Mastering The Marquess (Bound and Determined #1)(102)

“I am afraid I was not clear. The Countess is inviting me to a party with my wife as the guest of honor. She promises I will find it most illuminating.”

“Then let’s be off.”

“She instructs me to come alone. Makes it very clear that it is an exclusive party and that if I bring guests she will change the location.”

Duldon slammed a fist down on the table. “She does not have that type of power and influence.”

“You are right, she does not. However, she is a smart woman and knows I cannot take the chance. And besides, if I involve others I risk exposure not only for myself, but for Louisa. A man can survive almost any scandal, but a woman …”

“Blast.” Another fist slam. “You do have me, however; perhaps she will not expect that,” Duldon stated with some heat.

“Yes.” Swanston strode to the door, calling for his hat and stick. “Perhaps we will bring her a surprise present.”



Her every muscle ached. Louisa slumped against the hard wood bars. How long had she been bound in this manner? Her fingers and toes were numb and screaming with pins at the same time. Even the effort of holding up her head was a strain. Dried drool marked her cheeks. At least the Countess had not left the clamps on. One had to be thankful for even small mercies.

The door clicked behind her.

The tap of heels crossed the floor.

Her tired muscles clenched. The Countess was back.

Had it been hours since the woman left for the last time, saying that patience was an important lesson? It might have been only minutes. Louisa was no longer sure of anything except that she hurt—and she was tired—and she wanted to be home—home in her own bed watching Geoffrey smile in his sleep. All her thoughts fogged together, but that was the one she held firm to.

“Your husband is playing games of his own. He should have been here half an hour ago.” The Countess did not sound pleased. Her feet tapped a steady rhythm as she moved to the dresser—“the dresser of horror,” as Louisa had begun to call it in her mind. She still hadn’t seen much of what it contained, but not knowing only made it worse.

How could a gag be so painful? She’d felt relief when she’d first realized the gags were the only thing the Countess had taken from the drawer; but now, with her cheeks sore and her teeth aching deep at the roots, she was beginning to wonder.

“And how are you doing, my dear?” The Countess turned back to her, the crop once again in her hand. “I had not meant to leave you for quite so long.” She walked over and ran the end of the crop over the corset and down Louisa’s flanks. “I wouldn’t want you too tired before we even begin, and I do know being restrained can be surprisingly wearing.” The crop continued its journey, moving down the outer edge of Louisa’s right leg. “Do you feel the stretch here?” She tapped a thigh. “And here.” She tapped a calf. “Perhaps we should find some way to distract you while we wait.”

With sudden force the crop rose up between Louisa’s legs, striking hard against her inner thigh. It was not as powerful a blow as some of the early slaps, but the flesh it connected with was much more tender. Louisa could feel the tears begin to wet her cheeks again.

She knew they were her own, but she didn’t quite connect herself with them. She was still lying in bed smiling at Geoffrey. She was not here; none of this was really happening.

It hurt. It hurt so much. Geoffrey began to fade from her mind.

Louisa struggled to see that smile, to focus on the fragility of his closed eyelids.

“You seem a little inattentive. And I always like knowing that I am the focus of all attention—what woman doesn’t?” The Countess tapped the crop along her thigh and back, each tap a promise of what could be, and then walked to stand in front of Louisa.

Louisa closed her eyes, refusing to stare at the Countess’s tightly laced bodice, at the heavy breasts straining for release.

“Oh, you want to play, do you? To see just what I’ll do?” Suddenly the straps holding the ball in place were grabbed and pulled even tighter.

Louisa choked, feeling her air cut off, feeling as if her jaw would separate from her head.

“You should always remember that it can be worse—or better.” The ties were released, and although the ball only returned to the same position as it had been a moment ago, it felt wonderful. The Countess’s hands came up to rest upon Louisa’s cheeks, massaging the sore muscles.

Louisa hated the touch, hated the gentleness—but, oh, it felt so good. She was afraid she might have purred, if her lips had been able.

“See, I can be kind. I want us both to enjoy this.” The Countess moved closer, until the fabric covering her breasts brushed against Louisa’s nose.

The scent of heavy musk and jasmine filled Louisa’s nostrils. It was overpowering. She’d always thought of jasmine as a delicate flower, but now it felt as if the blossom-covered vines were growing up her face, seeking entrance to her very brain.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” the Countess commanded. “I will make you do it if you do not choose to. Do you doubt that I am able? Is this another test?”

Louisa opened her eyes and stared at the deep red satin. In the dim light it appeared almost black. She did not try to look up at the Countess’s face.

“That’s better. Perhaps I should reward you. I know it’s a little early in our relationship, but I can sense you might need encouragement.” The Countess turned back to the dresser.