THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE by Maggie Carpenter Page A

suits.
    Opening the door and switching on the light, he decided on a pair of soft grey slacks and a cream cashmere sweater. He could feel the weather turning; there was a nip in the air, and he’d spied more than a few whitecaps during his run.
    He kept his sweaters in the lower drawer, and as he reached down to pull it open he spotted something on the floor behind the bottom of his trousers.
    What is that? I can’t quite…
    It was with a sudden, shocking, realization that it registered; he was staring at a pair of manicured toes in high-heeled white sandals. Hastily scooting the hangers aside he found Brittany crouched into a ball.
    “Hi,” she mumbled, her eyes wide and her face bright red. “Fancy meeting you here.”
    Rarely was Duncan speechless, but staring at her mortified, crimson face he was so stunned he had no idea what to say.
    “I, uh, am soooo sorry about this,” she stammered, slowly standing up, “really, really sorry. I can explain.”
    “I think you’d better, and get out of there immediately,” he scolded. “In fact, go and wait for me in the other room. I’m not even dressed for heaven’s sake.”
    The only way out from behind the rack of trousers was to crawl out from under it, and as she dropped on to her hands and knees, her heart was thumping and her thoughts were racing.
    Oooh, what have I done? He may never speak to me again. I’m going to tell him that-
    - but before she could think another word, a hot, stinging smack on her backside made her squeal in pain and shock. Bolting upright she grabbed her seat, staring up at him, aghast that he’d struck her.
    Duncan had snatched the nearest thing his hand could reach, which happened to be his long, mahogany shoe horn. Gripping the steel horn he’d swished the wooden handle against her bottom as she had crawled out from underneath his trousers, bringing it down with a hard, swift strike.
    “Get yourself into the sitting room immediately.”
    Her hand still clutching her seat, she stumbled to her feet and raced into the main room.
    Shit, this hurts. Good grief, what have I done?
    You got exactly what you wanted.
    I think I got the tip of the iceberg. That look on his face! He’s furious.
    When she’d heard him return her mind had gone into overdrive. Her first impulse was to show herself but she’d chickened out, making the choice to hide, hoping she’d find a way to slip out undetected. When he’d entered the closet and turned on the light she’d frantically tried to think of a defense, deciding that humor might help; clearly she’d been wrong.
    Still standing in the middle of the living room rubbing her burning behind when he entered, she cowered under his glare as he sauntered toward her.
    “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded, towering over her.
    “I don’t know…” she bleated.
    “I’ll guess, shall I? You wanted me to spank you, so instead of waiting until tonight, instead of allowing things between us to develop of their own accord, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You decided to break in…I assume you slipped in while the maid was here…right?”
    “Uh, right,” she squeaked.
    “How did you know when she’d be in my room?”
    “I was watching through a crack in my door,” she admitted. “I guess you could say I was, uh, staking you out.”
    “So, you saw her, you snuck in, then waited for me to come back, get caught and get your spanking. How am I doing so far?”
    “That’s about it,” she mumbled, “only…”
    “Only what?”
    “I changed my mind. It was a terrible idea, but then it was too late. I’m sorry, Duncan, I really am. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life, not ever, I swear,” except in my fantasies, my one fantasy.
    “I do not tolerate conniving manipulations,” he said sternly. “If we were back in London I’d take my cane to you. It would be the last time you’d pull such a stunt, I can assure you.”
    “I don’t know what