Punishing His Ward (19 page)

He also realized that playing the
pianoforte was one of the few things that Cynthia was willing to do
that involved sitting down and staying still.  Any other time
that she was required to do so, she quickly became rather squirmy.
 When he asked his mother about it, she said that Cynthia did
much better out on the estates where she could ride and walk about
outside rather than have to concentrate on things like embroidery.
 

And, of course, the overwhelming reason
he might marry her was her response to discipline.  Add that
to her natural sensuality, and she might just be able to satisfy
him on all fronts.  He realized, with some chagrin, that even
when he thought about other women, none of them held the
temptations that Cynthia did.  Sure, there were women in
London that he could return to, sate his appetite with, but he'd
rather be here torturing himself with a young miss that was out of
bounds for seduction.  It was as appalling as it was
entertaining. 

It was a rainy Tuesday when he'd
realized just how much she hated being cooped up indoors.  He
was sitting in the library, reading through some of his letters,
when she came wandering in.  When he looked up, they nodded
acknowledgement at each other and then he went back to his letters
while Cynthia wandered around the room.

And wandered.

And wandered.

"I know this library isn't as big as
the one on the estate, but it has plenty of books to choose from,"
he said finally, without looking up.  "Surely there must be
one that catches your eye."

Cynthia sighed and he heard her
wandering back in his direction.  A moment later she was
plopping down in the seat across from him, slumping back into the
cushy chair.  Hardly proper for a young lady.  She'd
looked more like a sulky school girl, if it wasn't for her luscious
curves which were snugly cupped by the dark green fabric of her day
dress.  

"I've read all the ones I'm interested
in."

Wesley raised his eyebrow.  "There
can't be very many you were interested in then."

"There aren't."

He laughed and looked up to see her
smiling at him, eyes twinkling merrily.  "Then why did you
come in here?"

"There wasn't anything else to do.
 I played the piano for hours this morning and then your
mother tried to make me practice embroidering.  She's in bed
now with a megrim, by the way," Cynthia said, waving her hand with
exasperation.  The Countess was probably laid low just from
the effort of dealing with a bored Cynthia.  Although Wesley
was starting to worry about his mother's megrims; she had them
quite often and he wondered if they were occurring even more often
than she admitted.  It seemed as though she only relinquished
her watch over Cynthia when she was sure that Wesley was there to
take over.  "There's nothing to do in the house and no one to
leave the house with me."  She smiled brightly at him.
 "Unless you'd like to?"

"No thank you."  Wesley had
absolutely no desire to take a bored Cynthia out in a closed
carriage in the rain.  He wasn't such a fool as to enclose the
two of them in such a situation when he had enough trouble keeping
his hands off of her while there were witnesses around.
 

"Blast."  

She slumped again as Wesley looked up,
glaring at her.  "Watch your language."

For a moment he thought she was going
to argue or say something else, and his pulse began to pick up at
the thought of having an excuse to punish her - what better way to
spend a rainy afternoon? - but then she subsided again.  He
went back to his letters.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Wesley looked up.  She was sitting
back far enough in the chair that she could swing her feet, but her
shoes were scraping over the carpet as she did so.  With her
head tilted back to stare up at the ceiling, she couldn't be very
comfortable.  She would stop soon. 

At least, that's what he told
himself.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

"Isn't there another room you could go
to?"

"There's no one in the other rooms to
entertain me."

"No one's entertaining you here."
 Although he could think of several ways he'd like to
entertain her.  But not with his mother and the upright
Manfred lurking the halls, not to mention the various maids and
footmen who would all report him to the Countess if they caught him
doing... well, what he'd like to be doing.  He might be the
Earl but he had no illusions about where the household staff's
loyalties lay.  Not that he blamed them; hell, he'd be tempted
to tell on himself.  Even if he hadn't definitively decided to
marry the chit yet.

"But you're here so there's at least
the possibility of entertainment."

Scrape.

Wesley put his letters down, feeling
quite in sympathy with his mother and her megrims.  "Fine.
 What do you want to do?"

"I want to go out."

"Not going to happen."  Wesley
looked over her impassively, trying not to let his gaze linger on
the hint of cleavage at the neckline of her dress or the way it
clung to her curves.  "We could play cards."

"Oh yes please!" Cynthia came abruptly
upright.  "I'm completely out of practice.  Do you know
how to play poker?"

"Do
you
 know how to play poker?"
 Wesley asked, staring at her.  The game had become quite
popular with gentlemen, but it was not at all a proper game for
ladies to play.  Especially not young, unmarried
ladies.

"Oh yes."

"I should spank you just for that," he
muttered under his breath.  Standing, he offered his hand to
Cynthia and she placed hers in his as he helped her up from the
chair.

******

Her guardian was watching her with a
gimlet eye as he dealt out the cards, so Cynthia smiled back at him
as sunnily as she knew how.  Over the past week she'd learned
that the Earl's stern mien often covered his true emotions; she
enjoyed surprising a smile from his mobile lips and occasionally
even startling a burst of laughter from him.  When Lord and
Lady Hyde came to visit he would unwind even more.  It was
only when they were alone that he would take on the persona of a
hidebound bore.  And sometimes she could tease him out of that
into acting more naturally with her.

Why it mattered so much to her she
wasn't quite sure.  Perhaps because he constituted something
that most men didn't: a challenge. 

Besides which, she often found herself
drawn to him.  Like today, for instance.  If she'd truly
set her mind to it, she probably could have found some activity to
entertain herself.  But she hadn't wanted to; she'd wanted his
specific company.  And so she'd sought it out.

It was also risky, seeking the Earl's
company.  A hint of danger for her own person, a way of
tempting herself.  She wanted another spanking and yet she
didn't.  Sometimes she just wondered if she wanted him to
touch her.  He had very big hands and she was quite certain
they would fit perfectly over certain parts of her anatomy.
 Such long fingers... much longer and thicker than her own.
 

Shaking her head, Cynthia concentrated
on her cards.  They were playing for pennies, of
course.

"So who taught you how to play poker?"
 the Earl asked, discarding two of his cards.

"Your footmen on the estate," she said,
sliding one card out of her hand to be replaced.  "And some of
the gentlemen here in Bath have been willing to play with me on
occasion."

The Earl started.  "My mother
allowed that?"

"I didn't say your mother
knew."

Those expressive lips tightened, his
eyes darkening as he glared at her across the table.  Silence
reigned for the rest of the hand, which he won.  Shuffling the
cards, he gave her a long look. 

"Have you been losing your pin money to
these men?"

"Of course not," Cynthia said calmly,
picking up the cards he'd laid down for her.  She smiled
brightly at him.  "This is the first time I've played for
money."

"What did you play for
before?"

"Matchsticks with your footmen while
they were teaching me.  And the gentlemen of Bath seem to
prefer kisses."

The slamming of his palm down on the
table made Cynthia jump.  "You will not be playing Poker
outside of this house again."

"There seems to be a lot I can't do
outside of this house," she said, rather crossly, glaring at him.
 

"Count your blessings that I don't
blister your bottom for playing poker with rogues and...
 wagering... kisses."

Cynthia snorted.  "You can't spank
me for something I did in the past."

"I can spank you for whatever I want
and you'd do well to remember that, baggage."  Something about
the way he said that made her look at him suspiciously; his mood
had suddenly changed to almost cheery again.

"But you won't?"  Blast, she
sounded almost wistful. She didn’t truly want him to spank her
again. They were rather enjoying themselves right now.

The little look that he gave her made
her blush hotly and she looked down at her cards again to avoid his
gaze.  What was it about him that set her so off kilter?
 With other men it was easy to be flirtatious, to tease and
tempt; with him, it seemed that things she wasn't sure she wanted
to show always leaked through.

"Not this time."

Ominous enough to make her shiver.
 Cynthia changed the subject to the awful weather, putting on
her protective social mask and taking refuge in the conversational
subjects deemed acceptable for a young lady and a man.  This
seemed to amuse the Earl, but he followed her line.
 

As they played, she started to wonder
if she was avoiding a spanking because she truly didn't want to be
spanked, or because she was beginning to worry about her reactions
to the Earl.  Her emotions seemed to get rather tangled around
him.  Although he was sometimes stiff and starchy, at other
times he was the most exciting man she'd ever met.  But he was
also trying to marry her off to someone else, and so she shouldn't
be thinking of his hands or his fingers or lips.  She would
eventually explore all the pleasures and forbidden things that she
wanted to, but not with him.

The amount of disappointment that she
had at that thought only confirmed to her that she needed to stop
titillating herself with the Earl.  Which meant no more
spankings.  Because eventually she'd be someone else's wife
and he would never be hers.

Even though she suddenly felt like
crying, Cynthia covered it with a bright smile.  And then she
took him for all the pennies he was worth.

******

Over the next few days, Wesley noted a
change in Cynthia’s behavior.  Perhaps it was because the
weather had returned to normal, but he found himself unusually
disgruntled by the fact that she was rarely to be found on her
own.  Even in the house, she was most often found with his
mother.

He found himself missing her company;
her conversation, her quick mind, and especially her outrageous
little comments.  Most especially, he missed being able to
look at her as much as he wanted to without his sharp-eyed mother
there.  The only time he saw her on her own was when he heard
the playing of the pianoforte, and he would often sneak in the room
to watch and listen, but he never interrupted. It would break the
spell.

Besides, he didn’t think that being
completely alone with her was a very good idea. He still hadn’t
decided whether or not he wanted to marry her. Although he was
having the devil of a time learning more about her when he couldn’t
spend any actual time with her.

They were on their way to attend
another Assembly, Cynthia and his mother chattering as if nothing
was odd about the fact that his ward wouldn't look at him.
 Not the easiest thing to do when he was sitting across from
her in a closed carriage.  When he helped her out, she caught
his eye, blushed, and looked away again.  So at least he knew
he still had some effect on her.  He wondered what was going
through the chit’s mind, that she had so suddenly absented herself
from his presence, almost immediately after telling him that she
preferred company to entertain her.

Dressed in a pale turquoise gown with
gold edging that picked up the golden tints in her hair and dipped
even lower than the pink dress she'd worn to the last Assembly,
Cynthia was absolutely resplendent.  Wesley had been surprised
that his mother hadn't insisted on a fichu to cover up all that
creamy breast flesh - she was nearly bare to the nipple! - but the
Countess hadn't even looked twice.  While it was the current
fashion for certain ladies in the capital, Wesley certainly hadn't
noticed any young misses dressed like that.  Although, he also
had to admit, that he didn't often look at the young misses.
 

Still, he couldn't stop himself from
looming over Cynthia as he led both her and his mother into the
room, one on each arm, and glaring at one of the young gentlemen
who nearly stumbled over his own feet when he caught sight of
Cynthia.  The brazen chit just smiled and waved her fan,
gently stirring the brunette curls that were resting on her
shoulder.  Wesley had to resist the temptation to reach out
and wind a curl about his finger.  He counted his blessings
that at least Cynthia wasn't allowed to waltz, and wouldn't be
unless she was taken to London.