by Zoe Blake
Ward
A Dark Romance
Zoe Blake
Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Zoe Blake
All rights reserved. No part of this 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.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
Cover Design by Dark City Designs
Images by Gaidenko
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About Zoe Blake
Thank you for Reading!
Chapter 1
Lizzie
I might be losing my mind.
I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore.
All I knew was if I didn’t escape now, I would truly go mad.
I strained to listen for any sound of movement, but all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears. Lowering to my hands and knees, I crawled along the floor. My shoulder brushed the wall as I followed the perimeter of the room. For what felt like the hundredth time, my foot got caught in the voluminous fabric of my long nightgown. This time, as I jerked my knee forward to free it, I accidentally knocked into a small table filled with delicate figurines.
For one sickening moment, I could feel all hope drain from my body as I helplessly watched two bride and groom statuettes wobble then topple to the floor. I was saved by the woven Oriental carpet, which muffled the sound. Not taking any chances, I kept still, crouched behind a richly upholstered chair. The gold threads from the elaborate scrollwork pattern gleamed in the low moonlight cast from an opening in the heavy brocade curtains from across the room. That opening was my target.
I could not risk crossing the carpeted portion of the room, so I continued along the edge, where the nails from the hardwood floor pressed painfully into my knees. Just as I reached the far side windows, I heard voices in the hall. I quickly crawled behind the heavy curtain and waited.
“Tell Mrs. Jennings I want new leather restraints ordered,” commanded a deep, authoritative voice.
It’s him!
I covered my mouth with both hands to keep from crying out in fear.
“The leather is becoming worn so the buckles are not tight enough. As you know, Lady Elizabeth must be protected from her own night terrors.”
“Yes, your grace,” answered some faceless servant.
I couldn’t suppress the shudder that racked my body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wished I could erase the memory of the brutal humiliations I suffered as a consequence. My stomach twisted at the thought of what I had allowed him to do to me… of how I begged for it.
I was brought back to the present as both men entered the parlor where I was hiding. The sharp wooden edge of the windowsill wedged painfully between my shoulder blades as I pressed close to the wall, willing myself invisible.
“Have these windows all been secured for the evening?”
Damnit.
If the servant said no then I would certainly be discovered. I could not even dwell on the possible punishment I would receive for such a blatant disobedient act.
Unable to stop myself, I risked a quick glance from behind the curtain and immediately regretted my rash actions.
He was staring straight at me.
I was caught.
I was sure of it.
I could feel his dark eyes bore through the fabric of the curtain, past my nightgown, to strip me bare.
Once more I was gripped with paralyzing fear and uncertainty.
What if what he said was true?
Are these memories and thoughts I have really just the delusional dreams of a madwoman?
Am I safer with him, under his protection, as his ward?
No.
No, I know I am not safe with him.
This isn’t real.
Again, my mind screamed in desperation. This isn’t real!
It had become my mantra. My only shred of sanity… the last vestige of what was me.
This isn’t real.
I knew the truth.
At any moment, I expected to see the curtain ripped aside, and to face his damning anger. My whole body clenched as I braced for the inevitable pain.
“Yes, your grace.”
“Very good. Do not forget to latch the door before you extinguish the candles,” his clipped voice instructed before turning and leaving the room.
I remained crouched on the cold hard floor for minutes, perhaps hours, unable to even breathe, or to believe how close I had come to being discovered. Finally, I willed myself to move. I must. I was observed at odd times throughout the day, even in sleep. There could be a cry of alarm from my absence at any moment.
Slowly turning, I carefully released the latch and raised the window just high enough for me to slide my body under it. Sucking in a shocked breath from the cold, brittle feel of the icy grass blades beneath my bare feet, I gathered up the fabric of my nightgown and took a few steps along the brick wall before finally making a dash across the manicured lawn for the safety of the woods just past the rising slope.
I had no idea where I was or for how long these woods stretched but they were my only hope. Even though the branches were bare, I felt their protective cover with each step I took deeper into the dark forest. Ignoring the bite of broken sticks and rocks on my feet, I ran steadily on, following the pale blue stream of moonlight like a beacon.
The ground began to slope downward. I strained to hear sounds of life. It was the middle of the night but still I hoped that some other being might be stirring. There must be someone out on this cold, full moon night willing to help me. There had to be, for deep down I knew I wouldn’t get another chance after this.
He’d probably make good on his threat and send me back to the asylum.
Just the thought of the horrors I endured at that terrifying place had me searching the forest floor for a sharp rock to use as a weapon. I picked up several before I settled on what looked to be a thin, shaved piece of rock from a nearby boulder. I tested the edge with the pad of my thumb. I had no idea if it was sharp enough, but I would find out if he tried to take me back to that awful place. My throat closed as I tried to swallow a sob.
I wanted my life back.
My real life.
Not this nightmare of confusion and pain that wouldn’t end.
Just then, I heard a familiar sound. The first truly familiar sound I had heard in months.
A car.
Not a carriage or a horse.
An actual car.
I was certain of it.
> I fought back a wave of dizziness from the enormity of what I was hearing. I was right. I wasn’t going mad. I was right!
More important… he lied… about all of it.
Stumbling forward, I couldn’t have cared less about the crimson drops of blood on my white nightgown from my scraped knees as I half ran, half tumbled down the ridge, to the road I knew now was just out of sight.
Tears stung my chilled cheeks as I finally saw the smooth black tarmac.
A road. A modern road.
The car was already too far gone to hail but I didn’t care… there would be another. I was saved. Falling to my cut and bruised knees, I inhaled the pungent, petrol scent of tar as if it were the sweetest of perfumes. Despite the winter cold, the road still held some of the warmth from the day’s sun. I rested my cheek against it. Savoring the moment of freedom, I almost didn’t hear the next car approach.
Rising to my feet, I shaded my eyes from the harsh, bright headlights. It was strange how quickly my eyes became accustomed to only the soft glow of candlelight or the hazy flicker of a gas lamp. The artificial light was almost painful as it grew in intensity as the car came closer.
Not wanting to miss my chance, I jumped up and down and desperately waved my arms, moving dangerously close to the middle of the road. I could only hope the white expanse of my nightgown would alert the driver in time to my presence.
The tires screeched as the car swerved to the left to avoid me. The scent of burning sulfur permeated the cold night air.
Racing forward, I dropped both my palms on the warm hood, carelessly scratching the paint with the rock still clutched in my right hand.
“Please! Please help me,” I cried as I threw my body on the car to prevent it from leaving.
I heard the steady beeping of the car’s warning system as the driver opened the door, leaving the engine running.
“What the fuck?”
He was young, probably around my age. Dressed in jeans and some kind of brewery t-shirt, he circled around the open driver’s side door and started to approach me.
There was no doubt in my mind I looked as crazy as I felt. With my stained nightgown, bare feet, and wild, tangled hair, I wouldn’t blame this guy if he got back into his car and drove fast in the other direction. I couldn’t let that happen.
Using all my strength, I pushed myself off the hood of the car and reached for him. Fisting my hands into his t-shirt, I searched his face for some sign of concern or compassion. The headlights shining from below gave his features a shadowed, macabre look. I couldn’t tell if his lips were twisted into a smirk or open in shock.
“Please—” I repeated desperately, my voice breaking. “I need help.”
Gripping my shoulders, the driver steadied my swaying form. It felt strange and almost wrong to have another man’s hands on me. I mentally shook away the feelings of shame and guilt. That was just what he wants you to think. What he has conditioned you to feel.
It’s not real.
“Calm down. Everything is going to be okay,” the man assured me as he started to gently guide me around to the passenger side door. “I’m going to take care of you.”
I closed my eyes and swayed slightly, brushing my forehead against the soft fabric of his sleeve, desperately wanting to believe his words of comfort. Leaning heavily on his arm, I allowed myself to be led to the other side of the car. Reaching around me, he lifted the handle and opened the door.
As I prepared to enter, he said, “I’m going to take you back to where you belong. Don’t you worry.”
His words broke into my exhausted reverie. Raising my head, I once more stared at his face.
Does he look familiar?
I didn’t know. There were so many blurry, silent faces these past few months. Something about his words, his placating tone, warned me. I took a step back, slowly shaking my head.
“My lady, please. You’re hurt. Step into the carriage. Let me get you some help,” he offered, as he took a slow step toward me, his hands outstretched as if he were trying to cage in a wild animal.
“You’re one of them,” I whispered in horror as I took another step back.
“Let’s get into the carriage and sort this all out,” he responded in a soft, dulcet tone.
“It’s not a carriage,” I screamed. “It’s a car. A car!”
His eyes shifted to stare at something over my shoulder, just as I heard the clopping of approaching horse hooves.
Turning too fast, my head spun as I tried to focus on the large form looming over the both of us.
“I caught her trying to escape, your grace,” explained the driver.
I shook my head. “No,” I whimpered as I stared up into a pair of dark, piercing eyes.
All was lost. He had found me. He would always find me and bring me back; I knew that now.
I tried to back away but the driver’s arm closed across my shoulders, holding me tight. I began to kick and scream as I struggled to be free. “No!” I screeched. “It’s not real! It’s not real! You lied! It was all lies!”
It was no use. All he did was stare down at me in that darkly controlled manner of his, with the arrogance of someone who knew, no matter what, he would always get what he wanted… always.
Knowing the crushing feeling of hopeless defeat, I collapsed onto the street. Bile rose in my throat. I was lost. Just as I prayed for the oblivion of madness to finally come and take me for good, to make me forget completely all I knew in my heart to be true, one last spark of fight rose in my belly.
As I laid there, a crumpled heap in the middle of the road, I remembered the rock still clutched in my hand. Using the jagged edge, I pierced the delicate skin of my right palm, relishing the surge of clarity that often came from the sharp bite of pain. One slash, then a second one.
As I felt the arms of my tormentor close around my bruised and chilled body, the rock slipped from my grasp. Barely noticing as the carriage pulled up, my head lolled to the side, taking unwelcomed solace from his warmth and strength. I breathed in deeply his familiar spicy scent and the feel of his lips against my cheek.
He settled me onto his lap as the carriage lurched forward. Stroking my hair, he whispered into my ear over and over again, “Don’t worry, my love. I’ve got you. It’s only a dream. Just a dream.”
His words wrapped around me like a vise. Sucking in a pained hiss through my teeth, I felt the sting from the bleeding cut on my palm.
This is no dream.
Chapter 2
Lizzie
Two months earlier
The tube doors opened and I stepped out onto the open-air platform of Barbican Station. Allowing myself to be jostled by the crowd of commuters, I looked up at the hazy winter sky; its cloudless watery grey did nothing to improve the buildings it looked upon.
Many people didn’t like this part of London. With its post-war Brutalist architecture of depressing blocks of poured concrete buildings, it felt more like communist Soviet Union than Britain.
I loved it.
I loved everything about London.
Its buildings and parks. The people. The culture. Even the food. So many people think British food is only about fish and chips and meat pies but there is the wonderful India cuisine influence as well. My favorite was kedgeree. It was the perfect blend of the two cultures, with smoked haddock, rice, and curry.
Although I will never get used to pineapple and ham as a topping on a pizza. Despite living here for six months, I’m still an American after all.
Six months.
It was hard to believe it had been six months since I lost my parents in that awful car crash. My whole life changed in that moment. It was strange. There was nothing criminal or dramatic or even ironically tragic about the accident. It was just a car accident. On a bright, sunny afternoon for no reason at all, one car simply hit another.
And my whole world ended.
As an only child of two parents with no real family connections, I was immediately left alone. I suppos
e it would be far more tragic if I were a young kid who would now be forced into foster care or even a bride about to get married. But I was neither.
I was twenty-two and truth be told, a little lost.
Drifting from one odd job to another after high school, I was a source of constant worry and disappointment to my parents. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be an actress. Constantly playing dress-up and putting on small plays and performances for my friends. My entire childhood was an endless round of dance classes, auditions, and recitals.
My parents of course loved it… when I was a child.
It wasn’t as charming when I became an adult and refused to stop playing dress-up. They worried about the stability and even the feasibility of becoming an actress. Countless times, I had been lectured about needing a career or some sort of degree to ‘fall back on.’
I refused to listen. Foolishly believing that I had to stay focused and true to my craft, which meant throwaway jobs that could be ditched at a moment’s notice if I got an audition or even better, an actual part.
It took them dying for me to finally listen.
The moment I had settled all their affairs, I enrolled in the University of the Arts Fashion Design program in London. With no family to hold me back, I needed a change. Learning how to become a costume designer was a pretty good compromise between my desire to be an actress in the theater and their need for me to have something more solid to hold onto.
Too bad I hadn’t thought of it when they were alive.
