8. Catherine
Iwaited for my new husband in the carriage, feeling stiff and furious. The only good thing about getting married had been the bonnet, and now that was half a mile off in a mud puddle.
For a moment I indulged myself in bitter reflections. If only my mother had listened to me! If only my father had believed me, then we wouldn’t be in this mess and I wouldn’t be married to a man who had chosen me simply because I was a Wendover who could give him a baby.
My eyes darted around the busy inn yard.
I had to find some way to escape, but what I should do was not immediately clear to me.
St. Erth’s two drivers were outside the carriage smoking. They both looked quite like villains, with Liversedge as big and broad as Gilly was short and squirrelly, and they would surely alert the Viscount if I tried to run away.
I had only ever traveled with Mama, Papa, Millward, and a full retinue of maids and servants. I knew nothing about what things cost or how to get anywhere. Maybe I could steal a horse from one of the stables and ride away?
But I had never saddled a horse myself and I supposed it was too much to hope that there would be one ready and saddled for a lady to ride.
The land of Somerset looked pretty enough, although the wind meant my thick auburn hair felt thoroughly tangled and wild. I must look a fright.
Maybe I would look too much a fright for the Viscount to want to . . .lie with me as husbands lay with wives.
My stomach felt in knots, remembering what Cook had said.
“Is it pleasant?” I had asked her after her brief and pungent description of what marital duties would be required of me.
“That’s AS may be,” she sniffed. “I’ve seen some cocks that would make your tail curl like a pig’s, girl. And I’ve seen some cocks I wouldn’t even care to cut up for Monday morning stew.”
I had no idea what either of those things meant and now I wished I had thought to inquire further.
The Viscount’s cock had seemed to be quite large, too large to fit into something like the warmth between my legs.
A sudden stab of fear went through me, and in a blind panic I opened the carriage door, my shaky legs primed to run as far as I could in one direction or the other.
But then my new husband’s shadow fell over me and I looked up with a little start into his savage face. How could someone so beautiful be so cruel? It reminded me of how Satan imitated a beautiful angel to tempt good people.
Except the only thing I was tempted to do was run away from him as far and fast as I could.
But I didn’t dare while he watched me with a frown on the harsh planes of his face.
“I told you to stay in the carriage,” he said.
“I am in the carriage,” I replied, trying to force my knees not to knock together.
“Follow me,” he snapped, and I did. Inside, the friendly-looking innkeeper directed us past a snug and cozy taproom with a fire, and up the stairs to the second floor.
This was clearly the best room in the inn and had been carefully prepared for the Viscount’s arrival. It smelled fresh and clean, with a big neat bed and a table with fresh water to tidy up with.
I looked at the bed with trepidation, but when the servants had deposited our luggage and left, the Viscount sat down in a heavy wooden chair.
“Get over here,” he said.
I hesitated indecisively. I wanted to protest, run away, scream, but my throat felt too parched. And what would happen if I did? The innkeeper seemed like a kindly man, but I had seen him bow his head and grab his forelock when he greeted the Viscount.
I wasn’t sure how much help he would be.
In the split second I hesitated, I could see my husband’s face darken, and he leaned back in the chair. I noticed his powerful thighs had fallen apart. He had one hand on each side of his chair and his pose was relaxed, but I felt nervous.
“Get over here, wife,” he ordered again.
“I am not used to b-being spoken to like that,” I said, stumbling over my words.
“So I gather,” my husband said dryly. “But you’re not a Wendover anymore, are you? You’re Viscountess St. Erth. And you are now mine to do what I want with.”
“C-Can’t you get your revenge another way?” I asked hopefully. “Maybe by not paying all my father’s debts?”
St. Erth laughed coldly. “I won’t be paying any of his debts, you little fool. I’ll be getting my revenge with your body and our baby. Don’t disobey me or I’ll tan your ass until you’ve got welts.”
I gasped. I had never been spoken to in such a way in my life. Surely he wasn’t serious!
But I didn’t want to test him.
So I walked up to my new husband and stood there uncertainly.
His eyes flicked lazily up and down my body, but there was something that wasn’t lazy too.
“On your knees,” he said.
I didn’t know if this was part of the whole wifely duty thing, so I delayed, biting my lip nervously.
“What for?”
Suddenly, my husband rose from the chair in a swift, almost predatorial, motion and pounced on me, gripping my hair tightly.
“Ouch, stop!” I complained.
“I told you to get on your knees,” St. Erth gritted out in my ear. “Unless you want the whole inn listening as I whip you.”
He didn’t even give me another chance to obey, but put one big hand on my shoulder and bore me down to the ground as my legs tangled in the skirts of my dress. I was so trapped by my wedding gown that I couldn’t move.
St. Erth sat back down in his chair.
“Get my cock out,” he said.