“You are headed for another spanking and a very early bedtime,” he said in warning tones.
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Do not speak to me like I’m a little girl, Tristan.”
She didn’t quite know where she was getting the courage to speak to him in such a way, but she suspected it was her outrage which was making her bold.
“If you behave like one, you will be treated like one,” he growled back. “Now finish what you will of your meal and go and do the dishes.”
“Do the dishes?”
“Wash them,” he clarified.
“I suppose you expect me to wash them with my hands like some sort of cave woman,” she shot back. “Well, I won’t. This is all very unseemly and unnecessary and…” she stopped talking because Tristan had patted his mouth with his napkin, pushed his chair back and was rising from the table. One long stride bought him to her. His hand wrapped around her upper arm and Lydia found herself hauled up from her chair, marched into the kitchen and held while Tristan fished around in a drawer for one of his primitive implements – a wooden spoon.
“Turn around and touch your toes,” he ordered, releasing her.
“I will do no such… ow!”
She yelped as he pulled up her skirt and landed the flat of the spoon against her outer thigh before repeating the order.
“Do as you’re told.”
She looked into his handsome face and saw pure determination there. Her thigh was stinging and she knew her bottom soon would be as well. Should she capitulate and hope that he showed her mercy? Or should she fight him tooth and nail?
“You have taken me from my home. You have made me your wife. You have taken my modesty. But you will not break me, Tristan Kane.”
Fight it was.