The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [87]
“Mrs. Toop wants me to teach you more about discipline.”
He released her right wrist and her ankles. He rubbed feeling back into them. “There. Now, I am not going to leave the room because I know you will immediately try to undo the knot on your other wrist. I will be right here.”
He patted her cheek lightly and walked back to the fireplace.
She used the chamber pot. He turned to see her begin to work on the other wrist knot. He grabbed her free hand and pulled it back above her head. “Lie down, Helen. Don’t fight me.”
It was like telling a maddened tiger not to attack the nearest moving creature. She yelled and kicked with her legs and tried to jerk her hand free of his. She got a couple of good licks with her feet, but he finally managed to find the exact position to do away with any leverage she had. He tied her wrist back against the thick headboard.
He stood over her. “That was a nice try. Now, would you like your breakfast?”
“I will kill you, Spenser.”
He leaned down and kissed her hard, jerking back before she could bite him.
He smoothed her nightgown over her legs. Then, almost as an afterthought, and before she could fight, he pulled her right ankle out and tied it again. He had her now. “Very nice. Now let me tie your left ankle.” She tried to kick him, but couldn’t manage it. Soon, her legs were nicely spread.
“After breakfast, dearest, we will enjoy dessert,” he said, and whistled his way out of the bedchamber.
He heard her yelling after him, hurling curses laced with various animal parts—all in all, not very creative—and he smiled.
She didn’t have a chance.
23
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER Lord Beecham brought his captive some warm scones, sweet butter, apricot jelly, and a pot of tea he had made himself.
“The scones are not completely fresh. Mrs. Toop made them yesterday, at the inn, just for this special occasion. However, I did build a fire in the fireplace. The scones are all softened up, nice and hot.”
“What did you mean by dessert?”
He loved her mind. “Discipline, my sweet. Everyone seems anxious for me to teach you more about this very interesting topic. Perhaps you have become too predictable in your approach, too unimaginative. It is time to infuse new ideas, give new perspective.”
“What do you mean by everyone?”
“I must keep my sources private. I believe there is a fear of possible retaliation.”
“Spenser, you must let me go. If you do it now, I swear not to hurt you.”
“That’s nice that you’re calling me by my given name again. Does that mean you are no longer trying to hold me at arm’s length?”
She jerked on her arms. Nothing happened. She was becoming very red in the face.
He patted her cheek, sat down in the chair beside her bed, and said, “Would you like butter and jelly on your scone?”
“I would like to feed myself.”
“All right.” He released one hand. He watched her flex her fingers, bend her wrist back and forth.
“Would you like butter and jelly on your scone?”
She nodded. At last her attention was on the food and not on killing him.
She ate two scones, both slathered with the apricot jelly, then lay back against the pillow and sighed. “That was delicious. Thank you. Mrs. Toop makes the best scones in the area. Now, I should like to be back at my inn by luncheon. May we leave now?”
“Would you like some tea now? Lemon? Milk?”
She got the very same look in her eyes as when she had confronted all those drunk young men from Cambridge in her taproom. It was blood. She had blood in her eyes.
He never should have given her the tea, particularly with added milk. She threw it in his face. Then her face scrunched up. “Oh, dear, I didn’t think. I should have taken a drink first.”
“Probably so,” he said, and rose to clean himself off. “That,” he said to her from the far side of the room as he dipped a cloth into the bowl of warm water atop a commode, “will gain you punishment, Helen. What do you think? Level Five?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That was nowhere near a Level Five.” She realized what she had said and closed her mouth fast.
“All right,” he said, a man so