The following is an excerpt from Punishing Miss Primrose, Part V. For more about the series, visit the Erotic Historicals website or search for the series at your favorite e-book retailer.
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Insufferable man,
Beatrice Primrose huffed to herself. Perhaps it was she who ought to prefer the gout over that other affliction, one that she shared with the nameless nobleman with whom she had agreed to spend a sennight with in exchange for two hundred quid. She had few kind words for the man, yet her body would respond to his caresses, would yearn to spend at his hand. She recalled the force with which he had smacked her derrière, but the walloping had only enflamed her lust further. She shivered to think that he might apply his hand to her backside
fifty
times instead of the eleven she had endured.
Wanting air, she looked and found a door to a veranda overlooking the gardens. She stepped outside and admired the view of his estate. A fountain stood near the entry of the garden. A half dozen wrens splashed in its pool. Perhaps later she would venture into the gardens to enjoy the summer flora. She knew not what
his lordship
, as he wished to be addressed, intended, and the uncertainty unnerved her. But she had decided to see the sennight through. Six days remained. At their conclusion, she would have the remaining hundred quid he had promised. She would leave behind the whoring and return to Liverpool, to her aunt and nephew, James. She had not seen the boy for over a year and knew he must have grown dramatically in that time. She wondered if he would become a near replica of Nicholas Edelton.
While at the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, she had avenged her sister—and in some manner, James as well, for he would not have been born into the world and lost a mother if not for the treachery of William and Nicholas Edelton—and secured enough money to support her aunt and nephew for some time. As a bastard child, James would not have the privileges of his father, but Beatrice was determined that he should not want for much. She would put aside savings for his schooling when he came of age. She dreaded the day James would become old enough to inquire about his heritage. She had no answer yet for what she would say if he asked about his father.
Nicholas knew nothing of the child that had resulted from his rape of Charlotte. Though William was every bit as guilty as Nicholas in the evil deed, it was apparent that James, despite his youth, resembled Nicholas, whose slim figure and boyish physiognomy shared little with his cousin. William was tall with square shoulders and the same light brown hair as
his lordship
. She knew not which of the Edelton men had initiated the rape. Charlotte could only describe two drunken men assaulting her. But for Beatrice, both were culpable. Both were conceited young men of wealth and privilege, able to evade justice because of their standing. Both deserved the severest of punishments.
She wondered what had become of them. Though she could have continued her vengeance, humiliating them and flogging them to her heart's content, the efforts had wearied her over time. Nicholas had become smitten with her, catered to her every demand, offered her more than she had ever hoped to exact from him. After she had dismissed both men, Nicholas had written letters to her, beseeching his mistress to take him back. He persisted in returning to the Red Chrysanthemum till Madame Devereaux declared him a nuisance and revoked his admission. Beatrice might have extended her stay at the Red Chrysanthemum, but she had no desire to ever cross paths with Nicholas or William again.
Finding a chair, she sat down and breathed in the country air. It smelled and tasted crisp compared to the city. She wondered at the distance to the nearest neighbor. In truth, she was a captive here, for while
his lordship
had said she could leave his estate at her will, he had not offered her any conveyance back to London. She hoped he would be civil enough to point her in the right direction. She had glimpsed indications of his decency, but he was too enigmatic for her to be certain. And she would have bet money that he disliked her in some form. Perhaps, upset that he was attracted to a dark whore, he directed his self-loathing toward her.
She did not like the situation. Accustomed to being in control, to issuing the commands, to hearing herself addressed as 'Mistress Primrose,' the role of the submissive one unsettled her. She was to address him as 'his lordship,' obey his directives, and be punished if he found her insubordinate. Thus far, she had committed one error. The penalty had not been too difficult to bear. Her arse had smarted beneath his hand, but the ache had faded faster than expected. The small metal clips he had affixed to her nipples produced a tolerable pain save when he pulled upon the chain between them. To her surprise, the sensations had only added to her ardor.
Her stomach rumbled, and she wished she had taken his advice and eaten more of her breakfast. She considered going in search of the pantry when she heard footsteps behind her.
"I've prepared a light repast," his lordship said, approaching and setting down a tray with slices of meat, cheese, and bread upon the table beside her. "And this time, I require you to eat."
Without objection, she accepted the glass of lemonade he held out to her.
"The sweetmeats came from the gardens," he told her. "And you left this in the library."
She looked down at the tray and saw the book,
The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders
, she had pulled from the shelves yesterday. Remembering his comparison of her to the heroine of Defoe's novel, Beatrice said nothing. She reached for the bread and meat, making a sandwich, and took a hungry bite. He took the seat on the other side of the table and looked out over the gardens. He appeared more relaxed, and when the slight breeze tousled his hair, she was reminded of her hopes to have an enjoyable romp with the handsome stranger.
"You've no need to keep me company," she said. "I do perfectly well on my own."
"I have no intentions of a
tête-à -tête
but am here to ensure that you do not starve yourself."
"How gracious of your lordship."
He did not respond to her mockery. She swallowed the food in her mouth and, glancing at the book, wondered if a nicer disposition might gain her more. Though he insisted on having the dominant role, he had performed the duties of a servant, twice bringing her meals and drawing a bath for her.
"Thank you for the book," she tried.
A little startled, he replied, "You're welcome."
"You have a great many books in your library."
"My mother liked to read, and her tastes were diverse. From Shakespeare sonnets to original editions of French works. You are welcome to them."
"Thank you. I've not read but a handful of sonnets in my life. My French is too poor to attempt its literature."
He looked at her, curious. "You had a French tutor?"
"For but a year, and I fear my sister and I were poor students at the time. We ought to have made more of the brief opportunity."
"You have fallen far from grace. With your upbringing, you could have aspired to be a courtesan or become a mistress to a man of means or..."
"A man such as yourself?" she teased.
He frowned. "Your circumstances must have been drastic for you to end up in a brothel with Madame Devereaux."
"My whoring," she went on, "is only temporary. I had...other motives for choosing the Red Chrysanthemum, which is not a brothel, though Madame is not averse to playing the bawd on occasion. The Inn is a club, of sorts, a place where its members can indulge in their most erotic penchants."
His eyes narrowed. "Is that all?"
"Its members seek and want to be there." Seeing the grim set of his features, she changed the subject. "But I have hopes that you will be my last patron. I shall seek employment hereafter as a governess or a lady's companion."
"You? A governess? You think you will be allowed the care of children?"
Offended by his skepticism, she replied, "I was a governess, beloved by the family, until...until I had to leave."
"It was discovered your virtue was lacking."
She scowled. "Yes, I had fucked the stable boy, the butler, the footman, my employer's valet, and I would have done the horses in the stable if I had stayed."
She nearly laughed at his open-mouthed stare.
"Which one of the fellows was James?"
Her cheeks burned. "None! I left because my sister fell ill."
He cleared his throat. "And you nursed her back to health."
Her bosom swelled. She could not respond, muted by the pain of her sister's death, which flared like a new wound, though she thought time and her vengeance upon Nicholas and William would have eased the loss. But this insolent nobleman, who presumed to know her and her situation, who assumed the worst of her because she was beneath his station in life, had somehow renewed the anguish and the misery. He suddenly represented all that she detested in Nicholas and William and men of their ilk.
"What do you care for the sister of a hedge-whore?" she replied and tossed the rest of her sandwich onto the tray.
He stared at the half-eaten sandwich. "You should finish it."
"
You
finish it if you care so much for it," she replied as she rose from her chair, too angry to form a mature response.
"At least eat the sweetmeats."
She would have, for she adored berries and did not often have them. But she wanted nothing of his at the moment.
"No, thank you," she replied and made for the stairs that led down to the gardens.
"You'll not have a chance to eat again till it is time for tea."
She ignored him and proceeded down the steps, needing to put some distance between them. For some strange reason, she felt as if she were looking at Nicholas and William when she saw him. But for his kind, she would still have a sister, her only sister.
She heard his footsteps behind her, and he grabbed her by the arm before she had reached the bottom of the stairs.
"You will eat more," he said when she faced him.
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care."
Perhaps the painful memory, the knowledge of the crime that had been done to her sister pressed upon her mind too strongly at the moment, clouding her perception, but she felt as if she were staring at William Edelton.
"I'll not have the sweetmeats left on the tray," he said.
