The shadows were long-the sun had dipped behind gentle hills and dusk was fast approaching. A motley crew of servants lined the steps of Harland Hall as the carriage rolled to a stop. Gra.s.s grew between the cracks in the courtyard, and scraggly vines seemed too weak to climb the brick walls. Catherine could see they needed pointing in spots, but architectural worries were the least of her concerns.

He knew. She'd nearly fainted when he'd pulled the page torn from her notebook. How had he gotten it? Minton had abruptly left her service-was that why?

Catherine had not had a chance to hire a new maid before Lord Harland proposed so suddenly, and after that it seemed pointless. She would be in a new house with new servants. She would be a married woman, with at least some possibility of s.e.xual fulfillment.

And now that he's seen her fantasy- She was mortified.

She was thrilled.

This picture excites me, Catherine. If this is what you want, I can provide it.

Was he speaking the truth?

For her part, she could barely speak at all. Her tongue was even more troublesome than usual. What would he expect of her? For all her self-abuse, she really knew nothing of what transpired between a man and a woman but the very basics.

What if her own hand proved to be better than her husband's member? Dreams were meant to stay inside one's unconscious. Suppose the reality of her dreams coming true turned to ashes?

This picture excites me, Catherine. If this is what you want, I can provide it.

Lord Harland helped her out of the carriage. Nicholas. He had asked her to call him that, and she would try, despite having such difficulty with the letter "n." He took her elbow and pushed her past the servants with the curtest of greetings, saying something over his shoulder about how anxious he was to begin his honeymoon. There was scattered applause and knowing laughter, and Catherine wanted to sink into the ground.

But then he scooped her up and carried her over the threshold. The house was dim and smelled of neglect. She was not invited to tour the rooms or inspect the family portraits. Nicholas managed to carry her up the center staircase before he set her down on the landing. A large stained gla.s.s window missing some of its colored tiles hovered over them.

She was fat. She knew it. But Nicholas cupped her cheeks and stared down at her, not out of breath at all.

"We will walk the rest of the way. You will follow."

It was not a question but an order. Catherine nodded, quite enjoying the view of her husband's backside as they mounted the rest of the stairs.

It was beginning. They were not equals climbing the stairs together. Her heart jumped.

The corridor was dusty. Most of the doors were closed. Nicholas led her all the way down the hall to an open doorway.

"It's been mine since I was a boy. The viscountess's room was not made ready on such short notice. You will want to choose the decorations for yourself once we're...settled."

From what she had seen so far, Catherine thought the whole house could do with some decoration. But his funds were limited, and her dowry wouldn't go far enough to fix the visible problems. A good cleaning would be a start.

"Am I t-to sleep in here w-with you?"

He raised a wicked eyebrow. "Very little sleeping will be involved, Catherine."

Her cheeks heated. A trio of elderly servants delivered their trunks and Nicholas spoke to them briefly in the hallway. Catherine had seen no female servants save for the older woman who was most likely the cook-housekeeper. He came back into the room, shut the door and locked it.

"We won't be disturbed. I asked for a supper tray to be sent up later."

Catherine was hungry now, but said nothing. A husband's rights were preeminent even without a wife's desire to submit. He was looking at her with those piercing blue eyes, and it was the easiest thing in the world to sink to her knees.

She was taking a terrible chance, risking humiliation to bare her soul before him. Nicholas might so easily spurn her, or even laugh.

This picture excites me, Catherine. If this is what you want, I can provide it.

She raised her arms over her head. The sleeves of her new dress pulled.

He inhaled-a sharp hiss which made her think she'd made a grave mistake. But then he untied her bonnet and tossed it onto the bed, plucked the pins out of her unmanageable hair.

"You are sure?"

Catherine nodded.

"It may not be as you imagined."

She knew that too. "I w-want t-to try. I w-w-I'll d-do wh-what you w-want."

"You can't possibly know. Poor Cat." His voice was filled with regret.

Fingers were at the b.u.t.tons on her back. He drew her up off her knees and the dress puddled to the floor. The room was chilled and damp despite the pleasant June evening outside, and her nipples peaked beneath her shift. She stood immobile as he dealt with her stays and stockings, his hands sweeping over her in possession.

Catherine watched his face carefully. It was obvious he liked what he saw once she was naked. A thread of worry snapped as he pushed her to her knees again, arranging her arms over her head, then changing his mind. Tying them behind her with her own stockings. Tugging on her nipples as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s jutted forward. Tracing the curve of her belly to her mons.

Catherine was shaking with l.u.s.t. Her thighs clenched, her walls flooded. He dipped a finger in, his smile wry.

"You like this, do you?"

Wordless, Catherine nodded. He stepped back from his handiwork, appraising. He rummaged in a trunk and brought a crop to her lips. Catherine kissed it with grat.i.tude.

"My G.o.d. I almost don't believe it," Nicholas muttered. Only teasing her with it at first, he stroked her body so lightly she leaned into the touch. He was tickling her, sweetly tormenting her. She wanted to beg for relief, but it wasn't her place.

And she didn't want to have to speak at all. Somehow understanding, Nicholas found another treasure in his trunk and fitted the gag into her mouth, buckling the strap tightly behind her head.

"It seems a shame not to kiss you. But we have time. I'm going to strike you now, Cat. Do you still want me to?"

Oh so much. But it didn't really matter what she wanted. She was there for Nicholas's use. She looked up at him and tried to smile around the odd object in her mouth.

"So beautiful. And all mine. For a time."

Till death do us part, Catherine thought. Years and years of this. She could die right now and be happy.

The blow, when it came, was not quite hard enough, but she jumped anyway. A pink welt quickly formed on her pale thigh. He hit the other, his face shadowed in concentration. Then he walked around her. She missed being able to see him, but she soon felt the blows to her bottom. She arched up on her knees higher to give him more access, and he took advantage of her cooperation.

The whipping did not last long. She heard him curse, then felt his hand in her hair.

"Up."

She scrambled to obey. He led her to the bed, then stripped himself of his wedding clothes. She lay on her back, her arms still trussed behind her.

"You're not comfortable."

She shook her head. He turned her and tore the stocking off, then stretched her arms up over her head, trying her wrists securely.

"Spread your legs."

Catherine closed her eyes. Something hard was at the juncture of her thighs.

The smooth leather crop, still warm from Nicholas's hand. He twisted it, pushing it inside her slowly. A pinch of pain, and her insides stretched to accommodate it. He slid it back and forth until it glided in effortlessly. Catherine groaned and shivered, moaning behind the gag.

She felt his breath on her belly, then his tongue licking her folds. His hold on the crop quickened, his mouth suckling harder. Catherine imagined what this scene would look like if anyone came in-she was helpless, muted, split open by leather and her husband's lips. Her o.r.g.a.s.m was ferocious.

He bit her as she thrashed just as he'd promised, tiny love bites up her body to her throat. Tears and drool were wiped away, and she could smell her arousal on his fingertips.

Nicholas removed the gag, then thrust his c.o.c.k in her mouth. His knees were squeezing her shoulders, his hands holding her head still. Plunging and withdrawing, Catherine frantic to keep him in. Tasting sin and salvation. Instinctively she knew what to do, relaxing and letting him go deliciously deeper at each entry.

She pulsed around the crop as he spilled himself inside her mouth, swallowing without any thought of doing otherwise. She was a vessel for his needs, no matter what they were.

Chapter 7.

Monday, June 16, 1818

Catherine watched as her husband wrapped the string of pearls around her throat, twisting until they formed a perfect collar beneath his brown fingers. They were tight, as they should be. With every swallow, she knew they were there.

The pearls were a reward for her obedience, each sphere a symbol of the purity she happily no longer possessed. Her reflection and the pearls' l.u.s.ter were blurred in the old freckled mirror. She didn't need to see the evidence of their last hour, didn't need to acknowledge what she had let him do.

Had wanted him to do, with all her heart.

His lips skimmed her shoulder, sending a shiver to her core. She loved him more than was wise, more than was fashionable. She loved him in ways which would have been unthinkable just days ago, when she was an ignorant virgin bride.

Well, not so ignorant. She'd had her hand and her fantasies. But lying with Nicholas was so much better, although he still withheld a part of himself from her.

Any young woman would have been in transports to become Lady Harland for his face alone, but Nicholas had chosen her-awkward, shy Catherine Kerr, who stumbled over her words and blushed at the slightest provocation.

She'd been disbelieving when her father told her of Nicholas's intentions. Her dowry was unexceptional-certainly not enough to attract a man in need of funds-and he barely knew her. They'd only danced the once!

They knew each other much better now. He barely had to lift an eyebrow and she was down on her knees for him. He must have seen something within her, something that convinced him that she would be a willing partner to his play.

As she was, G.o.d forgive her. Nicholas was the answer to her every forbidden prayer. The days since her wedding had been heaven.

He palmed a breast now, his warm thumb brushing her newly-pierced nipple. A teardrop pearl hung from a thin gold wire, and he tugged it between his fingers. Catherine closed her eyes to the discomfort, and remained still as he manipulated the jewelry on each breast, sliding the circle through the holes he had made in her skin. Walking to the bedside table, he poured a splash of brandy on a handkerchief and returned, cleaning each areola with tender attention. Catherine inhaled sharply but stood motionless.

"Beautiful Cat."

"B-but I'm not." It was he who was the beautiful one-coal-black hair, sky-blue eyes, devil's lips. Lips that teased and tormented, leaving a trail of fire behind, like the brandy he had used on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"You are beautiful to me. Now, especially that you wear my jewels. And my marks. Look." His hand settled on her rump and she swallowed more pain. He guided her closer to the mirror, turning her so she could see the evidence of her submission.

He had been careful where he caned her, deliberate. He seemed enamored with her b.u.t.tocks, the deep pink stripes distanced precisely an inch apart.

"I'll have to d-dine standing up." Her hand flew to her mouth at her presumptuous complaint. She would dine upside down if that is what he wished.

He gently took her fingers away and thrust them, one by one, into his mouth, his eyes smiling at hers. Her fingertips tingled as his tongue swirled, then he placed her hand on his stiffening c.o.c.k. "I shall feed you, Cat. You are much too thin."

That was patently ridiculous. But Nicholas had told her he liked a plump woman, and everything he had arranged for her to eat had featured rich sauces and thick cream and sprinkled sugar. He himself ate rather Spartan fare, but he was insistent that she indulge.

"I suppose we shall have to d-dress to go d-downstairs." He was almost as alluring in evening clothes as he was nude. Her husband was devastating in or out of the bedroom, not that they had left it for two and a half days. And with Nicholas growing ever more potent in her hand, the likelihood of her leaving the darkened room soon was in question.

He covered her hand, a.s.sisting with her tentative strokes. "I think not. I've told Rivers to bring up a tray again."

Catherine blushed. "What w-will your staff th-think of us, N-Nicholas?"

He kissed the top of her head. "They will think we are on our honeymoon, Cat. Harland Hall has needed a mistress for some time. They will forgive you anything, I expect. They'd given up on me settling down, you know." He grinned lazily and tapped her lips. "And now you've tamed me."

Catherine thought it was rather the opposite-it was he who had mastered her so completely she could barely think straight. She was wet and hot and sore and needy. Since her marriage, she'd left misery behind and was living her dream.

"Is that why you m-married me? To appease your s-servants?"

"Why else? Good help is hard to find," he teased.

Had he looked into her soul at the Calverleigh ball and recognized her need to be dominated? She had not even known it possible in practice between seemingly normal people-had known nothing, really. Her father had certainly not sat down the eve before her wedding to explain what to expect. The poor man would probably have an apoplexy to discover what his little girl had done as Lady Harland. And was about to do again.

Nicholas pushed her down to her knees. "Watch us. Watch yourself."

The image was hazy. Nicholas swept up her red-gold hair in a fist and pushed her to him. Her mouth opened, then received as much of the broad length of him she could manage. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and she flushed at her wanton behavior. But she wouldn't stop. She couldn't. Nicholas was not to be denied anything.