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“No,” he agreed, cupping her cheek in his hand. “You have only grown the way that you were nurtured, and that is no fault of your own.”

Catherine frowned, an inkling of displeasure forming in the pit of her stomach. She could not have said precisely why, for she found that she had no real defense for his words. Still, Catherine had never been a woman who liked to accept defeat.

“I disagree,” she said.

“Of course, you do.”

“I have grown this way because it is in my nature,” she said. “You cannot blame everything on my brother, for I am quite certain that I wrote many chapters of my own salacious nature. What do you say to that, Your Grace?”

His lips pressed against hers. She inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent of his Albany cologne. A low groan tore from her throat as she wrapped her arms around his neck and urged him closer. He seized her by the waist and pulled her flush against him, and pleasure bloomed in her core. William kissed her with such passion that she nearly lost her breath.

By the time he drew away, Catherine’s jaw ached, but she cared not. She would endure all the discomfort in the world if she could just continue kissing him until the end of time. He pressed his forehead against hers and gazed into her eyes. “I must still teach you a lesson, though.”

“Must you?”

If it was anything like the lesson of their wedding night, she found that she welcomed it. He sat on the bed with an imperious expression. “Lift your skirts,” William said.

Heat rushed to her face. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that an acceptable answer, Catherine?”

She anxiously wet her lips, swollen still from the kiss. Catherine slowly raised her skirts up past her waist.

“Petticoats, too.”

She did, and the warmth grew more fiercely across her face. With her hands full of her petticoats and skirts, she was entirely exposed from the waist down. Cool air brushed over her buttocks and the apex of her thighs, making her tingle with anticipation.

William leaned forward and caressed her thigh. Catherine trembled and leaned into his touch as his knuckles swept over that delicate part of her leg. She stifled a groan, her body already quite aware of the masculine aura that he exuded.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot against her thigh. “Spread your legs for me.”

As she did, that familiar ache began to form between her thighs. He leaned nearer to her, and Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. She waited, as he tilted his head. Pain bloomed in her inner thigh, and she gasped in surprise. He hadbittenher!

Catherine stumbled and nearly fell, but William caught her in his arms. “Y—you!” she gasped.

He tipped her over his knee, and Catherine started, surprised by the sudden movement. She hurriedly pressed her palms against the floor to keep from tipping face-first onto it.

“Fifteen will be sufficient,” he said. “I expect you to count.”

“Count?” she asked. “Countwhat?”

He took a handful of her skirts and pulled them up, keeping her bared. Cool air brushed against the apex of her thighs. She shivered in delight and anticipation, feeling wonderfully exposed.

A sharpcracksplit the air, and Catherine gasped, registering the sound before the sting of the slap. He hadstruck her right buttock, as if she was some wayward child!

“How dare you?” she cried, indignant.

He slapped her again, drawing a startled shout from her throat. “I saidcountthe strikes. If you falter or lose count, I shall be forced to start again.”

Another slap.

“You cannot do this!” Catherine exclaimed, squirming and struggling to free herself.

He lifted a leg and placed it over hers, and his left hand seized her hair, pulling so hard that Catherine’s scalp smarted. “As a husband, I have a duty to correct my wife’s behavior. If you recall, I promised to administer correction before we were even wed, and you agreed to accept it.”

“I did not meanthis!”

William slapped her again, and Catherine arched her back. The motion made his grip tighten on her hair. She rocked her body, as a dull ache began to bloom between her thighs.