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A Little Holiday Magic
by
Nancy Pirri
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Published by
Melange Books, LLC
White Bear Lake, MN 55110
Maid Of His Heart & One Magical Night
Nancy Pirri, Copyright 2011
ISBN 978-1-61235-250-3
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Credits
Editor: Fiona Kane, Jane Carver
Copy Editor: Mae Powers
Format Editor: Mae Powers
Cover Artist: A. Bratt
A Little Holiday Magic
Nancy Pirri
Maid of His Heart is the tale of pretty Claire O’Reilly who is working as a maid in 1888 New York City. Her employer, Andrew Morgan-Stanton, a wealthy railroad baron, introduces the innocent Claire to the pain and pleasure of discipline and obedience and, in the end, they both find an unexpected love.
One Magical Night
Marcus Calhoun arrives home after divorcing his unfaithful wife. He renews his friendship with spinster, Anne Prentice. Marcus soon discovers his friendship with Anne has changed to love. Anne can't believe Marcus loves her due to her imperfection, a limp, until Marcus manages to prove his feelings.
Look for these and other great stories by
Nancy Pirri from www.melange-books.com:
Mélange Digest: Stir Fried Love
Western Ways Digest: To Tame A Gambler
A Little Holiday Magic
Nancy Pirri
Table of Contents
Maid of His Heart
Nancy Pirri
December 1888
Manhattan, New York
Snap! Blazing pain tore through her breasts and Claire O’Reilly’s eyes opened in stunned surprise. “Oh, heavens,” she gasped scrambling up.
Her hands flew up to protect herself from further blows and she groaned in horror at Mrs. Henderson, the head housekeeper, standing over her with a cane in her hand.
“What be ye about girl? Ye can’t be sleepin’. Christmas will soon be here. Sleepin’s not what Master Stanton’s paying ye fer, either. Ye’ll need to learn and the only way I know to teach ye is to beat ye, according to the master’s rules!” Mrs. Henderson narrowed her already small eyes and raised her arm as she moved closer, ready to strike a second time.
“Please, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I hate Christmas season. All it means is more heavy work than I do now for the same pitiful pay.” Claire raised her arms to protect herself.
Shaking in outrage, the woman snapped, “And if ye didn’t stay awake all hours of the night readin’ those silly books ye wouldn’t be too tired to do yer work. Plenty more of your type to fill yer shoes,” she said, her arm raised as she went after Claire.
Claire crouched, protecting her face from the blows raining down on her.
“What in the world is going on here?”
A man had asked the question, in a calm but menacing voice. Mrs. Henderson immediately dropped the cane on the floor. Claire looked toward the parlor entrance. There stood a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired man. With the brilliant sunlight streaming through the windows Claire noticed he dressed rather formally for morning. But the frock coat, white shirt and silver-grey waistcoat enhanced his masculinity and his handsomeness. His face held a mixture of exhaustion, inquisitiveness and anger as he stared at Mrs. Henderson.
Claire heard the gossip from the staff. This man, the master of the house, arrived home from a business journey yesterday, and spent his first evening with his mistress. Upon his return in the wee hours of the morning, he’d instructed the staff to leave him be for he’d sleep the day away. Now Claire believed she was in even more trouble for he’d wakened early, likely because he’d heard the ruckus Claire and his housekeeper had made.
Upon this first meeting, Claire decided that her employer was the most virile and handsome man she’d ever seen. With great effort she looked away and focused on the housekeeper hunched over, cane lying on the floor at her feet. Mrs. Henderson wrung her hands and perspiration dripped from her forehead.
“I asked you a direct question, Mrs. Henderson. What has the girl done to warrant your wrath?” The master entered the parlor, bent and picked up the cane. Proceeding to tap it against his thigh he glared at the housekeeper.
The woman straightened a bit and blustered, “She was sleepin’ that’s what! It isn’t allowed, Master Stanton.”
Claire cowered now as her employer’s piercing gaze settled on her. “Is that true? Were you sleeping instead of working?”
With a short nod Claire averted her eyes, not wanting to see his anger. Andrew Morgan-Stanton possessed the face of an angel, yet she wondered at his imminent reaction to her transgression. He had every right to be furious for she’d disobeyed one of the rules of the house.
Master Stanton directed his argument back to his housekeeper. They moved further away from Claire, who ignored their words and instead studied this man she’d heard so many roguish things about. What a horrid thing to happen; meeting her employer for the first time under such awful circumstances. She sat down quietly on the divan, the arguing pair didn’t notice. So taken by him, all thought of anything else left her mind.
Not for the first time did she wonder why an unmarried man would reside in such an enormous house—a house with an enormous name—Morgan-Stanton’s Settle, named after Andrew Morgan-Stanton himself, who’d ‘settled’ there five years ago upon making his fortune. She thought it a rather pompous name but there was no accounting for nouveau-rich folks’ eccentricities she’d learned since her arrival in America seven years ago, at the age of twelve.
Oh, how she longed to rest. She secretly worked late at O’Gara’s Pub in the evenings, sneaking off when the household was quiet. Last night she’d had very little sleep. She leaned back to wait for them to stop. Perhaps she’d been lucky with his intervention. Unable to help herself, she closed her eyes, awaiting her punishment. How much worse could it be?
“Would ye look at that, sir? She’s at it again!”
Claire’s eyes shot open, startled by Mrs. Henderson’s shrill voice and she sat up straight. She met the master’s eyes, saw he’d crossed the room to her side without a sound, his expression looked concerned. She started to stand but sank down and shrunk back when he reached out and placed his hand against her forehead.
“I won’t hurt you,” he murmured. “Mrs. Henderson, she’s quite warm,” he said. “I’m wondering if she has the fever.”
Claire couldn’t tear her gaze away from Mr. Stanton, so delightfully cool was his hand on her. She felt captivated by him, and the rest of her world dwindled away to nothing. Heavens, she was drawn to him as a moth to light, as a bee to honey.
“Are you ill?”
Shaking her head Claire started to stand once more but he held her down with a hand on her shoulder.
“Then what ails you, girl?” he asked. When she didn’t reply he added, “Are you with child?”
She stiffened. “No!”
He swept her body a long look and heat permeated her from top to bottom at the displeasure on his face. Looking down at her ugly, heavy wool gown she didn’t see any tears or stains—nothing for him to show his distaste.
He strode to the hearth and laid the cane down upon the mantle, addressing Mrs. Henderson gruffly again. “Do I, or do I not, provide coin for proper staff attire?”
Mrs. Henderson nodded. “Ye do, Master Stanton.”
“Then why is the poor girl dressed in this heavy, itchy woolen gown when you’ve stoked the heat so high? My God, no wonder she’s exhausted and can’t stay awake.”
But, sir, it’s freezin’ cold outside! Some of the other household workers were complainin’ it was cold in the house.”
“Perhaps, if the rest of the household actually worked hard they’d warm up some. By the way, since I installed the furnace, the heating bills over the past few months have been horrendous. First thing you’ll do is lower the furnace heat. And if lowering the heat doesn’t improve the heating bills, we shall return to heating the house in the old-fashioned way, by stoking up the fireplaces.”
Another heating source? Claire thought. No wonder she always felt so warm when the hearths were never lit.
A large degree of satisfaction filled Claire as she stared at the head housekeeper, who appeared flushed and decidedly uncomfortable under her employer’s harsh scrutiny.
“She’s only been here a month, sir. Just haven’t had time to purchase the clothing yet,” Mrs. Henderson muttered.
“Make it a priority, then,” he replied. He went on to list some examples of suitable clothing. Claire withdrew to her own thoughts again.
So, the old biddy had lied, telling her it was Claire’s own coin and responsibility to provide work attire. Claire heaved a relieved sigh. The little she’d tucked aside to purchase new work gowns could now be turned over to her aunt whom she paid to care for her poor, sick mother. She was so thankful for the Lord of the Manor’s appearance now she found herself feeling positively joyous.
Master Stanton’s protectiveness made Claire’s heart beat wildly. What was there not to like? Though she knew, upon occasion, a man’s handsomeness could conceal an arrogant attitude, perhaps even a ruthless and nasty disposition. But then she thought about how highly the other staff spoke of him. There was much talk about Master Stanton being a fair man. Claire decided he couldn’t possibly be anything but decent and honorable. Then she came back to reality.
She was certain several admiring ladies fawned over him, besides his mistress. He didn’t need Claire doing so as well. And she’d heard from gossiping staff, how he’d been searching seriously for a wife. Claire knew he’d never give her so much as a miniscule look of interest, she was a maid, and her heart clenched at that.
He came closer to pick up the cane, and Claire tuned back into his words, vehemently spoken to Mrs. Henderson. “Well, then, is this how you usually punish my staff?”
The housekeeper gave an abrupt nod. “And no meals for an entire day, besides.”
Another lie! Claire thought. The beatings were not his rules but hers.
He frowned. “I don’t abide abuse in my household, Mrs. Henderson, as you are well aware. Though a bit of physical correction helps in some cases.” He nodded at Claire. “Do you believe it will in hers?”
The woman nodded curtly and folded her arms across her matronly breasts. “This isn’t the first time I’ve caught her slumberin’. Besides,” she added, “What’s correct for one is correct for the next.”
He moved again, pausing directly in front of Claire.
“Well, stand up, girl!” Mrs. Henderson snapped. “Show some respect for your master.”
While she wanted to inform both of them that no man, only God above, was her master, she jumped to her feet and kept quiet. Twisting her hands in front her, she stared at his broad chest, specifically at the third black onyx button on his waistcoat. He was tall, but then, she was quite short so everyone was tall in comparison.
“Explain to me why you fell asleep, Miss…?”
She just stared at his shirtfront until the housekeeper shouted, “Reply to the master, you insolent girl!”
“O’Reilly, sir. Claire O’Reilly.”
“Claire,” he said softly, his low voice caressing her. “Pretty name and it suits you. Irish, are you?”
She nodded and looked up at him.
Claire caught the admiring glint in his eyes and faint smile. He’d managed, with his low voice to make her short, simple, common name sound beautiful.
“Why had you been sleeping instead of working?”
She couldn’t tell him about her other work, for fear of being let go. Relaxing a bit, guessing he wasn’t all that angry with her, she said, “As Mrs. Henderson said, I was up late reading the latest penny dreadful.”
“I see,” was all he said and he moved in a circle around her. She grew uneasy. Heat streaked through her body. She felt him at her back and shivers prickled down her spine, warning prickles that she was in possibly more trouble than she realized.
“Well, then,” he said, his words barely above a whisper in her ear, “I’m inclined to agree with Mrs. Henderson that you must be punished.”
With a gasp, Claire whirled to face him.
“Then I’ll continue where I left off, sir,” Mrs. Henderson stated firmly.
He lifted one hand and raked his fingers through his hair. Frowning, deep in thought, he finally spoke. “No. I’ll be the one to deal with her. “You may leave us, Mrs. Henderson.”
The woman protested, “But that wouldn’t be proper! Besides, you’ve always said it’s my position to discipline the household workers and that you didn’t care to be bothered.”
“I know exactly what I said and frankly can’t believe you have the temerity to remind me of it,” he said icily. “Suffice it to say I’m making an exception with this particular maid.”
The woman stuttered, “I’m…I’m sorry. Of course you may do as you wish with the girl. But, in all fairness, the staff needs to know she’s been punished.
“She will be,” he snapped. Eyeing Claire again, he added, “How many strokes?”
“For this infraction, thirty,” said the housekeeper.
“My God,” he gritted out, “With the cane?”
At her nod he said, “No, that’s far too many with that instrument. Leave us and I’ll deal with her.”
“I shall assemble the staff in the hallway,” she informed him.
He sighed. “If you must.”
The older woman left, closing the door behind her. Claire knew well of Mrs. Henderson’s temper and guessed it had taken all of her willpower not to slam the door behind her.
Claire chewed her lower lip and fidgeted as she stood before him, knowing with increasing dread that he would be the one to mete out her punishment. What an inauspicious first meeting between them. She wondered how long her little lie about why she was tired would hold up, though. One evening she would be caught leaving or returning to ‘the settle’ then she would lose her position.
Shuddering when he removed his coat, leaving him clad in his shirt, tie and waistcoat, Claire prepared herself for a beating. She stood stock-still, fear building inside her as he pulled silver studs from his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves. Claire looked down.
His legs were long, thighs bulging with muscle. Gazing a little higher, she saw the fabric of his black trousers stretched taut, her cheeks heating up at the thought of what lay beneath. Horrified to realize she’d been staring far too long, she glanced up to find his gaze settled on her. There was no denying his look of desire. For her? Heavens, that was impossible! She was a lowly little maid, not some beautiful heiress, why would he even think of her carnally?
She shoved aside the ridiculous idea that he might want to tumble her in his bed, which was a good thing to dismiss. She feared she’d allow him the tumble for her virgin mind conjured up all sorts of delights upon seeing her employer for the first time.
From what Claire had learned from the others working at ‘the settle’, he was fair-minded and held his temper, though he kept his distance from all of them. Thus far, he didn’t appear to possess the arrogance and awful temperament of some of her past employers. She calmed somewhat, guessing he would be firm but not overly harsh. Because of her strict mother she’d been on the receiving end of harsh corporal punishment on several occasions. Mentally, she prepared herself to face the ordeal.
He nodded at the camelback brocaded divan. “Over the back, please.”
Claire took a deep breath and did as he ordered draping herself over one of the dipped areas of the divan’s back. This proved an uncomfortable position as her feet were now off the floor. She didn’t quite know what to do with her hands. Clutching at the back of the divan, Claire teetered.
“No, no, that position won’t do at all,” he murmured. “You are far too petite. Get down.”
She slid to the floor, hands tightly folded as she waited for more direction. He took her elbow and led her around to the side of the divan and, pressing down on her back, guided her over the arm. Then he placed her hands beside each other on the divan cushion. His hand cupped the nape of her neck and gently pushed until one cheek lay on the tufted cushion. She realized her buttocks were high in the air, positioned perfectly for a beating. Sighing, she braced herself and waited for him to begin, praying this would end quickly.
Behind her, she felt him lifting one of her feet and set it right beside the other, prompting her back to arch.
“Yes, perfect. I don’t want to chance striking your back or hips and this position affords me a perfect target.”
She frowned. Why in the world was he talking so loudly? Then it dawned on her when she heard giggles outside the parlor. The other employees had gathered to hear her punishment carried out, just as Mrs. Henderson had wanted.
Target? Good heavens. He was talking about her bottom and she closed her eyes in humiliation, thankful she wore her petticoats, heavy gown and drawers.
She gasped then clamped her mouth shut against her burgeoning protests when she felt him raise her petticoats and gown. The voluminous fabric settled over her upper body and head, shrouding her in darkness.
Her heartbeat quickened when he placed his hand in the center of her back. Humiliation of the worst degree swept over her when she felt his warm, big hand settle on one buttock, thinly clad in worn, dingy white cotton. Blinking back her tears, she waited for him to begin; praying he’d be done with the deed quickly, hoping he wouldn’t be too harsh.
“Are you ready, Miss O’Reilly?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He removed his hand from her back, then the loud report of a slap reverberated through the parlor and she gasped, waiting for the stinging pain, but none followed. She glanced to the side and saw his legs, but was unable to see anything else. She heard the slapping sound again and then again and was surprised when she felt not an ounce of pain, no touching or sensation. What in the world was the man up to? He answered her silent question then.
“Thirty is far too many for a slight female such as you, sweet Claire,” he said in a low voice. “However, we must keep up the pretense. I can hear my staff murmuring outside the parlor, waiting to hear your pain. I recommend a convincing shriek now and again,” he whispered directly in her ear. “Also, count them aloud please.”
My, Lord! He was playing at punishing her.
He clapped his big palms together again and she uttered what she hoped was a convincing shriek and counted aloud. By the time he’d clapped his hands for the twenty-fifth time, she was smiling broadly—until she felt his big hand settle on her buttocks, startling her. She went to stand but couldn’t for he held her in place.
“Easy, now, I’m not through with you quite yet.”
He caressed her a moment, his hand stroking in a circle the perimeter of each drawer-covered buttock. A shiver of anticipation tore through her body when she realized she might have not escaped punishment completely. Why else would he have positioned her like this?
Closing her eyes she tried ignoring the building passion inside her, trembling at the feel of his big hand stroking her. She should stop him! But his touch mesmerized her and, to her utter humiliation, she couldn’t stop moving her hips along with the enticing, heated stroke of his hand.
A moment passed when she didn’t feel his hand on her, then a hard thwack flattened her bottom. Immediately, the smack was followed by a distinct sting.
“Oh!” she gasped in surprise.
Claire reached back to protect herself but he didn’t allow it. He clasped her hands in one of his and held them in the middle of her back. Now she was truly in a helpless position and fear flared through her.
“Stay still,” he ordered. “You’ve one of two choices. Either I restrain you as I’m doing now or you will restrain yourself and return your hands to the cushion. Which is it?”
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
Claire felt his body press up against her backside then heard him whisper harshly in her ear, “Did you think you’d get off entirely without punishment? I’m afraid not, my dear. I happen to believe that a bit of corporal punishment may curb your appetite for reading trashy little novels late into the night when you must rise early to work the next day—for me. Again, restrained or not, either way, you’ll receive the rest of your punishment.”
“Please, release me. I won’t make a fuss.”
He did and she placed her arms on the cushion and clasped her hands above her head and stilled.
“Good,” he said. “Now count the strokes after each one, beginning with twenty-six.”
Five strokes—that’s all she’d have to endure, even as his hand smacked her again. She cringed, caught her breath and groaned, knowing she’d forgotten to count.
“Count them,” he reminded her. “That one, of course, doesn’t count.”
“You are being unfair!” Claire shouted in dismay.
He ignored her and smacked her once more.
“Twenty-six!” she gasped.
“Excellent, but louder, so they can hear you,” he said roughly.
“Twenty-six!”
She was stoic as she took the rest of her punishment, counting each stroke. While his slaps stung, she decided he could have been much harsher. She would likely feel some discomfort on the morrow, yet the greater pain was embarrassment and that she would be obliged to face him after this day. She was thankful, however, that he’d allowed her the modesty of not lowering her drawers.
Then she noticed something else; a tingling, hot sensation seeping into her hindquarters and she arched her back, which made her bottom even more prominent. Dismayed, she faced the truth; she hated yet enjoyed his punishment. How could this be?
Tears threatened to slip from her eyes with each stroke, especially with the last, her humiliation complete. “Thirty!” Trying to calm her racing heart she was relieved that he’d finished, yet disappointed at the same time. Claire wanted to run away from him! But then her mind warred against the idea, recognizing how she wanted him to take her in his arms.
“Oh!” she gasped when he did exactly that; he wound his hands around her waist and eased her up, turning her to face him.
Her legs trembled and tears streaked her cheeks as she stood before him, her eyes focused on the rich burgundy-colored carpeting. Her bottom felt deliciously warm and the muscles there quivered. She also felt a tingling sensation that reached the very core of her and she shuddered, ashamed of her arousal.
Claire was surprised when he enveloped her in his arms. She pressed her hands against his chest, not wanting him to hold her, yet wanting him to at the same time, unable to look at him or utter a word. But he kept his arms around her and tucked her head beneath his chin. She relaxed against his broad chest and closed her eyes as warmth and desire swept through her. Claire never wanted to leave his arms.
Then she sniffed and thought, what was the sense in dreaming such a thing? None of it was possible for she was nothing but a poor Irish girl—and he would never want more than a bit of fun with her.
Deeper embarrassment swept through her when she felt a sticky wetness between her legs. Had she wet herself? She groaned inside at the thought and pressed her legs tightly together.
He cupped her face in his hands and, with his thumbs, stroked the tears away.
“There, now,” he said softly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? And I believe we’ve satisfied them.” His gaze flickered at the door where she heard the sound of shuffling feet and whispers. “Now, no more tears. And no more falling asleep on my timepiece,” he warned. “You are, I believe, getting paid a decent living wage.”
She had no idea what one would consider a decent wage since hers mostly went to pay her aunt, which was why she worked evenings as a barmaid. Inside, her heart turned cold as she told herself to think of him only as her master, her employer, knowing there could be nothing more between them.
“Dry your tears. And no pouting.” He released her and proceeded pacing the parlor, raking his fingers through his hair.
She watched him, glad this session was nearly over, anxious to be gone from his sight. Claire sniffled. From now on she would explicitly follow the house rules. Chagrinned, she thought how effective his punishment had been after all. Hadn’t he said she’d think twice about disobeying his rules after he was through with her? She would think twice, but then again, she couldn’t ignore the exquisite sensations and heat running through her body. He’d made her desire him. She knew of a man’s desire but never had she realized that a woman could feel the same way.
Suddenly, his eyes met hers and she averted her gaze.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Unwillingly, she did and tilted up her chin, trembling.
“You are, by far, the most beautiful young woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Do you know that, Claire O’Reilly?”
At his words, pleasure coursed through her body. He did not consider her a child, which of course she wasn’t. But then suspicions arose as she thought about the fate of several of her young lady friends who’d been seduced and ravished by their masters then tossed aside with little regard.
She had yet to fall in love, but wouldn’t give up her virginity to just any man, no matter how much she wanted to be loved. Her employer tempted her, though, without a doubt. Oh! How mixed up she felt! She should hate him for what he’d done; yet she didn’t. All of her life-long dreams of marrying for love and giving herself to her husband were close to vanishing in light of her growing feelings for this man—a man she knew she couldn’t have; a man who would only want one thing from a poor maid such as she.
Taking her elbow he escorted her to the door. “How old are you, Claire?” he asked.
“Nineteen, sir,” she whispered as she walked sedately beside him.
“So young,” he murmured, then added, “On the morrow, I will give you coin to purchase cooler, lightweight work gowns. Shop anywhere you like and charge the clothing to my accounts.”
Opening the door wide he stepped into the hallway to find several of the house staff still loitering about.
Master Stanton raised his brow. “I suspect you’ve work to do.”
They scurried away at his question.
He turned to Claire and smiled. “Back to work, and no more dallying,” he added, giving her bottom a gentle pat.
Claire scowled at him when he headed down the hallway, not liking a bit how he’d dismissed her. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, legs long and lean as his steps ate up the hallway. Finally, he turned into his library and shut the door.
Mrs. Henderson said, “So, Claire O’Reilly, have you learned your lesson?”
Claire bobbed a quick curtsy even as her cheeks heated. “Yes, ma’am, and I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Of course it won’t. The master is someone I’d expect you won’t want to disobey in the future.”
“You are right, ma’am,” Claire murmured.
Mrs. Henderson gave a satisfied nod before lumbering away.
* * * *
Tucking his hands behind his head Andrew smiled. Disciplining Claire invigorated his senses, exactly what he’d needed. Such a delightful diversion from his quest to find a suitable wife.
She was the sweetest woman he’d seen in a long while, and most likely an innocent. And, while he’d never been attracted to innocents, for some reason he’d found her exceedingly desirable and enchanting. What a delectable vision her body made, draped over the divan’s arm. Her sweet rump quivering after he’d turned it a pretty pink color, which he detected through her thin white drawers. He’d been careful not to hurt her. What a joy disciplining a willing woman. He frowned and thought perhaps not, but certainly obedient. She’d no choice if she wanted to stay on at ‘the settle’. A strong hunch told Andrew her wages were important to her, but apparently not so important that she would stay up all night reading penny dreadfuls. This perplexed him.
Then he thought about his quest to find a bride. Since his younger brother stole the only woman Andrew had ever loved away from him five years ago, Andrew found no other to love since. He could name several suitable, well-positioned ladies who were interested in snaring him for a husband, yet his dark, sinful secret, at least according to society, prevented him from outwardly courting any of them.
Andrew had spent years visiting and paying for his brand of pleasure—harlots who would allow him this sort of liberty with their bodies. These women hadn’t pretended to enjoy his attentions when he tied them to the four corners of a bed where he would drive them wild with desire with his tongue and hands; they hadn’t pretended when he took to disciplining them with passionate, loving strokes of a crop, either, for he was never overly cruel but would leave a woman well-satisfied. But, being a pragmatic man, he also knew he’d bought their cooperation for enduring his attentions.
He’d stopped visiting brothels, having grown weary of the shallow feelings these women evoked in him. And now, his latest mistress conquest, Carina Mavison, broke off from him last night, only a few short weeks after meeting her when he’d shown her a hint of his true sexual inclinations. Furiously, Carina informed him if she wanted that sort of man she would have stayed married to her husband, whom she’d divorced a year ago for beating her—often and hard.
He’d tried to convince her he was nothing like the man she’d divorced and only wanted to give her the pain and pleasure he knew she’d love, if she’d only allow him carte blanche over her body. She’d had him escorted by her butler from her town home, with the parting words to never return.
Since last night, he’d come to a decision. He’d likely spend his life in solitude since no woman would marry him and accept his needs. He supposed he could pretend to be the gentle suitor, and then, after marrying, show his bride the way of things. But, for all of his perversions, he couldn’t stomach the lie.
The thought of having a frightened wife on his hands was far from palatable, yet he was no milquetoast man who would find pleasure in bedding his wife in a proper fashion, either. It seemed he’d searched his entire life for the one woman who would willingly give herself to him; a woman who would enjoy his loving dominance.
Thinking of Claire again, he decided he’d find another reason soon to punish her. He also had a feeling, from the trembling of her body, and remembering how she’d arched her back, inviting his wicked, loving touch, that she’d rather enjoyed his attentions, yet he also recognized that her sobs of dismay had been genuine.
Long ago he’d learned that humiliation was the outcome of effective discipline, not a heavy hand. And she’d experienced plenty of shame. But once again, he thought about her quivering body draped over the divan’s arm. Then he smiled when he recalled her legs dancing each time he struck her, and how she’d arched her back even more, presenting a beautiful picture of submission.
Claire wanted him and she’d welcomed his rough touch, though he’d seen how confused she’d been. She was young. But very much a woman in every way, a quietly confident air surrounded her. He’d find out soon enough for she would be a welcomed amorous diversion for him since he’d given up on finding a wife. But he wouldn’t force her—he wouldn’t need to. He sensed that Claire was a naturally submissive woman who would welcome further attention from him.