Mastering the Marquess (44 page)

“Blast.” Another fist slam. “You do have me, however; perhaps she will not expect that,” Duldon stated with some heat.

“Yes.” Swanston strode to the door, calling for his hat and stick. “Perhaps we will bring her a surprise present.”

Her every muscle ached. Louisa slumped against the hard wood bars. How long had she been bound in this manner? Her fingers and toes were numb and screaming with pins at the same time. Even the effort of holding up her head was a strain. Dried drool marked her cheeks. At least the Countess had not left the clamps on. One had to be thankful for even small mercies.

The door clicked behind her.

The tap of heels crossed the floor.

Her tired muscles clenched. The Countess was back.

Had it been hours since the woman left for the last time, saying that patience was an
important lesson? It might have been only minutes. Louisa was no longer sure of anything except that she hurt—and she was tired—and she wanted to be home—home in her own bed watching Geoffrey smile in his sleep. All her thoughts fogged together, but that was the one she held firm to.

“Your husband is playing games of his own. He should have been here half an hour ago.” The Countess did not sound pleased. Her feet tapped a steady rhythm as she moved to the dresser—“the dresser of horror,” as Louisa had begun to call it in her mind. She still hadn’t seen much of what it contained, but not knowing only made it worse.

How could a gag be so painful? She’d felt relief when she’d first realized the gags were the only thing the Countess had taken from the drawer; but now, with her cheeks sore and her teeth aching deep at the roots, she was beginning to wonder.

“And how are you doing, my dear?” The Countess turned back to her, the crop once again in her hand. “I had not meant to leave you for quite so long.” She walked over and ran the end of the crop over the corset and down Louisa’s flanks. “I wouldn’t want you too tired before we even begin, and I do know being restrained can be surprisingly wearing.” The crop continued its journey, moving down the outer edge of Louisa’s right leg. “Do you feel the stretch here?” She tapped a thigh. “And here.” She tapped a calf. “Perhaps we should find some way to distract you while we wait.”

With sudden force the crop rose up between Louisa’s legs, striking hard against her inner thigh. It was not as powerful a blow as some of the early slaps, but the flesh it connected with was much more tender. Louisa could feel the tears begin to wet her cheeks again.

She knew they were her own, but she didn’t quite connect herself with them. She was still lying in bed smiling at Geoffrey. She was not here; none of this was really happening.

It hurt. It hurt so much. Geoffrey began to fade from her mind.

Louisa struggled to see that smile, to focus on the fragility of his closed eyelids.

“You seem a little inattentive. And I always like knowing that I am the focus of all attention—what woman doesn’t?” The Countess tapped the crop along her thigh and back, each tap a promise of what could be, and then walked to stand in front of Louisa.

Louisa closed her eyes, refusing to stare at the Countess’s tightly laced bodice, at the heavy breasts straining for release.

“Oh, you want to play, do you? To see just what I’ll do?” Suddenly the straps holding the
ball in place were grabbed and pulled even tighter.

Louisa choked, feeling her air cut off, feeling as if her jaw would separate from her head.

“You should always remember that it can be worse—or better.” The ties were released, and although the ball only returned to the same position as it had been a moment ago, it felt wonderful. The Countess’s hands came up to rest upon Louisa’s cheeks, massaging the sore muscles.

Louisa hated the touch, hated the gentleness—but, oh, it felt so good. She was afraid she might have purred, if her lips had been able.

“See, I can be kind. I want us both to enjoy this.” The Countess moved closer, until the fabric covering her breasts brushed against Louisa’s nose.

The scent of heavy musk and jasmine filled Louisa’s nostrils. It was overpowering. She’d always thought of jasmine as a delicate flower, but now it felt as if the blossom-covered vines were growing up her face, seeking entrance to her very brain.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” the Countess commanded. “I will make you do it if you do not choose to. Do you doubt that I am able? Is this another test?”

Louisa opened her eyes and stared at the deep red satin. In the dim light it appeared almost black. She did not try to look up at the Countess’s face.

“That’s better. Perhaps I should reward you. I know it’s a little early in our relationship, but I can sense you might need encouragement.” The Countess turned back to the dresser.

Please no
. Louisa kept the plea to herself. She didn’t know why her fear of the dresser was growing so out of proportion. She felt like a child staring at a nighttime closet, knowing that the things she was imagining were far worse than the reality but unable to contain the fear that rose within her. And in this case, she wasn’t actually sure that her imagination
was
worse.

The Countess turned back, holding out her hand. Two black enamel balls lay within it. They looked remarkably like the set of balls that Geoffrey twisted between his fingers when he was bored. Each ball was smaller than a hen’s egg. There was nothing terrifying about them, and yet Louisa felt the burn in her belly grow. Nothing in this chamber was as it appeared—everything was worse.

“I am sure you’ve seen these before. But has he ever used them on you? It is most delicious. He once put them in me and then I danced all night. I must have orgasmed three times during a single waltz, and the whole time I thought of him and what would happen later. Your
husband did not disappoint.”

Were the Countess’s words or the fear worse? It was hard to tell. Both tortured her far more than any of the physical pain that had yet occurred.

“I can’t wait to watch him fuck you. There is something about watching a man slam into another woman that always gets me: the slap of flesh against flesh, the shine of fluids, and that smell—is there anything like the smell of sex, lots of sex? My nipples are tight just thinking about it.” The Countess moved behind Louisa once again. Rolled the cool balls over her buttocks. “You have such a pretty ass. You have no idea what an ordeal it has been for me not to place my mark upon it. This whole afternoon has been such an ordeal.”

An ordeal for the Countess?
Louisa would have liked to shove the gag between
her
lips.

“You’re still so dry. I may have to do something about that. Jack does have an amazingly talented tongue. I know you would not think it to look at the lout, but … And I can just imagine Geoffrey’s face if he came in and found another man eating at your pussy.”

The Countess had been right: It could get worse.

“Hmmm, but perhaps that might move things ahead at rather too fast a pace.” The Countess continued to move the balls across Louisa’s lower back. “I don’t want Geoffrey to get that out of control, for all I am looking forward to the experience. I’ve never seen him pushed to the limit, and I do so want to.”

There was some relief that Jack was not going to be entering the room imminently. The Countess had been threatening his presence all evening, and in many ways—though Louisa wasn’t even sure he was still in that outer room—it was what she feared the most, even more than the dresser of horror.

She’d never known how bad it was not to know things: How long had she been here? What was in the dresser? Was Jack still here?

Shifting from foot to foot to the extent she was able, she tried to loosen the strain, which was rapidly turning her limbs into knots.

“Getting impatient, are you?” The Countess rolled the balls with some force. “You want me to place them inside you? They won’t feel like much while you’re still, but once the crop starts to fall they’ll dance like a flight of butterflies—and oh, the thanks you’ll give me.”

Louisa tried to murmur, “No.” But the gag allowed only a muffled peep.

The Countess rolled the balls down between Louisa’s buttocks, and despite the time
they’d spent against her skin they still felt cold. “Perhaps I should oil them first? I’ve a nice oil that smells of cinnamon. It has the most delightful faint burn, really wakens things up. I’ve some with a stronger pepper bite, but perhaps we’ll save that; it’s so much more effective once the skin is broken. You’ll be quite amazed how red and puffy your nipples can become, like the ripest of berries—and just as tasty. I can suck them while Geoffrey watches. That will make us all happy.” She sounded like she really believed that.

Louisa closed her eyes again, wishing she could rest. Was Geoffrey even coming? The Countess was clearly not completely in touch with reality. Perhaps she only thought she’d sent for him. And perhaps he wasn’t coming anyway. Surely he would have been here by now if he cared. Blast, how long had she been here? It could not be as long as it seemed.

The strong smell of cinnamon filled the air, far more pungent than any perfume or baked good. Louisa could almost smell the burn.

“Oh, I think I must pour some of this on you. It will take care of so many issues and leave you perfectly pink and pretty and glistening.” The tap of the Countess’s shoes brought her back to behind Louisa.

She felt the first drops of liquid move down the crevasse of her buttocks and then lower. It didn’t feel so bad, not so different from a spongeful of bathwater.

“There, there, doesn’t that feel good.”

She felt the press of what she could only imagine were the balls against her nether lips. She tensed, wishing it were possible to press back against the Countess’s strong fingers, to shut them out.

“Starting without me?” Geoffrey’s deep tones filled the room as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Louisa was not bleeding. Nothing looked broken. He said a silent thanks for that. He’d hurried as fast he could, but there had been things he had to take care of, preparations he’d had to make to be sure all went as planned, that there were no mistakes. Still, he would never have forgiven himself if something had happened to her during the delay.

Not that he could pretend nothing had happened. His wife was naked except for her
corset, her wrists red from the ropes that held her. Dried trails of tears clearly marked her cheeks. And the smell of cinnamon filled the air. He knew exactly what that meant, what the silky oil that the Countess had been spreading so liberally could do. He loved its effects sometimes, but only in moderation.

The Countess had no love of moderation.

“Oh, my sweet Geoffrey, you have come. It was dreadful of you to cause me such worry. I’ve planned such entertainment.” The Countess walked toward him, her full crimson skirts opening to reveal a slit that rose almost to her crotch, her breasts standing sharply from the size-too-small bodice that held them. They looked as if they wanted to jump right out and join the party themselves.

Revulsion flowed through him.

And that was without looking too closely at Louisa and what had been done to her.

He’d glanced over at her when he’d first entered the room, but he was afraid to look too long, afraid of what he might see. Hell, he was afraid to see her at all, afraid to meet her eyes.

What had the Countess told her?

Did she know his every secret? Was she as revolted by him as he felt in this moment?

He had caused this. He couldn’t shy away from that fact.

Ignoring the Countess, although he knew that was not wise, he walked over to his wife and, placing a gentle hand under her chin, raised her eyes to his. Moving his fingers to her face, he reached back and began to work at the leather thongs that held the cruel ball in place. “Shh, my love, just a minute.”

“I don’t think I would do that,” the Countess said.

“I do not care what you think.” His fingers worked faster.

“Oh, but you really should. I have planned this party with such care and I would hate to have it ruined. Come, take your hands from her and have a glass of wine. Let us relax a bit first. Unless you wish to switch to the O-ring. Do you feel the need for some relief before we begin?”