The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [77]
He looked at that table and he saw the food, but he also saw Helen lying on her back and he saw himself nipping at her mouth as he eased his hands beneath her hips to slowly pull her to the end of the table. He saw his hands lifting her legs, parting them and he was coming close and closer still, and coming into her right there. He was yelling and so was she and—and then the door was flying open and all her lads were standing there staring at him ravishing their mistress, their mistress who disciplined them, the mistress whom they half feared and doubtless adored and would kill for.
“Spenser, what is wrong? You look like you just got shot.”
“Close enough. Maybe food will help.”
When he took a bite of shepherd’s pie, Mrs. Toop’s premier family recipe, he realized vaguely that it was delicious as he chewed. Then he swallowed. He couldn’t continue this any longer. He drew a very deep breath and took the plunge, in his own fashion. “Put down your fork, Helen. Thank you. Now you will attend me.” He took another deep breath. “Here’s the truth of it. I just can’t be around you, I simply can’t. I thought that I could. I thought that here at your inn with all these people about—your people—I would be able to control myself.”
She stared at his mouth and said, “I thought I would be able to control myself as well, but you grabbed me, and I wanted you more than anything.”
He shook with her words. Then he was shaking his head vigorously. “I did not hear that. I couldn’t survive if I had really heard what you just said.
“Now, I don’t know what has happened to me, but whatever it is, it has happened very hard. I simply cannot deal with it.” Then he looked up, and despite his suffering, he managed to smile at her. “Perhaps you should punish me by putting me in the stocks.”
She choked on her asparagus. Her eyes went wide, seeing him at what she’d designated a Level Seven. She went perfectly still, once she caught her breath.
“Tell me, how do you punish your lads in the stocks?”
“If the miscreant merits a Level Five punishment, he is stripped to the waist, his head and hands locked in and the women torment him.”
“How?”
“It depends on the nature of the crime committed. For tardiness in assisting a guest, the women will whip him with small bunches of hollyhocks.”
“This doesn’t make the man want to be tardy all the time?”
“Oh, no. Hollyhocks are very irritating. They make you itch for a good week. It is really quite effective. Actually, to be fair about this, it was the former vicar’s wife who devised that particular form of punishment discipline.”
“Oh, God,” he said and jumped to his feet, toppling his chair. “I truly wanted to be your partner, just your partner.” He grabbed a good-sized piece of bread, and fled the small parlor, leaving Helen to sit there, staring after him, wondering how he would look in those stocks, naked—completely naked. She wouldn’t let anyone come near him, just her, and she wouldn’t have a silly bunch of hollyhocks in her hand. No, she would use her mouth and her tongue and—Helen sighed deeply and took herself to the inn’s kitchen to help Mrs. Toop peel apples for a pie.
Lord Beecham marched across the inn yard through the small gate to the stable. He didn’t bother with a saddle or bridle, just grabbed Luther’s mane and swung himself up on his back. He chewed his bread as he rode, without stopping, directly to Shugborough Hall. Flock opened the door to him. “My lord, what is amiss? Is that a piece of bread clutched in your hand?”
Lord Beecham ate the bread.
20
“MY LORD, YOU LOOK maddened now that you have swallowed the bread. Have you been attacked by highwaymen? What is amiss?”
“I am amiss. Where is Lord Prith?”
Flock walked to the dining room, Lord Beecham on his heels. He stepped back just in time to prevent Lord Beecham from walking over him.
“Help me, sir,” Lord Beecham said to Helen’s father, who was seated in isolated splendor at his own dining table, a glass of champagne in his hand. Flock came to stand behind