Royal Discipline Page 3

“That’s all for tonight,” he said.

  Violet went limp with relief. His hand on her bottom felt strangely soothing, even with the lingering pain. After he rubbed her bottom for a while, he reached to caress her hair with a light, fleeting touch.

  “There, you see,” he said. “You feel calmer now, and you have a better idea of what to expect.”

  For one moment, she wished to get angry again, to rail at him that she was not calm...but she felt too calm to do it.

  No, not calm. Rather, she felt tired, tired of fighting him, tired of fighting her fate. Later, after she’d rested, she could resist him again, but for now, his caresses felt too good. His soothing voice quieted the maelstrom in her mind. After another few moments, he brushed her skirts down and righted her in his lap.

  “I’ll not require you to attend me at dinner,” he said. “I’ll have Mrs. Mulgrew bring you a tray. I suggest you use the remainder of the evening to rest and consider the many things I’ve told you. Tomorrow we’ll begin your training in earnest. By the end of our sojourn together, I promise you shall always feel as calm and focused as you feel right now.”

  She gazed into his eyes, wanting to refute him. Wanting to hate him. Instead, at the slightest pressure from his palm, she leaned her head forward against his shoulder and let out a long, miserable breath.

  “I’m tired,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

  “I know, darling.” He set her up straight again and cupped her chin. “Things will look clearer in the coming days. And you will, eventually, go home.”

  Those words sustained her, helped her hold herself together until he left the room. Once he was gone, she went to the bed and threw herself upon it, and shed more tears into the soft, lavender-scented sheets. She found she could not bear to eat what was on her dinner tray, and sent it away untouched. She undressed down to her shift and washed as best she could without the servants’ assistance, being too ashamed to call them to the room.

  She crawled into bed and cried some more, until her head ached and her eyes felt as if they were burning, and eventually fell into a restless sleep.

  Chapter Three: His Grace

  Violet came awake slowly, stretching, snuggling deeper into the sheets. For a short while, she forgot her plight and imagined she was still back in her bed at the palace. But there were no ladies-in-waiting at her bedside ready to dress her, and none of the usual scents or sounds of her home. She was still at the Duke of Thornton’s manor.

  Comfort and restfulness fled. She sat up in bed, clutching her shift closer around her.

  The chambermaid from yesterday rose from a chair in the corner and dropped a curtsy, her dark hair stowed neatly beneath her cap. “Good morning, miss. I’m Jeannie, your personal attendant. I’m to send for a tray when you wake, and help you dress.”

  Violet blinked at the woman as she went to the door and relayed a message to someone outside. After that, she came to stand expectantly beside the bed.

  Violet still wasn’t sure if she was a prisoner, a visitor, or something in between. “Have they brought my things?” she asked. “If not, I swear I’ll go and get them myself.” Which could have proved difficult, since she’d brought an entire baggage cart of gowns and books and other things necessary to her comfort.

  Jeannie curtsied again. “They’ve brought up everything that His Grace instructed them to. Your gowns and slippers are in the dressing room, and you’re to be allowed a fresh shift to sleep in every night after your bath.”

  “Oh, am I to be allowed?” Violet said in a cutting voice. “How very kind of him.”

  Jeannie ignored her sarcastic remark and continued to stand there with a smile.

  “Well?” said Violet. “Where’s my scented washing water? I need toweling and soap, and I shall need you to do my hair. Make yourself at least nominally useful, you idiot.”

  “Yes, miss.” The woman’s smile never wavered. “Hot water is on the way, and in the meantime, I ought to tell you that I’m required to report to His Grace any instances of rude or abusive treatment.”

  “Rude or abusive—” Violet spluttered at the maid. “You mean when I called you an idiot?”

  “Yes, miss. It’s his wish that you will not use unseemly language, nor browbeat those beneath you.”

  Violet glared at her. “I only called you an idiot. Is that so bad, when you’re behaving like one? Why should Thornton care?” She threw up her hands. “Tell your master whatever you wish about me, and see if I give a moment’s thought about it. I’m a princess. It’s not in my nature to care for the travails of stupid and annoying personal attendants. Just do your job, for pity’s sake.”

  “Yes, miss. I’ll do my best.”

  The servant’s sickly sweet politeness confused her. In fact, the entire exchange left Violet feeling deeply unsettled. Report to the master, indeed. Ridiculous. A servant would be turned off without pay for spouting something like that on the palace grounds.

  The hot water finally arrived, and Violet washed and performed her morning ablutions with the maid’s assistance, all the while daydreaming about having the woman whipped for sedition and treason.

  “Which gown will you wear today?” she asked brightly, as Violet dried off. “The master has sent up five gowns that meet his favor. There is the pale green, the lavender, the blue, the pink, and the ivory lace.”

  Of course, he chose all her most demure gowns. Idiots, idiots, idiots. How was she to act the proper princess with this overbearing cretin and his smarmy servants in control of her life? “Where is my crimson gown?” she asked in irritation.

  “It’s been taken away to be laundered and stored until your departure.”

  Violet heaved a ragged sigh. “Fine. Bring the ivory lace, if the duke wishes me to dress like a pallid and shrinking maiden.”

  “Yes, miss. I’ll bring it at once.” She hesitated a moment. “Miss, I’m also to let His Grace know whenever you fail to refer to him in the proper way. As ‘His Grace,’ of course, and not ‘Thornton’ or ‘the duke.’ He was quite clear on that point.”

  “He is quite clear on a lot of points.” Violet flicked a finger. “As I said, you are welcome to tell Thornton whatever you wish.”

  The maid turned and went into the dressing room, and returned a moment later with the bundle of ivory silk and lace.

  “Where are the petticoats?” Violet asked.

  “You’re not to have petticoats, or a chemise beneath your gown. It is His Grace’s orders.”

  “So I’m to wear the gown without any undergarments, like some peasant in a sack?”

  The maid curtsied and looked apologetic. “I’m sure it’s only while you’re here.”

  Violet stripped off her shift in a temper and let the maid drape the gown over her head. She realized at once that something was amiss, and then she remembered the duke’s warning the night before. While you are here at Thornton Manor, your skirts will be gathered up and tacked in the back in order to leave your bottom exposed.

  “Take it off me,” she cried. “Show me what has been done to it.”

  The maid complied, pointing out the gathers in the back, where the skirt had been raised and secured with delicate stitching to the base of the bodice.

  “I can’t wear this,” she said, clutching the gown against her naked figure. “I won’t. Quickly, go and find me another.”

  “But miss...” The maid blinked at her in consternation. “All the gowns have been altered. It is His Grace’s wish.”

  “And it is my wish that I not be forced to wear lewd, obscene clothing. I will put back on my shift.”

  “I have already passed it to the laundress in the dressing room. His Grace was very clear that—”

  “That I should have nothing to wear but these utterly demeaning garments?” Violet asked, her voice rising to a shriek.

  “Miss,” said Jeannie, “I wish you would not be shrill. The master would not like it.”

  “I need to speak to him. You need to go fetch your master a
nd bring him here so I can tell him exactly what I think of his nefarious care and lodgings. I need to speak to him at once.”

  “And so you shall, but first you must take some breakfast. He’ll come when he knows you are dressed, and have taken your morning meal. Please, miss. Be calm.”

  If that did not cap everything... This mealy-mouthed maid was beseeching her to “be calm.” Would she be calm in a similar situation?

  “Put the damned gown on me,” Violet said with a great huff of breath. “And yes, you can tell your evil duke that I used the word ‘damned.’ I hardly care anymore.”

  Once again, the maid draped the gown over Violet’s head. It was horribly humiliating to stand there as Jeannie laced up the back of the bodice, knowing her nude posterior was indecently exposed. She tried not to think about all the threats the duke had poured in her ear the previous night. She’d believed he was only trying to frighten her, that he dared not do any of it. She had hoped to wake up and find the nightmare gone away, but it seemed instead the nightmare was barely beginning.

  A knock came at the door, and another maid entered, bearing a silver tray of eggs and sausage, along with fruit and fresh bread. Violet spun so the woman couldn’t see her backside. She was so exposed she felt sick, and she had no intention of eating, but once Jeannie and the other maid left, the smell of the food reminded her how hungry she was. She hadn’t taken a meal since before they left on the journey yesterday.

  If she was to keep her sanity, she’d need sustenance, and strength. She sat before the tray and found her appetite in decent order. The eggs were perfectly soft boiled, the sausage fragrant and not too oily, and the fruit sweet and ripe. The bread reminded her of home, it was so fresh and hot. She cried and ate, and cried and ate, shifting on the soft velvet chair where she took her meal. Her nakedness made it impossible for her to forget her circumstances, which was certainly intentional.

  Once she finished, she began to look around for her other things, but the duke had sent up only a few items. Her hairbrush and comb, her mirror, her monogrammed stationary and pearl-handled pen. There were a few pairs of slippers in the closet. She put some on, although the wood floor was warmed by the fire. Comfort was not the issue. She was bored and restless, and completely unable to leave the confines of her room because of her naked backside.

  Jeannie came to fetch her tray after an hour or so. Violet pounced on her with irritation. “Where is the duke? Why has he not arrived to attend me?”

  “His Grace,” the maid emphasized in mild reproach, “generally spends his mornings at business. He has sent up this note for you, and some books to occupy your mind.”

  “How kind of him,” she said, taking the books from the maid and tossing them onto a side table. “Let me see that note.”

  The maid passed it to her, curtsied, and hurried from the room. Violet unfolded the single sheet of parchment and read the duke’s neat script.

  Dear Violet,

  I trust you passed a restful night, and that you are settling into your new home. We have much work to do.

  On that note, I’ve received reports that you comported yourself in a decidedly unrefined manner this morning. When I come to you today, you shall be punished for addressing both my servants and myself with a regrettable lack of politeness.

  Yours in dedication and service, etc.

  T

  Violet tore the note in two, stalked across the room, and threw it into the fire. How dare he? Yours in dedication and service? The only dedication he was providing was a dedication to insulting her dignity. As for service, she had yet to see anything approximating service. Punished, indeed. Let him try it.

  Her gaze fell on the books. She stormed over to the table and lifted the volumes one by one. They were not the books she had brought, adventure novels and romantic sagas. She glared, incensed, at the spines. The first was a thin volume called The Ladies’ Book of Character: Seen and Not Heard. Well, that was too stupid to even consider. The next book bore the dubious title Five Attributes of a Virtuous Wife. She scanned the contents and found five very dry chapters consisting of lectures on Submission, Modesty, Helpfulness, Patience, and Sacrifice. Thank God she wasn’t married. She threw that one aside.

  The last book was called The Mannerly Tongue. She leafed through it, skimming the lists of formal and sometimes flowery phrases offered for every occasion. How stupid to make a whole book of boring, polite speeches. Where on earth had the duke acquired such leather-bound pieces of trash? She came very near to throwing the books in the fire alongside his note, but thought better of it. Even for the wealthy, books were too dear to be put to the flame.

  She sat on the couch and kicked off her slippers, and pulled her legs up beneath her. There was nothing to do but wait for the duke to arrive with his threatened punishment. Either that, or read those ridiculous books and go out of her mind.

  The longer she sat, the more she stewed at her predicament. If he thought he would change her ways through this excruciating imprisonment, he was wrong. She would use this time to strengthen her resolve against him, and make some plan to get away. She could not escape by the windows. They were placed too high, and she was on an upper floor. There was a door set into the wall on the left, but it was locked. She feared her room might adjoin to the duke’s room. Of all places, she did not want to enter there.

  Beneath all her wondering and plotting, the nagging knowledge of her impending punishment disquieted her. Would he spank her again? Something worse? She was afraid to think about it, but it was impossible not to think about it every time she moved or shifted, and remembered her lack of petticoats and posterior skirts.

  Perhaps she could bar the door to her room. It wouldn’t keep him out, but it would irritate him just as he was irritating her. She walked over to inspect the doorframe, and search for usable locks, but there were none. She wondered if she could move the furniture. The bed and chests would be far too heavy, but the desk, perhaps...

  “I doubt you will be so silly as to attempt to keep me out.”

  She spun in shock. The duke regarded her, one hand resting on the sofa. The door on the left wall—the locked door—stood open. A harried glance confirmed the theory that her room adjoined his chambers.

  He studied her with a bemused look. Indeed, he was dressed as if he’d been at business all morning, in a frock coat and high collar, and dark wool breeches. He was so fine and sure of himself, and she...she must look a mess in her backless gown, with her tear-stained eyes and cheeks.

  “I wish you would leave,” she said.

  “I don’t think I’ll be leaving. We have some business to conduct.”

  He came toward her, and she backed away, her hands yanking fabric from either side of her skirt to cover her bottom.

  “You mustn’t punish me.”

  “But you’ve earned a punishment.”

  When she resisted his advance, he merely caught her in his arms and carried her back to the sofa. He threw her down across his lap and then gave a little “ahh” of delight. At first, she thought he was ogling her exposed bottom. But no, he had reached down to pick up one of her slippers. He flipped it back and forth, inspecting its delicate leather sole.

  “How cooperative of you,” he said, “to provide me with such a perfect implement of punishment.”

  “It is not an implement of punishment,” she retorted, struggling across his lap. “It’s my slipper.”

  When she refused to be still, he cinched her kicking legs between his own, as he’d done yesterday. Her slaps at his calves were useless. He gathered her flailing arms and held them hard at the small of her back.

  “Ow, you’re hurting me.” Her complaints did nothing to loosen his grip. “Please, that hurts.”

  “If you’ll stop struggling, it will hurt less. You earned a punishment. The honorable thing would be to take it like a lady.”

  Whap!

  The first strike of the slipper glanced across her bottom without warning. She shrieked at the hot contact
. It was no harder than the spanking with his hand, but the leather added an extra painful sting.

  Whap! Whap!

  “Please,” she begged, yanking at her arms where he held her. “Please, you cannot.”

  “It doesn’t feel good, does it?”

  “No!”

  He rested the slipper against her bottom, brushing it up and down over the area he’d just hurt. “Listen to me, Violet. I dislike fighting with you over these spankings. It takes extra effort on both our parts, and there’s a greater chance you’ll be hurt above and beyond a disciplinary fashion.”

  She waited, too dismayed to speak. The slipper continued its lazy foray across her super-heated skin. “Are you going to spank me some more?” she finally whimpered.

  “Yes, I am, but the amount of spanking you receive shall be left up to you. You can continue to flail and fight me, in which case you will receive fifty or more smacks with this supple leather slipper.”

  “Fifty or more!”

  “Or you may lie over my lap like a lady for your spanking, and receive only twenty. As I said, the choice is entirely yours.”

  “What about the choice to receive no spanking at all?”

  “You lost that choice, my dear, when you referred to my servant as an idiot, persisted in calling me ‘the duke’ rather than ‘His Grace,’ and used indelicate language more suited to a barmaid than a princess. Do you deny it?”

  Violet slumped over his lap, overcome by her helplessness. “You’re the most horrible villain I’ve ever known.”

  “If you do not choose, we shall proceed with the delivery of fifty strokes.”

  “I don’t want that,” she whined. “Please, I only want twenty strokes.”

  “You agree that you will accept your punishment like a lady? Otherwise the deal is off, and we will start again from the beginning.”

  “I’ll take my punishment like a lady,” she said in a tight voice. “I’ll try.”

  “Very well. Then let us arrange you as a proper lady ought to be arranged.”

  He released her legs from the vise of his thighs, and instead bent her over the cradle of his lap. It was more comfortable, if something of a capitulation. You are doing it to avoid more pain, she told herself. It is not capitulation.