by EM BROWN
“Come,” he urged, “your phantasy awaits.”
He could tell she was tempted to snicker – a good sign for she would not have considered such a response if she did not feel somewhat at ease.
Jonathan opened the door for them and led them down a winding stairwell to the “dungeons.” Montague had selected one of the brighter, more inviting cells. He instructed Jonathan to start a fire in the fireplace. Despite the warmer summer month, the chamber was still cool upon the skin. He could see from the frown upon Lady Debarlow that the accommodations did not excite her.
“The amenities will improve upon satisfactory performance,” he informed. “We shall see how well Madame Botreaux’s has prepared you. We begin tomorrow morning.”
“I am to stay in this...cell?” she asked. “Sir?”
“Yes.”
“But what if I should need to tend to myself, Sir?”
“Pardon?”
“Is there no one to assist me, Sir?”
“Jonathan will bring you a bell to ring should you require him.”
“Him? Am I not to have an abigail?”
“Jonathan would be happy to service you. But you are to address him, too, as ‘Sir.’”
The set of her jaw hardened but she lifted her chin slightly. “What if...what if I should need to relieve myself, Sir?”
“There is a chamber pot in the corner.”
He thought she shuddered. Despite her humble origins, he doubted that she had had to suffer such demeaning conditions. The straw palette was a far cry from the silken sheets was accustomed to at present. From what her maidservant had told Jonathan, the Baroness was partial to the finer things in life. But her current meager surroundings were not intended to break her spirit. Any such attempts would be met by fierce resistance. Lady Debarlow would not be cowed. He felt stirred by her demeanor and found himself eagerly awaiting the morning.
“Have you any other questions, Baroness?”
She pressed her lips into a firm line. “None, Sir.”
“Then I bid you good night.”
He closed the door behind him. Once out of her view, he gratefully removed his mask and took a deep breath. His body buzzed with anticipation. He headed upstairs to the drawing room to find a bottle of drink to calm his nerves. He had never undertaken such an endeavor before. Then again, no one had ever commissioned him to seduce a woman before.
Penelope had taught him a great deal, but he could sense a significant amount of resistance in the Baroness. He had never before felt his confidence waver, but Lady Debarlow was no easy damsel to sweep off the feet. He would sooner deal with the frostiest of women. Indeed, he excelled at melting the icy armor that many women used to protect their hearts. Lady Debarlow was far from frigid. Quite the contrary, she exuded heat and passion. But she had her own set of armor.
The seduction of a woman involved more than an appeal to her lust, but with the Baroness, he would start with her body.
ABBEY WATCHED THE VALET start the fire and entertained for a moment the possibility of bludgeoning him over the head with an object and making her escape. But the chamber was barren, and even if she could slip past the man and find her way out of the place, she could not be certain where to go thereafter. They could be miles from the nearest person. But perhaps even the wilderness would prove a better prospect then her current prison?
The situation was outrageous. Not only was she a hostage thrown into some cell fit only for one’s enemy, but she had to suffer the indignity of being serviced by a man. And to call him ‘Sir’ to boot! But if he thought her some dainty princess, he would discover her to be made of stronger mettle. Why she cared what her abductor thought of her struck her as odd. For all she knew, he might prove a madman.
“What is this extraordinary place?” she inquired of Jonathan, who might prove less aloof than his master.
“One that my lady has never been before till now,” was the reply.
The valet intended to be as mysterious as his master, she deemed with disappointment. But she was not ready to give in completely.
“What part of England are we?”
“Why does my lady wish to know?”
“Does your master bring women here often?”
“On occasion.”
“Does he treat them all with such ‘hospitality?’”
The valet grinned. “You are a special captive, my lady.”
“How am I to have been so fortunate?”
“My master is taken with you.”
That gave her pause. The look of discomfort upon the valet, as if he realized he had disclosed too much, intrigued her.
“I am too old for flattery,” she said, feigning disinterest. “What does he do with his female ‘guests?’”
“It would depend upon the woman.”
“And when he is done?”
He shrugged. “They depart.”
“Of their own free will?”
“Aye.”
The man appeared to speak truthfully, and she felt a small sense of relief. But she would not allow herself to be completely at ease.
“You have been in his employ long and have seen these women?”
“I have been in his service nigh on ten years.”
Damn. He was likely quite loyal to his master, thought Abbey. But that did not mean he was entirely immune to persuasion. She looked him over. Like his master, he had a more athletic body with strong thighs, muscular calves, and square shoulders. He was younger – perhaps eight and twenty years of age – and, save for a slightly crooked nose, was quite attractive.
“A man like you could do much with twenty thousand pounds,” she enticed. “You speak intelligently, have fine features. You need not be a valet all your life.”
“Are you bribing me, my lady?”
“Surely there is something that you wish for?”
He turned to stoke the fire. “I am content in my situation.”
She decided not to press the matter at the moment. Thus far he had obliged her, and she wanted him to continue answering her questions.
“Your master has not long been a patron of The Cavern. Was he a member elsewhere before?”
“I am not aware of it during my tenure with him, but it were quite possible he has not disclosed all to me.”
“But you clearly have his trust for you are party to my capture. You realize I could have you brought to trial for this, and if convicted, you would be sent to Newgate. It be no small offense to kidnap a member of polite society.”
“My master believes that you will not be pressing charges.”
“Ha! And why is that?”
He looked at her candidly. “Because you will have enjoyed your stay here.”
His response upset her with its implied arrogance. “If that were possible, why have I been assigned such poor accommodations?”
“I know not all that my master has planned for you. Suffice it to say that he is quite skilled in the art of pleasuring women.”
She pursed her lips. Their conceit both vexed and intrigued her, but she did not want to display any anger before the valet. He may prove useful yet.
“Have you any water? I am feeling quite parched.”
He bowed and left. To her disappointment, she heard a bolt slide into place. The door would be locked then. She took the opportunity to scan the rest of her surroundings. There would be no exit through the window, provided she could reach it. The only other exit beside the door would be the fireplace. The wooden door looked too heavy to be broken.
Jonathan returned with a canteen of water.
“Thank you,” she said as she accepted the water. “I wonder that I have not come across your master before?”
She studied his face for a reaction. He blinked a bit rapidly and she suspected he was privy to intelligence.
“Or perhaps I have?” she ventured as she flashed through her mind the men that she knew at The Cavern – a futile exercise as she did not know the identity of all of them.
“Pe
rhaps,” he replied. “I know not all his acquaintances.”
“I rather suspect you do.”
He cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you require, Lady Debarlow?”
“My maid Jenny is no dolt. Upon discovering my absence, she will be quick to seek the authorities. We shall be found.”
“I think, Lady Debarlow, by the time anyone should ascertain where you were taken, my master will be done with you.”
He bowed and took his leave, but stopped upon the threshold. He strode back to her. She tensed, preparing to fend him off should he try to press his attentions upon her, though she doubted that his master would have given him permission to do so.
“I believe this to be yours?” He presented her glove. “I think you had dropped it upon the ground.”
Frowning, she took the glove from him. He departed, leaving her in the dark and with the realization that no one was likely to rescue her.
Chapter Thirteen
MONTAGUE STARED DOWN at the woman lying upon the straw palette. Asleep, the Baroness appeared at peace and no longer en garde. He noted her lashes resting upon the curve of her cheek and the slight part of her lips. With her defenses down, she looked quite the innocent. Angelic. He had a strange desire to wrap her protectively in his arms. He hoped that she would not prove too resistant or obstinate to the program he intended for her as he would rather not force her to spend all her nights upon the straw bed.
His night spent upon the settee of the drawing room had not been considerably better. He could not in good conscience sleep upon a bed of feathers whilst she spent the night upon the floor. As a result, he had a crick in his neck despite having slept only three hours. Shortly after dawn, he had roused himself and downed a cup of coffee that Jonathan had brewed. After cleansing his body and receiving a shave, he felt much refreshed. He donned a pair of breeches, had his hair powdered, and replaced his mask. He was ready for the Baroness.
Her eyelashes flickered. She opened her eyes to find him standing above her.
“Good morning, Baroness,” he greeted.
She quickly sat up. The blanket that he had had Jonathan place over her in the middle of the night fell from her shoulders. Her attire was rumpled and her hair disheveled, but she looked no less compelling.
He gestured to Jonathan, who stood behind him with a tray. “Will you partake of breakfast, Baroness?”
Her stomach grumbled in response. Jonathan set down before her the tray with a pot of coffee, stewed fruit, porridge, and eggs. She eyed the food keenly. He wondered if she was expecting water and stale bread.
“Eat well,” he encouraged, “for you will require sustenance to bolster your endurance.”
Requiring no further encouragement, she dove her fork into the eggs, bypassing any salt or pepper in her hunger. He watched as she then turned to the porridge. At one point she flicked her tongue over the corner of her mouth to catch a drop of milk. He felt his cock stir. He once knew a woman who used the consumption of strawberries as part of her seduction, but he had never thought to find porridge quite so alluring.
When the Baroness had finished her breakfast, having cleared everything including the last drop of coffee, she appeared much more content.
“What will you have me do, Sir?” she inquired. “Your submissive is eager to please.”
He doubted the sincerity of her statement but at least she was making an attempt.
“You will undress yourself,” he answered.” Jonathan will assist in your toilette if you desire.”
She inhaled sharply, clearly displeased, but she knew it was fruitless to object.
“Do you intend to watch, Sir?” she asked with raised brows.
“But of course,” he answered somberly, though he wondered at the wisdom of doing so. The mere thought of her naked made his blood pound.
Grudgingly, she unbuttoned her caraco, but instead of lashes lowered modestly, she held his gaze as if daring him to look away. He knew some dominants trained their submissives to keep their heads lowered in deference, but he much preferred seeing the flash in her eyes and even enjoyed her defiance. She wrapped her finger and thumb about the last button and slowly pushed it through the button hole. She slid the jacket down her arms and allowed it to fall to the floor.
He swallowed hard. Damnation. And she had but removed one article of clothing.
Next she withdrew the pins from her skirts. With a quiet rustle, they crumpled to the ground. His cock had hardened when she stepped out of her petticoats. From the periphery of his eye, he saw that Jonathan was also unsettled.
“I will require assistance with my stays, Sir,” she informed.
Jonathan stepped around her back – rather eagerly, Montague observed wryly. Unaccustomed to untying a woman’s stays, Jonathan’s large hands fumbled about for a while. He finally managed to unlace the ribbons. The Baroness stood in only her chemise, stockings, and garters. Montague admired her bare arms and the shape of her calves. He would have made quick work of what remained of her clothing, but he had never witnessed so enjoyable a demonstration as the undressing of Lady Debarlow.
“Am I sufficiently undressed, Sir?” she inquired.
“Not at all,” he replied. “You are the strip to the buff.”
Again her mouth turned down in displeasure, but she made no protest. She undid her garters first, then rolled down her stockings. There were few things lovelier than the shape of a woman’s leg, Montague observed and recalled how he had massaged her feet. His hands wanted to caress what he saw. His desire lengthened against him. When she bared her shoulders, he groaned inwardly. He saw that he would have to constantly stiffen his resolve when it came to her. She saw the effect she was having upon and languidly slipped the chemise down past her breasts.
Dear bodkins. The two orbs accented with large rosy areolas stared at him in all their glory. They were magnificent. The perfect shape for her body. The perfect ripeness. Full and sufficiently heavy. They did not slump but protruded from her chest proudly.
The thin material dropped past her belly button, revealing another favorite part of the woman’s body for him. The curves about the hips. The subtle swell of the abdomen and the flare of the hips were distinctive of the female sex – at least those who had passed puberty. The final revelation would be her thighs and mons. Montague felt as if he had feasted upon more courses than he dared hope, and here was a second course of dessert set before him.
Her chemise joined the other articles of clothing about her feet. The Baroness stood before him completely naked. He could hardly believe his eyes. She had offered no resistance. He drank in the beauty before him, noting that Jonathan stood rooted to his spot.
“Are you pleased, Sir?” she asked brazenly.
He stared at the suppleness of her thighs. “Quite pleased, Baroness.”
He walked around her and surveyed her gloriously naked body. She had the curves of a grown woman but the firmness of a woman who had not yet born children. Her arse was a particular delight. He had suspected it might be despite the layers of petticoats that had disguised her form. After staring at her backside in the carriage, he had speculated as to how her rump might strike him, and he was not disappointed. His hand longed to caress the arch of her arse, but he refrained. There would be opportunity enough in due time. Although the Baroness had complied with his orders, somehow she had acquired some of the balance of power in her undressing. He intended to shift authority back to him. He fixed his gaze at the patch of curls atop her mons, the blood in his veins throbbing at the delicious sight, and gestured to Jonathan.
The valet stepped outside and returned with a large bowl of water, razor, and cream. Abbey glanced at the items, then the two men, both of whom were clean shaven. She looked over her abductor and the smooth planes of his pectoral. She had been convinced that he was a gentleman, and yet the muscles about his abdomen were more like those of the laboring class. His body reminded her of a Grecian Olympian. She rather hoped that he would continue to be in a
state of half-dress during the duration – especially if she herself were to be naked.
To be on such display, exposed before two complete strangers, engendered the most awkward sensations: a mingling of indignation, embarrassment, distress, and excitement. She attempted a nonchalance that belied her true agitation. Having been naked before at Madame Botreaux’s, she possessed more confidence in her nudity than most women might, but she had never been an exhibition, her most intimate parts bared for others to gape at. She was tempted to cover herself with her hands a la a chastened Eve. The air felt cool upon her skin despite the fire in the fireplace. She wondered what strange inclination her abductor had in making her watch one of them undergo a shave.
As if reading her mind, he informed her that the shaving accoutrements were for her benefit.
“Mine, Sir?” she echoed, balking at the thought of becoming bald. Did he truly intend to take all her hair? What sort of man became titillated by baldness?
“A mere trim,” he said.
She followed his gaze to her mons. Although relieved that he did not mean the hair upon her head, the thought of a stranger touching a blade to her nether parts was nonetheless unsettling.
“Must we...?”
“Aye,” he answered, crossing his arms.
Jonathan set the articles before her and went down upon one knee. His face was mere centimeters from her most private area. Her pulse quickened.
“I can shave myself, Sir,” she stated.
He shook his head. “You will keep your arms behind you.”
Her breath became uneven.
“Behind you,” he reiterated.
Concluding that there was little she could do to dissuade him, she complied. Jonathan took a cloth and wiped the area above her thighs, then applied the shaving cream to her body. She closed her eyes at the coldness of the cream.
“Spread your legs.”
Her eyes opened. Why should he require—?
“Now,” he commanded grimly.
With a hard swallow, she shifted her feet apart. Jonathan brushed the cream over her labia. Next he took up the razor and gently scraped the blade along her lower pelvis.
