Lost Love

Lost Love by Maryse Dawson Read Free Book Online

Book: Lost Love by Maryse Dawson Read Free Book Online
Authors: Maryse Dawson
from hers and moved lower to kiss her neck. She arched her back welcoming his touch. "Ulric!"
    His name uttered from her lips seemed to break the spell, for suddenly he froze. "I am not Ulric! Speak not his name!"
    "But…" she began to protest.
    "Nay, Arabella." His hands moved to her hips, tightening their grip as he pushed her backwards. His eyes were as dark as night, his lips thinned with anger. "I told thee never to mention that name again."
    She tried to step away, but with one swift move he had her positioned over his raised knee, her skirts thrown over her back.
    "Prithee, hath mercy," she begged, knowing full well what was coming. Her kiss hadn't dissuaded him enough it would seem.
    She felt his hand settle against her bottom as he scolded her. "I hath no mercy for a scheming thief, milady. Thou art lucky Fendrel discovered thy actions afore the victim!" She closed her eyes and waited for the first stinging swat to land.
    His hand left her backside for a moment before coming crashing down on her tender flesh. She yelped and tried to wiggle off his knee, but he held her fast, his hand swinging down lustily on both cheeks.
    "I will not hath a disobedient wife, dost thou understand, Arabella?"
    "Then release me! I hath no desire to remain here…Aow!" She shrieked as another smack brought tears to her eyes. "I want to go home!"
    "Home? Wherefore this is thy home now, sweet Arabella, and obeying me is compulsory."
    He spanked her sit spots, drawing a shriek from her parted lips. His hand was heavy, and the smacks fell hard against her soft bottom. She kicked her legs, but his rhythm didn't falter.
    "Aie! Aow! It hurts!"
    "This could all be avoided if thou wouldst learn to obey my command." His palm landed squarely on both cheeks again and again. Arabella's backside was burning hot by the time he had finished. He let her up, and she stood miserably before him, running her hands over her tender buttocks. She wondered how much more she could take from him and his brutish behavior.
    "Why do you treat me so? Didst thee not like me once?"
    "Aye, but thee betrayed that trust, Arabella. I will never forgive thee."
    With a look that spoke volumes, he turned his back and thrust open the door leaving her staring after him with a heavy heart. She would never accept this harsh man he had become. How could he believe that she would hurt him so much? If only he would accept how Mirabelle had played him, then he would cease to lay the blame at her feet, for it was only through love that she had acted so rashly.
    A single tear dripped down her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. Somehow, she was going to escape from the castle and make her way back home. She was finished lamenting the loss of Ulric Griffin. He had been replaced with the cold hearted John of Terryn, and it would seem he was lost to her forever. Raising her chin she drew in a breath, and balling her fists, decided then and there that he may be her husband, but he would never be her keeper. When it grew dark she was going to seek a means of escape, only this time, she wouldn't get caught.
    * * *
    John strode into the bailey and demanded two of his most competent knights, Owain and Bayard, sword fight with him. He was angry and needed to take it out on someone or something, and the best way he knew how was to train and train hard.
    Arabella was getting under his skin. He wanted to hate her, to despise her for what she did to him all those years ago, but just then when he'd tasted her sweet lips, all he'd wanted to do was take her to bed—to thrust himself into her soft body and hear her sweet moans of ecstasy when he made her his. For she was his. No other would have her. The very thought gave him a bad taste in his mouth.
    His jaw tightened, and he swung his sword down at Owain slightly harder than he had intended. Owain jumped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Milord, is this just practice, or dost thou intend to wound me?"
    "I beg thy pardon, Owain.

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