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)
“Y-Yes, my lord.” She looked back at him, at a loss. “How should I act to most please you?”
“Like you’ve done an absolutely awful thing that has caused me a great deal of pain.”
“Oh. Yes, sir. Ooh. Oww!”
If he could not spank Rosalind for making him feel this hot shame and frustration, he would spank Honora. Honora indeed. That probably wasn’t even her real name. She was probably Effie or Millie or something.
Whatever her name, she kicked and struggled against his punishing spanking. He did not warm her up as he ought to have done. He was not behaving his best, but he would pay her for her troubles.
“Ow. Ouch, my lord. Please, go more kindly. I have not been that naughty.”
“I told you we could not marry. All you had to do was leave me be.”
“Oh, sir! I’m so sorry!”
“You only had to behave and listen to your parents’ counsel, and stop tempting me to hope for things that couldn’t possibly happen.”
He emphasized the last three words with merciless spanks. His victim emitted a strained giggle that turned to a pained cry. “Oh, please, sir, must you go so hard on me? I won’t tempt you anymore, I promise you that.”
“You will always tempt me.” He paused to reposition Honora’s flailing limbs. Her arse cheeks were deep red already, headed to scarlet. He imagined Rosalind’s arse would have looked this way, pale and defenseless, easily flushed to color beneath his hand. “You’re too lovely, too pure.”
He resumed the spanking with new vigor. She cried out, “I am not pure, I promise. My lord, we can do fun things, much more enjoyable things than this.”
“I’m enjoying myself quite a bit.”
He wasn’t though. His tone was grim, his lips clenched in a line. His fury wasn’t dissipating the way he’d hoped. It was merely blending with sadness and self-loathing. He spanked her a couple more times, intending to stop even before Pearl opened the door and ordered him to.
“Lord Marlow,” she said sharply. “You will not abuse my girls.”
“This isn’t abuse. It’s correction.”
“Whatever correction is required in your life, I pray you find it elsewhere. I do not run this sort of business. This is a pleasure house.”
As he released Honora into the madam’s arms, he saw she was in tears. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I did not mean to upset you.”
She didn’t answer, but her hard, narrowed gaze told him she would never accept him as a customer again.
“I’ll go,” he said, emptying his pockets, handing over far more payment than one abbreviated spanking called for.
Pearl took the money with a frown. “My lord, I beseech you…find some balm for the disquiet in your mind.”
“Madam—”
She held up a hand. “I request you do not return to us, sir, until you are in a more settled state.”
“I’m being banned, then?”
“Temporarily.”
Her bruiser was called to lead him out, as if he, the Honorable Viscount Marlow, were some madman who might not go quietly. Mad Marlow, the Vile Viscount. Fuck the lot of them. He would take his custom elsewhere. You couldn’t throw a stone about these parts without hitting another brothel. He’d find some new place right after he had a drink or two. He was thirsty as blazes, ripe to go on a bender.
Fuck Pearl, fuck every courtesan on earth, fuck all of them. Spanking a harlot wasn’t the same as spanking Rosalind anyway. There were brothels aplenty in London. After a drink or two, he’d take his pick.
Chapter Three
Rebellion
Through a searing fog of pain, Marlow felt someone prod his shoulder. “Fuck off,” he muttered, finding it difficult to move his lips.
The prodding continued. He’d fight him, whoever it was, when his arms would cooperate. His hands made fists even though the rest of his body wouldn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. His head ached like hellfire.
“There, cousin. Wake up. Open those eyes. That’s a good chap.”
He blinked and squinted. His eyeballs felt like hot, scratchy coals. “Curse that light. Make it go away.”
Lord Augustine crossed the room and drew the curtains half shut. “Do you know what time it is, Marlow?”
“Fuck right off,” he said, though his mouth was too dry to put much force behind the words.
“Drink this.” August handed him a glass of water. “You’re in worse shape than I remembered.”
He tried to sit up in bed, but only managed to rise to one elbow. “Why’re you here?”
“Just stopping by to check on you. I peeled you off the corner of Harley Street last night and carried you home. This morning, rather, very early. It’s midday now.” He frowned. “You look a sight, old man.”
Marlow finally managed to sit upright and swallow a painful sip of water. It didn’t touch the dryness in his mouth. “I’m hungover. Visited some taverns.”
“And got in a fight or two.”
Yes, he vaguely remembered that. He reached gingerly to touch his sore jaw, his swollen right eye.