Royal Discipline by Annabel Joseph Page A

didn’t do anything,” said Violet, disturbed by her quavering voice and her trembling. “I don’t even know why you’re here. It was my fault. I did it. I ran away.”
    “You could not have done so if Jeannie was not careless.” The duke tapped the cane against his palm. “She left the servants’ clothes where you could find them. When she realized a gown and cape were missing a few days ago, she neglected to alert the housekeeper or me. She was also responsible for forgetting to lock your door.”
    “Because I pretended to be gravely ill.”
    “It is kind of you to defend her, but Jeannie was given specific orders to keep your door secured at all times.” He raked a look over the distraught maid. “Her carelessness nearly resulted in your escape—not to mention your violent death in the forest. I cannot imagine explaining that to your father. I cannot imagine the loss to Hastings, and to everyone who cares for you.”
    Jeannie, who had been sniveling quietly, now sobbed aloud. “Please, master. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t blame you if you turned me in to the magistrate on attempted murder charges. I deserve to pay for this with my life.”
    Violet shot the duke a nasty look. He could punish her if he liked, but he ought not to inflict such anguish on the poor maid. This is your fault, princess, her conscience whispered. You’re the reason she’s standing here falling to pieces.
    “I’ll not demand anything so extreme as your life,” he said to the cringing woman. “You’ve murdered no one, and your mistress is now safe. But you shall be punished alongside her, in hopes that you won’t repeat such foolish mistakes again.”
    The sobbing maid abased herself at Thornton’s feet. “Your Grace’s mercy is boundless. Please punish me as harshly as I deserve.”
    “Punish me instead of her,” Violet said. She couldn’t bear this anymore. “Punish me twice as much if you like, but she should not be punished for my attempt to run away.”
    His gaze met hers. Beneath the coolness, the stern lines of his brows, she saw a flicker of surprise. “It doesn’t work that way,” he said. “But you’re kind to suggest it. Jeannie, bend over the bench.”
    “Yes, Your Grace.”
    Jeannie stood from her position at his feet and draped herself over the leather-padded bench as if there was nothing on earth she wanted to do more.
    “Violet,” he said, beckoning. “Come and turn up her skirt, then you may stand there and observe her suffering, as she is enduring it on your account.”
    Violet swallowed hard and went to join Jeannie. The maid lay very still and stiff as Violet gathered up the skirt of her plain wool gown and arranged it over her back. Then Violet took up a place at the edge of the bench, eyeing the duke’s cane. He was right. She’d done this to poor, hapless Jeannie, even if he was the one delivering the punishment.
    “You’ll receive ten cane strokes for your carelessness, Jeannie,” he said. “Count for me.”
    “Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered.
    He drew back the cane and brought it down with a crisp thwack upon Jeannie’s thin, pale hindquarters. The woman jerked and gritted her teeth, but did not emit a sound except for a very quiet “One.”
    The second stroked whistled and struck, even harder than the first. Again Jeannie jerked and tensed, but only whispered, “Two.” Violet marveled at it, that the maid could lie so still and accept such a severe punishment. Each stroke made a pink welt rise in stark relief across her trembling bottom. By the seventh stroke, Jeannie’s composure was starting to break. Great tears rolled down her cheeks.
    Violet looked at the duke. Didn’t he realize how badly he was hurting her? His face was set in hard lines, his posture as strong and forbidding as ever. And you are next , she thought. Somehow, she knew her punishment would be much worse.
    On the eighth stroke, Jeannie gasped and threw her arms out, and clutched at the bench. The duke