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ABIGAIL FOUND IT HARD to swallow. Who was this man? To gain entry into the Cavern, he must have been someone Penelope trusted, or was impressed by. It was common knowledge that the proprietress had an eye for beauty. Abigail did not think her abductor was long a patron of Madame Botreaux’s, but she had noticed the man in Penelope’s exclusive balcony. He had somehow penetrated her inner sanctum. The man must have been handsome indeed.
Would it be possible to, as he had suggested, take pleasure in her abduction? He had foiled her moment of glory, or at least delayed it. Tremayne could hardly reproach her for having been kidnapped on the way to meet him. She would explain the extraordinary circumstance, he would be relieved to find her safe, and he would determine that instead of requiring her to meet him at some posting inn outside of London, they should travel together. It would not matter what had been written upon that forged note once she exposed the truth to Tremayne once she had been set free. When she was to be set free. She wondered how long her abductor intended to keep her. Surely he intended to set her free at some point? Or did he plan to enslave her in some secret harem of his?
Her offer of twenty thousand pounds had interested him. She was sure of it. He was only biding his time. He meant to toy with her at first, perhaps hoping to exact more from her. She looked at him, but the lamp had rolled beneath the table, and she saw only shadows upon his face. His hair was powdered and his hands gloved. She could discern nothing from his ordinary garments. He was a gentleman, but she could find no distinguishing features. His voice was somewhat familiar, but that was likely because she had encountered him at Madame Botreaux’s.
The sound of a carriage approaching outside drew both their attention. The door opened and another man walked in. This time she noticed the man to be in service, perhaps a footman. He appeared surprised to find the lantern upon the ground but said nothing. He retrieved the light and packed up the victuals.
“Have you any water to quench my thirst?” she asked. If there were a means to delay them...she would surely be better off here within proximity of others than wherever they intended to take her.
The footman glanced at his master, who nodded. A canteen was produced and held to her lips. As she drank the water, she wondered if there was a way to leave evidence that she had been here. It were not entirely improbable that Tremayne might discover the note to be a hoax and come in search of her.
“I am hungry,” she pronounced.
“Perhaps you should have thought of it before your little act of defiance,” her abductor replied. “But your punishment does not entail starvation.”
He gestured to his servant, who unpacked the bread and cheese.
“I shall require my hands to eat.”
“I fear you have lost that privilege, but my valet can feed you.”
She bristled. She was to be fed like an animal or a child? But the thought of her hands bound behind her inspired an idea. She would leave behind one of her gloves if she were able to extricate one.
“Very well,” she consented.
The valet broke off a piece of the bread and held it to her mouth. She chewed slowly. All the while her abductor watched with a faint smile upon his lips. Behind her back, she tugged at one of her gloves. It would be but a small chance that Tremayne would come across it, but it was better than naught.
The valet offered her the cheese, but she shook her head. “I have not enough of an appetite to be of further spectacle.”
Her abductor pulled her to her feet and guided her out. She dropped her glove behind her before climbing into the carriage. Her abductor sat across from her once more. He crossed one leg over another.
“Let us review a few rules,” he said, “that I am sure will be familiar to you. First, you are to address me always with a deferential ‘Sir’ when speaking. Second, you will ask permission for everything. You are to begin each request with ‘Please, Sir, may I.’”
A tremor went down her spine. She was indeed familiar with such rules as they were employed by the masters at Madame Botreaux’s as well as herself.
“Third, you shall thank me for all that I grant and all that I do. Is that understood?”
Abigail contemplated her response. She would have happily played the submissive were the master the likes of the Marquess of Dunnesford, but to capitulate to a stranger who had the audacity to kidnap her...
“Is that understood?” he repeated with an edge.
“Yessss,” she replied reluctantly.
“Yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I must remind you that you have a punishment forthcoming. I would not compound it were I you.”
Trying not to be too irked, she ventured, “What is the nature of my punishment? Sir.”
“Let us reserve that as a pleasant surprise. I will reiterate that good behavior will be rewarded, and I should prefer to mete out rewards than punishment.”
“And what is your experience as a master, pray? It is no small responsibility to take on a submissive.”
He waited patiently until she realized she had neglected a crucial word.
“Sir,” she added grimly.
“Baroness, you are not off to a promising start.”
“Surely you would allow me some reprieve as I have been put into most exceptional circumstances, Sir.”
“I would for an ordinary person, but you, Lady Debarlow are hardly ordinary.”
“You flatter me. Sir.”
Ignoring her acerbic tone, he continued, “Therefore, I have no qualms of holding you to the highest standards. I am confident you will quickly fall in line – and enjoy doing so.”
She gave a short snort.
“I see that I have quite the wayward child upon my hands,” he said, his tone turning ominous. I had not expected to play the role of taskmaster so soon. Turn over.”
Had she heard him correctly?
“Pardon?”
There was only scant light from the moon and stars, but she saw him shaking his head.
“Sir,” he supplied.
She sucked in her breath. Damn. It had been too long since she had been in the role of the submissive. “Forgive me, sir.”
“You are forgiven this once. Now turn over.”
“But you—“
“I will not tolerate your insolence, Baroness.”
“I—“
“I expect you to obey swiftly and without question.”
She could tell from his tone that he was serious. “Turn over? Sir?”
“Turn over and kneel upon the floor.”
She considered playing dumb, but that would only irritate him. Complying, she turned to face her seat and dropped to her knees. He put a hand between her shoulder blades and bent her over the seat.
For a moment she wondered if he would force himself upon her, but the dominants at Madame Botreaux’s were not ravishers. Nonetheless, it were possible that a miscreant had slipped in. Her abductor had declared that no harm would come to her. He need not have made such an assurance, lest it were the truth.
“What can one do to discipline an errant child?” he queried.
“I have no children and cannot speak to what methods work best, Sir,” she answered.
“My governor would take the paddle to my arse.”
She became aware that her own rump faced her abductor.
“Tell me: what form of punishment do you favor, Baroness?”
“To administer or to receive, Sir?”
“I have seen you, as mistress, wield the crop often.”
She heard the sound of something slicing through air and smack against flesh – his hand, perhaps. Her pulse began to throb.
“It be a favored tool of mine, Sir,” she acknowledged.
“Have you felt the sting of a crop?”
She forced a swallow. “Aye. Sir.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“It would depend upon the man who held the crop, Sir.”
“That was not my question, Baroness.”
“I enjoyed it, Sir.”
“You have used one quite extensively with the Viscount.”
What was his purpose in stating such a fact? She shifted uncomfortably against the seat. She had to crane her head for it pressed flush against the back of the seat.
“How ironic then if you were to feel that same crop upon your own body.”
“Do you imply that you have in your possession my riding crop? Sir.”
He propped a foot next to her and slapped the crop against his boot. “It were an appropriate instrument for an equestrian.”
She kept her tone light but could not resist, “You are a thief as well as a kidnapper, Sir.”
“You may have your riding crop back when we are finished.”
His words encouraged her. There was to be an end to their charade.
“Now, how best to address your earlier impertinence?” He tapped the crop against his boot in thought. “The possibilities are endless...and delicious.”
He had patience, she allowed. In contrast, Tremayne would have thrown her skirts above her hips long before. She admired – grudgingly – how this stranger had drawn out the expectation, augmenting her agitation through his procrastination.
“Perhaps a good spanking were in order,” he declared.
A mixture of uneasy emotions swirled in her stomach. She did not think she would like to be touched by this stranger, but she could not deny a small sense of curiosity and anticipation.
“The rope about your wrists will be untied,” he continued. “You will lift your skirts for me...and expose your rump.”
Her heart pounded more boldly. She wondered if she should speak and persuade him not to continue, but perhaps it were best to conclude this first reprimand sooner rather than later. She could certainly handle a simple spanking. She felt the tap of the crop against her flank.
“The backside of a woman is a most engaging part. As with the bosom, the curves of the buttocks are distinctive of the female sex. Both sets of orbs present such supple visions, such feasts for the eye. The body of a woman is quite balanced in that respect.”
He spoke in a whisper still, but occasionally his voice would drop into a seductive baritone.
“How tempting would you consider your arse, Baroness?”
“Sir?”
“As luscious as two ripened peaches in the summer?”
“I have had little occasion to view mine own arse, Sir.”
“No? That will have to be remedied, especially if you prove to have an exceptional piece. Has no one commented upon your rump before?”
“Not that I can remember, Sir.”
“Describe your bum.”
“I said I have had little occasion—“
“What can I expect to behold?”
“Two buttocks, Sir, lest I have grown another that I am unaware of.”
“A shame we have such little illumination. I should wish to inspect your derrière. Perhaps we could halt the carriage and access the lantern by the driver. I think the driver and my valet would readily give their thoughts on the quality of your rump as well.”
It was bad enough that she might have to bare herself to her abductor, but the thought of herself exposed to three strange men was too much.
“What do you wish for me to say, Sir?” she inquired.
“The truth. I have seen all manner of posteriors. Some are rather flat. Others bulbous like tomatoes bursting on the vine.”
“I should think mine of middling size and shape, Sir.”
“Is that all?”
“I do not perceive it to have any distinguishing features.”
“Modesty becomes you not, Baroness.”
She felt her cheeks burning at the degradation of having to discuss her arse if it were a slice of meat being sold at market.
“Do you like your arse?”
“I have an attachment to it, being as it is the only one I have owned. Sir.”
“Do you exalt or despair its qualities?”
“Exalt, Sir.”
“Much better. What would you say to entice attention to it?”
She envisioned her own backside and did her best to answer him. “You would find its complexion as smooth and soft as that of babe. Its appearance is full and round.”
“Would one orb fit nicely in my hand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Does it quiver when struck?”
“Most delectably, Sir.”
She felt warm in the confines of the carriage – perhaps the consequence of having had to remain in her awkward position at length...or something else.
“I look forward to making an acquaintance with your bottom, Lady Debarlow. You may resume your seat.”
His directive surprised her. After all that dialogue, she had expected more to come of it. Was she disappointed or relieved?
He assisted her back into a sitting position when it became clear she was having difficulty moving as the carriage jostled along the road. Her limbs were stiff, and her neck ached.
“We have a considerable length before reaching our destination,” he explained. “I recommend you rest. You have before you a long venture.”
She settled into her seat but doubted she could sleep.