The Westerfield Trilogy Read online

  “A bit of a scandal? I heard you nearly broke Fenton’s jaw before you ran off with her.”

  He kept his face blank, resisting a wince. “Yes, well. It was a result of a misunderstanding, and I was completely to blame,” he said, humbling himself. “Unfortunately, it’s my wife who has suffered from my mistake, so it’s my duty to correct it. I’m having a ball to present her as Lady Westerfield this weekend, and it would mean a lot to me if you would all attend,” he said, appealing to their sympathies.

  There was an uncomfortable shifting and rustling. He knew perfectly well each of them had already received the invitation and sent their regrets, but he remained steady, meeting their eyes, awaiting their agreement. He felt a trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck.

  “Randolph?” he prompted.

  “I believe we may have had a previous engagement that night, but ah, yes—I’ll talk to my wife. I’m sure we can rearrange our plans.”

  “Thank you. Rutledge?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it, Westerfield.”

  “I believe my wife sent our regrets, but I, too, will see if our plans can be arranged.”

  “Thank you, Langley. I promise to repay the favor in any way I can,” he assured them.

  It could have been worse. It was painful, but had been productive. Like placing a bet on the table, it required the attitude that the hand already belonged to him. He knew how to play that game.

  With each successive group, the strangling sensation lessened and making his appeal grew slightly easier. This was what it would be like to actively campaign for a bill, he realized. After securing promises from the next group, he actually tossed out his support for the Animal Cruelty act, asking them all to consider backing it.

  He lost his stride with the next group, however, when he realized Lord Fenton was a part of it. They had not spoken since the night of the ball, though several times he’d seen Fenton looking as though he wanted to approach. Fenton took the initiative immediately. “Lord Westerfield,” he said with a bow. “I owe you and your wife an apology.”

  “It was a misunderstanding on my part,” Harry said, extending his hand. He held it after Fenton shook and warned, “But if you touch my wife again, you’re a dead man.” The men around them chuckled.

  “Understood,” Fenton grinned his easy, amiable smile, pumping his hand. “And thank you for inviting us to your reception—my sister and I have been looking forward to it all month.” He turned to the other men. “Have you weaseled an invitation out of Westerfield for his wedding reception? It should be the event of the season.”

  It was the first time he’d appreciated any aspect of Fenton’s personality. He saw, suddenly, why he and Kitty got on so well. Like Kitty, Fenton clearly understood the dynamics of a situation, the personalities involved, and how to persuade them. Though he knew Fenton had spoken for Kitty’s benefit, Harry appreciated the assistance. The other men promised their attendance and Harry moved on, finding his new brother-in-law and pulling him aside.

  “Help me put the pressure on to attend our ball?”

  Stanley blinked, and quickly comprehended the request. He nodded his agreement. “By all means.”

  “Thank you. I settled your debts at Spencer’s.”

  Stanley looked stunned. “That was more than we agreed upon.” Indeed, the 10,000 pounds he had already paid Stanley had not been applied to the debt, so it had taken a full 22,000 to discharge the debt.

  He shrugged. “She’s worth my entire fortune.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You must walk around and actually talk to the gentlemen tonight, Harry—you can’t simply stand with them saying nothing,” she chided him at the dining table on the day of their reception. Her brother Edward and his wife Susan had arrived that week for the ball, and the four of them had just finished their luncheon.

  To her delight, Harry had actually engaged with them, settling into a comfortable rapport with her brother and a polite solicitousness with her sister-in-law.

  “You actually expect me to participate in this ball?” Harry countered with mock astonishment. “I was thinking of hiding in the study the entire evening.”

  “Don’t you dare! I demand you dance with me, too—at least two dances.”

  “Kitty,” Edward cut in stiffly. “Browbeating your husband may very well land you over his knee,” he warned.

  “Oh, I’m certain it will,” she said breezily. “That’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

  There was a pregnant pause as that bit of information was received and Edward and Susan looked to Harry to gauge the truth. He’d closed his eyes in exasperation, but was unable to contain his suppressed laugh. He released it, shaking his head with chagrin.

  “Well, that makes it a bit hard to manage her, doesn’t it?” Edward asked.

  Harry chuckled again. “Yes, but she’s as sweet as honey after she’s been chastised. So it’s quite worth the trouble.”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm, but laughed along with the others. Then Edward grew serious. “Are you kind to her, Westerfield?”

  “Edward, please,” she interceded.

  Harry held up his hand, looking at her soberly. “Not kind enough. But I’m going to make it up to her.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she looked up toward the ceiling, waving her hands in front of them to prevent them from spilling. Ever attentive, he pressed a handkerchief in her hand.

  “Kitty now knows I am perfectly daft when it comes to reading women and she must be direct when she wants something from me. Don’t you, pussycat?”

  “Yes, my lord,” she smiled. He picked up her hand and traced circles with his thumb over her silky skin.

  “Are you nervous for the ball?”

  She tried to mask the anxiety tightening just below her breastbone. “Of course not!”

  “There’s nothing to fret over. The RSVPs came in after all, and I won’t abandon you for the study. I’ll dance every dance with you tonight, if you’ll let me.”

  “It’s going to be wonderful,” Susan chimed in.

  She blinked rapidly and looked upward again to stay her tears. “Thank you,” she said in a choked voice. “Will you excuse me? I’d like to take a bath before it’s time to dress.”

  She stood, forcing Harry and Edward to stand as well. Later, after she’d bathed and donned her corset, drawers, garters, and stockings, Harry entered. Violet was wrapping her freshly washed hair into a twist on the top of her head, weaving white roses in a ring around it.

  Harry leaned over and kissed her neck. “You look beautiful.”

  She smiled up at him and told Violet that Harry would help her with the rest of her dressing.

  “I have a present for you.”

  She spun around on her stool. “Do you?” she said, trying to conceal the childlike eagerness she felt.

  She must have been unsuccessful, because he laughed. “Yes,” he said, handing her a long, slender box.

  She opened it, drawing out an incredible strand of white seed pearls and alternating gold beads, a perfect match to her dress. “Harry!” she gasped. “They’re beautiful. Did you remember my dress had gold in it?”

  His brow furrowed. “How would I forget such a beautiful gown?”

  “You’re not like most men,” she said. “Or at least not like my brothers.” She held it out to him and turned around, offering her slender neck. He fastened the clasp and kissed the sensitive area over her pulse. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  He sat on the stool and pulled her to sit on his lap. “Still nervous?”

  “Monstrously,” she admitted. “I have a question for you, my lord.”

  “What is it?”

  “May I dance with Teddy tonight?”

  In a single motion, he lifted her off his lap and pulled her over his knee, spanking rapidly.

  “Ouch! I’m sorry!” she cried, anguished at offending her husband. “I only asked so I wouldn’t upset you!”

  He managed to coax her drawers down
as he continued spanking fast and hard and she wriggled over his lap.

  “Harry, please! I’m sorry!”

  He stopped and gave her bottom a pat, pulled her to stand, her drawers dropping to her ankles where she stepped out of them. He pulled her to straddle his lap.

  Her chest heaved as she struggled to breathe in the corset and her chin quivered with an unreleased sob.

  “Yes,” he said in an upbeat voice, “but only one dance and if he touches your breast again, I’ll kill him.”

  * * *

  Kitty’s lips parted in surprise. “What?” She giggled, looking relieved. “But why did you spank me?”

  “To remind you that you’re mine.”

  “Har-ry!” she protested. “That hurt.”

  “I know, kitten. I meant it to. I just might spank you every time you bring up Teddy or any other man to make me jealous.”

  She giggled again. “I was not trying to make you jealous this time.” She peered at him from under her lashes. “I can’t decide if you’re serious.”

  He pulled her hips forward so she could feel his hardened length pressing against his trousers. “I’ll show you what’s serious,” he murmured.

  She giggled again, rocking her hips forward and back over the bulge in his trousers. He cupped and squeezed her warmed bottom. Slipping his fingers farther, he stroked her moist sex. She gave an assenting moan when he began to glide along her glossy opening. She reached for his cock, wasting no time in standing on her toes to lift her hips and impale herself on his ready length.

  He groaned. As much as he liked to dominate, he loved when she took initiative too, her enthusiasm and eagerness to learn arousing to him. Taking hold of her hips, he pulled her forward and back, controlling their rhythm, winding her up until she ground herself hard and fast over him, seeking her release. It came quickly and she cried out, her fingers digging into his arms and the muscles of her sex contracting around his. He brought himself to a finish, releasing his passion as he held her tightly against him. He kissed below her collarbone, just under the pearls.

  “Mmm. That was serious,” she purred.

  “Yes. And I’m serious about this too—if you dance more than two dances with any man tonight, you’ll find yourself over my knee again, understood?”

  She leaned forward, pressing her lips against his ear. “Yes, my lord,” she murmured, her tongue darting out and licking at his earlobe so that his cock surged within her. Between her natural instincts and her skills in observation, she’d learned how to play his body better than her pianoforte.

  “Good girl,” he murmured. He ran his finger along the cleft of her buttocks, lightly circling his finger around her back hole.

  She twisted her hips to escape his touch. “Harry!”

  He slapped her flank twice, and she squealed in protest.

  “This belongs to me too, Kitty. And I’m going to take you here soon.”

  She drew in a breath, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks. “You can do that?”

  He chuckled. “I certainly can, and I will.”

  The idea of it re-enervated his cock inside her, and she slowly rocked her hips over it. He continued to circle the ring of her anus and move his cock within her. She moaned, her breathing turning ragged. Pressing more firmly, he breached in her back hole, and she squeezed around his finger, her buttocks tightening and springing in the air. Her wriggling only enhanced the movement of his finger and his now fully stiffened cock inside her.

  “Harry,” she panted.

  “Yes, pussycat?” he murmured.

  “Harry!” He continued plunging his finger into her back hole, using an arm around her waist to move her hips as her agitation mounted.

  “Harry, please!” she gasped, grabbing his hair and tugging it. He plunged deeper, harder, each time he yanked her wet sex fully over his length until she convulsed, arching in his hands, crying his name. He held her, kissing the soft spot behind her ear, murmuring endearments.

  “Did you—?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Not this time, kitten, but you can make it up to me later.”

  She sighed contentedly and laid her head on his shoulder, her body feeling limp and heavy against his.

  “Are you still nervous?”

  She pulled her head back to look at him, her eyes taking a moment to come into focus. “Was that your purpose?”

  “Mmm hmm. Did it work?”

  “I love you,” she said, pressing her lips against his. He returned the kiss, squeezing her bottom, feeling smug.

  “Harry?”

  “Yes?”

  “How did you get people to change their RSVPs?”

  “I enlisted my mother and I did as you suggested—I campaigned in Parliament.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. “You did?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I spoke to everyone. I told them this ball was important to me and that I’d like their support.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she leaned forward and kissed him. “And of course, they all followed. I knew you could move mountains.”

  He felt a burning behind his own eyes and blinked rapidly. “Only because of you.”

  * * *

  Dressed in her white wedding dress, with her husband’s arm around her waist, Kitty greeted their first guests, Lord and Lady Stonebridge. Her hands were cold and clammy in her gloves and her smile was too bright as she curtsied to the introduction. She thought of the dozens of times since her coming out two years ago that she’d said or done the wrong thing and been labeled as “odd” or “eccentric.”

  The fact was, she’d never fit in with the ton, and now, between her dreadful behavior at the ball and her abrupt elopement with Harry, she was probably considered a hussy to boot. The guests entered in pairs and groupings and she suffered through the introductions and greetings, feeling sweat trickling down her ribs, even as her fingers remained chilled.

  Harry seemed to realize her anguish, because he frequently pulled her against him, as if to shield her from any harm or support her lest she swoon. Yet there was no mention of the Westerfield affair; their guests were polite, if not warm, and the evening was going smoothly.

  “You’re more quiet than I tonight,” Harry remarked when there was a lull between guests.

  She gave him a wan smile. “Impossible.”

  “Where is my garrulous girl? Don’t forget, I married you for your chatter.”

  She gave him a bleak look. “Harry,” she confided, leaning closer. “I feel as though everyone’s waiting for me to say something inappropriate, like I always do.”

  He frowned. “Kitty, you are the one person who always knows the perfect thing to say.”

  She dismissed his words with a wave of her hand, which he caught and brought to his lips, kissing the fabric of her glove, then nipping a bit at her fingers. She giggled and pulled it back.

  Just then the elderly Lady Westerfield entered with Harry’s aunt and uncle. Kitty stiffened, nervous around her new mother-in-law, whom she’d only met briefly the day before.

  Harry bent to kiss both the ladies and Kitty curtsied, trying to look demure. The elderly Lady Westerfield was tall and slender and regal-looking with iron-gray hair and the same patrician nose as Harry. As Harry was drawn into conversation with his aunt and uncle, Kitty turned to her mother-in-law, wracking her brain for something intelligent to say.

  “He’s terribly sorry, you know,” the dowager countess said, “for the rough start to your marriage. I hope, in time, you will forgive him.”

  She stared at her, shocked to her slippers that Harry had told his mother such a thing. Biting her lip to keep from tearing up, she realized Harry had assumed full blame for events in which she had played an equal part. “We’ve forgiven each other,” she managed to say, when she’d recovered her voice.

  Lady Westerfield considered her. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “He needs you. He’s needed you his whole life.”

  With that, Lady Westerfield departed, sweeping in
to the great room, where the furniture had been pushed to the sides for dancing. Kitty stared after her, stunned.

  Wynn and Teddy entered next, and she was relieved to see the gentlemen greet each other cordially. She embraced Wynn, kissing her cheek.

  “How is it going so far? It looks like a good turnout.”

  She nodded. “I haven’t said anything inappropriate yet,” she said.

  “Kitty, you can say most anything you like now. You’re the hostess—you’re Lady Westerfield, and this is your ball. You don’t need to stand against the wall and make snide observations about people anymore.”

  If she didn’t love Wynn so much, she would have been irritated by her words. But reminding her she was the hostess jogged her memory of the way she’d felt on the evening of the political dinner party. She’d loved entertaining her guests, ensuring their comfort and keeping conversation smooth. There was no reason this evening couldn’t be the same—Wynn was right—it was her ball. Harry had done his part to ensure their guests’ attendance, now it was her duty, or rather, pleasure, to act as hostess.

  She turned to Teddy. “Lord Westerfield has granted me one dance with you, but if you touch my décolletage, he’ll kill you.”

  Teddy grinned. “Has he?” he said, including Harry in his smile. “I wasn’t going to dare ask. That is very genial of you.”

  “It is,” she said, resting her hand on her husband’s chest. “So be sure to ask me later, so we can put any gossip to bed.”

  Teddy gave a little bow. “I will look forward to it.”

  She began to enjoy herself again, warming up to her role as hostess, until they had greeted all their guests and she had found the same confidence she’d felt the night she entertained the political dinner party. Harry, for his part, was interacting with their guests far more than she’d expected. When she left his side, moving among their guests to make connections, entertain, or even cajole, as she grew more comfortable, she could feel his appreciative gaze on her. The glow kindled by both his words earlier and his mother’s grew as the night progressed and she marveled that Wynn had been right—she needn’t feel like the wallflower any longer. Harry loved her—needed her—for precisely the reason she’d been relegated to the wall.