Elizabeth's Education (Forbidden Lust) (6 page)

He walked off, and once again she fell in behind him. He slowed his pace a little, because there were quite a few ruts in the ground and he didn’t want her spraining an ankle.

It was a good ten minutes to get across the field, and by the time they reached the trees he felt quite invigorated, the adrenalin pumping through his veins from the brisk exercise. Elizabeth, on the other hand, not used to doing much of anything, was breathing quite heavily.

As they made their way under the canopy of trees towards the little cabin there was an alarming clap of thunder and the sound of rain splattering down on the treetops, the frightening sound and the prospect of getting wet spurring her on. The ground was firmer now and she found her second wind, and before either of them had fallen victim to a downpour they were safely inside the crude abode.

The interior was gloomy. There was only one window that allowed any light, and with the darkness of the sky there was little to be let in. However, a fireplace was conveniently stacked and ready for lighting, and while Elizabeth stood, unsure what to do with herself, Lord Michael went about the business of igniting it.

Within minutes a warm and cosy glow fell over the dingy room, and satisfied with his work, he turned and looked at her. She was shivering slightly, the white of the kerchief showing between her red lips. Her skin was pale, cute tendrils of curly dark hair lay across her brow, and her bright green eyes seemed softer than before. The shrew was dissolving.

He walked over to her. ‘Open your mouth, Elizabeth,’ he said, and she did so immediately. He removed the kerchief, neatly folded it, and despite it being damp, placed it back in his breast pocket. ‘Handy if we need it again, but we won’t, will we?’ he said, staring into her eyes.

‘No, sir,’ she replied quietly, then added, ‘thank you, sir.’

‘Good girl.’

The words sent a gentle wave of warmth through her, and for a moment she felt quite faint.

‘Give me your hands, Elizabeth,’ he continued.

She lifted them and he gently untied her bonds. She looked up at him, rubbing her wrists. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, and he smiled.

The little cabin was sparsely furnished. There was a small cot, a blanket, a table, and a rocking chair. The floor was bare.

‘Lay down and rest a minute, Elizabeth,’ he said, pointing to the cot.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, truly grateful, and he smiled again.

‘Good girl,’ he repeated.

She moved slowly over to the cot and sat, wincing a little as her bottom touched down, a reminder of the spanking he had so deftly administered.

‘Stretch out and close your eyes,’ he said, and to her surprise he removed her muddy shoes, and as she lay down gently covered her with the blanket. ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘I’m going to make the most of the peace and quiet by enjoying my book,’ and he drew a small leather-bound novel from his coat pocket.

In a few minutes she was dozing comfortably. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, indicative of her deep, even breathing. He thought her remarkably beautiful, looking so at peace as she rested. Settling into the rocking chair he allowed the fire to entrance him, and the rhythm of the steady rain lulled him; a reassuring sound, and he invited himself to relax too and flicked open the pages of his book.

If strangers had passed by at that moment and peered in through the window, they would have seen a truly tranquil scene. Lovers, they would assume, the gentleman giving the lady the comfort of the cot, both resting after passion’s visit.

When Elizabeth awoke he was standing over her.

‘Hello, my dear,’ he said. ‘Did you have a nice nap?’

‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, stretching her arms above her head.

‘And what would you like to do now, young lady?’

The question sounded familiar, and she knew there was a correct response she was supposed to have.

‘Elizabeth?’ he prompted, and then it came to her.

‘What would you like to do, sir?’ she asked tentatively, pleased she had remembered.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘That’s close enough, although the correct answer is, “whatever pleases you, sir”.’

‘Yes, sir, whatever pleases you, sir.’

‘Good girl,’ he repeated, and she felt that surge of warmth again. What
was
it?

‘The rain has stopped, but there doesn’t seem to be any firewood left,’ he told her. ‘So I want you to go out and find enough to replace that which we’ve used. You’ll have to poke around because it’s been raining, and of course wet wood won’t do. But don’t take too long.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, sitting up. She found her dirty shoes, slipped her feet into them, and headed for the door.

He knew he could trust her, that she would complete her task diligently and return with the firewood. If he were to tell James that his sister was out seeking kindling in the middle of the woods, wearing dirty attire, he would have thought him mad. It was truly gratifying what a little training could accomplish.

Elizabeth trod carefully around the damp floor of the woods, peering under bushes and fallen tree trunks. She found quite a few sticks that were dry enough, and when she chanced upon a particularly large fallen branch she was thrilled. It was almost like a treasure hunt.

As she picked through the brush, scraping her hands and tearing her dress, she considered Lord Michael. A part of her hated him. He was an arrogant brute, but she was beginning to feel ashamed for her habitual authoritarian behaviour. She was tough on poor Grace, and the rest of the staff, for that matter. And her dear father did work very hard to provide for her and her brother, and she had to admit she could be dreadfully wasteful at times.

By the time her arms were full the sun was out again and shining rays of golden light through the trees. Birds had begun to chirp, and the day was returning to a very pleasant one indeed. She trudged back to the cabin, and as she approached she saw Lord Michael waiting at the door.

‘Very well done, my dear,’ he beamed. ‘Bring it in and stack it by the fire.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, walking past him and stooping to neatly stack her load on the tiny dusty hearth.

‘Now, Elizabeth,’ he went on as she straightened up and turned, emitting a little sigh as she stretched her back, ‘I want you to go out again and find me a sturdy birch rod.’

She gasped in shocked surprise and was about to protest, but thought better of it, suppressed any petulant outburst, and hurried out again without one word of rebellion. Was he going to punish her again, with a birch rod? What had she done wrong now?

The thought of fleeing back to the house crossed her mind, but for some inexplicable reason she really didn’t want to leave him, although she didn’t want to be chastised again either. She found what he had asked for, reluctantly wrenched a stout rod free and slowly trudged back to the cabin, full of dread and with tears blurring her vision.

She went inside and found him standing with his back to the small fireplace, the fire now just smouldering ashes. As she handed him the rod the tears of apprehension began to trickle down her dusty cheeks.

‘Thank you, Elizabeth,’ he said, taking it from her. ‘Why are you so upset?’

She stared at him, puzzled by the question. ‘Aren’t you going to birch me, sir?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Why?’ he mused. ‘Should I? Have you done something to warrant it?’

‘No sir,’ she replied, still confused.

‘Then why would I birch you?’ he asked. ‘Do you want me to birch you?’

‘No sir,’ she said hastily.

‘I only punish when punishment is deserved, Elizabeth.’ He raised the cane a little. ‘This is for future use.’

She let out a sigh of relief, fighting the desire to hug him and failing to register his ominous conclusion.

‘And now I am absolutely famished,’ he continued breezily. ‘We shall go back to the house for a late luncheon.’ And with that, birch rod in hand, he walked out of the tiny, dingy cabin. She scurried after him, closing the door behind her.

The walk back was more treacherous than the one going. The fairly steep field was soggy and slippery from the heavy downpour, and by the time they made it to the house her knees were muddy from her frequent falls. Eventually they reached the steps to the back door, and he turned and looked down at her.

‘Hmm, take off your shoes, Elizabeth,’ he instructed. ‘Smithy’s not here, so you’ll have to help me off with my boots.’

She let out a little indignant cry. All she wanted to do was go up to her room for a hot bath and change, and now she was faced with this humiliation! But filled with pique and disappointment, she followed him inside.

He settled himself on the wooden bench against the wall, near the door, and she stood facing him. Never having seen Smithy pull off a pair of boots she wasn’t sure how it was done.

‘Turn around and bend over,’ he instructed her, noting her uncertainty. ‘I’ll place my foot between your legs. You take a hold of the boot, move it back and forth, and pull. It’s as simple as that.’

Elizabeth was horrified. ‘Sir?’ she squeaked, not believing he was asking her to perform such a menial chore.

‘Do as I say, Elizabeth,’ he said testily.

‘But, sir?’ she said again, her brow furrowed in puzzlement; she was still a lady, after all. Yes, despite her better judgement she had completed the demeaning job of gathering wood for him, but he couldn’t expect this of her, surely.

Suddenly he had her by the wrists, pulling her forward across his lap again, and once again her dress was rucked up and her bottom exposed. He grabbed the birch rod she’d gathered herself and broke it in half. A few short stinging cuts would do the job, and for the purpose at hand a smaller rod was just the ticket.

‘Elizabeth,’ he began, lightly tapping the stick on her bottom, ‘I gave you a direct order.’

The rod hit her across the centre of her backside and she yelped pitifully.

‘You will do as you are told,’ he warned, bringing the birch down smartly.

‘Oh, yes sir!’ she wailed. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

Two more cuts landed on each cheek and she squealed miserably with each one.

‘Now stand up and get in the position I just described,’ he ordered, his voice resolute, all good humour gone. ‘You are to pull off my boots.’

‘Yes s-sir,’ she stammered, rubbing her poor bottom as she stood. With punished flesh smarting she turned around and bent over, lifting her dress to allow his boot between her thighs. She clutched the muddy leather in her grubby hands, cringing as the mud oozed between her fingers, then felt his other foot against her bottom, pushing her as she pulled. The pressure exacerbated the smart of the punishment she had just received, but she continued to pull and heave. Finally the boot gave, coming off with a start and causing her to stumble forward. She managed to halt her staggering progress before she collided with the wall opposite or fell, and then placed the boot to one side. Pouting sulkily, she then retuned to her position and waited for the other foot.

The second boot appeared between her knees and she began the undignified struggle all over again. Once more the sole and heel pressing against her backside caused the throbbing in her buttocks to worsen, and again she struggled and pulled until the boot jerked off. She placed it next to its partner and straightened up, hoping she could now go to her room, have a hot bath, get cleaned up, and restore some pride and poise.

‘Now you will clean them, Elizabeth,’ he ordered, ‘and I want them to be so shiny, so mud free, one would think I had just bought them.’

She opened her mouth to protest, but her eyes fell on the threatening birch in his fist. ‘Yes sir,’ she said wearily.

‘And when you are finished you may go to your room, freshen up, and then have some lunch. You will eat my leftovers in the kitchen, with cook. I will speak to her about it while you’re upstairs.’

Eat in the kitchen? With cook? He had to be joking!

Lord Michael watched her expression intently. He knew the thought of eating below stairs was abhorrent to her, but she needed such a lesson in humility. She needed to see that people were people, be they servants or equals.

‘I want my boots cleaned and polished properly, Elizabeth,’ he concluded. ‘Now stop dallying and get to work.’