Submitting to His Lordship (5 page)

“Precisely.”

His answer startled her for she had meant her question rhetorically. She recalled his statement about obeying commands.

Casually he crossed one leg over the other. Once again he seemed to read her mind. “The rules at Chateau Follet are simple. Please me and you shall be rewarded. Do not and you shall be punished.”

She took a deep breath as his statements sank in. “And how would I please you?”

“By following my orders at all times.”

“I am to be your servant.”

He frowned. “No. The term is submissive. The one who gives the commands is deemed a dominant. My demands shall not include those that I would request of a valet or maidservant unless I deem it appropriate.”

She could not help an unladylike snort. “A servant in the guise of a—what was your term—a submissive? I know not which is worse.”

Little fires lighted his eyes. “I do not spank my servants, Miss Herwood, or bring them to spend.”

Her cheeks warmed. Yes, there were
those
benefits to being a submissive.

“I have only three simple imperatives I wish you to observe at all times,” he continued. “First, you will not flirt with any of the other male guests at the Chateau.”

“Jealous?”

His jaw tightened. “Whilst we are at the Chateau, you are wholly mine.”

To her surprise, she felt comforted by his statement. “You need not worry, Lord Rockwell. As you may have observed, I am not the most accomplished coquette.”

“A distinguishing trait given your company at the gaming hall.”

“What are your other decrees?”

“Second, you will consume no more than one glass of wine per day without my permission.”

She had no interest in becoming inebriated while at the strange and unknown Chateau, but she bristled at the rule all the same.

“And?” she prompted with a twinge of exasperation.

“Last, but most importantly, you will inform me at any time when you feel disinclined to perform my orders.”

“Ah, such as your second rule,” she could not help quip.

Abruptly he leaned over and grasped her chin, pulling her to him. “Be careful, Miss Herwood. I could require much more of you.”

She stared into his gaze. The air around them crackled with tension. She wanted him to kiss her again. He was so close it would not require much for their lips to graze, but he let her go and sat back in his chair.

“Do you require all your submissives to follow these three rules?” she inquired, feeling a little petulant at not having been kissed.

He broke off a slice of bread and cheese for himself. “The second is unique to your situation. The first one is obvious to a practiced submissive, and I always articulate the third rule. I am allowing a great deal of leniency as this is your first visit to Chateau Follet.”

“Indeed?” She wondered how many women he had invited to the Chateau more than once, though the answer should not matter to her at all.

“You will observe there are women—and men—whose dominants dictate every term: when and if they can speak, whom they may speak to, what they may wear, what they may eat—“

“And when to use the chamber pot, too?”

Nonplussed, he spread butter on his bread before replying, “If it suits them.”

She churned this new bit of information in her head.

“They do not speak unless spoken to,” he continued. “They are certainly never insolent or question their dominant; they conduct themselves in a respectful manner at all times, their behavior serving as a reflection of their dominants.”

“With such onerous conditions, why would anyone wish to be a submissive?”

“Some would consider such conditions liberating.”

“Liberating? In what perverted sense of the word?”

His look made her feel as if she had rushed to judgment, but what rational person would not think as she did?

“To be freed to experience.”

“To be treated as a child,” she countered.

He chewed his food evenly as he contemplated her. She found herself mesmerized by the movement of his jaw.
Good God
. The man was arousing even in the most ordinary of movements. Recalling her perturbation that he was the one disclosing, or engaging, in these monstrous activities yet she was the one left feeling overbearing, she asked him, “Are you a dominant?”

After finishing his swig of wine, he met her gaze. “Yes.”

Despite her elevated concern, a dark, visceral heat pooled in her loins. She found herself simultaneously drawn and repelled. Had it been any man other than Lord Rockwell, she would have fled at what he had described. She imagined him giving her permission to use the chamber pot. How was it possible that could be provocative?

And yet it was.

“Only my interest lies purely in venery,” he added. “I have no desire to control how submissives conduct their lives otherwise.”

She gave him a dubious look.

“It may be hard for you to fathom now, Miss Herwood, but the submissives desire the treatment they receive. In the end, it is all for their pleasure.”

She was quick to pounce. “Is that what these dominants tell themselves to defend their actions?”

“Did I not please you before?”

The heat swelled between her thighs. She reached for her glass of wine, though it was quite possible the alcohol would inflame her more. “It does not please me that you wish to dictate whom I may consort with or how much wine I may consume.”

“At present, no,” he agreed. “But you will think differently in time.”

She was taken aback by the confidence in his assertion. “There appears to be a paradox. I am to be punished for not following your rules, yet I may object to your rules at any moment?”

“You are free to leave Chateau Follet at any time. I will not hold you hostage. Nor will I compel you to endure that which you truly believe you cannot. Are my rules so heinous that you wish to overturn them now, or would you be willing delay your verdict until you have further experience of them and extend me your trust?”

How was she to respond when he phrased it thus?

“Very well,” she acquiesced.

Too distracted by the tension swirling in her lower body, she could not recall the other questions she had wished to ask. She shifted in her seat. Would she be able to survive three nights at Chateau Follet? Though a dominant, he had indicated he would not control her every action save for the rules he had specified, but then why tell her all that he had? Was she too critical? Or could she, too, find such domination as he had described liberating and...pleasurable?

When she looked back at him, she found he had stopped eating and was staring at her.

Unsure how to respond, she informed him, “I have no maidservant with me.”

“As per the instructions you received, an abigail will be provided for you at the Chateau.”

Of course she had remembered this fact, but she had hoped to steer him away from his disconcerting gaze of her.

“How am I to be assured the servants will be discreet?” she inquired.

“You frequent a gaming hall and worry of discretion?”

She could not suppress a scowl.

“Are you done eating?” he asked.

She considered pouring herself another glass of wine to both take advantage of her time before his rules took effect at the Chateau and thumb her nose a bit at him, but she did not indulge the childish impulse.

“I am, thank you,” she answered. “It was a lovely repast.”

He rose from the table, and she assumed they would be on their way to the Chateau, as foreign a place to her as India, only she never doubted her desire to visit the latter.

But instead of opening the door, he locked it. When he turned around, the molten look in his eyes made her heartbeat quicken in a matter of seconds. Every nerve in her body leaped to attention. She watched with acute anticipation as he sauntered back to the table. He wanted her. That was plain. The effect of that knowledge served as the headiest aphrodisiac.

With a broad brush of his arm, he swept the contents of the table to the floor. Plates, bowls and utensils clattered below. Wine spilled from the bottle. One of the glasses shattered. She stared with mouth agape and looked quickly to the door, expecting the innkeeper at any moment.

“The door is locked,” he said.

She looked once more to the floor. Her heart drummed madly, but this was hardly the place to do anything untoward.

“You’ve made an awful mess.”

“He shall be well compensated for the inconvenience.”

Rockwell pulled her to her feet. Though dampness had already begun to form between her thighs, she attempted to put some distance between their bodies and glanced once more at the door, but he did not appear bothered in the least by the setting for his amorous advances.

“Will you not wait until we have arrived at the Chateau, your lordship?” she pleaded in hushed tones as she kept an ear for the sound of footsteps approaching.

“No,” he growled as he leaned in to her. “And you’ve no wish to either.”

She felt her entire body flush. “You are mistaken. This is a most inappropriate place to...”

He circled an arm around her waist. “Miss Herwood, there is nothing appropriate about anything we do.”

His mouth seared where her neck and collar joined. She knew instantly she would lose the battle. Desire flared in her groin. As he kissed her neck, her back arched into him.

She made one final attempt. Was it not shameful that she should give into him so easily?

“The servants will wonder that we are taking so long.”

“Let them wonder,” he replied as he worked his lips and tongue against the soft spot beneath her ear.

The sensation reverberated to her extremities. He lifted her onto the table as he continued his assault about her neck. She moaned. When his mouth finally covered hers, the defeat of her reservations was complete. She allowed herself to succumb to the full weight of his kiss, glorying in the masterful way his tongue danced with hers. Her body reacted as intensely as it had a year ago, perhaps more. Desire, hot and strong, coursed through her veins. She returned his heady kiss, drinking in the heat and wetness of his mouth as if it were her last.

His hand pressed against the small of her back, and she could feel his desire long and hard against her hip. With his other hand, he caressed the whole of her back. Despite her layers of clothing, she marveled at his touch. There was not a part of her body that did not revel in the way he manhandled her. She kept her own motions to a minimum, sure that they would only feel awkward and inexpert compared to his.

He pushed her down and covered her body with his.

“Ah!” she cried when his tongue grazed her inner ear.

She froze at the sound of her own voice. Good heavens, the innkeeper or the servants might have heard.

“We ought to wait...”she began, feeling sheepish.

“Hush.”

With his knee, he urged her legs apart. His hand reached for her skirts.

She stayed his hand and said between heavy breaths, “I’ve not the nerve.”

She could not trust herself to be quiet. Not with the havoc he could wreak upon her.

Sitting back on his haunches, he contemplated her quandary, then began unloosening his cravat.

Distressed that he was choosing to ignore her, she sat up and said more forcefully, “They will hear.”

“Shhh,” he hushed as if calming a babe. “Open your mouth.”

As her impulse was to comply at his direction, she did. He fitted the linen between her lips and wound the fabric around her head thrice before tying the ends behind her. Her heart pounded between her ears. She had never been gagged before, and though she trusted him, the thought of not being able to speak or cry for help was alarming. How was she to tell him to stop? Bad enough the innkeeper might come upon them in a compromising state, but what would the man make of the cravat tied round her mouth?

He must have read the panic in her eyes, for he said, “There will be no need for the safety word. Do you recall what it was?”

She nodded.

He ran a finger along the edge of the linen above her lower lip. “You are quite fetching in my cravat, Miss Herwood.”

With her mouth forced open, she found it difficult to swallow. The glint in his eyes called to that desire low and hot in her belly.

“Lie back.”

She complied. After all, she had offered to attend the Chateau Follet with him and agreed to three nights of debauchery, albeit she had not expected the wantonness to begin this early.

With a slow hand, he drew up her skirts. Instinctively she pressed her thighs together when she felt the air upon her legs. She had worn her best stockings, but no doubt they compared unfavorably to others he had come across. He eased a hand between her thighs and pushed one to the side. Her pulse raced. She closed her eyes at what was to come next. What a sight she would present to an onlooker!

He leaned over her as his hand found the flesh at the apex of her thighs.