Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Before settling in that night, Milton poured himself a brandy and grabbed The Marriage of Heaven and Hell from his stack of bedside books.
Mutton lay beside him in his usual place upon the floor, the wolfhound’s tail thumping for attention.
Milton tried to read Blake’s poems, but his thoughts returned again to Miss Winthrop’s giddy laughter in the woods, to her peculiar expression of hurt and gratitude when he’d purchased her those new spectacles.
She may come from finer stock than he did, but he knew hunger when he saw it. He also knew mistrust.
She was wary of gifts, and wary of him.
His mind replayed how he’d shown the young lady a needed lesson in control. He regretted taming her in the park, because one’s future wife deserved better than a harried thrashing outdoors. Yet the manner in which she’d goaded and provoked had given him no choice but to make good on his threats.
He pictured her strawberry-red bottom and willed his cock to subside.
He would have to teach her other, less pleasant lessons in the days leading up to their wedding, but he now feared those lessons less—feared their union less—though no doubt theirs would be a ‘marriage of heaven and hell’ just like Blake foretold.
He returned to his book, dogged by thoughts of Miss Winthrop.
Her response to his punishment still surprised him.
She may be a titled member of the Ton, but she was no lily-livered miss.
She’d stood up to that butcher, stood up to her father, and repeatedly, it seemed, stood up to him.
She would not cross him again though, of this he was certain.
Nor would she willingly subject her sister to the demands he’d wrung from Elizabeth’s body today.
No, Miss Winthrop was up to the task of marriage.
And she’d need her fortitude if she were to survive being both his wife and mother to his children.
He needed her obedience, but he also needed her strength.
Both would test his mettle, much as he still needed to test hers.
“Lizzie!” Bella’s voice roused her from her sleep. “Lizzie, you’ve another note!”
This time Elizabeth did not scowl at her sister’s announcement but smiled secretly to herself, easing her sore bottom from bed to don her fraying banyan and make her way downstairs to breakfast. What message would the Baron deliver with this morning’s bouquet?
My dear Elizabeth, I hope today’s blooms better suit. I shall arrive at two and steel myself for rePUGnant conversation with your neighbor. Wear your new gold spectacles and I shall know you have forgiven me yesterday’s liberties. —Milton
She lowered her nose to sample the modest cornflowers winking from their vase upon the foyer’s narrow table.
They were as blue as his eyes and whispered their intention loud and clear: She would indeed be gentle with him today.
She felt she could afford to, now that her feelings toward the Baron had shifted.
He was still an impudent, randy whoreson, but he was clearly something more.
Miss Li’s words echoed in her head: Accept the man Milton has been, not just the man he shows himself to be.
She was admittedly now curious to know her future husband.
“What does he write, Lizzie?” Annabelle craned her neck across the dining room table to peer at Elizabeth through the door.
Elizabeth slipped the note into her pocket and proceeded in to breakfast, her thoughts awash with blue flowers.
She did not share the missive with Bella but simply sat down to butter her toast, her mind replaying yesterday’s events.
Spanking aside, Milton had shockingly fixed her hair, a skill no gentleman she knew possessed.
And when he’d driven them straight to an eyeglass shop after, he’d purchased her not two but three expensive eyepieces.
A silver-rimmed pair to replace the one his boot had smashed, a gold-rimmed spare, plus mother-of-pearl inlaid spectacles commissioned especially to match her wedding gown.
She was about to take a bite of her toast, still overcome by her betrothed’s generosity, when her father barked, “Lizzie!”
She looked up from her plate.
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
“Forgive me, Father, I am rather tired this morning,” she lied.
“We must know whom to invite to this wedding of yours,” he decreed. “And as Baron of Milton does not deign to answer my correspondence nor honor me with his presence”—he loudly harrumphed—“it is incumbent on you to ascertain the details.”
“Of course, Papa, I shall ask him today.”
He squinted at her. “Are those new spectacles you are wearing?”
Elizabeth stiffened. “Yes. The Baron took me shopping.”
“Did he?” A gleam lit her father’s eye. “And what else did he buy you, my dear?”
“A wedding dress and wardrobe, nothing of value you might steal.”
His face flushed. “Elizabeth Winthrop, I did not raise you to be insolent.”
“Of course not, Papa.” She resumed eating her toast. “You scarce raised me at all.”
She ignored her father’s glare and Annabelle’s searching looks for the rest of breakfast, instead recalling Milton’s parting words from yesterday.
He’d ardently pressed her hand to his lips at her doorstep to whisper, “You may wish to have a long, hot soak in your bath tonight, miss, lest your bottom still smart come morning.”
“And you may wish to prepare yourself for pugnacious interview tomorrow with Lady Stanton, sir. I must warn you the lady’s twin siblings, the Mrs. R. and Mrs. M., are even more odious than her pug.”
He’d tapped her nose with the tip of one gloved finger. “I cannot wait to enjoy their company, Miss Winthrop, and yours.”
At precisely two o’clock Milton stood upon a shockingly clean threshold, though he was ushered in by a different, more unkempt footman this time, who hollered crassly up the stairs, “Yer betrothed’s ’ere, miss!”
He rolled his eyes at a household in such disarray, then tossed a coin to the lowlife dressed in livery.
Had Milton not just forgiven Winthrop’s gaming debt and more than paid back the man’s losses with the sum settled on Elizabeth?
Ample funds to keep a proper footman, pay off a leering butcher, and settle whatever other debts this lord had.
Unless Winthrop’s affairs were in even worse straits than Li assumed.
Milton heard steps descending the stairs and looked up to see Elizabeth wearing her new gold spectacles. One test passed nicely. His heart leapt. Now to see if she passes the next…
He took her arm. “Miss Winthrop, you are a vision. I gather my bouquet was better received today?”
“It was, sir.”
The small, blue cornflower tucked into her dark hair made him swallow. “Good.” He patted her arm and led her out. “Only tell me quickly all I must know before we sit down with the esteemed Lady Stanton. I should like to be prepared for conversation as pugnacious as you warn.”
She pulled something from her pocket. “Before we embark, sir, Cook found this in her kitchen, and I could only presume—”
“Thank you, Miss Winthrop, I have missed my kidskin. Though I thought, perhaps, you might have kept the glove, to remember me by?”
She blushed prettily. “I must warn you, sir, Lady Stanton shall undoubtedly ask how we met. We must have a story for her and her sisters to chew on, but it must not agitate.”
“Ah.” Milton squelched his grin. “What sort of story, do you think?”
His betrothed worried her lip again in such a fetching way he wished to hoist her back into his phaeton for another spanking foray.
“A slightly wicked story, sir.” Those lips cracked a smile. “The Ton likes nothing better than a scandalous start to a marriage, though ours should not be too scandalous, mind.” Her brow creased. “I’d hate to see my sister tainted by anything untoward.”
“Of course.” He patted her arm in reassurance. “I shall think of something appropriately wicked, Miss Winthrop, have no fear.”
She gazed at him with such newly trusting eyes he felt like a cad to deceive her. Instead, he brushed off the thought and bent his head to her ear. “And did you take that bath last night, Elizabeth, as ordered?” His arm dropped to her waist to slip low over her backside.
“Sir!”
“Did it soothe your aching bum?” He wanted his words to ignite her. “Because I admit I imagined you soaking in the water’s warm embrace. I imagined every inch of you naked in your bath, the liquid caressing your heated flesh. You’ve such a lovely, lush bottom, Lizzie...”
She let out a squeak as Lady Stanton’s footman opened the townhouse door and announced, “Baron of Milton and Miss Elizabeth Winthrop to see you, madam.”
Twenty minutes later, Lady Stanton’s parlor maid poured Elizabeth her third cup of tea. She’d been sipping for sheer nerves, though why she was so nervous she’d no idea. She’d visited her neighbor’s home often enough.
Though never with her betrothed.
Portly Sir Wigglebottom panted at Elizabeth’s feet, the dog’s drool wetting her dress hem.
She tried nudging him with her toe, but his squat little form would not budge.
Milton sat close beside her, his masculine scent invading her nostrils in the cramped, stuffy room.
Lady Stanton’s damask drapes suffocated, her plush carpet too dark and too dense.
When the Baron’s hand promptly slid to Elizabeth’s lap, the weight of his palm traveled straight up her thigh, making her only more skittish.
Did he mean to soothe or unsettle? And had the man no sense at how improper his hand’s placement was?
“Lady Stanton, it is an honor, truly, to be welcomed so warmly into your home.” Milton’s teeth smiled, just not his eyes.