Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
He’d allow her to slink away now to lick her wounds in private. They had an entire married life to look forward to, a life that would be worth the price of this shaky, uncomfortable start.
Chapter Seven
Courtship
Rosalind retreated to her room to nurse her hurt feelings…and her hurt bottom. She felt shaken for multiple reasons, mostly because she didn’t like being spanked. Of course she didn’t, even when the person doing it was an exciting, attractive gentleman she’d idolized with girlish fervor for some time.
For shame, Rosalind. What has attraction got to do with any of this?
But it was there. When he’d made her stand in the corner with her skirts pulled up to her waist, her bottom bared, she could have died from humiliation, but when he came to stand beside her and say quiet, scandalous things into her ear, and kiss her…
There is a push and pull to it, he’d said. A proper sort of rightness to discipline within a marriage. She remembered those words more than anything, except perhaps his kiss.
She closed her eyes and touched her lips, trying to sort out her conflicted feelings through the haze that seemed to linger in her body, making everything feel more sensitive and acute. She could still feel where he’d grasped her neck, could still taste the avid shock of his lips parting and caressing hers. His masculine strength, his presence, his scent, all of it lingered in her body, thick and hot in her middle, in that same place where his hips had pressed hers.
Was it right or wrong to feel this after she’d been punished? She covered her eyes, wanting to cry again, but no tears would come.
He should not enjoy spanking her. That was the long and short of it. And she’d certainly never see “rightness” in being punished by her husband, even if his embrace afterward held some kind of confusing thrill.
Confusing, yes. She was only confused. She would take some time away from him to regain her bearings. She’d been spending so many hours in his company, sitting near him, laughing with him, bathing in his fond regard. She must realize he had another side, a more hazardous side.
The side she’d been warned about but never wished to acknowledge.
The skies continued gray, bleakly gray, as she kept to her cabin. She noted the heavy clouds from the small porthole beside her bed as she leafed through her volume of romantic poems. She’d read them so many times she’d practically memorized some of them, but now, they affected her differently, because desirous love was no longer a distant idyll or fantasy in her mind. Love was Marlow, but Marlow had become something of a mystery, a wild creature that was beautiful, but not tame. She declined his invitation to take their customary walk about the deck for two days in a row, unable to face him with her feelings in such a muddle.
She missed walking with him, but who was he, really? She was beginning to worry he’d make a difficult husband, which was a terrible realization after running away from home to win his hand. She’d imagined a life of sweetness and romance, a life like the poetry she read, but instead Marlow had shown himself a real stickler, eager to punish her for any misstep. Even her papa wasn’t so strict.
She blew out a breath, hugging her arms about her waist, then lay back on her bed, staring at the dark wood ceiling. She didn’t enjoy hiding away and being sullen. It was a boring, lonely business. If only some pirates would overtake the ship, why, that would bring some excitement. Were there still pirates in the Mediterranean? Probably not, and if there were, she supposed she mustn’t wish them into existence. Real pirates were not like Lord Byron’s romantic, dashing Corsair, featured in her well-worn book of poetry. Real pirates did unspeakable things.
She sat up with a frustrated groan. She’d had to cheat at cards or else lose to him every time, and that was no fun for either of them.
It’s still cheating, her conscience whispered. You used to be such an angel, Rosalind. Not anymore.
She stood and crossed to her trunk to take out some paper and an ink pen. Her mother had always told her to handle uncomfortable problems with polite fortitude, rather than simmer or hold a grudge. A carefully worded letter could straighten out the tension between them and perhaps allay some of her own confusion as she expressed herself. She thought a moment, then commenced to write.
Dear Lord Marlow,
Perhaps you’ve noted that I haven’t wanted to spend time with you the last few days. I esteem you greatly, but…
She paused and stared at her writing. She had a limited amount of paper with her on board, so she must choose her words carefully.