Taming Maria, page 5
'Jenkins, conduct Lady Jane and her chaperone to guestrooms, while I take a look through the armoire,' he ordered, in complete command of the situation.
The duennas and Jane curtseyed and took themselves off, and he paced towards the wardrobe, flung it open and perused the contents. It contained everything a lady of fashion might require; hats, bonnets, wraps and shawls, dresses in a variety of pastel shades as well as white. There were drawers containing delicate chemises and petticoats and stockings, and shelves holding pumps and shoes, Grecian sandals and riding boots. He rifled through it then stood back, apparently satisfied.
'Clothe yourself in suitable apparel for luncheon and tonight I shall expect you to look even more beautiful,' he said. 'But now I want you to strip.'
'What?' Maria was flabbergasted. 'How can you say such a thing?'
It was bad enough that she was alone with him, though his position of authority made this acceptable, but his suggestion was outrageous. He smiled and seated himself in a wing-chair, elegant and perfectly relaxed, one knee crossed over the other. He did not take his eyes from her.
'I wish to ensure that you are flawless,' he said, touching the silver top of his black Malacca walking cane to his lips. 'Am I not about to enter you on the marriage market? Why, even slaves at auction are put on the block for the prospective buyers to examine.'
This infuriated her so much that she stood before him, arms akimbo, glaring down into his face and shouting, 'I'm not a slave! And I shall marry whoever I please!'
'I think not,' he said, shaking his head solemnly, hands clasped around the cane. 'You have a duty towards your name and estates, and must bear this in mind when you take a husband. Not just any chancer shall have you, but a man of refinement and taste. Now, stop arguing and get undressed.'
She was wearing nothing except her shift under her over-robe, and held this to her as if it was a suit of armour, protecting her from his gaze. 'No,' she said mulishly.
He moved so quickly it took her off guard. He leapt up, wrested the robe from her, seized the hem of the chemise and pulled it off over her head. She gasped, and so did he. It was as if one was as surprised as the other, he by her peerless beauty and she by the shock and sexual thrill that raced through her.
'Don't hide your treasures from me,' he said huskily, as she placed an arm across her breasts and a hand over her mound.
'You should not see me thus, sir,' she quavered, cheeks flushed and her whole body trembling.
He stepped closer and she caught the pungent odour of his hair pomade coupled with that of shaving soap and the personal smell of him. It was a potent brew and she could not stop swaying towards him. He held her for a second, closing a hand over her bare breast and holding it. A spasm of voluptuous pleasure shot through her, entering her womb and making her wet. She was astonished at the effect this had on her. Every vestige of reason seemed to desert her and she wanted to pull him down into the depths of the bed and encourage him to have his wicked way with her.
'So young and fresh,' he murmured, his thumb stroking her nipple. 'Would that such innocence might last forever, but it never does. Soon you will be as wanton as the rest of the jill-flirts.'
'You will make me so, sir, if you don't let me go at once!' she grated, eyes on his mobile mouth, longing to feel it close over hers. 'It is your duty to safeguard, not corrupt me.'
He did not relinquish his hold, and she was certain he could hear the loud thumping of her heart. He dropped a hand down and cradled her pubis, one finger opening her cleft and caressing her bud. She was wet from her encounter with Jane and the way he had aroused her.
'You were exciting each other, weren't you?' he muttered, and she could feel his erection pushing against his breeches.
'No, sir.'
'There's no need to lie to me,' he continued. 'Though it may be necessary to chastise you for it. Would you enjoy that?'
'Being beaten? No, sir. I've watched it happen at school but was always glad it wasn't me being punished.' She backed away from him, her clitoris tingling from his touch.
He laughed lightly and then lifted a finger to his nostrils, inhaling her fragrance that lingered there. 'I don't think you are being quite truthful. You felt my whip during the race. Did the blow excite you?'
'Of course not!' She voiced indignation because he had hit upon the truth and she was ashamed of such confused feelings.
He laughed again. 'So adamant! What is it Shakespeare says in his great play Hamlet? "The lady doth protest too much, methinks".'
'You imagine that you're so clever and superior, don't you?' she hissed, beside herself with annoyance because he disturbed her so much. 'Well you won't get the better of me, my lord viscount. Leave me alone before I scream for help.'
'Do you really believe that anyone would answer?' Despite his tight smile he seemed annoyed and she was glad to have riled him.
'Oh, so you have them all in the palm of your hand, have you?' she challenged. 'You forget that this is the earl's house.'
'I forget nothing.' He was so much in control of himself that she yearned to strike him across his handsome face, to break his cool reserve, to really get to him and have him lose his temper. 'You are simply a saucy chit who has never been shown her boundaries, like a filly that needs breaking.'
'Nothing you can do will break my spirit! I'd rather die!' Now she had gone beyond reasoning, fists bunched ready to defend herself against attack.
'Your father should have used his crop on you.' Damien's eyes glittered with rage. '"Spare the rod and spoil the child" applies to you in full measure.'
She squared up to him, naked as she was, a wild-haired, wild-eyed harpy waiting to take on all-comers. 'Leave my father out of this! He was kindness itself. I loved him and I miss him. I don't want you ordering me about! Go away!'
For answer he grabbed her, taking her completely off-guard. Before she knew it she was stretched out over his knees, face down, hair dangling towards the carpet. She yelled, kicked and struggled but to no avail. He was far stronger than her and equally determined. She knew she must present a lewd spectacle with her bare bottom in the air. Helplessness swept over her.
'Let me go! You can't do this to me!' she cried, very aware of his hard thighs beneath her belly and his hard penis pressing into her side. 'How dare you? I'll tell Arabella.'
'Tell who the hell you like, but it won't stop me. You need a thorough spanking, wench, and I'm the man to do it.'
She lay there, wriggling and spluttering, then shot forward as his first blow hit her with resounding force. Her buttocks went numb, followed by a rush of fire as the flesh came to life. He struck her a second time, before she could recover from the first.
'Oh! Ouch! Stop it! No more...' she protested. Ignoring her, he administered four further blows in rapid succession. Maria let rip, calling him every vile name she could think of, but he continued in that painful punishment till tears ran across her face and dripped to the floor and she begged for mercy.
'Shut up!' he commanded, increasing the pressure of his palm connecting with her sore hinds, adding to the rose-red hue.
'You bastard!' she shrieked.
This outburst did nothing but add to her pain. She jerked as he hit her again, and then he drove a hand between her legs, finding her throbbing bud and massaging it rapidly. Desire added to her torment, but he withdrew that tantalising frottage, adding further stinging slaps to her red backside.
She bucked and threshed without avail, unable to escape his firm hold. His erection was like a solid staff behind those restricting breeches and the very fact that he was excited made her ache with unsatisfied passion. It was on the tip of her tongue to beg, not for release of her person, but for him to continue rubbing between her legs until she exploded into climax. But her pride refused to allow this. What right had he to treat her thus? She used her knuckles to pummel his leg.
With an oath he tumbled her from his lap unceremoniously, standing over her as she crouched there. 'Behave yourself, Maria, do as I tell you and we shall get on well enough,' he said crisply.
She raised her tear-filled eyes and was surprised by the expression on his face. He had enjoyed disciplining her! There was no shadow of doubt. It was betrayed not only in the way he was looking down at her, but in the symbol of arousal that still tented his breeches. Her guardian lusted after her and she did not know whether to be glad or sorry.
'Go to your aunt before the party and she will advise you on your attire,' he ordered briskly, then stalked to the door and left the room.
Chapter 4
Maria was in a state of shock. It was not so much what Damien had done that was so upsetting, but her own reaction to it. Her bottom stung and, squirming around and staring at it in the mirror, she could see the imprint of his palm. To her horror she found she was becoming excited, dampness bedewing her pubic floss.
The marks were a tell-tale sign of her humiliation and she was careful to keep the area covered as much as possible when, shortly after his departure, Arabella came to her, saying, 'Let me help you choose something to wear tonight. Your guardian wants to be proud of you, my dear. This is an important occasion. You will be meeting some of his friends and taking your place in society.'
Maria wondered if Arabella knew what had happened, as Sarah and Emily prepared her. She and Damien seemed thick as thieves. Was this how aunts and guardians usually acted towards their charges? She found it hard to believe, but had no yardstick by which to measure their behaviour. Sarah seemed enraptured by Arabella, positively fawning as she obeyed her instructions, but Emily was her usual pert self, following orders but bowing her head to no one. Jane was in her own room, being groomed by her chaperone, helped by her personal maid, Abigail. Everyone seemed to be in a froth of excitement, but the anticipation had been tarnished for Maria, and it was all due to Damien.
When her attendants had finished she stared at herself in the pier-glass, flattered by the transformation, yet uneasy. She wore so little, but knew it was the mode to appear in public half-naked. She had been taken to Arabella's tailor who was providing her with a complete new wardrobe. Whilst busy with tape measure and marking chalk he had explained, 'The French Revolution left its mark even over here. Clothing was made simple so that one could pretend to be a peasant, a milkmaid, anything but an aristocrat. Now Napoleon's wife, Josephine, has set her seal on these fashions and we, the couturiers, follow suit. Although at war with that country, whatever appears in Paris is quickly copied by us.'
This was the first time Maria had been so exposed. The gown was pure white; but had a low neck and short sleeves and the high waistline emphasised her breasts, even though girded by a girlish pink satin sash. The skirt was cut a little fuller than of yore, with pleats at the back. She wore one petticoat beneath the dress and this was equally transparent. Her legs were bare and her feet, too, toes showing in thong sandals, following the vogue for anything Neo-Classical.
Her hair was swept high at the crown, with wispy ringlets falling at her nape and about her ears. Her jewellery was minimal, drop pearls in her lobes and a single string around her neck, the whole effect turning her into a legendary nymph. Emily took up a chiffon scarf and draped it around Maria's shoulders.
Arabella stood back and viewed her, nodding her approval. 'Hold your head up, my dear. Your fame has spread since the race. Everyone who is anyone is clamouring to meet you. Several spirited young ladies are begging their fathers to permit them to drive high-perch phaetons.'
Maria had not realised that she had caused such a stir, and this made her all the more apprehensive. The guests would be staring at her and making comments. She was tempted to feign a headache and take to her bed in order to avoid such a confrontation.
Arabella left for her own apartment and later reappeared looking like a goddess from Mount Olympus. Jane wore more modest attire, though her bodice was as revealing as Maria's and the material of her dress almost as thin, but sleeves to the wrists concealed her arms and she had on white stockings, her feet encased in flat-heeled black shoes laced around the ankle.
Maria envied her aunt who was looking radiant, her eyes shining at the prospect of another party. If only she had some of her confidence! They walked out into the dusk and a groom opened the carriage door, unfolded the iron step and helped his mistress and her companions to enter. Others aided the duennas and maids to take their places in a less ornate vehicle.
'It should be an august assembly,' Arabella said, glancing across at Maria and Jane who were seated opposite. The driver cracked his whip, the horses leaned into the straps and the vehicle swayed into motion. 'I simply adore dancing, and Viscount Damien always employs the very best musicians.'
'Where is the earl?' Maria had noted his absence, but then he and Arabella were seldom together and it was a wonder that she had managed to conceive his son, little Jamie.
'He has been called to a meeting with the Prime Minister. Oh, this tedious war! It's been going on for ages and prevents one from visiting Paris,' she answered tartly, and it was apparent that she did not miss her husband and was probably looking forward to dallying with the beaux. Despise them though she might, she seemed to find them irresistible.
Maria sat there with burning buttocks, hating herself for being aroused at the thought of seeing Damien. They were transported to Strafford Hall, an ancient grey stone building that had once been a monastery. Now its gloomy exterior was lit by flares. Maria was aware of the law that decreed the outside of every house should be illumined at night to discourage burglaries. The crime rate in London was high, even though watchmen armed with muskets were employed and the punishment for those apprehended was public hanging.
Arabella's coaches pulled up on the gravel, joining others engaged in disgorging passengers. Flunkies in plush red coats, white knee-breeches and powdered wigs ushered them inside. Maids attired in black taffeta skirts, tight bodices, aprons and frilly mob-caps, conducted the ladies to a room where they could leave their cloaks and perform last minute titivations.
Maria was impressed by the grandeur of Damien's residence. The saloon was of magnificent proportions and decor, and there were other rooms where guests could enjoy the gaming tables or billiards or whatever took their fancy, and these were only the ones on display. Arabella's hints and sly smiles intimated that there were private places where certain of those present were encouraged to take their pleasure in whatever form they desired. Maria could only guess what these might be.
She held Jane's hand and followed Arabella into the main room. They were accompanied by their chaperones who then took their places among others on couches placed each side of the double doors. She was sure that Sarah's attention would soon stray. Her liking for men often worked in Maria's favour and she took full advantage of it. Jane had inferred that the tight-lipped, sour-faced Agatha Bailey liked nothing better than to take her cane to female posteriors, and the maids lived in fear of her.
'She's like Mrs Rossiter,' Jane had added. 'Gets heated when she's wielding the rod. I've never seen any of the manservants giving her the eye and the dislike seems to be mutual.'
The saloon was already full, and Maria wondered if she should have worn fancy dress, though sure that Arabella would have instructed her if this was necessary. There were men attired as cardinals, pirates, sultans and troubadours, but the light also flashed on medals pinned to military uniforms and orders crossing the chests of sober-suited dignitaries. The women were garbed in gorgeous gowns, their hair topped by diamond tiaras, but some had decided on exotic costumes, appearing as harem beauties, Spanish dancers, queens from history and even Orientals. Whatever they had elected to wear had been designed to show off their figures to full advantage.
Maria drank it in, the gaps in her education closing by the second. Is this how the gentry comported themselves, those people who associated with Prince George? Was he as unconventional? There were so many questions that needed answers and she was fully occupied with Jane, who was moping because she could not be with Robin.
As Maria advanced her fears became reality as she met stares and knowing smiles, saw ladies whispering behind their fans and gentlemen looking her up and down as if she was a prize filly for sale. Arabella was pressed for introductions and Maria besieged by bowing men, and women pretending to be admiring, their animosity thinly disguised. She stiffened her backbone and accepted their congratulations, though fearing that very few were sincere.
A string quartet played background music. Footmen hovered, bearing silver salvers of champagne and canapes. Maria searched for one face only, but her relief was mixed with disappointment when she realised that Damien was not yet there. Then her attention was caught by a late arrival who strolled in from the direction of the hall. He stopped, raised the quizzing-glass that hung on a ribbon round his neck, and studied her through it. 'Who is that?' she exclaimed indignantly. 'He seems exceedingly rude, a supercilious dandy if ever there was one.'
Arabella laughed and steered her towards him, saying, 'Ah, darling, after your guardian he is the most sought-after man in London. He's rich, a friend to the Prince of Wales and privy to affairs of State. His name is Lord Charles Bradley. I'll introduce you.' People made way for her and she greeted him informally. 'Charles, what a surprise to find you here.'
He bowed and kissed her hand. 'Lady Arabella. It's been some time since we last met.'
'Too long, sir. You've been neglecting me.' She tapped his chest reprovingly with her gloved fingers.
'Lay the blame on that tetchy fellow, Viscount Damien.'
'Have you two fallen out again? Tut, tut! Come, meet my niece, Lady Maria. She's the viscount's ward. And this is her friend, Lady Jane.'
He looked at Maria and a spark passed between them. She felt it like a bolt in her heart. There was no doubt that he was attractive. Curly hair holding the rich sheen of mahogany framed a narrow face with high cheekbones. His smile was infectious, and his hazel eyes twinkled with impish humour. Tall and slim, he carried himself well and was dressed with extreme elegance.
