A Wicked Revenge, Book 4 (formerly Punishing Miss Primrose)

By Em Brown

The punishment must end...

To his dismay, Spencer Edelton, the venerable Marquess of Carey, has fallen in love with a whore. But Miss Beatrice Primrose is no common strumpet. She is a siren who enflames his desires and provokes him to do the most wicked, wanton things to her.

After suffering the wrath of Lord Carey, Miss Beatrice Primrose wants more than a little revenge. But if she stays in his company, she risks revealing the truth of what happened between his family and hers. It is a truth she must keep secret from him at all cost.

Spencer knows there is no future between them, and he must let Miss Primrose go before his brother returns to England. To safeguard her family—and her own heart—Beatrice must put as much distance between her and Lord Carey as possible.

If only passions did not burn so hot...If only submission were not so seductive...nor punishment so sublime...

READER ADVISORY: Punishing Miss Primrose is an erotic historical written as a serial of short stories available for purchase in individual parts or bundled in sets of five. This serial contains BDSM elements.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Em Brown
• Release date: Nov 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311327031

Em Brown

After accidentally flashing an audience with her knickers, Em Brown decided that writing was a safer activity. She enjoys writing romance, particularly erotic historicals. For more about her works, visit www.EroticHistoricals.com.

Book preview

PART XVI

UPON WAKING, MISS BEATRICE PRIMROSE noticed first the luxury of the bedding about her. Before coming to Medham Hall, she had never slept in such fine bedclothes before, nor such comfortable pillows with the perfect balance of softness and firmness. Almost as soon, she noted the soreness of her bottom, both inside and out, though her buttocks no longer burned. Opening her eyes, she saw the now familiar walls with silk coverings. The embroidered curtains had been drawn over the tall window facing the side of the bed, and the bed linen had been pulled over her. She nestled into the sumptuousness about her and let out a contented sigh.

But then she recalled how his lordship, Spencer Edelton, the Marquess of Carey, had threatened to make her sleep in a cage.

With a frown, she sat up. How had this come to pass? Just as her feelings toward him had softened, her vexation replaced with tenderness and—unbelievably—affection, he had ruined it all. To be fair, she had a hand in it as well. Her past had come to haunt her. What she had done to Nicholas and William, his brother and cousin, he might never forgive. Why, then, would he bring her back to his estate if not to punish her further? She believed, or perhaps she merely wanted to believe, him when he said he would not hurt her because his tone had sounded urgent, his eyes had shone with contrition, and his brow had furrowed with concern.

And because he had called her Beatrice.

Over and over, she replayed the sound of her name upon his lips while he had her clasped to him. She had not given him permission to use her given name, but, admittedly, she liked the sound of it and felt disappointed when he reverted back to calling her Miss Primrose. Reaching her hand to the expanse of bed beside her, she felt the telltale dampness of her orgasms. He had brought her to spend thrice, without any attention upon himself. He would not have done so if he loathed her. But could she trust that his wrath would not return?

Listening for his footsteps, she heard only the occasional crackle from the hearth of a fire that his lordship must have started before departing. He had said something about riding into town. Perhaps he had not yet returned. She knew not how long she slept, but it was possible the opportunity remained for her to flee. Without him present, she might avail herself of one of his horses. She could leave the steed at the nearest posting inn with instructions for it to be returned to Lord Carey. She threw back the bedclothes, but upon moving, recalled her ankle. Her injury, and her lack of dress, would slow her. If he should arrive and find her attempting to escape, he would be livid, to be sure, especially as she had promised him she would not leave.

She sat with her legs over the edge of the bed. She had given him her word, and she could not break a promise, had never broken a promise before. He already thought—or, rather, he once thought—her a grasping, scheming hedge whore. Did she wish him to think her a prevaricator, too? But, by making William and Nicholas guilty of buggery, had she not already committed a more heinous offense than lying? And why should she care what he thought of her if she was never to see him again once she left his estate? Frustrated with her inner quarrel, she turned her attention to the breakfast he had left at her bedside. Realizing she was hungry, she drank the now cold coffee and emptied the small bowl of sweetmeats into her hand.

The wicked man had once spanked her for not eating. She had thought it peculiar that her appetite concerned him. He had installed her in a fine bedchamber. He had brought her to spend many a time. All the while he had hated her. She understood, and shared, his conundrum. With a smile, she popped the last berry into her mouth. It amused and touched her that his anger could not always prevail over his sense of chivalry and noblesse oblige.

She hopped over to the window with the intention of opening the curtains. As he had predicted, the ice had improved her ankle. He had been quite tender attending to her injury and gentle as he bathed her. Her forwardness had caught him by surprise. Do you not despise me? he had asked. She had answered in the affirmative, and yet her disposition toward him had done nothing to stymie the lust he inspired. She had not appreciated being paddled, but she had seen women accept worse at the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum. Perhaps, if he had not brought her to spend while he penetrated her arse, she might have cause to loathe him completely. The pain of her arse being breached had equaled that from the loss of her maidenhead. But it had turned wondrous, as she had hoped it would. Many a man and woman enjoyed intercourse of that sort, and Beatrice believed that the pain would diminish with practice, leaving only pleasure to be had. She shivered at the possibility of having his lordship’s cock buried in her backside once more.

What a bawdy wench am I, she thought to herself as desire began to blossom in her loins. She looked over at the chair, upon which lay the incriminatory letter from the Bow Street Runner Lord Carey had engaged to spy upon her and Nicholas. The letter that ignited his lordship’s wrath against her. They had not discussed the contents in detail, and Lord Carey knew nothing of her motive, why she sought to inflict as much pain upon William and Nicholas as she could. If he had known, his anger toward her might have been tempered, but she could not be certain. Even if she could be assured of a better standing in his opinion, she would not divulge the truth behind her actions. She had wished to put the past behind her and would not have him prying into matters that did not concern him. She thought of James and how long it had been since she had seen her nephew and Aunt Sophie. She had intended to write to her aunt, but the events with his lordship had distracted her. According to Aunt Sophie in her last letter to Beatrice, James had taken ill, but though he had recovered, Beatrice was eager to see for herself that the boy was back in good health.

Restless, she hobbled over to fetch her stays. She had two pairs of short stays that laced in the front, a practical feature as she had lived for a spell without family or ready servants before securing lodging at Madame Devereux’s Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum. She would, however, require assistance with her gown. She did the best she could and added garters and stockings. Then she pinned her hair loosely atop her head. Hearing hoofbeats, she realized she had quite possibly lost her one and only opportunity to flee, but she no longer feared Lord Carey. Two wrongs did not make a right, but they might have lent a neutrality to matters. Rising to her feet, she felt ready to receive his lordship.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING out of bed? Spencer demanded when he found her dressed and standing in the middle of the bedchamber. He went to her with quick strides.

I am not an invalid, Miss Primrose responded. Your ice was quite remarkable. My ankle feels much better.

And you would undo the benefits by being on your feet.

He meant to sweep her into his arms to deposit her in a chair, but she said, Help me with my gown first.

Ignoring the possibility that she might have been on her feet for some time while he was gone, he attended to pinning her gown. At least she had not bolted in his absence. He had ridden his horse back fast and furious for fear that she might think better of keeping her promise to him.

Thank you for staying, he said, glancing at the nape of her neck where he would have liked to kiss. Even the smallest uncovered parts of her did not fail to entice.

I am not fully deserving of your gratitude as I was tempted to abscond with one of your horses, she admitted.

He nodded. I thought as much.

He had finished pinning her gown and realized that, as he had sent for her abigail, he would have few opportunities remaining to dress and undress her.

Your maid should arrive by tomorrow evening, he informed. I have also sent for a few of my servants.

Though he had enjoyed the time alone with Miss Primrose, he could not adequately take care of her and the house. His housekeeper, Mrs. Parker; her daughter, Katherine; his valet, Giuseppe; and Mr. Collins, who tended the stables, were among the most loyal in his employment. He could trust them with being discreet. He had sent word for them to leave London in the morning for Medham Hall.

Her back had stiffened. I was not aware that I was staying the night.

You cannot travel with your injury.

It is not as dire as you may believe. If I were granted a horse or carriage, it would be no encumbrance at all.

His nostrils flared. She wanted to leave him, did she?

We shall allow the doctor to make that determination, he said.

Doctor?

He should be arriving within the hour.

The elder man had been none too eager to venture from his warm, dry residence, but Spencer would brook no hesitation.

As she weighed the news, he scooped her into his arms and settled her in a Queen Anne wing chair in the anteroom. He placed a pillow behind her, then placed a footstool before her.

Well, I don’t plan to sit on my bum the rest of the day, she declared. Especially as it has been rendered rather tender.

He winced inwardly at the jab. He suspected that a woman of her vivacity would not readily take to sitting about, but he would not have her harming her ankle further.

I will do what I can to ensure your comfort.

Indeed? She appeared contemplative.

Would you care for some tea, madam?

Freshly brewed?

Yes.

There was a gleam in her eyes. And some biscuits, please.

With jam, he added, recalling how much she liked the condiment.

And strawberries, fresh picked from your garden. I finished the berries you had provided at breakfast.

He raised an eyebrow at her. Anything else, your ladyship?

Mistress, she corrected.

Trying not to frown, he took it under advisement.

"Roxana. If I am to be sitting on my arse for some time, a book will help while away the hours."

Of course. Mistress.

She appraised him carefully. My fichu, if you please.

He went back to the wardrobe to retrieve the kerchief. She folded it and fit it into her décolletage.

That is all, she said.

He bowed and went downstairs to brew her tea and fetch the biscuits and jam. The berries, fresh picked from the garden, would have to wait for he expected the doctor at any moment. The bell rang just as Spencer emerged from the kitchen. With tea tray in hand, he went to answer the door. Dr. Morrison, an older gentleman with a stout belly and spectacles perched upon a wide nose, was startled to find the Marquess performing the task of a servant.

Lord Carey, the doctor greeted.

Your prompt attention is appreciated, and you will be well compensated for your time, Spencer said as he showed the man upstairs.

It is my privilege to be of service to you, my lord.

Spencer knocked on the door and nearly entered forthwith, as he was accustomed to doing, but recalling the presence of the doctor in time, he waited for Miss Primrose to respond. She put down her book when the two men entered. Spencer noticed Dr. Morrison pause upon seeing her. No doubt her darker complexion surprised him to some degree at first, but her natural beauty could not fail to captivate. Her beauty came only partially from her material features. A study of her profile would find her lips too full and protruding or her nose insufficiently narrow, but there was a radiance to her eyes and a confidence to her mien that Spencer found more attractive than the most perfect nose or fairest complexion. Spencer waited patiently for the doctor to finish his admiration of her.

Dr. Morrison doffed his hat. Good morning to you, my lady.

Good morning, doctor, she replied with a demeanor befitting a lady of the house.

I understand you sustained a fall and injured your ankle.

He went and knelt before her footstool. Spencer set the tray beside her. She reviewed the items.

My berries? she inquired.

Forthcoming, madam, Spencer answered.

May I? Dr. Morrison asked before beginning his examination.

She nodded. He brushed aside the hem of her skirts and touched her ankle with light pressure. She winced.

Are you able to place any weight upon it?

Not without some pain.

He handled and prodded her ankle in various places, asking at each point if it hurt. Holding his glasses close to his eyes, he eyed her ankle it as if he meant to see through flesh and skin.

It is a sprain, to be sure, he finally pronounced. If there had been more swelling about the area, I might have deemed the injury to be severe.

We reduced the swelling by resting the ankle on ice, Spencer said.

The doctor looked at him. "Indeed? An interesting application. All the same, the ligament has been affected. Whether it is torn or merely stretched cannot be known for certain. I recommend that the young lady