Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
From The Author
A THIEF FOR THE DUKE
Megan Michaels
About This Book
Will the thief steal the Duke’s heart as well?
Ettie Beaumont lived a simple life with her family, living comfortably from their modestly successful laundering business. However, when her parents tragically died, she struggled on her own losing everything, forced to beg and steal on the streets of Carlton in Yorkshire England.
As fate would have it, stealing an apple from a vendor at the fair placed her in the care—and hands—of a wealthy headmaster, changing her life forever.
Charles William Ellingsford, the Duke of Norfolk was on holiday at his summer home, Carlton Towers. Defending a tattered waif at the fair, he intervened with the Magistrate, rescuing her from prison for thievery. He assumed the identity of Headmaster William for the newly established School for Wayward Women. The Duke assured Ettie and the Magistrate he’d reform her into a respectable lady of society.
Will it be she who is reformed? Or will he be the one who is changed in the process? Will the Duke find more than a thief in Miss Henrietta?
Publisher's Warning: This steamy romance is intended for mature readers. 18 and over only!
This novella contains the following themes or activities: pervasive M/s, intense and explicit sex, spanking, anal play, humiliation, objectification, and other acts of (very) unequal power dynamics. If any of these might be offensive to you, please do not buy or read this book.
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Copyright © 2017 by Megan Michaels
All rights reserved.
Cover Design by AllyCats Creations
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within.
In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!
This book contains content that is not suitable for readers aged 17 and under.
For mature readers only.
Published in the United States of America.
First Electronic Edition: October, 2017
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
From The Author
A THIEF FOR THE DUKE
Charles William Ellingsford, the Duke of Norfolk, stared out of the small window in his carriage as it bounced along the narrow cobblestone streets of Carlton, North Yorkshire. The busy street filled with booths at the weekly fair, vendors selling fresh produce, meats, and wares bustled with activity were shouting from their booths, the din filling the area on this fine, warm day. Customers haggled loudly for lower prices accompanied by the peals of laughter from women and children, all the pleasant sounds of summer wafting into his lonely carriage.
Charles looked forward to this vacation all year, loving their country home, Carlton Towers. His family had taken holiday in North Yorkshire for generations, but this year felt different to him. Carlton didn’t hold the same magic it once had.
His heart laden with sadness so deep he found it hard to breathe…a melancholy he couldn’t shake. He needed a wife, someone to share his dreams and desires, someone who would love him, giving him children—heirs to carry on the family name—and well…and to share his bed also. Charles imagined the fun and laughter of a Duchess to vacation with here, the frolicking they could do, and again he wondered if it would ever happen for him. Would he find happiness? Was it in his destiny?
Most of the year, he resided at Arundel Castle in Sussex. It had been the castle and home of his family for centuries. He’d played and ran through the long halls as a child, delighting in his grand home unaware of his good fortune. It wasn’t until later in his teens that he appreciated having been born to the aristocracy, never having to worry about his next meal or clothing.
Charles loved the cold, hard stone walls and the austere atmosphere of the Castle he called home; the hand-hewn rock walls reminded him that those in power were to be hard, cold, and unyielding because appearances were everything. If any weakness were shown, it was to be done quietly, reserved for times of solitude. He’d been trained that warmth and kindness had a time and a place, but never in front of the masses or the watchful eyes of spectators because it would be viewed invariably as weakness by one’s enemies.
Yes, he was well aware that he was known to be stern, harsh, and severe. A reputation that he’d worked very hard at attaining and maintaining. But inside? Inside where no one was allowed or had knowledge of his feelings? He yearned to show softness, speaking words of kindness and love. To someone special.
Someday.
He mused staring out of the carriage; someday he’d let only the love of his life know the depths of his heart. Sighing loudly, he wondered if it would ever happen. At twenty-eight, most of his peers had married and were filling their nurseries with babies.
The noise on the narrow streets rose, people running past his carriage with shouts of “Stop! Stop you, bloody waif!”
“Rolf, let me out!” Charles shouted up to his driver, and it stopped so suddenly he had to brace himself from smashing into the seat across from him. He flung the door open, following the crowd toward the commotion.
And with his usual air of authority, Charles Ellingsford the Fourth pushed his way through the throngs, with shouts of, “Move out of my way! I need to get through. Step aside, people. I need to see what is the matter? Move!”
He continued in this manner until standing near the clawing and shouting little catalyst of all this chaos. Blinking he stared at the disheveled girl, surprised and befuddled that someone so small could be the issue at hand.
“Step aside. Let her speak!” He roughly pushed the crowd back. The people moved, letting go of her body, giving Charles the authority to handle her.
Finally being free of the hands that bound her, and wasting no time in her unrestricted state the waif turned doing her best to flee.
Charles snatched her arm, catching her just in time. “Oh no, girl, you’re staying here.”
The petite blonde began to thrash once again, looking nothing less than a whirling dervish, arms and legs flailing, teeth gnashing, and he swore she even growled.
Not one to be bested by either a small woman or a child, he placed a well-deserved and firmly placed swat to her backside, startling her into standing still, all movement ceasing, except for the tears gradually welling in her beautiful, crystalline blue eyes.
Nodding at her solemnly, Charles decided she’d finally reached a state of listening, and he addressed her, “That swat on your derriere, my dear, is only the beginning of what you’ll r
eceive if you decide to act in such a manner again. Clear?”
Her jaw worked with a momentary grit of her teeth, but she released it quickly, swiping at her tears, nodding back pitifully.
“Answer me with a loud, clear voice when I address you with a question.”
“Yes…Sir.”
Pulling on his suit coat and vest, he righted his clothes after the wild skirmish, taking the time to even tighten up the cufflinks on his sleeves before continuing. “Now, tell me, girl, what have you done to cause everyone to be in such an upheaval. And do not lie.” He crossed his arms over his chest, widening his stance waiting for her response.
“I …was hungry. I took an apple.” Her eyes glance furtively toward the red-faced vendor who apparently sold the apples at the Carlton Market.
Turning to address the man, Charles said. “Sir is that what happened?”
“Yeah, she took me apples. I work hard for ‘em, you know, and I can’t have every damn little chit in Carlton stealing them neither!” He waved his fist at the girl, the veins in his forehead bulging.
Digging into the small pocket of his vest, Charles pulled out a coin, tossing it to him. “Will this cover your daily sale of apples?”
The vendor’s eyes widened, “Yes…th-thank you, Sir.”
“Go back to your stand; you’ve been rewarded for your future silence and kindnesses in letting this girl go. Let those in charge handle this …child.” Charles waved his hand for the man to shoo, watching him hurriedly leave.
It was then the constables showed up, pushing their way toward Charles. “What’s going on here?” Their crisp blue, swallow-tailed uniforms appeared a bit dusty and bedraggled from the plentiful activity at the busy, unsavory market.
Charles cleared his throat. “According to…what’s your name, girl?”
“Ettie.” The girl tilted her chin upward with a bit of attitude that was more than unnecessary considering her misdeed.
“That is not your formal name. Give us your full birth name.”
“Henrietta Leticia Beaumont—Ettie.” She narrowed her gaze at him, and surprisingly it didn’t make him want to upend her like it normally would have. Instead, he fought the urge to smile at her. The minx didn’t like following orders or in this case, even giving him her full name. She needed to have some the starch taken out of her, but he admired her fire. A bit of sassy independence kept a woman interesting, but more often than not, the miscreant needed constant boundaries to keep it contained. The prospect of this wasn’t unsavory to Charles.
Turning his focus away from the blonde beauty, he spoke to the two bobbies impatiently waiting. “Henrietta apparently was hungry and chose to steal an apple, instead of begging for mercy. The vendor has forgiven her and as you can see isn’t even present to press any charges.”
Each man grabbed one of her arms, and one of them shouted. “Come along then, thief, off to jail with you.”
“Wait!” Charles stood expecting the men to halt their actions. Instead, they dismissed him completely and continued with the thief to the jail. “You can’t just take her; I need to…” He paused.
He needed to do what? He wasn’t actually sure, but he knew getting her out prison was his next task.
“Rolf! Rolf!” He ran back to the carriage, calling toward his driver who’d waited patiently where he’d left him. “Bring me to the Magistrate, immediately.”
He hopped into the carriage the whole of it wobbling from his hurried entry, and he flopped into the velvet seat, adjusting his waistcoat, pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. They needed to hurry, or Ettie would be spending the night in prison, which was no place for a woman …or child.
And bollocks! I need to determine what the bloody hell she is—a woman or child!
Having lost his parents in his early teens he understood the loneliness and despair one could feel, but again, having the good fortune of being raised as an heir to the throne, the staff and other living relatives assured his continued care and upbringing in their absence.
But, Ettie apparently didn’t have such a luxury. Ettie. The name had sweetness to it, more genteel and innocent sounding than Henrietta, a name befitting someone so angelic, almost cherub-like with her soft golden curls framing her round face and piercing blue eyes. Once cleaned up and dressed properly (and some much-needed work on her manners) she’d be a centerpiece to any table.
Grabbing the leather handle by the window, he prevented a tumble as the carriage lurched to a stop. Leaping out, he shouted up to Rolf, “Prepare the guest room in my wing, and alert Randall and Matilda that I’ll be bringing a child to the house who will need to be cared for. They’ll know what to do. Hurry and then return to me.”
His faithful butler and housekeeper would know how to prepare for the waif. Both had been instrumental in caring for him as a child, under the direction of his parents, and then later when he needed firm guidance as an orphaned teen, their steadfast discipline, and caring concern had kept him on the straight and narrow. Not having needed their guidance for many years now. However, they’d moved into other roles in the castle, but he had no doubt they’d fall back into their previous jobs with great ease.
Children were a weakness for him…well and women also. His heart had a soft spot for both—wishing to protect and guide them, keeping faithful watch that they not be abused or ignored by society or others. His need to protect was deep and not a trait easily ignored.
Climbing the many steps up to the large brick building, he flung the doors wide open, entering he had no doubt with concern etched on his face.
“Where is Magistrate Fitzalan?” His shout probably louder than was necessary echoed off the stone walls, and the petrified clerk blinked rapidly at him, her throat visibly working to swallow her fear.
“Uh…In his office, Sir. But—”
“—I need to see him now!”
“—you can’t just go in there, Sir.” The patter of her footsteps on the tile indicated she was giving chase behind him, which he duly ignored and he swung the heavy wooden door open with Magistrate Fitzalan on a centered gold nameplate.
“Magistrate Fitzalan, we need to speak about a waif and thief being brought to your jail. I have a proposal.”
Chapter Two
Ettie rubbed her head, looking down at her fingers. Blood still appeared, but it has lessened. When that brute tossed her into her cell, she’d banged her head and scraped her shoulder as well, the pain making her wince just swinging her arm slightly.
The cell had darkened since she’d been thrown into it, and looking out the window down near the end of the hall, it appeared it would be dark soon. She rubbed her arms briskly, wishing she’d known this would happen; she would’ve stolen a cape instead of an apple.
How did I end up here?
It wasn’t long ago she’d been happy. Her small family did laundry for the wealthy, making a decent living. Food wasn’t an issue, and neither was housing.
But all of that became a distant memory when her parents died of influenza two winters ago. Initially, she’d been able to continue with the laundry, but being alone meant she couldn’t take as much in, and then the money slowly dwindled until she’d been unable to pay her taxes, losing the house, and forced to live on the streets. The rest crumbled quickly, leaving her in tattered clothing that didn’t protect her from the elements, and she’d become hungry, scavenging for food…and stealing. In all honesty, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she’d find herself in prison, she known it, although she tried her best to avoid it…and more than likely others had predicted this fate as well.
The tall man had tried to keep her from this prison, tossing that vendor a gold sovereign. A whole pound! The daft man paid that for a bloody apple! But the bobbies…damn mutton shunters had their own solution, and here she sat, cold, tired, and…bleeding. She touched the sore spot on her temple again, wincing. Her head ached from the blow.
The tall man never said what his name was, and she didn’t rememb
er seeing him before but between laundering most her life and then being homeless, her situation didn’t give her many opportunities to notice the people in the market.
She’d only come to mid-chest on him, and the swat he’d given to her backside smarted for a while. Reaching back, she pressed to see if her flesh was still sore, but all remnants of his spanking had disappeared.
The wind had blown wisps of his hair onto his forehead, framing the soft green and brown speckled eyes that had burrowed into her during his brief discipline. His long slender nose and chiseled jaw added to his stern countenance, but she swore a smile played at the corners of his mouth at one point. She just wished she knew what had amused him so. She could have, if given time, made the smile come to completion.
Although their encounter had been brief, and Ettie wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to have a run-in with him again, his valor and protectiveness tickled her. And with nothing else to do at that very moment, in that dark, damp cell, she fantasized about the kind, well-dressed – obviously wealthy man – who had taken an interest in her, even if it was only for a brief time.
Surely, as handsome and wealthy as the gentleman appeared he must be married. It seemed all the wealthy men and women married early, as did the poor in truthfulness, unless you were plain and shy, not willing to spread your legs for the first man to show interest—like Ettie. She sighed loudly. More than likely her marrying days would be ending soon at the ripe old age of eighteen. She should have been married already and on her third baby.
“Girl, get up. We must go before you freeze to death in here or catch something. Christ, I can only imagine the typhoid and cholera in here, let alone the pox. Why are you gawping at me? Get your ass up. Move!” The tall man’s green eyes had darkened to an emerald green, his lips thin with anger. After the guard had opened the door to her cell, the dandy had stepped into her cell, motioning for her to stand up—and quickly, snapping his fingers in haste.
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