I am the governess in a house with an inheritance dispute in its records. I have no family and no income of my own. One word from my employer and I am on the road without a character.

The viscount does not scold. He names the rule I broke and then he waits. Last week I answered him back and he put me across the library table with my skirts up. His hand first, then the strap. He turned the key first. He was in no hurry.

That is the shame of it. Not the strap. That I broke the rule where he was certain to see it. He says my name in that flat voice and my whole spine gives up.

The library door is locked again tonight and I have been told to stay exactly where I am. Bared across the table. His hand. Then the leather. Then whatever he takes once I have stopped counting. The inheritance case turns on this household looking spotless, my character is the only capital I have, and I climbed those stairs on my own feet. What is a reference worth against one locked door? What becomes of me when he tires of the rule I keep breaking?

A full-length Victorian corporal punishment employer submission erotic novel featuring a precarious governess and the viscount who holds her position.