by Golden Angel
Despite it all, she was felt far safer and happier than she ever had in Lady Felton’s care.
“Up on the bed, pet,” Henry said. “On all fours. Spread your legs.”
The words were crass, but it did not matter. Delilah’s body pulsed with anticipation the moment he said them. She knew pleasure was forthcoming, and it did not matter how immodest, how degenerate, how humiliating the order was, her body responded in the same manner.
Not that there was much modesty left to her, at least not in front of Henry. While she might blush, she had no compunction about climbing onto the bed and arranging herself on all fours the way she knew he liked best—knees spread apart, bottom high in the air while her upper body dipped lower, so her nipples would brush the bed while he rode her from behind. The soft fur of her tail tickled her pussy lips, but only for a moment before it moved away, and she knew he was holding onto it to pull.
“Good girl,” he said, rubbing his hand over her lower back. Delilah wiggled in anticipation, very much like an eager puppy ready to play and did not care that the comparison was embarrassing. Part of her reveled in her role as his pet. Then his cock thrust inside of her with no preamble, and she cried out at the delicious sensation of being suddenly and roughly stretched open. Her body rocked forward, nipples dragging across the sheets, stimulated by the fabric. One hard hand gripped her hip, holding her in place while he thrust in and out of her with hard, long strokes. The other was tugging on her tail, making her body clench around both his cock and the plug, adding to the intense sensations growing inside of her.
She came hard, screaming out Henry’s name into the bedsheets, her entire body quivering and shuddering with passion for the man who had mastered her.
11
The Tramp
Henry was not accustomed to feeling anything less than full confidence. Unease, wariness had been strangers to him for years. Now, despite his self-assurance on the outside, he felt a nervous churning deep in his gut.
He would not allow his pet, his lady, to be taken from him. Tapping his finger on the accounts for Lady Felton’s son, he wondered if he should make his move preemptively, or if admitting where Delilah was would only exacerbate the situation.
No.
It was better to let things play out. Henry was not a gambler, but anyone running a hell knew there were times when you had to let the cards ride. If he was lucky, he would not even need Lord Verisy’s debts to come into play. He had accumulated all of them from all the houses in the past week. It was a tidy sum, one which the young man had been unable to pay and continued to grow as he visited the tables nightly. Henry had asked his fellow hell owners to pass all of Lord Verisy’s accounts onto him, which they had been only too happy to do. They did not care who paid it as long as it was paid. Henry was perfectly happy to pay—the more leverage he had over the Felton family, the better. If it came to that.
Still, he did take some precautions. His pet was no longer allowed to stand beside him on the balcony, he kept her on all fours. While no one had recognized her as yet, there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. She did not leave his side when she was allowed out of their room, so he could always watch her.
So far, he had not changed his bribes to the Runners to stay away because such a change would be questioned, but Butch and Frank were keeping their ears to the gossip chain among the tons’ servants as well as those in the street. The Runners mostly seemed to be avoiding the Warren, as they often did, although a few had been seen walking the streets and several of the bawdy houses had been visited, the madams questioned about a young lady of Delilah’s description. That she might have ended up in a different kind of house did not seem to occur to them. As he often was, Henry was both thankful for and scornful of their ineptitude.
As several more days passed, with no changes in the reports, Henry began to relax again. Which, of course, was when everything went to hell.
He was on the balcony with Delilah, as he was every night, with Butch walking the floor while Frank stood watching from above with Henry, ready to be sent down if there was any trouble stirring. The first signs did not come from the floor, but from the entrance.
Like a hawk, Henry’s head swiveled when he heard the shouts and braced himself on the balcony, leaning forward to see what was the matter.
“Bloody Bow Street,” he snarled when he saw the men coming in. He recognized two of the men, who were regularly paid to leave his hell alone. That they had breached the doors meant something else was motivating them, most likely the hefty reward being offered for the return of Delilah.
Shouts of outrage came from below, as well as noblemen retreating from the fray rather than counting on their bloodlines to protect them.
“Take her out the tunnel.” Henry barked the order at Frank, handing off Delilah’s leash. She looked frozen with fear and horror. Yanking off his coat, Henry wrapped it around her, dropping a quick kiss to her cheek. “Go with Frank, pet, he’ll protect you with his life.”
Henry would go with her if he could, but his best chance of protecting her now lay in facing off with the Runners himself—and keeping them from seeing her.
The Lady
The warmth of Henry’s coat was cold comfort as she scampered down the hall after the silent Frank.
More shouts and screams followed them down the hall. The floor of the hell had erupted in violence, and she knew Henry was wading into the center of it. Selfishly, she wished for his presence beside her. She knew he was doing what he felt was best, but without him there to reassure her, her terror was rising fast. Taking some small comfort in Frank’s lack of panic, she clutched the edges of the coat tightly around her. It felt odd to be covered up and walking on two feet. Strangely, the tail swishing behind her brought her comfort as well. Feeling the plug inside of her always reminded her of who had placed it there and made her feel claimed, safe.
She would take these small comforts while she and Frank made their escape. And escape it was. She knew Henry thought the men who had come pouring into the hell were there for her, or else he would not have sent her back to his rooms. Whatever this tunnel was, she did not think it would lead to somewhere within the building.
“‘ere,” Frank grunted, coming to a halt beside the storage room for the kitchen. Delilah watched curiously as he went to the back wall and pulled on something to the side of the shelves. There was a creaking noise, then the shelves began to move, Frank’s muscles bulging as he pulled it away from the wall. Behind it, the dark mouth of a tunnel yawned wide, and Delilah shivered. She had not left this building since arriving and truly had no wish to... but she could not stay, either.
Not if the men were here for her.
So, she followed Frank into the tunnel, her heart pounding, pulling in Henry’s coat tighter and tighter as if it could bring her the same feeling of safety, she received from his arms around her. The tunnel was dark, the floor cold and hard against her bare feet, and the flickering light of the torch Frank had lit before they entered did not reveal more than a few feet ahead of them as they walked. It was not a long walk, but the silence was fraught with tension as she wondered what was happening behind them.
If Henry was safe.
If he would want to be rid of her after the trouble she’d caused with her mere presence.
“‘ere,” Frank said again, coming to a halt at the end of the tunnel. There was a door, completely ordinary looking, and Delilah stumbled ahead of him through it into a large room full of crates.
“Where are we?” she whispered, turning toward Frank, who closed the door behind him.
“The docks. C’mon.”
He had not taken more than two steps when figures melted out of the shadows of the crates surrounding them.
“Halt!” An official-looking man, well dressed and impeccably turned out, held out his hand toward them. Delilah did not recognize him, but she certainly recognized his type. This was a gentleman, possibly even a nobleman, and very likely the man in charge. Beside h
im was another man, looking very out of place and very familiar. His rough features and leering grin had terrified her the first time she’d seen them.
“Roddy,” Frank snarled, angling himself in front of her to protect her, but he was vastly outnumbered. “The Tramp’ll kill ya.”
Peeking around Frank’s arm, she saw Roddy shrug.
“Mebbe. If ‘e finds me. Ten thousand pounds can take me a long way.”
“Indeed,” said the first man who had spoken, with a glance full of distaste for Roddy. He cocked his head at Frank. “Give us the, ah, young woman, and we’ll let you go along peaceably.”
“Bugger off. Run, Lady!” Frank half-turned, grabbing her arm and dragging her along with him as he ran at one of the men on their left.
Barreling into the man, he shoved Delilah forward, giving her the chance to escape while he grappled with the Runner. Even knowing there was nothing she could do, bitter tears slid from Delilah’s eyes as she fled in the direction he’d sent her, knowing he was sacrificing himself for her. The Tramp had not lied—Frank was protecting her with his life.
And it was still for naught.
She screamed when an iron arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her from her feet. She screamed, kicked, and struggled, to no avail.
The Tramp
It took more than money to rid himself of the Runners who had invaded the hell. Henry and his staff were just as good, if not better, fighters, and more than one stumbled back out the front door with a cracked noggin or clutching his gut. Careful not to kill because that would only bring more of the bastards down on him, Henry had no compunction about adding extra injuries to those who were paid to stay the hell away.
Once they were ejected, he invited the leader to come in and search for the woman they’d been informed was on the premises. Just the leader. Henry had to give the man some credit for his bravery; he paled but came in any way and did a thorough search, including taking a gander at all the tarts. They all laughed uproariously when they found out he was looking to see if any of them was a missing debutante.
Not one member of his household gave away that they might very well know where the missing lady was.
The noblemen on the floor were all too happy to confirm they had seen neither hide nor hair of any debutante in the past few days—the thought was ludicrous. They’d all heard of the runaway Miss Delilah Darling and scoffed at the idea she might have ended up in the hell.
“I’ve danced with her myself,” Lord Crosby said, shaking his head. “I would surely have noticed if I had come across her in the Warren. Mark my words, that dragon she’s been staying with, she’s done something to her. The lady was sick and away from events for days before she ran off.”
Henry would have laughed if the situation not been so dire. Lady Felton had surely miscalculated when she’d covered up Delilah’s initial disappearance. It did not even occur to the man, Delilah might have run away before it had been reported, and he had certainly seen her since. The confusion over the timing had only made things easier for Henry and harder for Lady Felton.
Still, he added the time it took to be rid of the runners and the damage to several of his tables during the fight to Lady Felton’s bill. The old hag was going to pay for it, one way or another.
By the time the runners were sent on their way and the floor slowly began to return to some sense of normalcy, Henry was itching to get back to his pet, to run his hands over her and soothe the stress he knew she must be experiencing. Spanking her might do both of them some good. Unfortunately, he did not feel he could leave the hell, not so soon after the Runners had breached its walls. His patrons needed to see him in his usual spot, exuding calm and normalcy. It chafed, but he had to send Butch instead.
But when Butch returned, pale and shiny with sweat, to report Frank had been taken in by the Runners along with Delilah, and Rowdy Roddy was responsible for all of it, Henry found he no longer cared about what his patrons thought. They could bloody well do without him.
He had a lady to fetch.
The Lady
No more tail, no more coat, and wearing a borrowed dress, Delilah pressed her hands together in her lap and did her best not to weep.
Mr. Fielding, the leader of the Runners who had ‘rescued’ her, stared at her from across his desk, the expression on his face contemplative. He’d been looking at her like that since he’d brought her to Bow Street and let her have the room to dress. She had tried to leave the tail in at first, but he’d sent her back to remove it when he realized she had not. The experience had been far more humiliating than any she’d had at Henry’s hands, yet Mr. Fielding made it clear he did not understand her lack of gratitude. Drumming his fingers on his desk, he continued to stare at her.
Perhaps he meant to wear her down until she said something to him, but Delilah had days of being stared at while she was naked and weeks of being mostly silent before that.
Sharp rapping on the door made her flinch, and Mr. Fielding’s eyes sharpened, but he did not speak. Instead, he got up and moved around her to answer the door.
“Well?” Lady Felton’s piercing voice made Delilah wince again, and she closed her eyes, gulping hard. She very much wanted this to be a nightmare from which she’d soon wake. “Is she here?”
“I believe she is here, yes, my lady,” said Mr. Fielding in a careful tone. It was clear he did not want to claim a job done without verification. “If you could step this way to identify the lady?”
Delilah’s heart sank into the pit of her stomach, which felt as though it was bubbling like a pot left too long on the stove.
She folded her hands on her lap and took a deep breath, remembering the way Henry had stroked her hair and shoulders whenever she was anxious. Some of her tension receded, although not much.
I’ll make my way back to him, she promised herself. I escaped once, I can do it again.
Lady Felton stepped into her line of view, and Delilah tilted her chin up, keeping her expression blank, but refusing to show fear.
“Well, miss, what do you have to say for yourself?” Lady Felton asked, looking down her long nose at Delilah.
Nothing. She had absolutely nothing to say to Lady Felton. Delilah just looked back at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mr. Fielding looking on with bemusement.
Getting to her feet, Delilah swept out ahead of Lady Felton, who audibly gasped in shock at Delilah’s presumption.
Part of her hoped to run the moment she exited the room, but there were several Runners and four men in Felton livery standing outside. She did not recognize any of the men, and none of them looked like the type who would be sympathetic to her plight. No chance to run yet, but it would come.
It had to.
12
The Tramp’s Lady
There was no opportunity to escape between Bow Street and Felton House. Lady Felton had clearly anticipated how Delilah would feel about returning and taken precautions against losing her again. The new servants had formed a square around Delilah, marching her from Bow Street into the carriage for an uncomfortable and silent ride during which Delilah stared out the window, and Lady Felton glared at her, then from the carriage into Felton House and all the way up to her tiny room. Delilah actually felt a moment of relief when she realized she was not going to be immediately beaten.
“You will stay in here and think about what you’ve done,” Lady Felton announced, standing in the doorway and staring Delilah down with a grim expression. “Lord Greene knows of your rebellious escape and has given me leave to deal with you as necessary.” She likely expected Delilah to quail, maybe even beg, the way she would have before, but her time in Henry’s care had given her more courage than she had realized. Even though he had not been able to keep his promise to keep her safe, he had done his best, and she had never really expected him to be able to fulfill it. Deep down, she’d always known Lady Felton would come for her. But now, she knew something else too—she was strong and had done things Lady Felton could
likely never conceive of, and she had enjoyed it. She knew Lady Felton was nothing more than a bully.
And she knew she could escape. She had done it once, on a whim, and she could do it again, no matter what Lady Felton did to her.
So, she stared back at Lady Felton, chin still held high, her expression just as blank as before. She had not said one word since arriving in Bow Street and did not intend to change that now. Seemingly unnerved by Delilah’s unexpected backbone, Lady Felton whirled around and slammed the door shut behind her. Finally, Delilah was blissfully alone.
The room was just as she remembered—small, cramped, and smelly. It did not dampen her spirits, though. Unlike before, she knew not only knew she could escape, but she knew she had somewhere to go... if only she could make her way back there. Surely, someone in the Warren would help her find the Tramp, even if they did not know who she was. She no longer despaired losing the life she’d desired when she’d first lived with Lady Felton. She had found the life she wanted. Now, she just needed to find her way back to it.
“De-li-lah... We know you are iiiiiin there.” The sing-song quality of Sylvie’s voice did not make it any less threatening.
“Come talk to us, Delilah,” Amy’s coaxing voice was sweet as sugar. “We want to hear all about your adventures.”
“If you come talk to us, we will intercede with Grandmother for you.”
“We will even tell her we were the ones who broke everything.”
Delilah snorted. They did not actually expect her to believe that tripe, did they? More likely, they were looking to coax any snippets they could use against her, after which they would completely renege on any promises they had made and tattle on her to their grandmother.
