Royal Discipline Page 14

  And now...

  Now she had changed.

  She turned away from him. Something in his expression was too intense, too intimate for her. She felt a blush upon her cheeks, and her breasts. The clips ached worse as her nipples hardened, and the one gripping her between the legs...she could hardly bear the way that felt.

  The chamber was utterly silent, the only sound her soft, panting breaths. She was supposed to be thinking about what she’d done, but all she could think about was the duke, and the way he’d improved her. She could barely summon the ability to act the way she used to act. It exhausted her now to be spoiled and demanding. She was so much more humble.

  She looked back at her captor, into his handsome, dark-browed, light-filled eyes. You’ve changed me, she wanted to cry. Look how much you’ve changed me. See how much better I am? Then she realized that was what she saw in his expression. He already knew.

  “You did very well,” he said, returning to her side. He removed the three clips, causing her to pant and flail some more. Her center ached from riding upon the beam, and her flower throbbed as blood returned to its sensitive petals. But she took care not to become aroused. She wanted to be good for him. She leaned toward him in her manacles as he stroked her face.

  “Five with the cane, and we shall be through,” he said gently. “I think you’ve truly learned a lesson today.”

  She nodded, with neither whining nor complaint. “Yes, Your Grace. I’m different now. I know I can be better.”

  “I know it too.”

  Even so, he did not shirk when it came to the caning. It was excruciating to take each lick while straddling the beam. He marked her up and down her arse cheeks while she clenched on the ginger and wished to heaven he would take it out. With each hot line of fire, she would bounce on her toes and come down on the beam and think what a strenuous punishment this had been. But she did not cry. She felt...happy. Proud.

  At last, he went to put the cane away, and then he released her arms. He did not remove the ginger, and she knew better than to take it out herself. Instead, he carried her over to the chaise and laid her across it, face down over his lap. She thought she was in for more spanking, but he only caressed her in silence, running fingertips over the cane marks as if taking an accounting of her pain. Now and again, he stopped and pressed the ginger in and out of her bottom, perhaps to hear her gasp.

  “Are you going to try harder now?” he asked. “Are you going to try harder to resist your self-satisfying urges? It’s important, Violet.”

  “I will try harder,” she assured him. “I know my mistake now. I thought I could make it better by touching myself. But during it, even afterward, I felt bad.”

  “It will be different when you’re married,” he promised. “You shall have much more freedom then.”

  “Especially if I’m good.”

  He laughed and touched her hair, an affectionate gesture that set her heart beating twice as fast. “Yes, especially if you’re good, which you will be. Now, we must put your gown back on and walk you downstairs to your chamber. You may take the ginger out then.”

  “What if someone sees me?” she asked with a shiver. Her gowns were backless, and the ginger protruded from her arsehole in a most undignified manner.

  He shrugged. “If one of the servants sees you, then they shall know you misbehaved. But there’s no shame in being punished. Accepting punishment gracefully is a very courageous act, and, dear Violet, I am exceedingly proud of your courage today.”

  He was exceedingly proud. That alone was enough to make her float back down the stairs, completely uncaring if anyone saw her. Fortunately, no one did, and Violet spent the rest of the afternoon feeling peaceful and content.

  As she bathed, she thought to herself that it was really more like a baptism, because she felt reborn. She had made him proud. Even better, she had made herself proud. When such happy thoughts made her want to lay siege to her flower, she fingered the cane welts instead, and remembered about dignity and discipline.

  She knew she would not always be perfect. Even the duke had said she could not always be perfect, but it felt so wonderful to try, instead of fighting against everything and everyone, and leaving an endless trail of unhappiness in her wake.

  * * * * *

  Later, after he gave Violet her nightly spanking, he sat beside her bed for a while instead of leaving right away as he normally did. It gave her a safe, contented feeling, to have him so near.

  “Tell the truth,” she said with a sleepy smile. “Are you staying so I’ll behave?”

  “I’d put the chastity belt back on, if I had concerns about your behavior.”

  Violet shuddered at the mere mention of the thing.

  “As it is,” he said, “I think you’ve earned a measure of trust with your actions today. Even if you made another mistake, I believe you would confess it and graciously accept your fate.”

  “I would.” She nodded emphatically. “You have reformed me.”

  “You have also reformed yourself. Remember, you’re the one in charge of behaving properly. You’re the one who must ultimately be in control.” He took her hand and turned it over in his. “In truth, your training is successfully completed. It’s nearly Saint Valentine’s Day, and not a moment too soon.”

  “I never thought I would survive,” she said, and he laughed, a masculine bark of laughter in the quiet, dim room. She’d never seen him laugh in such a way. It made his face even more handsome.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d survive either.” He gave her a tweak upon the chin. “But both of us survived, and now it’s time for you to return home and resume your life as the newly improved Princess Violetta of Hastings. You shall have to be married quickly, now that you’re ready.”

  The contented feelings within her abruptly bled away. “I suppose I will marry now,” she said with forced pleasantness. “Although I have not liked any of the prospects very much.”

  When she looked back at him, he seemed to share her somber feelings. “Tell me, Violet. What sort of husband would you wish for? What sort of man?”

  “He would have to be royal, I suppose, and from a kingdom that—”

  He waved a hand. “I don’t mean all that. Of course you must marry a certain caliber of person. I mean, what qualities do you desire in a husband? You said you didn’t like the other prospects. Why not?”

  “I suppose because they did not like me. Or they did not understand me. They were all rather uptight and given to judgment. They always looked at me like this.” She screwed her face into an example of their skeptical expressions. “Although I probably deserved to be looked at that way. But none of them...”

  She shifted on her bottom, and looked down at the lace-edged sheets.

  “They did not appeal to me because there was nothing to them. No personality. No spirit. It was as if their royalty was all they were. They reminded me rather of...wilted toast.” She sighed, looking up at the duke. “Very dry and stale.”

  “Goodness. That would make a miserable marriage.”

  “That’s how I felt. I suppose if I could choose my perfect husband, he would be...” She glanced at his hand, resting beside hers on the bed. “He would be very strong. He would have a force of personality to match mine.”

  “That might come in handy, if he was to manage you.”

  She gave him a wry look in answer to his quip. “I wouldn’t so much want him to manage me as stand equal to me, and hold me accountable. That’s what I mean when I say I want him to be strong. I want him to care. I think it would make a good marriage if both the people in it made each other better, rather than just tolerating each other.”

  “A royal marriage especially.”

  “Yes.”

  It did not escape Violet’s notice that she was describing a man very much like him. But a marriage between them...even if it was possible, if he was a king or a prince...

  No, she could not fathom it. There would be too much handsomeness, and too much spanking
, and too many rules and blasted torture contraptions. She could not imagine it at all.

  “I think I would like to marry someone very fair, with blond hair as light as mine,” she said, picking at her fingers. “And I’d like to marry someone short. Someone I could speak with eye to eye. I mean, I suppose such a husband would not come in useful when you needed to fetch something off a high shelf, but that’s what footmen are for.”

  “Indeed,” said the duke, stretching out his very long legs.

  “And I should not like a terribly frequent amount of spanking in my marriage. I’d prefer to be punished only once in a while, if I particularly needed it.”

  He studied her from beneath his lashes. “In the past, you’ve needed it quite a lot.”

  “But I won’t when I’m married. You’ve made me better.”

  She squirmed under his steady gaze. She should not have gone on about marrying someone fair-haired and short, as she couldn’t care less about either quality. She hoped his feelings were not hurt.

  He looked away from her, shifting in his chair. “I suppose the only problem with strong husbands who hold you accountable, is that they’re more likely to spank you than the wilted-toast type.”

  “That’s true.” She gave a great sigh. “It’s terribly complicated. Perhaps, once I return, someone will materialize out of the blue and turn out to be the perfect candidate.”

  “I hope so.” He pulled her blankets up, his manner turning brisk. “I shouldn’t ask you such difficult questions just before you drift off to sleep. As you said, it’s complicated. But I trust you’ll end up with the right man: blond and short and just a little bit exacting.”

  She didn’t answer, because she had the lowering feeling he mocked her. She wondered when he would take a wife. She wondered if that woman would appreciate his authoritative manner, and his handsomeness, his fine clothes, and his large, capable hands.

  “I’m very tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Indeed it has, but a good day all the same. Tomorrow, we’ll begin making plans for your return home.” He leaned closer and touched her cheek. “I’m very proud of you, Violet.”

  After that, it was easy to behave, and drift to sleep with a clear and peaceful mind.

  In the morning, Jeannie greeted her with a bright smile, and Violet’s ivory gown draped over her arm, along with a proper petticoat and shift.

  “Are you ready for me to dress you?” she asked, displaying the back of the garment with a jubilant flourish.

  Violet stared at the full, unadulterated skirts. It must be true, that she was reformed. All the gathers and stitches that used to hold the gown up above her waist had finally been let out.

  Chapter Thirteen: Going Home

  Violet spent her last two days at Thornton Manor in a progressively less restrictive atmosphere. The first day, the day he let her skirts down, he also unlocked her door so she might roam the manor freely if she wished it, and accompany him at tea. The second day, the day before she left, he had her put on her warmest cloak, and then took her on a ride about the property upon his striking black stallion.

  He showed her everything, pointing and telling stories in his deep, rumbling voice. She couldn’t help but admire the gardens, the follies, the stables, the pristine lake beyond the meadow. He even rode her to the edge of the nearby village, but not within, because he said she was a princess, and must only appear among people with proper royal guards.

  In Hastings, she had always been escorted about the palace grounds by royal guards, for reasons of safety and ceremony. The ride with His Grace had been a special treat, an escape from such strictures before she returned to her father’s palace to resume her position as Her Royal Highness Princess Violetta Margherita Eleanora Josephine. She did not know how to express how grateful she was for the opportunity.

  Later, when he invited her to sit with him at dinner for their last night together, she happily accepted, and perhaps gazed on him with excessive feelings of adoration. He looked very fine presiding over a formal table, and she tried to be a flawlessly mannered guest.

  Those two days went by quickly, because she was happy, and at ease in her heart. She could never forget that the Duke of Thornton had done that for her. She must never allow herself to relapse into her old ways. She was careful to show him that there was no danger of that.

  And so, the morning of Saint Valentine’s Day, Jeannie came to her and executed a deep and formal curtsy.

  “His Grace says I’m to address you properly now, as Your Royal Highness,” she said with a breathless sort of smile. “It’s ever so wonderful, as I’ve wished to address you properly all along.”

  Violet felt a catch in her throat. This was the day, the day she’d waited for, the day she was leaving. The maid helped her dress in the gown Violet had chosen for her return to Hastings, a deep blue sweep of velvet with ornate embroidery and sapphire accents that complimented her lilac eyes. As a finishing touch, Jeannie fixed a sapphire and diamond tiara atop her hair.

  Violet could only stare in the mirror, thinking how different she looked from before. It must be her expression, the peace within her. Before, she always used to frown.

  Jeannie made a low sound of admiration as she adjusted the tiara to the perfect angle. “My, but you’re every bit the princess, Your Highness. How happy I am for this day. Not that I’m happy to tell you goodbye,” the maid added quickly. “In truth...oh, I shouldn’t prattle on so...but I want you to know...” She bobbed a painfully proper curtsy, averting her eyes. “I’ve been ever so honored to serve you, Your Highness.”

  Violet turned from the vanity mirror, remembering all the times Jeannie had been there for her, even when she’d deserved neither kindness nor a gentle touch.

  “Dear Jeannie. You’ve seen me at my worst, my very lowest moments, and you never lost your smile. If you ever need anything, you must write to me at the palace at Hastings.” She took the maid’s hands. “Promise me.”

  “Oh—Your Royal Highness—you’re too kind,” said the maid bashfully. “All I wish is that you will remember me fondly.”

  “How could I not, after all you’ve done for me?” With one last squeeze, she let the servant go and turned about in her luxurious chamber, saying goodbye to the bed and the sofa, and the chair by the fire, and the door to the duke’s room. How strange to think she’d miss this place.

  How strange to think she’d miss him.

  “His Grace invites you to join him at luncheon in the dining room at ten minutes after one o’clock, if Your Highness would so prefer.”

  If Your Highness would so prefer. He was done giving orders, then. She fought a moment of flailing panic, to be released so abruptly from his control, but then she decided she would very much like to join His Grace at luncheon. At eight minutes after one o’clock, Jeannie brought her velvet blue slippers, straightened her tiara, and held the door so Violet might step into the hall.

  Two minutes later, at ten minutes after one, Violet passed through the doors into the duke’s great dining hall. He stood when he saw her, a tall and sober gentleman at the head of the table. He regarded her velvet sapphire dress and matching tiara, and made a courtly bow.

  “Your Royal Highness,” he said. “How kind of you to honor me with your presence.”

  His formalities, while perfectly correct, left her with that flailing feeling again. She walked to the chair he pulled out, past a luncheon table spread with warm and cold delicacies.

  “I trust you slept well?” he asked, as a footman filled her plate with the various things she pointed out.

  “I felt a bit restless,” she confessed. “Not in a bad way.” She didn’t want him to think she’d been tempted to self-stimulation or any such thing. “It’s only that I’m eager to go home.”

  “I imagine you are. Your father will be overjoyed to greet you, and see all the changes in you. I promise we’ll be ready to leave within the hour.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

&nb
sp; His expression did not change, but his voice grew a bit softer. “You might address me as Thornton now,” he said. “Or Duke, as is your right. I leave the courtesy up to you.”

  Violet pressed her lips together. Her stomach was so nervous that her appetite had fled. “I’ve become used to addressing you respectfully.” She forced down a bit of egg salad and toast before she gave him a trembling smile. “Everything is so changed this morning.”

  “But not the important things,” he reminded her, and he sounded more like himself again. “I’m certain you’ll remember all the things we talked about during your sojourn here. What you have learned will stay with you forever. So nothing is really changing, only...progressing. Moving forward. You must always move forward in life, my dear.”

  With that reassurance, with that “dear” to sustain her amidst his other formalities, she found it easier to eat, and added some ham and marmalade to her eggs and toast.

  Soon after, they set out on the two-hour journey to Hastings in the duke’s velvet-lined traveling coach. It was nearly as nice as her father’s. Well, to be truthful, it was just as nice as her father’s, and perhaps an even smoother ride.

  All her things traveled behind them in a second baggage coach, all the belongings he had not allowed her, but now returned to her. In fact, since this morning when he’d greeted her as Your Royal Highness, Thornton had afforded her royal status and deference in everything. He even seated himself across from her, rather than crowding beside her, and took the backward-facing bench, as any gentleman would do.

  She did not really like this new, formal deference.

  Now that she was in her proper, fine clothes, with her bottom covered up, things did not feel right between them. She felt uncomfortable when he bowed, and every time he addressed her as Your Highness or Princess, it was like being addressed by a stranger, for he’d addressed her as Violet for so long.