“I wonder if there is nothing to be done,” Doyle said, when Blackstone said nothing.
Rohan stood up, a great fury seizing him inside, a storm with no direction or purpose. “There is nothing to be done,” he said reflexively. “You know as well as I do that—”
“I know as well as you do that you have strong feelings for Miss Blanchet. That you recognize her perfection. And I know as well as you do that a man such as yourself, a man who has built a fortune from almost nothing and who has deceived so much of the world for so long, for a man like yourself, nothing is impossible, if that was, perchance, what you were about to say.”
Blackstone turned upon Doyle imperiously, ready to pounce upon his words and tear his arguments to shreds. When he saw that Doyle, as opposed to looking at him smugly as he had expected, wore an imploring look upon his countenance, Blackstone hesitated.
“Rohan,” Doyle said. His voice was unwavering, serious now. “The girl is striving to please you, and I believe that she speaks the truth about what transpired between herself and this Mr. Carrington. I know you very well, and I can see that you want the girl for yourself.”
Blackstone fumed.
“I want the girl for us as well.”
Rohan said nothing.
“I implore you,” Doyle said. “If you cannot find a solution to this problem, I am afraid I must put my foot down. I will not forgive you should you send such a perfect specimen to Laroui, not when we can have her for ourselves.”
Blackstone stared at his long-time friend and confidante, unable to believe what he was saying. In many ways, it was a relief to hear Doyle say such things, as shocking as it might have been to hear him be so determined and recalcitrant. It was unlike him, but it provided Blackstone with the cover he needed to back down from his own recalcitrance.
For what he did really want, which Doyle seemed to know, was to keep the lovely Miss Blanchet for himself.
And while he could not know what Laroui would do, having come so far with the hopes of taking another lovely girl with him for his collection, the solution, as Doyle had pointed out, was hardly impossible for man such as himself.
“Whatever are you proposing, then, my dear Dr. Doyle?”
The grin returned to Doyle’s lips, though subtly. He set his drink down. “Shall we see if Miss Blanchet has received her discipline well? And supposing that she has, I think we might divulge some confidences to her, as a reward for her discipline.”
Blackstone mulled it over.
“And,” Doyle added, “as a preamble to our taking complete possession of her.”
* * *
They made her sit upona very hard chair, facing the wall of books opposite the door of the passageway, for what seemed like hours. The new object inside of her bottom was pushed deeper by the surface beneath her, until the ache was nearly unbearable in its hopeless, depraved pleasure. Her sore, welted skin began to burn and throb. As she sat, she seemed to experience her pain and her pleasure in waves, and each time she was certain she would not be able to continue for a moment more.
Somehow, she found the strength. She did not know if they were even there, or if they could see her, but she dared not disobey their orders. Not when she had done something to send Mr. Blackstone storming from the room, not when he had claimed her as his pet and then become disappointed in her. She must do something to regain his... whatever it was that she had felt between them just hours before in his training room.
The ache in her bottom was so sore and intense when the two men returned, that she let out what she intended to be a sigh of relief, and it ended up as more of a strange howl.
Still, she would not disobey, and she was determined to show them that she would not. Particularly Mr. Blackstone, for it had become a strange obsession of hers, given his treatment of her, but she desired more than anything to show her willingness to obey him. Sheneededit, as if something inside of her strangled her heart, and the only way to release its grip was to do what he asked of her, whatever it was.
A shiver traveled along her spine.
“Miss Blanchet,” Dr. Doyle said, and his voice was gentle as always. “I have shared with Mr. Blackstone what you confided to me earlier today. But I wish for you to repeat it here, that he may hear for himself.”
A rush of fear washed over Lina, and then a humiliation quite unlike the desirable humiliation she had felt during her disciplining and training. This was a much colder, more fearful sensation, for while she was not even certain what confidence Dr. Doyle referred to, she was certain that it was a far more vulnerable thing than even her bared bottom, or her most intimate places.
“Speak freely, Miss Blanchet,” Doyle said.
Mr. Blackstone was behind her, standing, and she turned slightly, for she desired to look at him, but remembering that he did not wish her to do so, she stopped the turn of her head with a sudden jerk and glued her eyes to the floor in front of her.
“Sss...sssir,” she murmured. “Dr. Doyle. I am... I am not certain of what you ssss... speak.”
“No?”
“Of my... confidence, sir.”
“Ah, yes.” Doyle seemed quite cheerful now. “I do sometimes forget that what others communicate to me is not entirely clear even to them. I refer, Miss Blanchet, to the fact that when I trained you after Mr. Blackstone, that you seemed most concerned that you may have somehow displeased him. Correct?”
