Page 72 of Surrender Your Grace
She gasped, jaw dropping, hands flying instinctively to her backside.
Did his lips twitch—just slightly?
When the door closed behind him, she was left flushed, heart racing, haunted by the memory of his hands and the ominous promise they carried.
Chapter 21
The tray had come and gone, untouched. After a warm bath, she chose her softest dressing gown—plum velvet, cinched high at the waist—and curled on the chaise, eyes fixed on the fire licking low in the grate.
Her thoughts spun with regret, dread... and something else. Anticipation. That dangerous flutter low in her belly every time she recalled his voice—“save those tears”—and the firm imprint of his palm.
It was past midnight, his important guests long gone, when the latch clicked.
She sat up as Andrew entered silently, coat removed, cravat loosened, shirt unfastened at the throat. His eyes locked on hers—dark, unreadable. She stood, hands clasped.
“You’re still awake,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you would be.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You’ve had time to reflect,” he replied, his voice like velvet over steel.
“I… have,” she said, slowly rising.
“Good. Because I haven’t.”
She blinked. “You’re still angry?”
He advanced, deliberate and slow. “Angry doesn’t begin to cover it. You embarrassed yourself. Endangered yourself. And might’ve done worse if I hadn’t arrived.”
“I said I was sorry—”
“And I said sorry isn’t the same as change. What you need is correction.” His gaze swept from tousled curls to bare toes. “Remove the gown,” he murmured.
Her lips parted. “Andrew—”
He stopped in front of her—close but not touching. “Do you remember what I told you at Arendale about punishment?”
She nodded, and repeated, “If I act like a lady should, I have nothing to worry about.” A beat passed before she asked, “Should I be worried?”
His thumb grazed her cheek, sweeping back a stray curl. “What do you think?”
She wasn’t. Not overly. The other times had been playful. This one—likely not. And rightly so.
Without a word, she unfastened the tie at her waist, and let the velvet fall, revealing softly clinging silk beneath.
Andrew’s jaw flexed. “Bend over the vanity. Hands flat on top.”
She hesitated, but he didn’t repeat himself. He didn’t need to.
The marble chilled her palms as she leaned in. Her reflection in the mirror revealed flushed cheeks and eyes wide with anticipation—and something more.
Andrew stepped in behind her, palms gliding over her hips before pushing the silk up to her waist. His hand splayed across her bare bottom, warm, possessive, commanding.
Closing her eyes, she savored his touch, having yearned for it so long. The next instant, she sucked in a breath when the first stinging spank landed.
“You drank too much,” he said, his hand retreating and returning with another crisp smack. “You smoked my cigars.” A third. “You rifled through my private study.” And still another, harder. “You could have been seriously hurt if I hadn’t been there.” Two more followed, one to each cheek, igniting a fire.
Panting fast and shallow, she held her position, fingers white-knuckled on the marble.
