Chapter 3 #2
Olivia studied her reflection, noting the heightened color in her cheeks and the unusual brightness in her eyes. “Thank you, Martha. That will be all for now.”
When she descended the stairs, Victor was waiting in the foyer. His eyes darkened appreciatively as they traveled over her figure.
“You followed my instruction,” he observed, offering his arm. “The blue does indeed complement your eyes.”
A pleased smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at his approval. “Thank you, Victor.”
The sound of carriage wheels announced their guests’ arrival, breaking the intimate moment between them.
“Remember,” Victor murmured before the butler opened the door, “dignity and grace.”
Dinner proved a more complex battlefield than Olivia had anticipated.
Lady Atherton, Caroline, was a willowy blonde with a sharp mind and sharper tongue, clearly curious about the duke’s hasty marriage.
The woman was at least ten years older than Olivia.
Olivia felt out of place and young compared to their guests.
“Such a whirlwind romance,” Caroline remarked as they settled at the table, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “The society matrons were quite taken aback. The duke has been so . . . selective since his return from the war.”
“Sometimes certainty doesn’t require time,” Olivia replied evenly, feeling Victor’s attention from the head of the table.
Lord Atherton, a broad-shouldered man with a prominent facial scar, chuckled. “Blackwood always could assess a situation faster than the rest of us. Saved my hide at Salamanca because of it.”
“Atherton,” Victor cautioned, though his tone remained light.
“Apologies,” Lord Atherton said, glancing at the ladies. “War stories are hardly appropriate dinner conversation.”
Caroline leaned forward, her interest piqued. “Nonsense. I find them fascinating. The duchess must be curious about her husband’s heroics.”
Olivia noticed the slight tightening of Victor’s jaw. She sensed dangerous ground.
“I prefer to look forward rather than backward,” she said smoothly. “Though I’m grateful to all who served, including my husband and Lord Atherton.”
Victor’s eyes met hers briefly, a flicker of gratitude passing between them.
The dinner proceeded through several courses, conversation flowing more easily as the wine was poured. Olivia maintained her composure, playing the gracious hostess despite Caroline’s occasional pointed remarks about her sudden entrance into society as a duchess.
It was during dessert that Olivia felt her first true test approaching. Caroline had turned the conversation to a mutual acquaintance—the very artist who had painted Olivia’s scandalous portrait.
“His exhibitions have caused quite a stir in certain circles,” Caroline said, watching Olivia carefully. “He has a remarkable talent for capturing his subjects’ . . . essence.”
Lord Atherton’s expression shifted slightly. “Reynolds. The name sounds familiar. Wasn’t he that artist who frequented the French embassy events before the peace?”
Victor’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Indeed? I wasn’t aware his connections were so . . . international.”
“Oh yes,” Caroline continued, oblivious to the sudden interest from the men. “Always sketching at diplomatic functions. Said he found ‘political faces most revealing.’ Though I daresay some subjects reveal more than others.” Her gaze slid meaningfully to Olivia.
Lord Atherton cleared his throat. “I believe he departed rather suddenly for the Continent some months ago. Most curious timing, just as the Home Office began investigating certain information leaks.”
Olivia’s fingers tightened around her dessert fork, her appetite vanishing. Was there more to Reynolds’ sudden disappearance than the need for coin?
Caroline’s lips curved in a predatory smile.
“I must say, I was surprised to hear of your marriage, Your Grace,” she said, addressing Olivia with false sweetness.
“Especially after all that unpleasantness with Mr. Reynolds’ recent exhibition.
They say one of his paintings bore a striking resemblance to a duke’s daughter. ”
A tense silence fell over the table. Lord Atherton shifted uncomfortably while Victor remained perfectly still, his face betraying nothing.
“I suppose you would know all about Mr. Reynolds’ work,” Olivia replied, her temper finally slipping its leash, “being so familiar with common gossip. Tell me, Lady Atherton, is it the provincial upbringing that makes you so fascinated with others’ affairs, or merely a lack of substance in your own life? ”
Caroline’s face flushed crimson, and Lord Atherton coughed into his napkin. Victor’s gaze found Olivia’s across the table, his expression revealing nothing to their guests but speaking volumes to her. She had failed her first test.
When the Athertons finally departed, Olivia stood in the entrance hall beside Victor, her smile fixed until the door closed behind them.
“That went well enough,” she said, turning toward the stairs.
Victor’s hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist. “Did it?”
Olivia’s heart skipped. “Caroline Atherton was deliberately provocative. Surely you noticed.”
“I noticed,” Victor confirmed, his voice deceptively calm. “Just as I noticed your response.”
“What would you have had me do? Stand mute while she all but accused me of posing for scandalous paintings?” Olivia challenged.
“I would have had you maintain control over yourself,” Victor replied. “Not sink to petty insults.”
The truth of his words stung. Olivia had indeed lost her composure, reacting precisely as Caroline had intended.
“Come,” Victor said, leading her not toward the stairs but to a side room. A small library she hadn’t yet explored.
He closed the door behind them, leaning against it as he studied her. “You broke one of our rules tonight.”
“Which rule was that?” Olivia asked, though she knew perfectly well.
“You failed to comport yourself with dignity in public,” Victor said. “Lady Atherton was testing you, yes. But how you respond to such tests reflects on our house. And on how society will continue to see you.”
Olivia crossed her arms, defensive heat climbing up her neck. “So I’m to be a perfect, unfeeling duchess whenever we have company? Never defending myself against insults?”
“There are ways to defend yourself without descending to their level,” Victor pointed out. “You’re more clever than that, Olivia.”
The compliment hidden within the criticism caught her off guard.
“This is your first offense,” Victor continued, “and the rules are new. So, the correction will be mild.”
Olivia’s mouth went dry, a peculiar tingling sensation spreading across her skin. “You mean to punish me now? After I’ve spent an entire evening tolerating that woman’s barbs?”
“Yes,” Victor said simply. He moved to a straight-backed chair, setting it in the center of the room. “Come here.”
Olivia hesitated, torn between defiance and the agreement she had made mere hours ago. Finally, she approached, stopping before him.
“You will lie across my lap,” Victor instructed, seating himself. “I’ll lift your skirts and deliver ten strokes to your backside. You will count each one aloud and thank me afterward.”
Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. “This is absurd. I’m not a child to be spanked for misbehavior.”
“No,” Victor agreed, his voice deepening. “You’re my wife. This is the consequence of breaking our agreement.”
Olivia warred with her pride and her traitorous body. This was the true test. Not dinner with the Athertons, but this moment of choice. Would she honor her submission when it became difficult?
With trembling hands, she arranged herself across Victor’s lap, the position itself a humiliation. Her face burned as she felt him carefully arranging her skirts.
His hands moved beneath her skirts, finding nothing but bare skin.
Olivia tensed as the cool air touched her exposed skin. She had never felt so vulnerable, so completely at another’s mercy.
“Ten strokes,” Victor reminded her.
The first impact came without warning, his palm connecting firmly with the soft flesh of her bottom. It stung more than she expected, a sharp, concentrated pain.
“One,” she gasped.
“You didn’t thank me, Olivia.”
She gritted her teeth. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The second fell immediately after, slightly higher than the first. “Two. Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Someone wants to be my good girl again, don’t they?”
She nodded, and he delivered another spank.
By the fifth, Olivia was squirming involuntarily, her eyes stinging not from pain alone but also from the overwhelming emotions the position evoked—shame, vulnerability, and more she couldn’t name.
A strange warmth was building between her legs, a shameful heat that had nothing to do with the burning of her punished flesh.
“Five. Thank you, Your Grace.” she managed, her voice catching as she widened her legs a bit, hoping that his fingers might graze there.
Victor paused, his free hand resting on the small of her back. “Halfway done, little one. You’re taking your correction well.”
There it was again. That endearment somehow made her feel both small and cherished. Protected even in the midst of punishment. His age, his authority, his quiet confident tone. All of it created a sense of safety and care that seemed paradoxical given her current position.
His fingers strayed lower, brushing the curve where her buttock met her thigh, and Olivia bit her lip to suppress a moan. Her body’s response mortified her. How could she find arousal in punishment?
The sixth stroke landed, and Olivia’s hips instinctively pushed upward, seeking contact with Victor’s hand. He noticed, a soft chuckle escaping him.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a deeper register. “Your body betrays you, Duchess. I can feel your arousal against my thigh.”
Olivia buried her face against the chair, a whimper escaping her lips. “Six. Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered.