The Virgin at Goodrich Hall

by Danielle Lisle

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  The Virgin at Goodrich Hall

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-086-3

  ©Copyright Danielle Lisle 2012

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2012

  Edited by Amy Parker

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.

  This story contains 50 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 9 pages.

  Rogues of Deception

  THE VIRGIN AT GOODRICH HALL

  Danielle Lisle

  Book two in the Rogues of Deception series

  Victor does not expect to sacrifice his night by offering limitless pleasure to an untried virgin, yet little does he realise the pleasure that awaits him in return.

  The rumour of a manor housing mindless pleasure is too much temptation for this young maiden to ignore. Lady Margaret knows her father will choose her a suitor soon, but how can she find passion with a man twice her age? Fearing she will never experience anything with her husband other than her duty of providing him an heir, she sets out for Goodrich Hall, a whispered-about mystery of the ton. Propriety and good sense be damned—she will not die without experiencing the pleasure a real man can offer!

  As soon as the young maiden enters the Hall, Victor knows he will have her. Her masked face and barely there silks, which cling to her as if they feel lust of their own, send a rush of need through his body. It is not until she melts against him later, her passion fully stated, that he realises she is more to him than he first thought.

  Dedication

  For the people who believed in me.

  My critique partners, Jennifer, Jacqueline, Jess and Jacinta, my frisky band of Js, you have been a wonderful insight into my stories but, most importantly, you have become my friends.

  My family (bar my husband, who constantly complains I spend more time with my laptop than him!), who have shown me nothing but support for my chosen path.

  Last, but hardly least, Amy Parker, the editor who took a chance on this bogan Aussie.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Chapter One

  Letter to Lady Belfort from Lady Margaret, 24th of June 1803

  Dearest Claire,

  I am relieved to have received your latest correspondence announcing your happy marriage to Lord Belfort. From your letters, I can tell he is a pleasing husband and one whom you love beyond reproach. I am truly joyful for your happiness. I, myself, can only dream of finding a husband who will cherish me as yours does you.

  I must confess, since my journey to London with my parents last month, I have found the life here rather dreary. While mother entertains ladies who are accompanied by their unwed daughters, I find I have little in common with the women and, in truth, find their company rather vexing.

  I must take you into my tightest confidence by announcing I have heard of a club, which meets once a month at Goodrich Hall, a short carriage ride south of London. This estate, leased out by an unknown source, is known to permit its guests to do the wickedest of things! It is said to hold a masked ball on a different date each month, allowing patrons to attend and participate in mischievous undertakings, yet ensuring their identities remain hidden.

  As you are my dearest friend, I will confess I have learned of the date for this month’s ball and have decided to attend. Please do not fret for my safety, as I will indeed wear a mask to ensure my reputation remains intact.

  I hope you do not mark me irresponsible in my decision, but I fear this is something I must do. Gentlemen have begun to court me and none of them strike my fancy. Father’s patience is wearing thin with my lack of interest when it comes to finding a husband, and I know he will take matters into his own hands soon. Therefore, if I am to be wed to a man who does not ignite my passions as your husband does yours, I must seek to fulfil these passions elsewhere. It is my sincerest hope you will understand this.

  I will write again soon.

  Your dearest friend, Margaret.

  * * * *

  Goodrich Hall, 26th of June 1803

  Margaret took a shallow breath, pulling her coat tighter against the chill that swept in as the door of her hired hack opened. In a hasty moment, she allowed her thoughts to go to a place of censure and doubt. She could do this. She wanted to do this, didn’t she?

  Margaret shook her head, knowing she wanted this, more so, strangely, than she had ever wanted anything else in her life.

  Taking the hand of the well-dressed footman, she descended the steps of the unsteady carriage. She gazed up at the sprawling estate house and knew there was a high chance she would encounter nobles she knew, or knew of, tonight. Yet, the idea of anonymity made her heart flutter with anticipation. The suggestion that others of her class shared the desire to express their carnal needs and interests made moisture flow to her cunt with arousal.

  Yes, she was a lady of breeding and wealth, but she was not the naïve child her parents thought she was. She had never been reluctant to lean against doors or peer through narrow keyholes. Margaret knew far more than the average lady of nine and ten—tonight she planned to witness and experience it all first-hand.

  Margaret nodded to the footman and approached the house. Her slippered feet moved silently against the stone steps as she ascended. Another footman opened the manor doors and she entered the now-deserted but well-used lobby. A vase of lilies sat on a side table, permeating the air with their sweetness, which masked the smoky odour of the few burning candles scattered about the room.

  “May I take your coat, miss?”

  Startled by the unexpected voice in the empty room, Margaret gasped and turned to see a butler standing behind her, his face bearing a rather bored expression. Oh, but the things he would have seen! How scandalous. She barely contained a giggle, one of both nerves and amusement.

  Nodding, she proceeded to unbutton her coat, somewhat surprised to see the man’s eyes widen at her dress before his expression cleared back to nothingness. Looking down at her best gown, Margaret frowned. She had not known what to wear to an event such as this and had thought this dress would be her best option.

  The butler nodded and faded into the shadows, presumably to a cloakroom concealed behind the curtains.

  “Hello, my dear.”

  Another gasp tore from her lips and this time she covered her pounding heart with a gloved hand.

  The woman who stood to her right was stunningly attractive. Her golden hair fell loosely in wayward curls around her features. She wore no mask and, for a moment, Margaret forgot she wore
one herself, before she remembered and raised her hand to ensure it was still positioned securely. The startling thing was, this woman did not wear a gown as Margaret did. In truth, she wore little clothing at all.

  “Would you please accompany me?” she asked. Margaret hesitated and the woman smiled. “You have nothing to fear. I simply wish to have a quiet word with you before you enter. I mean to prepare you. Would I be wrong in assuming this is your first time to an event such as ours?” Her gaze moved down Margaret’s body in a slow and steady caress.

  Heat built in Margaret’s core, travelling through her body and along the path this woman’s eyes wandered. Oh, my! How could a woman arouse her so?

  “Yes. I will admit I was not invited to this event, yet took it upon myself to attend.”

  The woman smiled. “That is fine, but please, follow me.” She turned her back on Margaret and walked through a curtained doorway. The soft click of the door unsettled Margaret as it closed behind her, and she took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself.

  “I fear you are not dressed at all appropriately,” the woman said, and smiled. “For our event, anyway. In other circumstances, I would say that dress is quite lovely. Stunning, in fact.”

  “Thank you,” Margaret said without thought, then frowned, looking down at her dress.

  “Do not fear. I have something I believe will suit you rather well.”

  Margaret nodded, wondering anxiously what the suitable attire would resemble, especially if her dress had been deemed unsuitable. “Thank you.”

  The woman smiled reassuringly as she moved to a chest by the window of the small parlour.

  “You do not wear a mask?” Margaret asked, unable to stop herself.

  The woman looked up from her rummaging. “No. I used to, though now I no longer feel the need.”

  “How so?”

  Looking back into the chest, the woman pulled out a pile of red silk. “I no longer feel the need as I trust those who attend here,” she said as she walked towards Margaret. “One thing you need to understand before you go any further is that this event takes place within the strictest confidence. Not all those who attend will be masked as you are. Others, like me, do not mind our identities being known, as we trust all guests to keep our presence secret.”

  “How can you offer your trust so freely to those who attend?” Margaret asked, shocked and a little intrigued.

  “We are all of noble blood, as I can see you are.” At Margaret’s gasp, the woman gave a reassuring smile. “I do not know who you are and, rest assured, I really do not care. I can simply tell by your attire and your voice.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened.

  “You asked a question, and I want to ensure you fully understand the answer before we continue. As nobles, we are all powerful people in our own right. Our anonymity is essential here and for us all to have a carefree time and to explore our desires fully. We must not second-guess our friends in this endeavour. It is therefore an unwritten rule—if any were to expose another, the whole of those who attend here will seek to ruin the soul who exposed us. This weight falls on to you as well. Do you understand?”

  Her words played over in Margaret’s brain for a moment, reassuring her in many ways. She would be safe here. She nodded. “I understand.”

  The woman smiled. “I am Anna. It is up to you if you use your real name or another, but you will be asked. Have you chosen one?”

  Margaret had not, though as a child she’d always wished to be called Maggie. If her presence was safe, giving a name short for her own, yet not one she had ever been called, should be harmless. “Maggie. I would like to be called Maggie.”

  Anna nodded. “Well, Maggie, you are more than welcome to wear these,” she said, holding up the red silk.

  Maggie, now thinking of herself as such instead of Margaret, hesitated. It did not escape Anna’s notice.

  “I understand your uncertainty but, please, trust me, Maggie. You will be more out of place in your gown.”

  * * * *

  Belfort Park, Country Estate of Lord and Lady Belfort

  Damon could not help but look in awe at his wife, ignoring the food before him. He could scarcely believe the physician had spoken the truth the week before, when he had confirmed Claire was carrying Damon’s babe. As a man who had been given the gift of this woman’s love, he had not thought he could find any more joy. Yet he had.

  “The evening post, my Lord.”

  Damon dragged his eyes away at his butler’s soft words. He nodded and took several letters from the silver tray. Sifting through them, noting many were of business and could wait, he came upon one for Claire and smiled.

  “Margaret has written,” he said, and was pleased to see his wife’s attention instantly snap to him. Her beaming smile dazzled him as she reached out urgently for the letter, tugging it from his clutches. He chuckled lightly.

  As she ripped open the wax seal, he couldn’t help but be thankful for Margaret’s presence in his wife’s life. After all, she was the reason Damon and Claire had first met, whether she knew it or not. Her encouragement for Claire to seek out pleasure had been the reason he was now so happy and expecting his first child. He owed her much.

  He proceeded to return to his meal, but his wife’s gasp quickly drew his attention back. Claire sat slumped in her chair, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide as she read. He instantly went to her side. His chair fell to the floor with a sudden clank from the force of his movement, and a footman rushed forward to right it as Damon knelt by her.

  “What is it?”

  Claire read the letter again before she turned to face him, worry now clear in her features. “We must go to London at once.” She cast a look at the butler, who stood close by. “Arrange the carriage. I will be departing as soon as it is ready.”

  “You are not going anywhere,” Damon snapped, halting the butler’s retreat.

  “Damon! I am going! You can come, but do not try to stop me!” she said, waving the letter in his face.

  Sensing her determination, Damon took the letter from her hand and scanned it. His expression turned from annoyance to understanding.

  “She could be ruined,” Claire whispered.

  He looked up into his wife’s stricken eyes. She would not be calmed until she had seen Margaret—he knew that. “We will go—but in the morning, at first light,” he added, more loudly, and nodded to his butler, who hurried out with as much grace as any butler could muster, no doubt to make arrangements. “Nothing will come of us leaving in the dark of night. We will leave when it is safe.”

  “But—”

  He cut Claire off with a simple kiss upon her lovely lips.

  His wife narrowed her eyes at him, but sighed and snuggled into his tight embrace. While Damon had never attended Goodrich Hall, he had heard of it and knew what went on there. He was familiar with several who attended regularly, some friends and others not. He simply hoped the right man chose Margaret tonight. Damon would not tell his wife, but he had heard the ball was set for this eve. He hoped Margaret knew what she was in for.

  * * * *

  Running her hand along the smoothness of the red silk, Maggie took a deep breath, trying to forget that little covered her skin but a thin layer of fabric. It felt far different from the heavy layers she was accustomed to.

  “You look perfect.”

  Maggie looked up. Anna stood there, her eyes roaming the length of Maggie’s body, leaving her skin heated yet untouched. Or, at least, that was how it seemed.

  Once Anna’s eyes had moved back to Maggie’s face, the woman grinned. “You will see many things tonight you will never have thought possible or pleasurable, though let me assure you—they are. Do not feel you must participate, though you are welcome to do so, if you wish. Am I wrong to assume you are a maiden?”

  Maggie blushed slightly at the bold question, but nodded. “I am.”

  “Do you wish to remain so?”

  What a question! She felt stricken for a m
oment. Did she want to experience the pleasure of a man’s touch? Certainly, yet she still wished to remain pure, as her gift to the man she married. Was that possible?

  “I believe so, yes.”

  Anna’s lips lifted slightly, as if the words had pleased her in some way. “Do not fret. That will be fine.”

  Anna opened the door through which they had entered and moved into the large foyer once more. Maggie followed with a gentle swish of the fabric between her legs. Never before had she worn clothes between her thighs, but the rubbing sensation was somewhat pleasurable.

  Anna moved to a table, one that displayed different coloured strings of beads in ceramic jars. She picked up a strand of black beads and moved towards Maggie, then placed them over Maggie’s head and rested them around her bare neck. As the gentle weight settled, Maggie felt the light touch of Anna’s hands in her hair. Anna moved closer, aligning her body with Maggie’s.

  “We use the beads as a code of sorts,” Anna whispered in her ear, the warm breath caressing Maggie’s skin. “These indicate you are pure and wish to remain so.”

  Maggie looked into the woman’s eyes, and the green reminded her of the spring fields on her parents’ country estate. Anna trailed her fingers along the beads, which rested between the softness of Maggie’s breasts. A slight gasp hissed out of Maggie as she felt the woman’s thumb slide down the fabric surrounding her bosom.

  Anna watched her carefully as a moan slid from Maggie’s lips. Maggie leaned into the soft touch, wishing for something firmer, stronger. Anna obliged, grasping the meaty flesh, squeezing gently before she leant forward.