evening and now attempted
to pass by her with the briefest of nods.
Isabelle extended her own fan with
a graceful gesture. "Thank you so much for attending, Mrs. Meldrum. I'm
sure the view was enjoyed by all." She dropped her gaze to the neckline of
that lady's gown, where her large breasts threatened to escape their
confinement.
Mrs. Meldrum gasped, and Isabelle
turned to address the next guest, leaving her to flounder in outrage.
"Sheathe your claws, little
cat," Snow murmured in her ear. Isabelle pretended not to hear him as she
watched Mrs. Meldrum flounce away.
"A palpable hit,
countess." Leighton Frost bowed over her hand. "I look forward to our
next encounter."
Isabelle smiled but did not reply.
Mr. Frost made her feel uneasy, with his predatory gaze and cold eyes. She
wondered at his friendship with Snow. What could they possibly have in common?
And then it was over. Warwick
closed the door on the last of the guests. Isabelle heaved a sigh and pressed a
hand to her aching head.
"Tired, my love?"
"Merely a slight headache, my
lord." Isabelle looked up her husband. Snow's expression was the stern one
which filled her heart with dismay.
"Come and let me attend to
it." Isabelle protested but he would not be gainsaid. Snow led her down
the stairs and through the hall to his study. Isabelle trailed after him.
"Sit down." Snow pressed
her into a chair. He walked over to a large cupboard, and opened the lock with
a key retrieved from his vest pocket. He retrieved a small square bottle
containing a milky-colored liquid. He filled a glass half full with water and
carefully added a few drops of the liquid. He stirred it for several seconds.
"Here, drink this down. It
should help with your headache."
Isabelle took the proffered glass.
"What is it?"
"Just a small dose of
laudanum."
Isabelle recoiled. "I don't
drug myself."
Snow raised a brow.
"Ever."
"Very well. I won't force you.
I sought merely to make you feel better."
"Quite the sea change for you,
isn't it? These little trips to your study usually end in me feeling much
worse."
Snow's face froze and Isabelle
swallowed. Blast her unruly tongue. He set down the glass with a thump.
"Over the desk, madam."
"What?"
"I thought to spare your
punishment tonight because you are tired, but you have managed to change my
mind with this astonishing display of insolence." Snow turned her around
and urged her over the desk. She attempted to rise, but he forced her down.
"That's enough, Isabelle. Now
grasp the edge with your hands. Do not let go or you will be very sorry."
Isabelle heaved a sigh. "I
already am."
He pushed up her skirts up around
her waist, tucking them under her body.
"Now what implement to use?
The hand seems barely sufficient based on all your offenses, and I believe you
are developing quite a fondness for your paddle." Snow turned to the
cupboard again. "Perfect."
Isabelle sensed him approaching,
heard a whoosh of displaced air before a rattan cane smacked onto the desk
beside her. She jumped off with a scream.
"Not so hasty, my love."
He pressed her back down, and
re-arranged her skirts to bare her bottom once again. One large warm hand
pressed on her lower back while the other insinuated itself between her legs,
parting her and sliding a long finger inside her. She tried wiggle away from
his questing hand, but Snow held her firmly in place. He pulled his finger out,
and pushed it back, thrusting firmly. Isabelle's legs fell open. She moaned.
Snow leaned over her, pressing another finger inside.
"So wet already, my wanton little
wife."
She writhed, captured by his rhythm
in spite of herself. A warm weight grew inside her, building, building, until
Snow removed his fingers. She heard that horrible swishing sound again, and the
cane cracked against her buttocks. Red hot agony lanced across her skin. A
pause as if he were waiting for her to absorb the pain, followed by four more
swift strokes.
"Stop!" she screamed.
"No." Her husband's
voice,
to pass by her with the briefest of nods.
Isabelle extended her own fan with
a graceful gesture. "Thank you so much for attending, Mrs. Meldrum. I'm
sure the view was enjoyed by all." She dropped her gaze to the neckline of
that lady's gown, where her large breasts threatened to escape their
confinement.
Mrs. Meldrum gasped, and Isabelle
turned to address the next guest, leaving her to flounder in outrage.
"Sheathe your claws, little
cat," Snow murmured in her ear. Isabelle pretended not to hear him as she
watched Mrs. Meldrum flounce away.
"A palpable hit,
countess." Leighton Frost bowed over her hand. "I look forward to our
next encounter."
Isabelle smiled but did not reply.
Mr. Frost made her feel uneasy, with his predatory gaze and cold eyes. She
wondered at his friendship with Snow. What could they possibly have in common?
And then it was over. Warwick
closed the door on the last of the guests. Isabelle heaved a sigh and pressed a
hand to her aching head.
"Tired, my love?"
"Merely a slight headache, my
lord." Isabelle looked up her husband. Snow's expression was the stern one
which filled her heart with dismay.
"Come and let me attend to
it." Isabelle protested but he would not be gainsaid. Snow led her down
the stairs and through the hall to his study. Isabelle trailed after him.
"Sit down." Snow pressed
her into a chair. He walked over to a large cupboard, and opened the lock with
a key retrieved from his vest pocket. He retrieved a small square bottle
containing a milky-colored liquid. He filled a glass half full with water and
carefully added a few drops of the liquid. He stirred it for several seconds.
"Here, drink this down. It
should help with your headache."
Isabelle took the proffered glass.
"What is it?"
"Just a small dose of
laudanum."
Isabelle recoiled. "I don't
drug myself."
Snow raised a brow.
"Ever."
"Very well. I won't force you.
I sought merely to make you feel better."
"Quite the sea change for you,
isn't it? These little trips to your study usually end in me feeling much
worse."
Snow's face froze and Isabelle
swallowed. Blast her unruly tongue. He set down the glass with a thump.
"Over the desk, madam."
"What?"
"I thought to spare your
punishment tonight because you are tired, but you have managed to change my
mind with this astonishing display of insolence." Snow turned her around
and urged her over the desk. She attempted to rise, but he forced her down.
"That's enough, Isabelle. Now
grasp the edge with your hands. Do not let go or you will be very sorry."
Isabelle heaved a sigh. "I
already am."
He pushed up her skirts up around
her waist, tucking them under her body.
"Now what implement to use?
The hand seems barely sufficient based on all your offenses, and I believe you
are developing quite a fondness for your paddle." Snow turned to the
cupboard again. "Perfect."
Isabelle sensed him approaching,
heard a whoosh of displaced air before a rattan cane smacked onto the desk
beside her. She jumped off with a scream.
"Not so hasty, my love."
He pressed her back down, and
re-arranged her skirts to bare her bottom once again. One large warm hand
pressed on her lower back while the other insinuated itself between her legs,
parting her and sliding a long finger inside her. She tried wiggle away from
his questing hand, but Snow held her firmly in place. He pulled his finger out,
and pushed it back, thrusting firmly. Isabelle's legs fell open. She moaned.
Snow leaned over her, pressing another finger inside.
"So wet already, my wanton little
wife."
She writhed, captured by his rhythm
in spite of herself. A warm weight grew inside her, building, building, until
Snow removed his fingers. She heard that horrible swishing sound again, and the
cane cracked against her buttocks. Red hot agony lanced across her skin. A
pause as if he were waiting for her to absorb the pain, followed by four more
swift strokes.
"Stop!" she screamed.
"No." Her husband's
voice,
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