I roll over and bury my face in my pillows as giant sobs take over my body. I don’t want anyone to hear me.
I may not be able to convince myself but I am sure as hell going to have everyone else believing it.
As far as the world is concerned, I’m delighted to be marrying Duke Sothbridge and I’ve never been happier.
Chapter three
Mysittingroomhasnever been more sparkling clean, I’m sure of it. It looks like I’m ready to host the King, not a proctor. But I would probably be less nervous if I was meeting the King, apparently he is quite affable. Whereas Mr. Richards has a fearsome reputation and has scared me half to death, the few times I have met him.
The door bursts open and three of the staff struggle in carrying something heavy, and covered in a dust sheet, between them. Mr. Richards strolls behind them, dressed impeccably in a charcoal gray suit. He points imperiously towards the fireplace and the staff lug the thing over and place it where he directed.
Two more staff hurry in with smaller packages, and they lay them on the table.
Mr. Richards dismisses all the staff with a nod and then turns his steely gaze to me. I swallow convulsively.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Richards,” I thankfully manage to say.
“Good afternoon, Master Witherington. I trust you know what this is?” he says as he gestures at the strange piece of furniture the staff just placed in front of my fireplace.
He strides over and whips off the dust sheet but the grand reveal doesn’t help me at all. I still do not have the faintest clue what it could be. One glance at him confirms that my ignorance is plain to see.
I feel my cheeks flush as the weight of his disappointment settles on me. He is a trainer as well as a proctor. No doubt he is outraged that my parents never arranged for him or another trainer to instruct me in all the intricate and proper ways to be a vessel.
In his eyes, I should have started learning all of this on my sixteenth birthday. And here I am, twenty-one and clueless.
He is glaring at me expectantly, so I wander over to the item to see if I can figure it out.
It is a beautiful piece, whatever it is. It reminds me of a gym horse, but I doubt that is what it is. The wood on the legs and edges is dark mahogany. The body is covered in a deep red plush velvet. There is thick padding under the velvet and bright bronze rivets line the edge, where it meets the mahogany.
“Put your knees in there!” snaps Mr. Richards impatiently.
There are indeed two knee shaped holes cut into the body of the not-gym-horse-thing. Carefully, I do as I’m told. The padding is thick under my knees, it’s surprisingly comfortable to kneel on. The holes are a little far apart so I’m having to spread my legs a little, but it’s nothing unbearable.
“Now bend over and grasp the handles.”
Okay. If I rest my stomach on the top of the not-gym-horse, I can reach down to the other side, where there are indeed handles.
“Hold your position,” says Mr. Richards, from right behind me.
I nearly yelp in fright. He is standing in between my spread legs, and bent over like this, my ass is on full display. It feels like my trousers might as well be invisible.
“This is a rutting stool. It has been custom made to you and his grace’s exact measurements, so when he stands behind you like so, you will be in a perfect position to receive him.”
For the love of all things holy! I scramble off the thing as if it is made of lava, and practically knock Mr. Richards out of the way as I do so.
He glares at me but I am entirely too flustered to apologize.
“I am here to ensure you are prepared for your master, prudishness must be set aside,” he declares haughtily.
He has a point. And I’m not a prude thank you very much. If anything, I’m the exact opposite of a prude. Or maybe I am in my head when I’m just thinking about carnal acts longingly. Perhaps when faced with the reality, I will shriek and faint like a blushing maiden. Gosh, that is a depressing thought.
Richards has walked over to the table, and he is now presenting me with one of the packages. Gingerly, I open it. Two inches of wood, wrapped around and around with strips of dark leather. The beautiful silver chain it is attached to, looks incongruous. The two parts quite simply do not go together.
“It’s a brace!” I exclaim before he can snidely ask me if I know what it is.
I’ve never seen a new one before. Unmarked, unblemished. It’s utterly spine chilling. The most terrifying thing I have ever seen.
“And what is it for?” Richards asks whilst raising an eyebrow.
