Page 12 of Desire and Discipline
Thankfully, it seemed the lady was willing to serve as her guide for the evening, though in a far greater capacity than Evie or Anthony would have. Priscilla was no longer going to be watching—she was going to be participating.
Learning.
And her fingers itched to do it.
To hurt him the way he’d hurt her.
“I am Lady Cross.” Tall and stately, she did not seem particularly disturbed despite everything. She held herself with a confident bearing that Priscilla yearned to emulate. “You may call me Catherine.”
“Mrs. Priscilla Stuart,” she replied, suddenly feeling much more unsure now that her friends were no longer at her back, and she was faced with the woman her husband had snuck out to meet. “Please call me Priscilla.”
“This way,” Catherine said, gesturing at the open door just behind her. She looked past Priscilla. “I assume there will be no further need to argue about the lock?”
“No, ma’am,” Joseph said in a low voice that Priscilla had never heard before. Her heart constricted. His head was hanging down, so she could not see his expression, but he looked like a kicked dog.
Part of her—a vengeful, petty part of her—was glad. That was how she felt, too, underneath her fury. At the same time, she was relieved he did not have a lover in Catherine. It seemed he only went to her to have very specific needs fulfilled and saved his loving for Priscilla.
She was glad about that. Relieved. But still hurt he’d felt it necessary to keep this secret from her. And she did not understand why he had not told her. The fact that he did not seem to want her there at all had been what hurt the most.
Even now, he did not look at her as he came into the room. Instead, he stood silently staring at the floor, fists clenching and unclenching as he shifted his weight back and forth. Priscilla pressed her lips together and looked at Catherine, who was studying them both with a critical eye. Squaring her shoulders, she met the older lady’s gaze evenly.
She did not know what Catherine was looking for, but if there was anything Priscilla had experience with, it was being judged by the most intimidating ladies of theton.It had taken her three Seasons to find a husband, including two where her most promising suitors had ended up engaged to other debutantes. She was very used to being looked over with a critical eye, as her own mother’s had become more so with every Season she’d ended without securing a proper proposal.
“What do you know about the Society?” Catherine asked after a long moment.
“Not very much,” Priscilla admitted. “This is my first visit. I have spoken with my friends about their experiences and was curious. When they told me Joseph had been a member in the past, they invited me to come, and I thought perhaps it was something I should see. To understand both them and him better.”
“Laudable. What do you think so far?”
“It is not what I expected.” Priscilla could not help the short, sharp, bitter laugh that escaped from her. She cut it off abruptly, realizing how harsh and unlike herself it sounded as it grated over her ears. Joseph flinched. Taking a deep breath, she tamped down her unruly emotions. “From what my friends have said, the draw for them is being on the receiving end. I must admit, I cannot imagine enjoying such a thing. However, when you said that you punish Joseph…”
It seemed an awful thing that she wanted to punish her husband, despite how deserved it was. Ladies were not supposed to want such things. They were supposed to turn a blind eye to their husband’s indiscretions and pretend they knew of no such thing.
But Priscilla had seen marriages built upon very different foundations among Joseph’s friends and family. They all belonged to the Society of Sin together. They had worked together to bring down a traitor to the Crown. She could not imagine Evie, Josie, Mary, or even quiet Lily tolerating a husband with a wandering eye.
That was the kind of marriage Priscilla wanted.
It was the kind of marriage she’d thought she had… right up until this evening.
Apparently, if she was going to get what she wanted, she would need to punish her husband. Fortunately, that was exactly what she wanted to do. Imagining Joseph in a position to be flogged, imagining herself being the one to bring the whip down on his back and buttocks… a hot flush of excitement went through her body.
What was wrong with her?
“One thing to know is that we should never punish out of anger,” Catherine said sternly. “Though you have every right to be so, you should only lift an implement—or your hand—when you are fully in control of yourself.” She looked Priscilla up and down, lifting an eyebrow. “As a lady of theton, I assume you have plenty of experience in controlling your emotions.”
“A bit.” Priscilla took a deep breath because Catherine was correct. She’d had three Seasons as a debutante holding in every emotion, every fear, every annoyance, every frustration, and becoming a married lady had only loosened those chains a bit, not freed them. Even with her friends, even with Joseph, she had never been able to fully relax, though she had become much more so than with anyone else.
“Good.” Catherine nodded approvingly. “Now, is there any reason other than your anger that you would like to dominate him?”
Dominate him.
The words reverberated through her, touching something deep inside of her that she had not known existed. That, before this moment, she would have never been able to admit was a part of her. Priscilla licked her lips.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Joseph’s head jerked up, and he was finally looking at her, staring at her aghast as if he’d never seen her before. She did her best to ignore him. After his behavior, he did not get to set judgment on hers. She would not let him stifle her. Especially not when Catherine was nodding approvingly for her to continue.
“Yes,” she said more strongly, though the words came faster and faster as she continued, as though she was afraid she would not be able to get them all out otherwise. “When we first arrived this evening, we stopped to view a scene in one of the rooms. It was a man flogging a woman. It was… I could not look away. But I was not picturing myself in the woman’s place. I was picturing myself in the man’s. I wanted to touch her skin and see what it felt like. I wanted it to have hurt her. And I do not know if I know her. I did not see her face. But… it called to me on a level I found disturbing.”
