Blackmail For Christmas (Blushing Books 12 Days of Christmas 12) Read online

  Blackmail for Christmas

  By

  Bryony Kildare

  ©2015 by Blushing Books® and Bryony Kildare

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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  Kildare, Bryony

  Blackmail for Christmas

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-222-9

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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  New York, 1927

  It was a fine morning in the middle of December, and Kate Reid's spirits sparkled as brightly as the snow that sat on the Manhattan rooftops. Kate had been waiting for weeks for this day, when she would do her Christmas shopping. In her handbag was over a hundred dollars saved from her allowance; she had been so pleased not to have to ask her husband for more money for Christmas. It was not that Charles did not have money, but since their marriage he had chosen to distance himself from his wealthy, controlling father, and Kate was very proud that they had not taken a dime from George Reid, despite the expenses they faced as Charles established himself as an architect.

  Charles was not just an architect; he was beginning to be an architect of note. His most recent commission, a new building for the Young Men's Christian Association, had been reviewed and praised widely in architectural circles not merely as a design of merit, but as an act of social vision. The man she had married had been a cynical gambler, but there was nothing of that in Charles now. Charles was his own man now, the man he had always meant to be.

  And today she would have to try and find a gift worthy of Charles, worthy of their first Christmas together. What a task! She had scoured auction catalogs and racked her brain, but expensive gifts seemed almost impersonal, and personal gifts too cheap for the splendor of her love. For though Charles had married Kate more or less against his will, their love had blossomed into something very beautiful and tender. Certainly on her wedding day, Kate had never imagined being able to trust her husband so completely, to give herself over entirely to his rule. Not that Charles was any kind of domestic tyrant. He was generous with both his money and affection, and never faulted his wife for the little failings that any new housekeeper must experience for herself. He could be stern, though, and Kate had more than once experienced the painful pleasure of being put over her husband's knee for a sound spanking.

  Kate peered in the glass briefly, touching her tawny curls and applying a bit of powder to her nose. She was just beginning to pull on her gloves when she heard the doorbell ring, and then voices in the hall.

  A moment later, their housekeeper, Mrs. O'Hara entered the room. "There's a Mr. Watkins to see you, madam."

  Kate's brow furrowed. "Watkins? I don't know a Mr. Watkins. He isn't a salesman, is he?"

  "No, madam, least I don't think so. He says he's a friend of Mr. Reid, and he wanted to stop in while he was in town."

  Kate gave a muted sigh, displeased at having her outing postponed, but there was no choice. "Very well, show him in, and bring a tea tray, I suppose." She laid her gloves aside and stirred up the little fire.

  The man Mrs. O'Hara showed into the living room wasn't what Kate expected. He looked a bit seedy—nothing obvious, but his collar wasn't quite clean, and his jacket did not fit quite right. His face was heavy and florid, and his eyes were deeply set over fleshy cheeks. He might have been any tradesman or such, but he certainly didn't look like a friend of Charles's. But he greeted Kate warmly, taking her hands in his and kissing them. "Charles has done well for himself." He smiled.

  "Mr. Watkins," Kate said, taking her hands back as soon as she decently could. "I'm not sure my husband has ever spoken of you—are you a friend from his Harvard days, or..."

  "No, no. A friend from the period of his real education, if I may say. But please, call me Felix."

  "From Mr. Wright's studio?" Kate pressed as politely as she could manage. Her husband had spent two years apprenticing at the famous architect's studio, yet somehow Kate did not think that the kind of education the oily Felix meant either.

  Felix gave a short laugh. "No, not from his arty period either. Let's say the school of good living, and what's a better education than that, eh?"

  Quite a few things, Kate thought
dourly, and her lips pursed as she began to gather that "friend" was more a euphemism for "comrade in dissipation." "Charles will be so sorry to have missed you, but he is at his club this afternoon. If you'd like to leave your address in town, I'm sure he'll be glad to call on you." Kate doubted that was true—she had a better opinion of her husband than that—but it was better to be polite, all the same.

  "Maybe so, maybe so," Felix said. "Or maybe not—he's not had much time for his old friends these days." Mrs. O'Hara brought in the tea tray, and his face lit up. "Ah, tea! Just the thing on a cold day, hey?" He threw himself into an armchair, smiling nonchalantly.

  Kate could have thrown the teapot at his head. She had been so near to being rid of him, and now she would have to at least give him a cup of tea. So she poured the tea and offered him a cup, not bothering to ask if he wanted milk or sugar, an obvious snub. "I'm afraid Charles is very busy with his work."

  "Oh, yes, making up for lost time, like a virgin in a whore house. Very high profile work, too, isn't it?" Felix rushed on, while Kate internally recoiled at the vulgar metaphor. "That flagship YMCA building, very nice. Old Charles is moving in much more rarefied company these days," he concluded with a coarse laugh. "I suppose George Reid is thrilled."

  Kate did not see how she could be expected to answer any of this—she certainly wasn't going to discuss her husband's relationship with his father—and so she did not. Instead, she added a touch of lemon to her tea, sat down, and regarded him with her bright, clear green eyes. He had not yet crossed the line that would make her order him out of the apartment, but he was dangerously close.

  But Felix did not seem to care and continued as though she'd received his conversation warmly rather than the reverse. "Time for some friends, though, I imagine. I suppose you see a lot of Ed Rackham?"

  She tossed her head. "Edward is a very good friend to both of us," she answered coldly. It was true. In the first dark days of her marriage, Edward had indeed been her only friend, and it was through his eyes she'd first learned to value Charles. Kate couldn't see what point this fellow could be driving at, and yet as she watched him, she could sense a great deliberation in this performance. He was getting at something, and it wouldn't be nice.

  "Ah, women always love the sissies, don't they?" he chuckled. "Men too, I suppose, though it's never been to my tastes."

  Kate stiffened. Though her experience of the world before marriage had not been particularly wide, she still knew what he meant. Edward did have a refined, aesthetic style and seemed to prefer the company of men over girls, and she supposed he might be a "sissy," but that didn't mean she'd allow a stranger to say such things in her house. "I would so hate to keep you when you must have many important appointments," she said, standing up.

  "No, I've time—nothing but time," Felix said, still leaning back in his chair. "But it's kind of you to be concerned. Though you seem a clever girl, Mrs. Reid. You know the truth, even if you don't like to hear about it. I suppose Charles knows how lucky he is to have got you—yes, a clever wife can be a great help to a man, especially a man with secrets. Any wife, really. It conveys respectability."

  Kate had lost all patience. "Why don't you get to the point?" she demanded. "You've come here to torment me because you want something apparently, to hurt my husband by insulting his friends to me."

  "Very well, Mrs. Reid. I appreciate the straightforward approach. Lacks artistry, but that's all right. I've come because I assume you would prefer your husband's relationship with his... what's the word? Catamite, that's the one. I imagine you'd prefer that didn't get out. Can't imagine the Young Men's Christian Association looking kindly on that! So we'll say four hundred dollars now, and the same again in January, shall we? Well-fed men don't talk much."

  "You're disgusting," Kate said harshly. "And mad."

  "Am I?" Felix said, still smiling. "Did you really think he hadn't any secrets? But I think you'll give me the money all the same, Mrs. Reid. Secrets are expensive, and your husband can well afford it."

  Kate closed her eyes, for indeed her vision was beginning to swim, and she felt horribly ill. It wasn't true—couldn't be. Edward might be a "sissy," but Charles, who could barely keep his hands off her? It was ridiculous. Yet... even if it wasn't true, what of that? Even a breath of scandal like that could destroy Charles now, at the beginning of his career. "I haven't got four hundred dollars," she said finally, unsteadily.

  "Not today you haven't. But you'll get it, I'm quite sure. Go on and fetch the housekeeping money, that's a good girl." Felix leaned back further, watching her from under his hooded lids.

  And, like a marionette with no will of her own, Kate did just that, unlocking the little desk drawer to take out two hundred dollars, and then—oh, the pain of it—taking another hundred from her purse. She threw the folded bills on the table before him. "There. That's all I have. Take it and go on to the devil."

  "I daresay I shall, Mrs. Reid, but in my own good time. This will do for now, but in January, the balance is due, you know." He placed the money carefully in his billfold, counting it quite unselfconsciously.

  "You're a monster. And then what? Then it's done?"

  He shrugged philosophically. "Maybe. You can never tell, can you? Secrets don't have a fixed price, you know. They're like the stock exchange. Up and down." With an oily smile, he rose to his feet. "It's been a very great pleasure."

  *****

  Charles was late to dinner, and he wasn't alone. Slender, darkly handsome Edward was with him. "I'm sorry I'm late, sweetheart," Charles murmured, stooping to kiss Kate briefly and hanging up his hat. "You know how Edward and I are when we begin talking. You don't mind a third?"

  Kate gave Edward, who was looking apologetic, a tense smile. "Of course not. I'll just go tell Mrs. O'Hara." She felt unhappy and filled with confusion, standing there with both of them, and all she wanted was to escape, as if the disgusting encounter with Watkins had left a mark on her, and she must hide it in shame.

  The housekeeper, who had already complained twice about how late Charles was, was even more incensed at the addition of an unannounced guest. Her position was not, Kate thought, without justice—dinner was pork chops, and in the end Kate had to trim a little off each chop and promise to eat those scraps herself.

  When the main course was served, Edward was not slow to note the difficulty he'd caused. "There—I told you if you didn't call it would be chops," he said to Charles. "No wonder Kate's been so quiet." He flashed Kate a warm smile that at any other moment would have quite melted her tension. But not tonight.

  "No, I'm only tired," she said vaguely, and there was a long, awkward silence until Charles picked up the thread of conversation again. Kate knew she was being strange and difficult, but she could not help it. The suggestions Watkins had made could not be easily dispelled, no matter how improbable and horrible she found them. She found herself noting ridiculous things she'd never considered before: how eagerly the two men talked together, Edward's trick of speaking in a low voice as though every sentence were a confidence, how readily Charles tilted back his sandy head to laugh at Edward's jokes.

  But still Kate's cold silence cast a pall on the evening, and Edward went home as quickly after dinner as he decently could. "What's wrong with you?" Charles asked reproachfully when they were alone in the bedroom. "Were you really so angry that I didn't call?"

  "No—no, of course not," Kate said, sitting on the bed, brushing her hair in her slip and watching him in the mirror as he pulled off his tie and cufflinks. "I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well." That, at least, was true—her stomach seemed to have tied itself into a dozen knots, and for all she'd eaten, the men might just as well have enjoyed their chops without guilt or reproach. Sensing that Charles was really annoyed, she repeated, "I'm sorry. Please apologize to Edward for me."

  "Were there many people when you went out today?" Charles asked. "I hope you weren't caught in a crowd."

  "No—no, I didn't go out," Kate stammered. Then she cursed
herself, but it was too late—her instinct was to tell Charles the truth. "I didn't feel well then either," she added, and that was true as well.

  "Poor girl," Charles said warmly, and he came to sit beside Kate on the bed, wrapping an arm around her. "Do you need an aspirin?"

  But she shook her head and only turned her face into his shoulder. "Only love me, Charles, please..." He felt so warm and solid there beside her, and with his arm around her it seemed as though horrible things like blackmailers who came to tea couldn't possibly be real.

  Charles put his fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I thought you didn't feel well," he said, lifting an eyebrow quizzically.

  A little, ragged sob caught at the back of Kate's throat, and she clung to him pitifully. "I don't care—I don't care, please, only love me..."

  Perhaps sensing that Kate was in real danger of becoming hysterical if denied, Charles kissed her softly, using one strong arm to shift her from the bed onto his lap where she so loved to be. Kate gave a long, grateful sigh against his lips, and she was as softly yielding as a storm-bruised flower before his tender attentions. "Charles," she whispered, and just his name gave her strength. It was so like him, regal and proud and lovely. She would do anything to protect him, she realized in that moment—anything at all. Kate had never before understood the minds of those who killed, and yet if she could keep Watkins from hurting Charles in no other way, she knew she would gladly drive a dagger into the horrible man's heart.

  "Precious girl," Charles said softly, one hand ghosting over the firm line of her jaw. "As if there were ever a moment of the day when I didn't love you."

  Kate caught his hand and kissed it passionately. "I love you so, Charles," she breathed, still with a hint of tears in her voice.