She accepted the offer to make a better life. She never meant to fall in love.

Nick, snooty son of a wealthy gentleman, has dragged his companion Jasper, insignificant valet, into helping him look for a girl. And not just any girl. Nick wants a fake sweetheart whom he can pass off as a lady to his parents, without actually getting caught up with another lady. His reasons are his own.

Olivia March is the not-so-lucky-girl Nick wants for his scheme. How can she refuse? All she has to do is put up with his spoiled, dandy ways, live all-expenses-paid on the striking island of St. Myrtle for a luxurious summer, and earn enough money to create a better life for herself and her sister forever.

But there’s a catch or two. Jasper, Nick’s valet, is charged with preparing her, dressing her, presenting her as a lady, and disciplining her when she fails to be one. Olivia doesn’t intend to step on Nick’s toes nearly as much as she does. And she absolutely doesn’t plan on developing feelings for her disciplinarian.

Publisher’s Note: This sweet historical romance contains a theme of power exchange.

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After the bed was clear, he straightened and turned to face me. “Come over, Olivia.”

I did, tremblingly. I felt something like a mortifying surge of wetness in my underthings as I approached him, stopping just before the bed.

He sat on the bed and gazed up at me with a look that chilled me in more ways than one.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

I just shook my head, gaze welling with tears.

“Have you ever been spanked before?”

My throat instantly closed, and I could barely squeak out my answer, “No.”

Mother once or twice had whacked me with a wooden spoon, but never more than one smack in a burst of emotion. I’d never had a proper spanking.

“I prefer to discipline across the lap. Come here.” He extended a hand for me.

It took all the bravery I could muster to take it and let him draw me close. He gently tugged me down across his lap, his left hand secured against the small of my back, his right hand free to do what he was going to do.

“I’m going to pull your skirts up.”

My whole being felt plunged into icy water at the words. I was too in shock to entirely process or believe them.

This wasn’t happening.

I wasn’t an errant schoolgirl; he couldn’t…

But he did.

True to his word, I felt the ruffling of my skirts being tugged up to my waist.

“Oh God,” I choked, unable to keep up my stoic silence any longer.

He gently pressed down on the small of my back to steady me against him and finished baring my bottom to the air. I blinked away a fresh flood of hot tears. And then, with no warning, he landed a blow.

Nothing, in a million years, could have prepared me for how intense Jasper’s strike would be. I struggled in his grasp involuntarily, helplessly.

Wetness was forming at my pussy now, and there was no denying it. It was terrified wetness but aroused, nevertheless. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe I was being spanked, and I couldn’t believe Jasper was doing it.

His firm hand on my back again steadied me, and then his right hand landed a rain of blows. I cried, and I struggled as if tugging could give me escape from the sting and the hot waves of embarrassment.

Some small part of my brain told me to try not to kick out or writhe too hard. What if he saw my vulva in the struggle? What if he could tell it was soaking? I’d never be able to live with the shame. As things stood, I knew I’d never be able to look him in his warm brown eyes again.

I tried to clamp my legs together, but that only made me more aware of how uncomfortably damp I was. I’d never begged in my life, but at that moment, I struggled not to plead. I managed to let only a few helpless whimpers escape.

He spanked long and hard, and he only stopped when I gave up squirming and collapsed against him, quietly sobbing. He relented then. With how my exposed bottom pounded, it was difficult to tell it had ended.

His breathing was also, unexpectedly, heavy. He cleared his throat. “Navigate Nick’s expectations carefully,” he said, “and we won’t have to do this again if you don’t want to.”

The last statement struck me off guard. If I didn’t want to? Of course, I didn’t want this!

But I became hyper-conscious of the faint smell of my arousal and hoped to God, he couldn’t scent or recognize it.

He let me go, and I staggered to my shaky legs and lowered my skirts over my aching bottom.

When I looked back, his eyes were far from cold. I was startled to find a fleck of extra heat in them as they examined my disheveled hair and dress.

“You are free to go,” he said, and I couldn’t hold my head up as I stumbled from his room. I felt, in that moment, like I’d never be able to show my face in the world again.