“There is nothing boring about you at all, little girl. Now, let’s find a pretty morning gown for you to wear. Then we will enjoy a delicious breakfast together and go about our day. I would like to know more about your past, and I suppose you might like to learn more about mine. A long walk in the gardens on this beautiful day will be the perfect setting for us to become better acquainted.”
Oh dear. Would she have to tell more lies today? She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly burning and her eyes watering. Luckily, she had her face hidden in Papa’s chest, and he couldn’t glimpse the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. She blinked hard several times, and by the time he grasped her hand and led her further into the closet, she had made her expression cheerful again.
Please God, she prayed. Please don’t let him find out.
He dressed her in a beautiful blue gown with matching slippers, and he drew her hair back into a ribbon. He was so attentive and gentle as he dressed her, that she thought her heart might burst with happiness. Once they finally reached the gardens, she was delighted when he started telling her about his childhood, rather than ask about hers first, which gave her some time to decide just how much of the truth to tell him—as well as which parts to lie about.
He spoke of his childhood in the English countryside, his tedious years in school, and ended by speaking of his parents with obvious adoration. She was saddened to hear they had passed not too long ago. His mother of an illness two years ago, and his father less than a year ago from a wound he suffered while out on a hunt. She squeezed his hand as he spoke of his loss.
“I’m so sorry, Papa. My parents passed away when I was only five. Both of them had a fever. I thought they might be getting better, but one morning Mama didn’t wake up. My father passed away a few hours later, though I think he might have lived if Mama had. I remember them loving each other very much.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Oh, Cynny, I am sorry too. Is that when you came to live at Talcott House?”
She bit her lip, considering. What if Papa had reason to speak with Miss Wickersham or someone else from Talcott House again and they happened to mention that Cynny hadn’t arrived there until the age of eighteen? She decided on her lies very carefully, trying to ignore the guilt surging through her. Vagueness. Perhaps she should just be vague. “I spent some time with my uncle,” she said, “but he wasn’t a nice man and he drank his weight in whiskey almost every day. Then I lived on the streets for a while, and that is where Miss Wickersham found me. Once she realized I was homeless, she brought me to Talcott House.” There, that was acceptable. Her heart pounded. At least she hoped. She hadn’t mentioned an exact timeline or how old she’d been when she went to live at Talcott House.
“I am glad Miss Wickersham found you, Cynny.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “The very thought of you alone on the streets disturbs me more than you could know.”
She gave him a sad smile in acknowledgement, but didn’t correct his statement—that she hadn't been alone. She would never speak of The Weasels again. She would tuck that part of her life away, in a secret compartment in her heart, never to be opened again.
“Come,” he said, offering her a warm smile. “Let us finish our stroll through the gardens. There is a beautiful patch of hyacinth growing behind those bushes over there that I would like to show you. Of course, the beauty of your namesake flower pales in comparison to you, my dear.”
She flushed as Papa led her through the gardens. “Papa, I think you should take up writing poetry. You say the most...romantic things sometimes.” She cleared her throat. “Have you heard the lilt of her laugh or gazed into her eyes, which are the shade of a morning sky in spring?” she said, reciting his words spoken not so long ago.
He led her around the bushes to the patch of hyacinth, and the fragrant scent of the flowers filled her senses. He grabbed her, bringing her flush against his body. “I was never a poet until I met you, my sweet Cynny. Nor was I such a beast.” Then he pressed his mouth to hers and kissed her soundly, until she was panting and breathless with desire as the sunlight streamed down upon them while they stood in the gardens of their own little world.
Chapter 13
A fortnight had passed since their wedding, and Cynny felt as if she’d finally settled into her new life. Lord Grayson was as gentle and kind as she could have hoped for in a papa, though he could be stern with her when she was naughty. However, if she were being honest with herself, she would have been disappointed if he let her get away with any sort of mischief.
Since she’d come to live at Grayson House, he had only had cause to punish her a handful of times. The first time, on their wedding day for her eavesdropping and spying on Miss Wickersham’s study. The other couple of times had been for minor infractions—such as stomping on the staircase when he’d ordered her to take a nap and she wasn’t tired, rolling her eyes when he’d wanted to inspect her kitty for any signs that she’d been touching herself, and for running down the staircase, which he’d spanked her the hardest for since he claimed she had endangered herself. Though his punishment spankings hurt, his firm but loving guidance helped her to feel secure in her new life. He cared about her—he told her he loved her every day at least once—and he only enforced discipline when she truly required a correction.
She also had grown quite fond of the anal training he’d imposed upon her. She had quickly worked her way to the largest of the plugs, and two nights ago he had finally claimed her hiney hole with his big hard cock. She flushed at the memory of how she’d obediently bent over the bed, spread her cheeks wide for her papa, and held still while he massaged the salve in and out of her rosebud, plunging three thick digits into her tightness until eventually replacing them with his rigid length. His steady thrusts into her bottom hole had set her body aflame, and when he’d reached underneath her to stroke her clitty, without missing a beat as he pounded into her, it had taken but moments for her to come as a thunderous release crashed over her. She smiled to herself, hoping he would claim her back hole with his cock again soon.
Two maids passed her in the hallway, carrying fresh linens up from the laundry, and she decided she had better cease entertaining naughty thoughts so frequently, or the servants might start to wonder why she was always flushing and smiling to herself.