Mastering the Marquess (42 page)

It was not as reassuring a thought as it might have been.

She walked through the heavy door. It swung silently open on its hinges and then closed with a loud click behind her. The men did not follow her in, and for a moment she stood alone in the empty hall.

“Don’t think of running—they are still there, just outside the door.” Lady Ormande descended the stairs slowly, red and black skirts swirling about her, a hint of flesh peeking out as she walked.

Louisa could only blink at the other woman. None of this made sense.

“I did ask you to come to me if you had questions about our dear Geoffrey,” the Countess said, her black eyes skewering Louisa. “I know him so much better than Madame Rouge.”

Louisa bit down on her cheek, not wishing to comment on Lady Ormande’s use of her husband’s first name. “How did you know where I was going?”

“Where else would you be going on that street? I admit my surprise that you even knew about Madame. It is not something most husbands share with their wives. Although you’ve now had
two
husbands who’ve visited Madame. Do you ever wonder what that says about you?”

Ignoring the last question, Louisa directed herself to her original inquiry. “And how did you know I would be on that street? I do not imagine it was chance.”

Lady Ormande opened a door off the hall and directed her through. “No. I was having you followed, as I am sure my men, Jack and Frank, have already told you. I’ve always had a knack for finding weakness.”

“I do not understand.”

“You are Swanston’s weakness. He owes me, and now you will help me make him pay.”

Louisa looked about the small sitting room, wondering what she should say. Or what she should do. The Countess offered no clear threat. Could she try to run? There must be a back entrance, a servants’ entrance—but she had already decided that running was futile.

Lady Ormande strode over to a simple hardwood chair and sat and gestured to a similar seat across from her.

The room was bare except for the two chairs and a small wooden table. Another door stood across from the one they had entered.

Louisa took her seat. There was nowhere for her to go. She was more likely to have her throat slit for the shoes on her feet than to make it free of the seedy neighborhood. She didn’t even know where she was, beyond somewhere in London.

“I am glad you have decided to be reasonable. I thought you would be,” Lady Ormande said. “I had considered having Jack and Frank join us, but decided that could wait. As long as you are obedient I see no reason to bother you with their presence. Now, would you please take off your cloak and leave it on the table. You will have no need of it here. I can promise you will not be cold. I cannot abide a chill. It reminds me far too much of my childhood. The château was never warm no matter how the fires were stoked.”

Louisa’s hands were trembling again. Although Lady Ormande had said nothing truly threatening, Louisa could not mistake the hint of danger that dangled from her every word. With some care, she removed her cloak and set it on the small wood table as directed.

“And your half-boots, I think. Without them you will be less inclined to run, which would be troublesome for us both.”

Her boots? Louisa did not move.

“It is too early for you to resist. It would not be difficult for Jack and Frank to remove them. I did not wish their hands upon you, but if you insist.” The Countess moved as if to rise.

“No. I understand my choices.” Louisa bent and began to loosen her bootlaces; the thought of Jack’s beefy hands on her ankle was more than she could bear. The flavor of fish rose again in her mouth. If she wasn’t careful she’d lose the meager contents of her stomach.

She did not imagine that would please Lady Ormande—and she was beginning to get the feeling that the lady’s anger was not a thing to welcome.

“I am glad to see that you are such a good girl, Louisa. You don’t mind if I call you Louisa, do you? Although I must insist that you continue to call me Countess. It will make our relationship so much easier. And you should remove your stockings as well. I do admire a dainty foot. And lovely calves. I did trust that Geoffrey had chosen well.”

Louisa placed her bare toes down on the floor, trying to hide them under her skirts. Lady Ormande’s lingering look was disconcerting. The boards of the floor felt cold beneath her feet despite the warmth of the weather. “Are you ever going to tell me why you have brought me here?”

“Why, so we could become better acquainted, of course. What other reason could there be? I was quite taken aback that dear Geoffrey has never seen fit to introduce us. We could have had such fun together. Geoffrey was always a great one for games, and I did love playing with him—and including others as well. Geoffrey and I were far too similar to always play against each other.” Lady Ormande rose and walked behind Louisa. “We always wanted to play the same role.” She laid a hand on each of Louisa’s shoulders, and Louisa could not hold back the shudder that ran through her. “I’ve sensed from the beginning that you are very different. I am sure it is why darling Geoffrey was drawn to you. I could become quite taken with you myself. You’ve never had any desire to hold the whip, have you?”

“I … I don’t know what …” Louisa’s words trailed off. The problem was, she was beginning to have a very good idea—for all that she could not believe it.

“Are you sure?” Lady Ormande moved her hands up to cradle the sides of Louisa’s face. “Do remember, I found you on your way into Madame Rouge’s. I can think of only one reason you would have gone there. Well, perhaps more than one, but they all involve you knowing exactly what it is your husband desires. But, don’t worry. I have the answer already. You’ve never had any desire to do anything besides submit, have you?”

The Countess leaned forward, and Louisa could feel pendulous breasts pressing against the back of her head. The fingers on her cheeks tightened, until she could feel her skin being stretched tight. She would have bruises on the morrow.

“Not going to answer me?” The Countess suddenly drew back her hand and struck Louisa hard across the face. Her neck jerked at the power behind the blow. The taste of blood flavored her mouth as her teeth dug into her cheek.

She raised her head and glared defiantly at the Countess. She kept her mouth tightly
closed.

It was a day for blows, but this was far different from Geoffrey’s firm spank.

Another blow. This one even harder.

“Are you like this with Geoffrey, testing the limits? It can be quite a dear game as long as you know how it will end.” The Countess moved to in front of her and Louisa braced herself for another strike.

The Countess stood and watched her, her eyes cold and dark. “I do think it is time for us to progress. I had thought to talk more, to explain how Geoffrey has driven me to this, but I can see you are not yet ready to listen.”

Louisa continued to stare back, remaining silent.

The Countess took a small step forward. “Take off your dress. If you need help I can summon Jack to serve as lady’s maid. I am sure he would be quite happy to comply.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

Where was she? Swanston stood outside his house, unsure of what to do. Marie had confirmed that it was most unusual for her mistress to be out for hours without informing someone of her location. It had only happened once before, a few months ago, when Lady Swanston had stayed out for a full night without telling the staff, but that had been a case of a misplaced message. Lady Swanston had been safe all along, helping a sick friend.

Swanston had his own guesses about that particular night, but he held them to himself.

Where was Louisa?

He’d tried his father’s house. He knew that Louisa was trying to bring him closer to his family and had called on the duke on several occasions. His father was more than capable of waylaying a guest for hours. She’d not been there, and his father had talked only of llamas and their dislike of the barn he was trying to house them in—and for that matter, their dislike of everything else as well. They did not understand that they should be showing the duke a proper degree of gratitude.

It had been a waste of time.

As had been tracking down Bliss at her friend’s home and asking her.

As had a much too long discussion with Lady Perse.

As had an hour spent trying to see if either Louisa or Brookingston still had any family in Town.

He’d visited Ruby, but she’d looked at him with troubled eyes and said that she simply did not know. There had been questions in her eyes, questions Swanston had avoided asking himself.

Had his wife left him?

Had Louisa left because of what had happened that morning?

He’d thought she’d seemed fine afterward—more than fine: relaxed, satisfied, and contented.

But what if he was wrong? What if she’d been horrified at what had happened between them? Or what if her feelings had changed once she’d had time to think?

She should not have been that surprised; many husbands hit their wives, often far harder than he had during his spanking of her.

He knew of several lords who thought that beating a wife was a necessary part of a happy marriage.

But that was different. That type of punishment was far different from that which he needed and enjoyed.

Where could Louisa be? The question tapped a tattoo on the inside of his brain.

Anger was turning to fear, and fear, oh too quickly, to terror. Louisa did not know what came after terror, but deep in her gut she knew she was about to find out. Her fingers tightened on the wooden bar to which they were tied.

She didn’t even wish to think about how she’d gotten into this position: bent forward over one bar with her hands stretched forward to the next, her feet only barely resting on the ground. And naked, or so nearly so as to make no difference. For some reason the Countess—she could only think of the title as a name after she’d received another hard slap across the face for not using it—had taken a great liking to her corset as she’d stripped, and had insisted that she put it back on after removing her chemise. It had been laced far more tightly that she could ever remember, and her nipples had been pulled out over the top. The memory of the Countess’s soft hands upon her breasts was one she might never forget; no matter how gentle they’d been, Louisa had felt the threat of a strangling twist or pinch.

But the worst of it was that she hadn’t fought; she was all too aware of Jack and Frank hovering in the next room. When the Countess had escorted Louisa to this back chamber she’d invited the two men into the sitting room. Louisa had heard their gravelly voices promising to come immediately if called.

And this room—oh God, this room. Louisa had recognized barely a thing in it when they’d first entered. The large, strange pieces of furniture were beyond her imagination. And who knew what those closed cabinets held. She had known what the whips hanging on the wall were. She’d seen plenty of crops while riding and had seen the long, fast ones used for driving cattle to market. The multitailed one she’d seen only in drawings of medieval torture.

Pulling deep breaths in, she resisted the urge to shudder. The one thing she’d managed to hold on to was her dignity. She might not have the will to struggle when it all seemed so useless, but she would not show how frightened she was.

Part of her wished that she had struggled, had not made it all so easy, had scratched at the Countess and marred that pale skin. But, no, the thought of Jack and Frank stripping her down and leering at her nakedness was too much. It might happen regardless, but she would not invite it.

If only the Countess had not looked so pleased with her compliance. If only she did not again hear the Countess asking if she’d ever had a desire to do anything besides submit.

Submit. If given the chance she’d show the Countess what else she might do.

Anger felt good. Anger was far better than terror.

But calm was even better than anger. If only she could focus on more of her mother’s lessons.

Closing her eyes, she tried to find a place of comfort somewhere deep in the recess of her mind, some flower-filled childhood garden or innocent spring day spent wandering through fields with John. She would have liked to think of Geoffrey, but everything that had gone on between them reminded her of where she was right now, of what was going to happen to her.

Against her will her mind focused on the feeling of Geoffrey’s calloused fingers striking the tender flesh of her behind. How was that different from what the Countess wanted?

Perhaps it was a matter of degree. But who knew where Geoffrey truly wished things to end, wished the lines to be drawn?

Had she not been afraid from the moment the Countess had first mentioned whips that this was where she would end up—only with Geoffrey? And, in truth, she’d been worried even before that about what exactly it was that her husband wanted, about whether she was capable of fulfilling those desires.

In many ways, this moment was nothing but the crescendo of all those fears.

And yet it was not. Only in her mind had she ever felt fear and worry with Geoffrey—and never when she was with him. No matter what happened between them she’d always felt safe in the moment, had known that he would never hurt her; even in that instant of surprise when his hand had come down upon her, she had not felt fear.