nostrils made my heart leap. His classical beauty, his fine features underscored by his cynical gaze, moved me often—never more so than when he was angry.

  “Where
have you been?”

  His low growl stirred something deep inside me, but I held his gaze.

  “I had business to see to.”

  “The footmen missed you. They were supposed to keep you in sight for your own safety. They say you gave them the slip. Is this true?”

  Oh no.

  In my haste to shake them off, knowing the Endale crest on all our vehicles clearly marked where I was, I’d forgotten they’d get into trouble.

  Jacquard’s brow lifted a fraction. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m— I’ve not yet removed my bonnet, sir.” I bit my lip in frustration. My gown was crumpled, my gloves were soiled and I badly needed a wash. “Can I at least go and change?”

  “My rooms. Ten minutes.”

  With a sigh of relief, I walked into my room and flung off my bonnet. I saw something lying on the dressing table that chilled my blood.

  The leather rose.

  I freshened up quickly, changing into a light muslin gown trimmed with lace. I brushed out my hair and scooped it back so it coiled on my shoulders. If I’d hoped demure looks would spare me my fate, his cold stare warned I was mistaken.

  He ushered me into the Leather Room and slammed the door shut.

  Striding to the middle of the room, he forced me to my knees with a painful grip on my wrist. No candlelight to soften its horrors today. Instead sunlight slanted through a grille on the wall. It showed clearly the cruel implements hanging on the rails, glinted off metal cuffs and chains.

  I felt my stomach shrink. Last night I’d fondly thought these things were toys. Now, in cold daylight, I saw they were frighteningly real and meant for use.

  “You know what happens in here.”

  His tone had an edge I’d not heard in a while. He was furious.

  “Yes, sir.” I fought to keep my voice level, but my courage was leaching away fast. “One of us gets punished. And one of us enjoys it.” I held his gaze, mine full of meaning.

  “One of us deserves it, and one of us finds it necessary.” His flat retort warned me he’d lost patience. “And now one of us is going to feel a short, sharp reminder that there are dangers in the capital and she needs to guard her tongue as well as her person. Hands behind your back.”

  To my dismay he selected a small leather device from a collection on a hook.

  When he turned back, I saw it was an arrangement of leather straps, some thin, one broad and flat. It had buckles at the ends.

  “This is a gag. You will wear it during our session. First you strip then you kneel here, in the middle of the room, and you will take your punishment in silence.”

  Instant heat flooded my belly at the thought that we were doing this so early in the day. Normally our play filled the night hours, long after the servants were abed and the streets were quiet. Now I could hear the chatter of servants, clatter from the kitchens. I felt my cheeks flood with shame.

  “Why the hurry, sir?”

  “Where were you? I checked your calling cards and sent word around to each. No one had seen you. The grooms reported you’d refused the carriage. You told no one where you’d gone.”

  I bit my lip. This is a disaster. If he insisted on knowing where I’d been, I’d have to tell him all.

  I decided to say nothing. This room looked terrifying, but he’d surely installed it for play. And having my portrait painted in secret would be risky to manage, but the prospect enchanted me. It gave our stay here a touch of intrigue.

  Endless social calls soon palled. Why not spice things up? Other society ladies covered their tracks for worse reasons than mine—secret lovers, forbidden liaisons, private gaming.

  Why spoil my innocent fun by telling him all?

  He frowned.

  “Saffina? You refuse to answer? What is this?” He waited, his look troubled. After a few moments, he drew in a deep breath. “Very well, you may nurse your secret. But you must leave word when you go out. I need to know.”

  Temper flashed through me.

  “How’s this, sir? You’d spy on me? Only last night, in this very room, you said I have the right to go where I like.”

  His frown deepened. “Spy on you? Why should I do that? Do I have to remind you our baby son is still in the country, and if we get news of him, we may need to share it quickly?”

  I clapped a hand to my mouth. “Little Jasper? You mean he’s—”

  Jacquard grinned, his mouth twisting at the corner.

  “Ah,” he murmured, softly. “I thought that would bring you to heel. I had a letter from the housekeeper this morning, as usual. Her news is all good. She thinks he’s cutting a tooth. But you take my point.”

  “I take the point that you’re teasing me,” I muttered darkly. “You’d no right to scare me like that. I‘ll go out when and to where I please. You promised.”

  His face grew solemn. “You seem to forget that some wives rarely go out at all. Certainly not alone. Do not abuse my trust in you, ma’am.” He eyed me for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly. “Also, you put yourself at risk today.”

  The tiny movement in his cheek gave his handsome, classical face a trace of anguish that pierced my heart.

  “You could have been molested, or robbed, or worse. Now to business.” His voice was lowered, his gaze anxious.

  With swift movements, he fixed the gag in place and buckled the straps behind my hair. Instantly I felt humiliated and ashamed. But my anger was quickly turning into white heat as a steady pulse started to throb somewhere down below.

  He knows how much I love this…

  Arousal, laced with fear, flared through me as his dark look swept over me.

  “Stand up.” He made no move to help as I struggled to my feet.

  “Strip.”

  I did it, fumbling with ribbons and laces, taking an age to achieve what my maid would have managed in mere minutes. He watched in silence. Under his smoldering study I grew nervous, finding the bows at my neck knotted so tightly that I gave up.

  With an impatient sigh, he wrenched at the ribbon, snapping it apart. As he did it he murmured softly in my ear, “You try to prolong this, ma’am? You earn extra. I’m in no mood to be crossed.”

  At last it was done. My garments lay in a frilly heap, my naked self cruelly exposed in the cold light from the grill. His look grew darker.

  I whimpered in protest as lust mingled with fear.

  A strange look came over his face.

  “You find this too harsh? I know, my love. But it’s a vital lesson, and one you must learn if you’re to get through the Season alive. For now, you must simply submit. Understood?”

  I nodded, tears squeezing out. As I bowed my head to hear him pronounce my fate, I cursed my rash decision to conceal where I’d been. Today, for some reason, he took this badly. Did London put him out of sorts? Or was it my being here?

  My mind raced.

  My lordly husband had unusual tastes and a checkered past. This was his first London Season with a wife in tow. Was I de trop?

  “Hold up your breasts.” His command made me jump. Now I saw my fate in his hands. He passed the long, thin lashes of a flogger through his fine fingers.

  With one final, piteous look, I closed my eyes and waited.

  The whip trailed over my quivering skin, teasing my nipples with a long, sinuous stroke that sent a shaft of flame straight to my groin.

  “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.”

  As I did so, I saw he’d lifted a piece of dark velvet from a large picture frame propped against one wall. It held a mirror showing me naked, gagged and ready for punishment, breasts pink, swelling with wicked excitement and growing rosier by the minute, my eyes large and bright with unshed tears.

  “Seeing yourself enhances the effect.”

  His voice made me tremble. His mouth curved into a cruel smile, making his reflection even more striking. He surveyed me from the looking glass, elegant and urbane, his handsome face edged with daylight, his lithe figure clearly aroused.

 
I felt an answering throb somewhere deep below, where my tiny place was starting to pulse.

  I don’t care what he says. We’re at play.

  The thought sent eager heat rippling through me, raising my nubs to hard, jutting points.

  I saw a flash from his eyes, then without warning the first blow landed, a sharp snap of lashes that seemed to cover every angle of my curved, swollen breasts.

  “One. Hold them up again. Pinch them a little.”

  I did it, pleading with my eyes, still forbidden to speak. I felt my belly grow tense with arousal. Glancing down, I saw, his trousers bulged with all I needed, all it would take to turn this torment into bliss.

  Worse, I sensed he found it hard to contain himself. His urge to confine me burned hotter than his own need for release. The strain was starting to show.

  “Two.”

  This time the blow landed from the other side. His eyes gleamed as he struck again, this time full across my bosom. I blinked furiously to clear away the tears welling up as he lashed twice more at my smarting breasts. But for once, it seemed, my distress had no power to move him.

  Now he began to fondle them, his hand cool on my punished globes, his fingers cruelly tight on my pebble-hard nipples. In the mirror I could see the bulge of his own arousal, where deep in his clothes his cock burned for release. The sight of it straining, hungry for me, made me ache.

  “One more. But first we’ll wait for these to bloom.”

  He touched his lips to my forehead and my spilling tears, tasting gently. With a lazy smile he ran his thumb over my shaming leather gag and pushed me down to my knees.

  “Such a waste to imprison your mouth, my love. Fear not. I’ll free it soon then we’ll make full use of it, I promise.”

  At last he reached once more for the whip. I steeled myself for more of the same, clutching my aching breasts with new dread.

  “Six.”

  At the final flick of his wrist, I whimpered in fear as the lashes landed with a crash straight across, the new angle giving him full access, their rosy fullness now striped and aching.

  And as I blinked again, struggling for air, he swiftly removed the gag and unfastened himself. With a cold smile, he stepped up close. His cock loomed before my face, proud, hot and hard, its glossy skin a vivid reminder that this had been almost as punishing for him as for me. With trembling lips I leaned forward to salute it with a reverent kiss, knowing that this, of all things, sealed his pleasure nearly as much as what he now wanted me to do.