Pleasing the Colonel

“Miss Downy,” he said coolly, more like an ending statement than the beginning of a conversation.

“Sir?”

“We have some things to discuss, don't we?”

Her heart beat faster than a little bird's. “Yes, sir.”

“After supper. In my study.”

“Yes, sir,” she squeaked.

Just then Tom ran up and wrapped his little arms around her leg, chattering on about the dove he had chased. Her eyes blurred with tears, realizing suddenly that she would have to say goodbye to these children who had become her whole world.

* * *

Miss Downy followed him to his office after supper, looking as though it were her death sentence. He was satisfied that she at least understood the gravity of the situation. Lying about a reference was an offense he didn't take lightly and it needed to be dealt with. However, from what he'd witnessed and from interviewing the staff, it seemed that she was an excellent governess, despite her lack of prior experience.

“Miss Downy. Have a seat,” he said, settling himself behind his large desk and indicating the chair opposite it.

“Colonel Watson, if I may just make one request?” she asked in a rush, looking anxious.

He raised his eyebrows. “All right, Miss Downy.”

“Please, I beg of you, allow me to stay through the end of the month. I had to borrow against my wages for my holiday this past weekend, and I want to be able to make that up to you.”

He frowned. He didn't like the idea that she'd had to travel to see her sick mother without the necessary funds. What if a carriage hadn't been found to bring her home after the accident? Would she have had the money necessary to secure lodging? The thought of her being alone in the country with no means to provide for herself made him feel inexplicably protective of her. “I wasn't planning on dismissing you,” he reassured her.

Her mouth fell open. Clearly she'd been prepared for the worst.

“But I don't need to tell you how serious I consider lying about your references to be.”

She nodded her head. “I understand, Colonel. I am terribly sorry. I just was afraid you wouldn't accept me without real work experience, and I had none.”

“No,” he agreed. “Miss Downy, I have spoken with everyone in this household and not a single person could make any critique of your care and education of my children. That is the only reason I have decided to keep you on.”

She heaved a sigh, which drew his eye to her décolletage. Her skin was creamy white and her breasts were lifted and framed alluringly in a square-cut neckline. Feeling a prick of heat rising from the sight, he quickly looked away with a mental shake.

“Thank you, Colonel,” she gasped.

“I cannot allow your lie to go unpunished, however,” he said firmly. He would treat her as he would an errant soldier. In the military, they certainly couldn't dismiss the men for not following orders—they needed them. Instead, they flogged them so it wouldn't happen again.

He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a leather strap.

Her hands turned ice cold as she realized what kind of punishment he had selected for her. She willed her body to move and stood up. Be brave, Mandy, she told herself. She clenched and released fistfuls of her skirts at her sides.

The Colonel had walked around to her side of the desk. He patted the top of the desk. “Bend over,” he said.

Her breathing was coming in fast, short gasps. She stepped to the edge of the desk and hesitatingly leaned over it.

“Lift your skirts,” he commanded.

Oh mercy. She had not adopted the new fashion of wearing drawers under her dresses, so lifting her skirts would mean completely baring her backside for his view and punishment. Embarrassed by the mere thought, she slowly reached back and gathered the skirts of her dress and petticoat in each hand, hiking them up to her waist to expose her bare bottom for his view. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the humiliation that was making her skin feel hot and flushed all over. The edges of the skirts still hung over her bottom, offering a bit of cover, but she felt the brush of his sleeve and the skirts were flipped up onto her back. She shivered involuntarily and for some reason remembered the feel of his hands on her bottom the night before, boosting her out of the crevice.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. She had not been whipped since she was eight years old and had smashed her sister's china doll in a fit of jealousy. She imagined an adult whipping would be much, much worse. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, her eyes still squeezed shut in anticipation. She heard the whistle of leather swinging through the air the second before it struck her buttocks and she gasped at the sting. Another fell and then another and another. Tears came to her eyes and she tried hard not to cry out, embarrassed beyond belief at the humiliation of having her bare bottom chastised by her stern employer, and she was determined to take it all with a stiff upper lip. By the time he had applied the strap up and down her bottom two times, she found the pain was unbearable. She was starting to dance in place, jerking and flinching to avoid the strap, making soft little sobs. She felt a firm hand at her low back then, pressing her torso down and holding her in place. For some reason it m
ade her feel further chastised, as if she had failed to hold still and take her punishment properly.

The strap continued singing through the air, its stinging bite now causing her to cry out each time it struck and tears to flow freely onto the desk. It struck her upper thighs and she nearly screamed. On and on, he continued to apply the strap until she was sobbing. Her backside was on fire, a burning tingle on the surface and a tender soreness down deeper. Finally, she realized the strap had stopped swinging and she started to lift her torso, but the Colonel's hand on her back pressed her back down.

“I'm not finished,” he said. “It just seemed as though you could use a break.”

She wasn't sure whether to feel grateful for the break or to curse him that it wasn't over. She lay there, prostrate over the desk, her legs trembling, her face a wet mess of tears and her flayed bottom still on full display to her employer. She tried to stop her cries, but it only caused her to make awkward snorting noises.

“Shhh,” he said, and the hand at her back made the slightest motion, as if to gentle her.

She gave up all struggle for control then, and lay her face down on the desk and let herself cry. She reached back and rubbed her burning cheeks with both hands. She had no idea how much time had passed before he cleared his throat, which she took as a warning that it was to begin again. Her hands were still covering her sore bottom and he took hold of one wrist gently and brought her hand back up, passing her head and extending it until her arm was straight. He repeated the same action with her other hand, so that she was now pressed flat on the top of the desk, her arms extended above her head where she could grip the opposite edge of the desk. She tightened her fingers around the edge of the desk as the strap struck her again. She screamed immediately—the agony of the strap biting into her already chastised flesh was overwhelming. He hesitated, as if her scream had given him pause. Then he brought the strap down three more times and stopped. She prayed this time he was finished. It seemed he was, because s
he felt his hand lift off her back and he smoothed her skirts back down to cover her throbbing bottom. She hissed, as even the fabric of her skirt felt rough against her chafed skin.

She remained bent over, trying again to calm herself, not wanting to show her face. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand and she buried her face into it, sobbing until there were no more tears left to cry. As the cries slowed, she felt his large, warm hand grip the nape of her neck and gently lift her from her position. She was stiff and he allowed her to erect herself slowly, and when he turned her around she kept the handkerchief to her face, not wanting to look at him or be seen. To her astonishment, he pulled her against him, so that her wet face pressed against his broad barrel chest. He was a large, burly man—tall enough that her head rested below his chin without needing to tuck it. She hiccupped a few times and then let go and pressed her face into the comfort that was offered, grateful for the small kindnesses he had shown her throughout the horrible ordeal.

He smelled clean—of soap and faintly of cedar—and she could feel the hard muscles of his chest against her face. He still held her only at the nape of her neck, like a kitten held by the scruff, but she somehow felt enveloped by his strength. She remembered the way he'd taken charge of the situation the night before—calm, efficient, and so very capable in an emergency. Despite the pain and humiliation of her position, she found Colonel Watson more than a little arousing.