Page 13 of Papa's Captive
Chapter 7
“We aren’t yet married, young lady,” Lord Caldwell said in a scolding tone that incited a shiver to run down her back, despite the glimmer of humor in his eyes that revealed he was speaking in jest. “I ought to chastise you for entertaining such untoward thoughts.”
She felt her eyes widen and she straightened in her seat, determined to look as dignified as possible. Another heated flush stole through her. She wasn’t certain whether he truly believed she wished to share his bed tonight, but she did not wish for him to think her a lady-bird. After clearing her throat, she said, “Lord…er, Papa, I mean, that is not why I asked the question.”
“Little girl, I suggest you tell the truth. Given the amount of squirming you’ve been doing in the carriage, I suspect you are indeed most anxious to experience the intimacies of the marriage bed.”
She wrenched her hands from his and folded her arms over her chest, giving him her best glare. “I simply asked the question becauseIdo not think it proper for us to share a bed until we’ve spoken our wedding vows. We haven’t been to Gretna Green yet, Papa. ‘Tis scandalous enough that you’ve stolen me away from Talcott House.” She paused and swallowed hard, trying to choose her next words carefully. She had little idea about what happened between married people, but she had heard they shared a bed. She’d recently heard some gossip from Lily about a young woman from town who had ‘soiled her reputation irreparably’ after supposedly sharing a bed with a man to whom she wasn’t wed. “Papa, I must insist we sleep in separate rooms at the inn tonight.” There. That would hopefully convey her message, without betraying her utter lack of knowledge about marital intimacies.
Lord Caldwell—no,Papa, she really ought to start thinking of him as Papa from now on—gave her a serious look as the gleam of humor faded from his dark eyes. “Little girl, you are not to give me orders, particularly in such a saucy tone. You are under my authority now and I will be making the decisions in regards to where you sleep.” He leaned closer, until she could see the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. How had she never noticed them before? His gaze was stunning and stern, and she found she could not look away in this moment, he had captivated her so deeply with the sudden piercing intensity of his dominant aura that set her heart aflutter. “Wewillshare a room tonight, my love. You will sleep next to me, though I promise to leave your innocence intact until we reach Gretna Green. I have waited too long to have you, Rosie, and I do not intend to let you out of my sight in the foreseeable future. Any further protests and I shall have to be firm with you, young lady.”
It was her opinion that he was already being firm, but she dared not say so in this instant. Her mouth went dry as she continued holding his stare and she found her arms loosening around her waist, until her hands fell in her lap. Papa abruptly captured them in his large, warm ones, lacing his fingers through hers.
“Do you understand, little girl?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow at her in censure, as if daring her to disagree with him.
“Yes, Papa. I-I understand.”
Heat pulsed between her thighs and she fought the urge to squirm. He’d mentioned her squirming and she was trying very hard not to give him any ideas about how anxious she was to experience the ‘intimacies of the marriage bed.’ Whatever that meant. Inside the confines of her dress and chemise, she felt her ninnies grow heavy and achy, the sensitized peaks rubbing against the fabric with her deep breaths. Would she always feel so unsettled in Papa’s presence?
“I am glad we are in agreement, little girl,” he said, patting her hand with a smile.
Her heart leapt to see him in a good humor again and she made a mental note that he did not like when she disagreed with him or used a flippant tone. A quiver raced over her bottom cheeks. Would the kind and normally jovial Lord Caldwell, her new papa, actually discipline her if she were naughty? Before this interaction, she would have had a difficult time picturing him turning her over his knee, lifting her skirts, and smacking her bottom. But now that he’d been most stern with her, she could very well imagine it.
In fact, she couldn’tstopimagining it.
His broad palm cracking against her bared flesh while she writhed across his lap. The sting that would spread over her entire behind as he chastised her. He would likely scold her as he spanked her, too, she supposed. Perhaps he would even order her to stand in the corner after punishing her, with her reddened bare bottom on display.
By the time the moon rose high in the sky and the carriage pulled to a stop in front of an inn, she had envisioned countless scenarios of Lord Caldwell administering discipline.
Her papa stepped from the carriage and held out his hand with an encouraging smile. “Come, my little bride. The hour is late. I am certain you are anxious for a warm meal and a soft bed.”
When she shifted on her seat, scooting along the bench as she prepared to step out of the carriage, she felt the heat of the gathering moisture sliding between her thighs. Her face flamed. What would Papa think if he knew the hours and hours she had spent daydreaming about being physically disciplined by him had resulted in her becoming completely drenched in her drawers? Shame spread through her and she resolved to sleep in her clothes—or at least in her drawers and shift—lest Papa discover the vast wetness in her kitty.
She accepted his hand and stepped down from the carriage. The sound of nighttime insects resounded in the surrounding trees. She glanced around and spotted only a few houses near the inn, the faint glimmer of candlelight in the windows revealing their location on the winding country road. She’d never traveled so far from Talcott House or even London during the years she had lived there. She inhaled the cool night air with a rush of excitement, catching a whiff of chimney smoke on the breeze.
Papa escorted her inside the inn and smiled at the proprietress who greeted them, a woman whose sharp eyes reminded Rosie of Miss Wickersham. Thoughts of her previous guardian prompted a rush of guilt. Lily had likely been punished by Miss Wickersham this very day, but Rosie herself had escaped the consequences of her recent misbehavior.
“My bride and I would like a room for the night,” Papa said, extracting several coins from a bag hidden in his jacket. Rosie didn’t dare contradict his declaration that she was already his bride. Her bottom cheeks clenched and heat spasmed in her privates at the thought of how he might react to her interference, even if he was telling a fib.
The proprietress looked them up and down, as if not quite believing they were husband and wife. Perhaps other couples who weren’t yet wed stopped at this inn now and again during their travels to Gretna Green. Rosie wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or terrified when the woman finally nodded and gestured for them to follow her up the stairs. Perhaps an odd mixture of both. She did wish to share a bed with Papa, but she was still nervous about what might happen between them tonight. He had promised to leave her innocence intact, but she did not quite know what that meant.
Before everything had started changing and her best friends had left Talcott House and gotten married, Daisy used to read kissing scenes aloud from the romance novels she’d swiped from Miss Wickersham. Sometimes the books had other passages which had only left Rosie confused. Scenes that had included phrases she still remembered such asbreathless passion under the cover of darkness,fervent longing to be claimed all through the night, andhelpless surrender to the waves of ecstasy.
What did it all mean?
Perhaps it only referred to kissing while in bed. Kissing Papa when standing up, while they’d been hidden in the trees and foliage on the outskirts of the garden, had been most exciting and Rosie looked forward to repeating the act in the near future. But perhaps kissing while snuggling under the covers could account for the strange flowery descriptions Daisy had often read aloud while all four girls tried not to giggle. She felt a smile tugging at her lips as the memories washed over her.
Oh, how she couldn’t wait to see her friends again. Yet a pang of worry resounded in her chest at the idea of going to London. Not just going.Returning. She’d spent the first nineteen years of her life in the city. Once upon a time, it had felt like home.
A feeling of panic gripped her, and she forced in a few deep breaths as she ascended the stairs while holding Papa’s hand. Fortunately, the stairs were not well-lit and even if he had looked at her, he likely wouldn’t have been able to discern her anxious expression.
She schooled her face into a pleasant, carefree look, telling herself everything would be all right. At least until they departed Papa’s castle for London.
The proprietress, whose name was Mrs. Clarke, stood in the center of the room and pointed out the various amenities of the tiny room with pride. “Two fresh wash basins for you, though if needed, a bath can be brought up—at extra cost, of course. That window faces the east. Shut the curtains if you plan on sleeping past sunrise, though I recommend an early start. You’ll be wantin’ to reach Gretna Green sooner than later, I reckon.”
Rosie gasped.
Papa cleared his throat and put an arm around her, rubbing his hand up and down her side in a soothing manner. “I suppose you’re also charging extra for your discretion, Mrs. Clarke,” he eventually said, with a smile tugging at his jaw.
The woman winked at him. “You’re a smart man, Lord Caldwell.”
Once Papa handed her a few more coins and also requested a hot meal, Mrs. Clarke, keen businesswoman that she was, departed their room in a rustle of skirts with the promise to return soon with their dinner.
“Papa?” Rosie asked, unable to keep the worry from her voice. “Is it bad that she knows? What if she tells someone? What if Miss Wickersham sends someone this way looking for us and…and…”
He turned her in his arms and kissed her forehead. His endearing smile lit up the room. “Rosie, my love, you have an overactive imagination. You seem to always fear the worst is about to happen, but I aim to prove to you that it will not. You needn’t worry about anything. No one is chasing us, Mrs. Clarke won’t tell a soul we’re here, and I dare say we aren’t the first, nor the last, unwed couple to share this very room. I want you to breathe deep, my dear, and relax. Let Papa do any worrying that needs to be done for you. That’s an order.”
