The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [88]
“You will not make sport of me, Spenser.”
“At least you are still using my given name.”
“If I call you Lord Beecham, it is horridly embarrassing. I am lying here in my nightgown, on my back, with my arms and legs tied down.”
His eyes nearly crossed. He closed them and patted his face dry. He pulled his wet shirt out of his britches and unfastened it.
He knew she was staring at him. He wasn’t wrong. There was lust in her eyes if he wasn’t mistaken—and he wasn’t. That was nice.
When he was naked to the waist, he spread his shirt over the back of a chair to dry, then walked back to the bed. “You like me, Helen?”
“You are a man. What is there to like?”
“You were staring at my chest. Now you are having a very difficult time keeping your eyes on my face. What do you think? Do you like the way my manly parts are put together?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“If I give you another cup of tea, do you promise to drink it and not hurl it at me?”
He saw it was a struggle, but finally, she managed to say, “Oh, all right, I promise.”
He kissed her mouth, straightened, and poured her another cup. He didn’t add milk or sugar. He helped her sit up. He handed her the cup.
She drank slowly, not looking at him. When she finished, she handed him the cup. “This is madness, Spenser. You cannot keep me here tied down to this damned bed.”
“Why not?”
He nearly laughed at the utterly blank look on her face. Finally, still staring at him, she said, “Well, I don’t know. It isn’t right, I guess. Besides, there is nothing more about discipline that you could teach me.”
It was amazing how very certain she could sound. “You think not, do you?”
She retrenched; he saw it, and was amused by it. A little over a month ago he’d had no idea that a Miss Helen Mayberry even existed. Now he could not imagine not having her here, near him, tied down to his bed.
She cleared her throat. She took another sip of her tea. “Didn’t you tell me that you wanted to give me everything I could possibly want?”
“Not that I remember.”
“You did, or something very close, something that was vastly romantic and utterly outrageous. You said you thought we would deal well together. I am not dealing well right now. I am tied down. I don’t like this.”
He gave her a slow sweet smile. “All you have to do is tell me you will marry me and we will be on our way to Vicar Lockleer Gilliam within the hour.”
“I could agree, then leave you and Vicar Gilliam alone at the altar.”
“You could, but that would be very disappointing, Helen. Your father gave me a fairly complete list of all your weaker points, all your pesky little character flaws, your minuscule little foibles, as he called them. He never said you were a liar.”
“I’m not, blast you.”
“Good. Will you marry me?”
She chewed her bottom lip. He saw that her lips were chapped and he frowned. He walked over to the dressing table and began opening the drawers. He found cream in the second drawer.
He sat beside her on the bed, dipped his finger in the thick white cream, then began to rub it into her lips. She just stared at him, not moving. She had a free hand but it just lay there beside her on the bed.
“Thank you,” she said when he was finally finished.
“You’re welcome.” He kissed her again, tasting the cream that was rather like licking the bark on an oak tree. “Now, will you marry me?”
“No.”
“Very well, are you ready for your Level Three punishment for tossing your tea in my face?”
“It isn’t more than a Level One.”
“Just what do you consider a Level One punishment?”
“It is being left alone for two full hours, in a darkened room, with no one to talk to, no water to drink, nothing to eat. I usually use the tack room in the back of the stable. It is quite dark.”
He sighed. “Well, it isn’t at all titillating, but I suppose what’s fair is fair.”
He pulled the draperies closed. He firmly tied her other wrist again to the headboard. He pulled the