by Blake,Zoe
She had been used by Lord Warrington.
~*~
Across London. At The Brotherhood of the Linked Ring club on Old Bond Street.
“I hear you have something extra special for us.”
Pierce absently swirled his brandy as he took in his companions. Lord Robinson, Lord Van der Weyde and Mr. Davison.
“I might,” he responded smoothly.
“Come now man! Aren’t you going to share?” said Lord Van der Weyde jovially.
Pierce smiled. “Not yet gents, I’m not quite done playing.”
They all laughed as Mr. Davison began to deal out the cards.
Chapter Eight
The Warrington carriage pulled up to the battered green door of Mrs. Needham’s Academy at precisely quarter to the hour.
“Hurry up, Florencia! Lord Warrington sent his carriage this time,” called out Mrs. Needham.
“His lordship must know it is me coming and wanted me to arrive in luxury. He made you walk didn’t he?” taunted Florence as she put on her wrap. Sarah pretended to ignore her but the barb stung.
A few minutes later the carriage rolled away and Sarah set out on foot for Mr. Flopson’s.
~*~
“My lord, I need a word.”
“It will have to wait, Parker.”
“But my lord….” It was no use, Lord Warrington was already taking the steps two at time. He would learn soon enough what awaited for him.
Sarah was waiting for him in his photography studio on the third floor. He was anxious to see her…to hold her. It took every ounce of resolve he had not to rush over to Mrs. Needham’s last night with some excuse to check on her. In the end, he decided to have patience, not a strong virtue with him. He knew going to Needham’s would cause uncomfortable questions for Sarah. He wanted her to agree to become his mistress and allow him to set up a household for her because she wanted it as well…not because she had been tossed out of Needham’s boarding house for being indiscreet.
All of that would be resolved soon. She was here now…and early for a change. He would just have to think of another reason to punish her for their mutual satisfaction, Pierce thought with a smile.
He opened the door to his studio and saw the pale expanse of a nude hip with one bottom cheek peeking out through a sheer draping with long black hair artfully arranged over a generous bosom. The image was close…but not the one he wanted most.
“What the hell is going on? Where is Sarah?”
Florence artfully rose from the upholstered bench, careful to allow the draping to fall away from her nude form as she took several slow steps towards him, swiveling her hips.
“What does it matter where the savage is?” asked Florence as she draped her arms around his neck, allowing the tips of her breasts to brush his chest. “We both know you only asked her out of pity. Now I’m here. I’m sure you’ll find my services far superior,” she purred.
Pierce reached up to enclose her wrists in his strong grasp…before pulling them away. Taking a step back, he ground out, “Put your clothes on.”
Florence’s cheeks flushed scarlet in her humiliation. “You couldn’t possibly prefer that little backwater colonialist to me?” she screeched.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Pierce gave her a scathing once over. “Forgive me but I prefer my cock-lanes unbuttered.”
Florence flew at him claws drawn. “How dare you call me a whore!”
Pierce easily caught her wrists again, holding her at bay. At that moment, Parker entered.
“Excellent timing as always, Parker,” said Pierce sardonically.
“I thought you might need my assistance, my lord,” replied Parker as he held Pierce’s hat and frock coat.
“If you would be so kind as to take care of this?”
Pierce pushed the still screaming and kicking nude Florence into Parker’s arms. Ever the distinguished butler, he didn’t even blink at her unclothed state.
“Of course, my lord. I also took the liberty of keeping the carriage ready. I thought you might have a need.”
His butler had excellent instincts, for indeed Pierce was now on the hunt.
~*~
Pierce stormed into Mrs. Needham’s small parlor without invitation. Finding no one there. He proceeded to search the entire flat…room by room. He would tear the place apart with his bare hands till he found Sarah. There would be no running from him.
When Mary came upon him, one look at his dark visage, she skittered away. She was never one to borrow trouble.
Pierce opened the last door at the end of the hallway. It was a small informal drawing room. Victoria stood up in shock. “Pierce, what are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for Sarah. It would be in your best interest to tell me where I can find her.”
Victoria searched his face for a moment. Taking a few steps towards him she asked, “Are you sure that is what you want?”
“Do I look uncertain?” he ground out through a clenched jaw. His hands fisted at his side. Tense.
Victoria backed away. “She is at Mr. Flopson’s artist salon on Flitcroft Street not far from here.”
Pierce left without another word.
~*~
Sarah was miserable.
Mr. Flopson’s new bronze statue was of Artemis. So she was dressed in a foolish costume of pink Grecian draping and forced to stand still with her arms extended holding a bow and arrow. Not only did her arms already hurt, it was painfully dull and quiet, which gave her time to think. Time to think about Pierce. Time to think about Florence. Time to think about Pierce with Florence.
Yes, Sarah was miserable.
“We are having some very fine weather as of late,” she said with false cheer.
“Please! No talking. I must concentrate. Hold the bow up higher. That’s it,” said Mr. Flopson before returning to his sketching.
In the utter relentless silence of the second floor flat studio, Sarah could hear someone pounding on the door below. There were some raised voices before a crash, followed by an outraged scream. Sarah kept looking over to see if Mr. Flopson would show the slightest concern over the obvious disturbance within his household but the man did not even so much as glance up.
Well, perhaps the commotion will come our way for a bit of distraction, thought Sarah with hope.
Just then, the studio door burst open and Pierce charged in.
The civilized man in him was immediately relieved to finally have her before him.
The primal beast in him came unleashed.
She was standing in the middle of the room, scandalously attired in a pink drape. The rope belt emphasizing her generous curves. Her beautiful hair down, falling in waves just past her waist. To his mind, she might as well have been nude. His woman. Nude…in front of another male.
Intense blue eyes under a lowered brow pierced the distance between them. Sarah blinked reading the painful promise in his gaze as if he had spoken the words.
There was a scrape of a wooden stool as Mr. Flopson stood in agitation at the interruption finally aware of the pending chaos around him.
“Sir, what is all this commotion about?” inquired Mr. Flopson in an injured tone.
Pierce’s attention swung sharply in his direction. Letting out an almost feral growl, he advanced on the hapless artist. Before Mr. Flopson had a chance to protest, Pierce had him by the throat pressed against a wall.
“No! No! It’s not his fault!” Sarah tried to step off the pedestal but tripped on the long pink draping. A shocking amount of décolletage was presented to both men’s shocked eyes before she was able to adjust the fabric. The move only incensed Pierce further. Turning his attention back to the man who dared look at Sarah, Pierce was dangerously close to committing cold-blooded murder.
Sarah ran forward and grabbed Pierce by the arm holding Mr. Flopson captive.
“Please. It is not his fault! I wanted to come here! We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Nothing wrong! You stand there before m
e with your charms on display at his order and you say nothing is wrong!” he shouted.
“How is that any different from you?” she whispered.
Pierce dropped Flopson and turned on Sarah. She took a step back, trying not to trip on the fabric again. Then another. Then another. Ruthlessly, he charged forward. Stalking her. Till her own back was against the far side wall. Mr. Flopson lay in a heap on the floor across the room, dazed.
Pierce placed both hands on the wall high above her head. Towering over her. Caging her in with his body. His strength. His anger. It was palatable.
Leaning down close, Pierce’s intense gaze focused on her lips and slender throat. Sarah wildly thought he couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or murder her. Finally, he spoke. His tone viciously hard. “You dare compare what we shared to this?”
“Not in so many words,” mumbled Sarah, quickly losing her bold impulse. His closeness. The scent of skin warmed bay rum. The press of his thighs against her own with only a flimsy piece of cloth to separate them. Her whole body thrummed with awareness.
Sarah bit her lip to prevent a gentle moan from escaping her lips. The movement only seemed to inflame him more. Shifting his hips to press in closer, he made sure she could feel the compelling hard ridge of his shaft against her middle.
His eyes burned with rage. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t deserve to be punished.”
“Nothing untoward was happening,” she insisted. “There is nothing wrong with how I am attired or what I was doing,” she finished petulantly. Her pert chin raised.
The right side of his mouth rose in a slow mockery of a smile. The expression did nothing to dim the hostile look in his eye. “I suppose I will just have to show you how wrong you are then.”
Latching on to her frail wrist, Pierce pulled her to the door. Sarah tried to resist.
“No. You can’t! I am not dressed!”
“I seem to recall you stating emphatically a moment ago you were properly attired,” he sneered.
“Yes, well…I…you see,” she stammered unable to think of an adequate rebuke. Glancing down she remembered her stocking feet. “Wait, I need my shoes!”
Without a word, Pierce pulled on her wrist till she slammed into his broad, powerful chest. Memories of how his chest pressed her down as his cock pressed in, assailed Sarah. Placing her small hands up in defense, she grasped his wide, upper arms and attempted to push back. Her left hand rested over where she knew his linked ring tattoo to be. The thought spurred her on. She was nothing to him. Just a conquest to be celebrated with his friends at his secret club.
Grasping her slim upper arms, Pierce gave Sarah a swift shake. “Stop your struggling,” he warned. Sarah stilled, for the moment. Placing a strong arm beneath her knees, Pierce swept her into his arms. Cradled as she was, Sarah felt small and vulnerable. Staring up at the sharp angle of his jaw. The lowered brow over cold, glinting eyes. The fierce pounding of his heart. The tense, hard feel of his muscles as they moved along her side. She could literally feel his fury as it barraged her every sense.
With one long last look of warning to Mr. Flopson who quickly held up his arms and shook his head, clearly illustrating to Pierce he had no intention of interfering. Pierce carried his stolen treasure from the room.
Effortlessly carrying her slight weight in his arms, Pierce made quick work of the stairs. Sarah squinted from the harsh sunlight as they emerged on to the busy London walkway. With a nod from Pierce, the groom alighted from his perch on the back of the brougham and opened the door for them. Expertly trained, the young groom did not so much as flinch at the sight of his lordship with a squirming female in his arms.
Sarah looked at the polished black brougham, rigged only with one horse to make it even more swift and maneuverable through the crowded streets. With the Warrington Crest blazed on the side and the tailored uniforms of the groom and coachman, the entire rig screamed wealth and power. It only heightened the foolishness of defying a force such as Lord Pierce Warrington. She instinctively knew if she allowed herself to be carried into that brougham she would be lost…but lost took many forms. Would it be her heart or her life?
“No! No! You can’t! Put me down!” she shouted. Twisting and turning in his arms. Astounded by only the passing curiosity shown by the people on the street.
It was useless. Pierce tossed her onto the plush interior seat as if she weighed no more than a lace handkerchief.
“Drive till I tell you to stop,” ordered Pierce to his coachman who responded with a tip of his hat. Turning to the groom, he flipped him a few coins. “Go pay the man inside for his troubles. Collect the lady’s possessions and take a hansom cab home.”
“Yes, your lordship,” nodded the groom before running back inside to do his master’s bidding.
The carriage dipped and swayed as Pierce’s considerable brawn entered. Sarah was curled up on the far corner of the long bench-like seat across from him, eying him warily.
Never taking his assessing gaze off her, Pierce ran his hand over his jaw and mouth, as if willing himself to a calmer state.
Sarah would not help the situation.
“I have not given you the right to treat me this way,” she stated emphatically.
“I took the right the moment my cock entered your body,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Sarah gasped at the harsh words and possessive implication.
“I hope you are bringing me home,” she responded tremulously, desperately trying to show him she was not cowed.
“I am,” he murmured almost absently as he continued to stare at her with a predator’s fascination.
Pierce was being truthful. He was bringing her home…his home. It was pointless to hash out his erratic actions from the moment he realized Sarah had defied him by not arriving at the appointed hour. Never before had he felt such a savage need to protect, possess and yes…punish one woman. She would come to terms with the arrangement. She would have no choice. Pierce felt strongly his very sanity depended on keeping her close. He refused to recognize the emotion as love. Love was an asinine impulse reserved for the lower classes. People of his station did not love. Yet, from the first moment he spied her scandalously running about London’s West End with her glorious hair streaming down her back and that beautiful, unaffected smile, Pierce had been enthralled. Her charm and straightforward manner captivated him. Her innocent yet eager response to the pleasure achieved through pain had only spurred him on further. The very idea that she would continue to ply her trade with other men had never crossed his mind. It was untenable.
She was his now and only his.
Sarah could feel the change in his demeanor. It was subtle yet powerful. His anger dissolved into a hard, steely resolve. Ice cold cerulean eyes warmed into a deep, sapphire blue filled with desire and promise.
She watched as one by one he drew the thick velvet drapes over the carriage windows. The outside world shut out. Entrapping them in dimly lit silence.
“Come here,” he demanded.
Sarah shook her head no as she pulled her knees up even closer, a protective gesture.
Pierce looked at the tiny toes covered in almost sheer light green as they poked out from the pink draping she wore. From the deep swell of her breasts, he could tell she must still have a corset on but little else beyond that and her stockings. The vision both aroused and enraged him. Never again, he vowed, would she undress for a man other than him.
“I will not say it again, little one. You will be punished by my hand. It is your choice how harshly.”
Still Sarah hesitated. Her breath coming in sharp, tiny pants. Staring at his large, strong hands. The sun-warmed skin a light chestnut brown. The smattering of dark hairs and the occasional thin white line of a scar giving them an even more compellingly powerful appearance. The idea of another punishment at those hands both thrilled and frightened her. With her mostly sheltered up-bringing she had no frame of knowledge to compare these divergent feelings. Even her rathe
r scandalous occupation did not serve to assist her. Something about this dominant, enigmatic man drew her in. It went beyond the arresting perfection of his handsome face and commanding stature. Even beyond his contagious creative energy and obvious sharp intelligence. It was something primal, elemental. As if deep down, her body and heart recognized its mate even if her mind objected. Still she hesitated.
It was a mistake to tempt the beast.
His long fingers easily enclosed both her slender ankles. Wrenching her knees down, he slipped his other arm under her tiny waist and lifted her face down over his lap.
“Unhand me! No!” screamed Sarah.
One powerful spank across the top of both bottom cheeks, instantly stilled her. The harsh feel of his hand only slightly muted by the soft fabric.
“If you truly had been properly attired,” crooned Pierce, “I would not be able to discipline you so effortlessly.”
Pierce slowly drew up the pink fabric currently tangled about her lower limbs and pulled down her lacy bloomers. Her ivory skin shone through the green silk of her stockings. Tiny toes, slender calves, the smooth expanse of slim thighs…all was exposed to his intense scrutiny. He paused when just the pert, curved underside of her bottom peeked out.
Sarah could feel the cool draft caress her heated skin. Her face burned with humiliation as she felt his appraising regard. Her body jerked when one large hand cupped her right bottom cheek and gently squeezed.
Pierce tested the weight of her cheek in his hand. She had such a generously rounded bottom. He would have to think of a reason to punish these glorious nether globes every day he thought with a seductive smile.
Sarah whimpered as he pulled the pink draping off her backside. She was now exposed from the waist down. Her bottom perched high over his strong thighs. Her long, stocking clad legs twitching and kicking to no avail.
Desperately she clutched at the soft upholstery of the seat, still defiant. “You have no right! No right!”
Every time she told him he had no rights over her…her body…it only strengthened his resolve to possess her further.
