Mastering the Marquess (47 page)

“Blames himself? Yes, of course he might—as he did with his mother. But it is not his fault.” Louisa lifted her face and stared at Madame.

“Is it not?”

“No. It is most certainly not. He cannot be held responsible that the Countess is deranged, and quite clearly she is. Nothing about her is normal.”

“And do you feel the same about your husband? I am quite sure that if you were coming to talk to me it was because you had questions. Do you think your husband is deranged because of his desires?”

Louisa dropped her eyes again. She shifted in the bed, her every muscle crying in protest. It would have been far easier to answer a few days ago. Innocence kept the world simple.

Now she was forced to understand, forced to consider. “No, but I am confused by them. It is so difficult to understand. And if I cannot understand my own feelings, how can I understand Geoffrey’s?”

“Well, you had better figure it out. Your future life will depend upon it.” Madame took her seat again. “Now, what were you going to ask me?”

“Does it matter now?”

“I rather think that it does. What you must realize is that what happened is not typical of anything. I can assure you that your husband derives no pleasure from abducting unwilling women. Indeed, he finally broke with the Countess over something much less offensive.”

“I was going to ask you about whips and hot wax.”

Madame raised a brow.

“The Countess had told me that Geoffrey liked whips and hot wax and that once I understood I should come and talk to her. Even before everything happened I could not imagine speaking to her about anything so intimate, and so I was coming to you.”

“Aah.”

Louisa hesitated. “I had begun to have some understanding of my husband’s wants—he likes control and can be quite domineering—but I could not imagine him with a whip in his hand.”

“And after your experience that has changed?” Madame leaned forward.

“Yes—at least to the extent that I have now seen him holding a crop.”

“And did he seem to be enjoying it?”

“No. Not at all. I could tell he did not wish to strike me.”

“But you still wonder if in other circumstances he might?”

“Yes.” When she kept her answers simple it was much easier.

“Why?”

That was not so simple, and not something she was sure she wanted to talk about. “Because he spanked me with his bare hand and clearly took pleasure in it.” The words jumped from her mouth before she could hold them back.

“And did you enjoy it? Enjoy the feeling of his hand slapping against your skin?”

Madame had cut to the heart of the matter. How could she admit to such a thing? Madame had asked if she worried that Geoffrey was deranged. The truth was that she worried about herself. “Yes, I enjoyed it even though it hurt some. I was quite surprised by the whole thing, but afterwards, as things progressed—yes, I must admit that I found pleasure in it.” There—she had said it. She turned from Madame and stared out the window.

“And before yesterday, would you have done it again?”

“Yes.”

“And what if you had found out that Geoffrey did like whips, what then?”

“That I do not know, did not understand.”

“And now?” Madame asked.

“Now I know how much it hurts. I cannot see that there is any way that I could take pleasure in that. The spanking burned, but it was the pain of a moment, the prick of a rose thorn. The crop mark I feel still, and there is not pleasure in it. So I will ask again: Does my husband like that?”

Madame was silent, considering the question in all its aspects. After a moment she rose and went to stare out the window. “I am not sure how to answer you. As we speak I realize that I am not sure. These things are rarely as simple as they seem. Yes, I have seen Swanston take pleasure in whipping a woman, but he never took pleasure in each blow as some did, and he enjoyed it only with those women who desired to be whipped. I have never known him to go out looking for someone who wanted pain, and he has certainly never forced or even pressured anyone. In my profession I have seen many such men—men who want to cause pain. Your husband was not one of them. He clearly found some satisfaction in it, but I was never quite sure what. You will have to ask him. I know it will not be easy, but if you wish a good marriage you must talk.”

Louisa knew that. She might have avoided it, but she knew it to the bottom of her soul. If she’d only insisted that they talk sooner, much trouble might have been avoided—although
perhaps not. She would hold no one but the Countess responsible for what had happened.

Madame turned back to her. “You are, however, completely right about Geoffrey’s desire for absolute control in sexual matters. I do not think that is negotiable for him. If you do not like that, I fear that there are many clouds ahead in your marriage.”

“I do understand that about him,” Louisa answered. “That is not what I worry about. I simply do not understand the rest.”

“Geoffrey is a very good teacher. It is why I chose him for you in the beginning. I have never known him to force or even pressure a woman into doing anything that she did not wish. Has he ever made you do anything which you did not want?”

“No, never—except when the Countess forced him to, and I do not hold that against him.”

“Are you sure? It would be very easy to. I have already said I believe he holds it against himself.”

Leaning back and staring up at the canopy of the bed, Louisa considered carefully. Did she harbor any resentment toward Geoffrey because of that night? She tried to imagine how she would feel in different situations with him. “No. I do not bear him any grudge. I merely do not know how to proceed.”

Madame walked back to her chair and sat, leaning forward. “How can I help? Do you have further questions? If yesterday had not happened what would you do?”

“I feel that we are dancing in circles, but I will try.” Louisa drew in a deep breath. Even here, in the privacy of her home, this was not an easy thing. “Do women truly like to be whipped?”

It was Madame’s turn to consider. Louisa could see her thinking over each word. Finally, she answered, “Yes, some do. But I would say that even among those who do, most see it as play, with very little pain involved. They like a swat or two, given very lightly or with a soft flogger that can do no real harm. It is more a matter of anticipation than anything else.”

“Oh.” Louisa could understand that. She did enjoy the sensation of waiting to see what Geoffrey would do next. And if it didn’t really hurt …

“Then,” Madame continued, “there are those who are trying to get to some place beyond the pain. I do not know if I can explain this to you, but they find the pain freeing. It hurts at first, but then—I have heard them describe it as flying or floating. I think they do not really crave the
pain, but rather what comes after it—the experience of intense sensation. Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Louisa had felt something like that herself after the spanking, although in a greatly reduced manner. “You say that you have heard—have you never …?”

Madame laughed, and then a knowing smile formed upon her lips. “No. It is strictly a business for me. I cannot say that I have never been curious, but I have never felt an actual desire to participate. I am not sure I would be very good at putting myself under someone else’s control. I am satisfied with much simpler, less permanent pleasures. It is why I have never planned on marriage.”

Louisa had never thought of it in that fashion. It was true that in marriage a woman gave up all control. If she had trusted Geoffrey enough to give him herself, her money, and her future children, was it really such a big step to trust him in the privacy of their bedroom?

“And then there is a third type of woman—and sometimes man.” Madame grew more serious. “There are some who truly crave the pain, the punishment. Women who like to be struck again and again. I must admit that I do not understand it and do not consider it particularly healthy. The Countess was one of these women—whichever side of the whip she was on. I have known women who would probably let a master kill them and not protest.”

“And you let such things go on at your house?”

A long sigh. “Yes and no. I do not like to, but as I have said, it is a business. I do not let things go too far in my house. I have strict rules about what is allowed and what is not. And I feel that it is safer in my house than in other locations. My rooms are watched carefully, by myself or one of my selected staff. All the rooms have peepholes and things are monitored, not as voyeurism—unless the participants desire—but strictly as a precaution. I dislike outside involvement. The authorities can be so tiresome.”

“That makes sense.” Louisa’s mind was spinning as she tried to absorb everything Madame had said.

“Do you wish to know anything else? In general, or about Geoffrey?”

Louisa considered carefully. It was easier to think about general questions. “Do many couples do this? I mean not just at your house? Is it something that …”

Another laugh. “I truly only know what happens at my house, but I expect that at least the play version of it is far more common than you think. I think the one rule should always be that you don’t do anything you truly dislike. It is one thing to try things, to push yourself when you
feel a little uncomfortable, but if you find something distasteful, say no.”

It was a fuller answer than she had asked for, but Louisa knew it was the answer she had actually sought. “And do you think that would … would be enough for Geoffrey?”

“Only he can answer that, but from what I have seen, making you happy is what is most important to him.”

If only she could believe that. “I do have a few more questions. If I am going to try this I need to know more, to not be so surprised at everything, although I suppose I do want some surprise left.”

“Ask whatever you wish. If I can, I will answer.”

Looking down at her hands, Louisa put together her list. “First, can you tell me what you do with hot wax?”

Chapter Thirty-three

Geoffrey had taken luncheon with his father—and it had not been horrible.

It had also given him something to think about besides his wife. These last few days of watching her recover had been hard. He was the one who’d put her in this position, who’d failed her, allowed her to be hurt.

But he’d had enough of such thoughts. Action was better, which was why he’d visited with the duke.

Granted, he now knew far more about llama breeding than he wanted to. And he wasn’t sure, but he might have approved the purchase of a new male and allowed that he might be let loose among the sheep on one of the northern estates.

Did he actually agree with his father that the beasts made excellent guard animals? He was afraid that he might. It had been years, if not decades, since he’d taken the duke’s word on anything, and yet he’d found himself believing him.

And when Bliss had come down from her room looking as if her night had been as long as his own, he had refrained from commenting, refrained from asking what trouble she’d managed to find. He hadn’t even commented that if her neckline were any lower she’d be popping right out. He’d merely looked away. There were some things no brother wished to see.

Would Louisa care? He’d done it for her—not that he would ever tell her. Her actions had made it clear that she wished him to get along with his family, and for her he was willing to try—to try anything. It might prove challenging, but was he not a man who sought out challenge?

He smiled to himself. That was a brave statement from a man who had just spent fifteen minutes standing at the foot of his own stairs because he did not know how to approach his own wife.

A loud meow drew his attention to the top of the stairs. Charlie, Louisa’s cat, sat there staring down.

“Was that an invitation or a warning, my boy?” Geoffrey found himself asking the cat.

The cat stared down, but did not answer.

“And why are you not in your mistress’s room, curled upon her bed? I do believe it is your prime napping hour.” Was he really talking to the cat? And how did he know that the cat was always asleep before the dinner hour? Had he truly paid that much attention?

Charlie meowed again.

“So you think I should get a move on?”

“Meow.”

Geoffrey laughed, long and hard. Yes, he was talking to the cat, and actually expecting an answer. Perhaps he was far more like his father than he knew. He didn’t even like cats.

He placed a booted foot on the first stair, and began his journey.

Charlie nodded his approval, and then turned and proceeded down the hall toward Louisa’s chamber.

Was she doing the right thing? She’d been tempted to put it off a little longer, to give life more time to settle into its usual patterns. But what were the usual patterns? And hadn’t they put things off too long already? Would their lives be different—better—today if they’d talked to each other honestly from the beginning?

There was no point in worrying. She was committed now.

It would have been easier if she’d spent the last nights in her husband’s bed, but she’d realized quickly that he was avoiding sleep for fear of accidentally harming her—at least she hoped that was why he’d been avoiding her. It was hard to miss the discomfort he exhibited the few times they’d talked. Madame Rouge had been correct. Geoffrey did feel guilty.