My Lady Enslaved

My Lady Enslaved

By Shirl Anders

Archangels series Book Two

 

She gasped once breathlessly, and shivered, clutching his biceps through the superfine material of his evening coat. Her face burrowed into the crisp linen of his shirt. “Raven, I . . .”

“You will not deny me,” he charged, swinging her around to bend her over the arm of the settee. Instinctively, she threw her hands out to catch the bottom cushion as a brace for her palms. “Lower, Rosebud, bend over more,” he commanded as he held her hips steady from behind and gazed down at the gentle expanse of her nape.

“If y-you wish it,” she finally murmured hesitantly, then she lowered her upper body to lean on her elbows over the armrest, raising her round silk-covered derriere upward to exactly the right position.

“Oh I wish it, my elusive little darling,” Harrison whispered, huskily. “My nature is perhaps darker than even yours.” Without pause he swept her purply-black silk skirts upward in one fluid and aggressive motion revealing her wholly naked ivory-fleshed buttocks. She wore nothing but black silk stockings that reached upward to mid-thigh and were held in place by red garters with tiny white satin rosebuds. Her knees instantly clamped together as he took hold of her rounded plush hips.

“R-Raven,” she gushed, with a pleading and uncertain exhale.

For himself, he was momentarily rooted. A statue of churning masculine ardor at the sight before him. What could he say? What could he think? He was hotly aroused as never before and very nearly excited. Rosebud’s siren-shaped ass was a man’s lustful dream of femininity. The crevice was intoxicating and the little peek of her rose petal lips that he could see was inebriating. He rotated his hands on her hips drawing on her pearly-white flesh and separating the inspiring crease of her ass just enough too . . .

“Oh,” she gasped, squirming her entire bottom beguilingly as she tried to keep her knees clamped together. Yet it only served to firm and define the rounded contours of her delicious ass, rotating the womanly plump cheeks upward and arching the small of her back downward more. He continued to separate the sultry crease of her ass with the pressure of his fingers kneading her bottom. The entrance was pretty pink and crimped tight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 2001 Shirl Anders All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

ISBN-978-1-4524-5045-2

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

Drummond Penhurst, Duke of Kittridge, relaxed in the lavishly furnished gaming salon of his country manor as he regarded the five gentlemen seated around the table. The game was Monte and these five men, chiefly including himself, compromised one of England’s most successful spying circuits in the last forty years. The fact that he had been administer of this notable spying venture, brought him satisfaction. The fact that it no longer existed with Napoleon’s demise, brought him a feeling of restlessness that he had seldom before encountered.

His gaze flicked casually to Harrison, the reclusive Earl of Ravenscar and the only man present who was near to his own middle age. Together, he and Harrison had operated in the macabre world of espionage for more than eight years. His gaze followed the movement of Harrison’s leather gloved hands dealing the next round. Harrison’s hands were perpetually gloved now, hiding the acid burns from their last spying operation gone array, just as Harrison’s voice was now a permanent rasp from those same acid fumes.

He felt every day since that time that he had better find the traitor before Harrison did. Harrison was set for his own style of dark vengeance and it was nearly as if Harrison knew who the betrayer was. Nevertheless it was unlike Harrison not to confide in him, he reflected, if he did indeed know. And all of this coming to pass well over a year before, so now it seemed to him like so much muddied water beneath the proverbial bridge.

 

Chapter One

 

Chloe had no idea what the package contained. She never wanted to know. She never wanted to know what price she was paying to get her son back from her own sister! How could Lia be her true sister, she agonized, for the thousandth time in her short life?

Chloe turned a sharp right corner. Immediately, she stopped and hugged the wall with her back pressed to some unknown building on the corner of the alley she stood in. The dogging footsteps had stopped also and she nearly wished that she could hear them again it was so ominous. She was praying that they would pass her by, not really even following her. But now? She looked down the obscure darkness of the alley which held a sickening sweet smell of rotting garbage. What should she do? She could hardly make herself go down the alley. She did not want to go down there.

Chloe screamed and her cry of terror was cut short by a damp leather-gloved hand clamped harshly over her mouth. In that same second she was jerked away from the wall to collide with a tall immovable shape. She was too terror-stricken to struggle, yet it would have been impossible because the man had a muscular arm clamped around her waist from behind.

“Fate, my little bitch, Lia. Never underestimate fate,” the man hissed in a sinister and gravelly voice.

She was bodily dragged, stumbling in front of the man, toward the sound of an approaching horse and carriage. Her mind was stricken with the fact that this man thought she was Lia. Better he left her raped in the alley, she thought hysterically, than believe she was Lia!

The carriage and horses came to a high-stepping halt in front of them with Chloe’s frantic hopes of rescue dying quickly, when the rasping man called to the driver, and then he threw open the carriage door. There was no chance for escape. Not that her terror-stricken limbs would have allowed it because the man did not loosen his hold on her, but carried her with him up into the carriage as though she were a mere after thought of weight.

Once inside the carriage with the door slammed shut it was even darker than the black rainy night outside. Still, Chloe thought, this could be her chance because surely the rasping man would have to release her now, and then she would scream her true identity at him until he listened!

She did not know where he was inside the dark carriage as she struggled to stay upright on the bouncing carriage seat while shameful sobs racked her, making anguished whimpering sounds beneath the gag. How could she tell this man who she was if he gagged her?

“Really, Lia, . . . crying? You must imagine me noble,” the man whispered harshly in his rasping voice. “I am not, souillon!”

Chloe choked hard because out of the blackness he was suddenly there beside her. He pulled the weight of her cloak down off her shoulders while his other gloved hand tugged her heavy skirts upward with a jerk! Would he rape her now? She tried to use her legs, the only part of her free to fight. Only after two small kicks he clamped his big hands over her thighs with her linen drawers scrunched beneath as he dragged her lower limbs upward until they were on the carriage seat. His weight settled immediately between her legs, pressing down until she could not move. She whimpered like a frightened trapped animal.

It had taken him a few moments to realize that the venomous Lia had fainted. How could that be? From what he knew of her through all of his sources, if Lia were not a woman she would be sporting balls. Harrison shook her, noticing instantly how small and fragile she felt beneath his hands. What a dangerous illusion that was, he thought with a sneer. According to the surveillance reports he managed to obtain on her, this woman beneath him would have no compunction about taking on an entire military squad single handedly. And she did! He had followed her continuing career closely for the last two years until he had lost track of her two months before. Right after she'd been placed, as the assassin of six German field officers in a bordello in Prague. Six men dead without a thought.

“Christ,” he cursed savagely before he was able to lever himself away. He knelt between her outstretched thighs, while disgustingly, he had to catch a labored breath.

It was the bitch’s fault beneath him that he was reacting this way. He'd not been with a woman for more than two years. Not since Lia had set up the betrayal where he’d burned his hands and throat so severely. And now, she was going to pay! She was going to endure his scarred hands on her body. She was going to crawl . . . she was going to beg him . . . she was going to fuck him until she was his slave, and then and only then, was he going to walk away from her. Leaving her with what she had become. It was better than killing her. Much better, he thought, as he began to search her again for the knife and pistol he knew she must have.

However he did not find them, nothing but a small package in her cloak and a gold locket around her slender neck. Frustrated, he began to rip her demure serviceable dress down the front. He simply could not believe that she did not have a weapon concealed somewhere.

“N-mm-mm!”

Harrison grasped the whalebone stays between Lia’s softly pillowed bosoms with one gloved hand and drew his knife down with his other hand. He could feel the inner slopes of Lia’s breasts heaving against the back of his gloved hand as he cut the corset free. Her breasts spilled out of their confinement. They were plump ivory moons with areolas no rounder that a halfpenny, making the spiked pink nipples in their centers appear larger. The buxom flesh jiggled and arched upward with each of her agitated movements beneath him as she whimpered and tossed her head.

He had her bared except for her stockings, garters, and half-boots. He chuckled in a sinisterly lewd manner and deliberately ran one his leather-gloved hands back and forth over each of her breasts in a smearing motion while she tried unsuccessfully to squirm away from him.

 

Chapter Two

 

Chloe recovered consciousness reluctantly and if it was not for the discomfort in her arms, a nagging ache dragging her from the black cocoon of oblivion she wanted to hide in, she would not have wakened at all. She moaned over the numbing pain and found her mouth dry and still gagged. That realization sent panic rushing through her and with it she tried to move and found that she could not.

“Ah, my ebony-gilded souillon, so you are awake.”