“Just so many things on my mind,” I tell him, half lying. “I hated how you walked away from me like that. I wanted to keep you here with me. I felt so rejected…” but as my words flow, I feel so foolish and silly, like a little girl. “I was half tempted to disobey you, just to get a reaction out of you.”
He raises a brow at me in that way that makes my heartbeat quicken. “You considered intentionally disobeying me?”
I nod but don’t reply.
He brushes my hair out of my eyes, bends, and kisses my cheek. There’s no humor in his gaze. Nothing but cold determination.
“Have you done something that’s earned punishment?”
My mouth goes dry, and a tingle slides through me. I’m playing with fire, and I know it.
“Maybe I have,” I whisper. “Maybe I haven’t.”
He shakes his head from side to side. “Which is it, darlin’?”
“I want you to punish me,” I whisper.
He holds my chin in his hand, making me meet his eyes. And when I look into his gaze, my heart softens. I’m not angry with him. Was I ever? I’ve put him in this position. I am the one that put us here.
“Why?” One word, but his voice is so steely, I flinch.
This is my chance, my chance to tell him everything. Behind him, a shadow crosses the window. The guard.
If I told him I betrayed him, he could order them to take me back to the main house. He could kill me, even. My father’s men would, anyway. And is he really that much like my father?
Seeing his guard outside his window, I'm reminded that it's too dangerous to tell him the truth. I tell myself it's because I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to see his eyes wounded. I may have told my father that I’ll do what he asks, but I won't. I fucking won't.
I open my mouth to tell him the truth. “My father…” I begin, but the words are strangely clogged, as if I’ve been cursed not to be able to speak.
He doesn’t release me but holds my gaze.
“What about your father?”
“He knows I’m here,” I whisper.
“Aye. You’ve told me that. Nothing wrong with that. Is there something else you’re hiding?”
“I lied to you.”
His stubbled jaw firms, and his eyes narrow. “Did you?”
I squirm, the truth playing through my mind with vivid clarity.
He wanted me to betray you.
He told me to seduce you.
I promised him I would.
“Aye,” I finally say, quaking in fear at what would happen if I told him the truth. “I told you I didn’t know Fran was friends with your sisters.” This is partially true, but it isn’t the whole truth. “I knew, though. I’ve seen them in town together. But I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to think I was spying.”
His fingers trail from my jaw down the column of my neck and flex. I take in a trembling, jagged breath as he cages my throat.
“That was a very naughty thing you did.”
There's a fine line between sexuality and fear, between correction and eroticism. His lecturing tone makes me shiver in anticipation, caught halfway between fear and sexual desire.
I hang my head in shame, but it has everything to do with the actual guilt I feel for being less than honest with him. I’m a coward, a fucking coward, and I hope he punishes me hard for this. I want to be punished. I need to be.
