Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“First of all, your brother doesn’t know me, not as a friend or acquaintance. We’ve greeted one another in passing, nothing more.”
“But people talk—”
“Second of all, it demeans you to speak of brothels, and to listen at doors to other peoples’ conversations.”
“Do you deny what they said about you?”
“I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man, Ophelia. I haven’t lived like a monk, no, but I haven’t been indiscriminate either. I’ve no bastards, no mistresses set up in apartments. Women gossip about me out of fascination, or jealousy, and half of what’s been said about me is made up.” He gritted his teeth, his lips in a tense line. “Do you want to know the true details, or have you come to understand that my past ‘assignations’ are none of your affair? A proper wife shouldn’t wish to discuss such things. Although, from your behavior last night, I don’t think you know much of being a proper wife.”
She would not let him upset her. She would not give in to tears, even if his gruff voice hurt her feelings. “If you’re speaking of my preference for sleeping alone, how would you feel in my position?”
He made a sound suspiciously near to a snort. “I don’t think you want to know that answer.”
“You behave as if I’m prudish, but you’re a stranger to me, and not a very kind one.”
“I was more a stranger the night of the fire, dear wife, and you were pleased enough to spread your thighs for me then.”
She turned her face, grateful to hide behind her bonnet’s brim. “You enjoy shaming me with that fact at every opportunity.”
“You admit it’s a fact, then. I remember, Ophelia. I recall everything you said and everything you did, and that you enjoyed yourself very much.”
His crassness could hardly be borne. Tears rose in her eyes, but she would not shed them. No, she was too angry. “You’ll shame me forever, won’t you?” she cried, turning back to him. “Our entire marriage?”
“As you will do to me, at every opportunity.” His gaze held hers, his eyes green and flinty. “You should know that we will not go on like this together. I will not allow this sullen, sharp-tongued nonsense every time we converse. I tried to spank it out of you last night. The next time, I’ll not be so gentle.”
“What, sir?” She fumed. “Will you abuse me?”
Now his gaze flashed with a dangerous edge. “I’ll discipline you as I must, until you learn to govern your tongue. It’s not proper for wives to be shrill and off-putting with their husbands. Perhaps you don’t realize it, having spent so much time among the Viennese.”
He said the last bit as if mocking her, as if her years at the music academy had been her folly, her egotistical whimsy. While she sat shaking in fury, he looked away, plucking at his coat’s cuffs and flicking invisible dust.
“You’ll make me despise you,” she muttered beneath her breath.
“What?”
She didn’t know what possessed her to shout it aloud. “You shall make me despise you, Lord Wescott. You’ll make me hate you. Honestly, I haven’t that far to go.”
“Good God. Very well, then.”
Before she knew what was happening, he’d lifted her from her place and turned her over his lap. Her bonnet went flying, as did one of her slippers, but that was the least of her worries as he flipped up her skirts. He left only her thin chemise to cover her bare bottom. It offered no protection as he brought his hand down upon her arse.
“Ow. Oww!” The smacking sounded too loud in the compartment, and the pain of his giant hand was uncalled for and unfair. “How dare you? Let me go at once. Oww! Why are you doing this?”
“I’m doing this because you lack the most basic respect a wife owes her husband.”
“That’s because I don’t want to be your wife. I never wanted to be your wife!”
Her cries didn’t do anything to stop him from attacking her already-tender cheeks. She clenched and squirmed, but each blow fell squarely and left behind an awful, stinging fire.
“We’ve not yet left London,” she pleaded. “Someone will look in the window and see me—and you—”
“You ought to have thought of that before now, my little crosspatch,” he said, cinching her restless legs between his larger ones.
“Don’t call me a crosspatch.” She squirmed to break free. “No, you mustn’t spank me again, please. I’m still sore from yesterday.”
“That, too, you ought to have considered before now.”
Smack, smack, smack. He pummeled her bottom cheeks with no respite in between spanks, no time to breathe and process the pain. She didn’t deserve to be punished so harshly, did she? For uttering a few frustrated words?
“I don’t think you understand how much this hurts.” Her voice quavered on the edge of a cry. “It hurts. Please, it hurts!”