Wicked Deception
Raisa Greywood
© 2017 Raisa Greywood
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means - electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise - without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is unintended and entirely coincidental.
For mature readers only. This is a dark erotic romance and is written to be disturbing. This book contains adult language and extreme adult sexual situations only suitable for adult readers. All characters in this book are over the age of 18. This book is intended for adults only. Any activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book, intended for adults, should be interpreted as being advocated by the author (who is an adult), editor (also an adult), or any other artist (all adult type people) involved in its creation.
Cover art by Eris Adderly, www.erisadderly.com. Editing provided by Maggie Ryan http://www.maggieryanauthor.com/p/about-maggie-ryan.html.
Author's note:
There are so many people I need to thank.
Nina Bruhns from Entangled Publishing is owed a huge thank you. She wasn't able to accept my first 'real' manuscript, yet was so kind and generous with her time. She took the time to educate a newbie author about all that grammar crap I've ignored since the seventies. Her advice and assistance have been invaluable. Every piece I write is better because of her.
My fellow aficionados of smut, or 'those fun, kinky bitches' as my husband calls them, also deserve my undying gratitude for talking me down from the clock tower when I get frustrated, the occasional beta read, and their overwhelming support. Wendy, Tara, Zoe, Rachel, Sara, Sophie, Lee, Eris, Marissa, Sorcha, Maren, Angel, and Jennifer. I also want to thank all my crit partners from Scribophile, without whom this book wouldn’t be readable: Poppy, PM, Lourdes, Jackie, Pascale, Anna, and Chad.
And of course, Maggie, who graciously agreed to edit this book. Making the estimable Maggie Ryan blush has been the high point of my short career as an author. I'm sure I'm missing a few names, but, ladies, the drinks are on me if you ever find yourself in Ohio.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Excerpt from Wicked Truth
Chapter 1
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
Jane Austen
"Ouch! Bloody hell." Elizabeth sucked her wounded thumb into her mouth, grimacing down at the badly embroidered linen in her lap. A droplet of blood fell to the snowy white fabric, leaving a red splotch in the middle of a half-finished blue pansy. Her mother had always told her needlework was a useful skill for a lady to know, but she had no talent for it.
She looked out her window and scowled irritably. Ice pellets mixed with snow fell from the clouds, and she sighed in disappointment. If the weather had been a bit more cooperative, she wouldn't be stuck inside with a scrap of bloodstained linen in her lap. She much preferred riding their closest neighbor's stout gelding, or tending the herbs and flowers in her garden.
The household's only maid knocked softly on the open door and blinked at the sight of her mistress with her thumb in her mouth, her slack lips falling open. Elizabeth groaned and wiped her injury on the unadorned handkerchief from her pocket.
"Miss?"
"What is it, Nan?"
"Sir James wishes to see you in his study."
"Thank you. Tell him I'll be there in a moment." The maid nodded and scurried away, leaving Elizabeth to wonder what her father wanted. He rarely spoke to her unless he had something unkind to say. She couldn't remember the last time he'd ordered her presence.
Sighing in resignation, she checked her appearance in the framed mirror above her dressing table and straightened her dress. It would not do to go downstairs looking rumpled. She had no interest in listening to her father's scathing comments today. Her dark hair rested in its accustomed chignon at the base of her neck, and her faded blue muslin dress fell in tidy folds from her waist. She decided she looked presentable enough for a day at home.
There was no lady's maid for her, nor money to hire one. Her hands were incapable of the intricate hairstyles fashionable in London, and even a corset was a challenge. Frankly, there was little point in trying to turn a sow's ear into a silk purse for the interminable days she spent doing her best to avoid his cruelty.
With one last tug at her faded skirt, she made her way to her father's study and rapped on the door, opening it at his gruff command. A man was seated across from her father, his back to her.
As usual, the shabby room held a miasma of coal, tobacco smoke, and lingering mildew, though it was as clean as Nan could make it. Truly, the whole house bore the same acrid odor. It was a wonder the place didn't fall down around their ears. Her own chamber was better; she cleaned it herself and opened the windows whenever possible, cleansing her space of the lingering stench of genteel poverty.
The stranger turned to face her, and she held in a gasp. His thick hair was cut unfashionably short over his high forehead as if someone had hacked the black strands with a razor. His body dwarfed the chair he occupied with indolent grace, and his pale blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes pinned her in place. Full lips twitched up into a smirk, and he touched his top lip with the tip of his tongue as he stared at her. He was very handsome, but his icy countenance chilled her to the bone.
"I beg your pardon. I didn't realize you had guests."
"Come in, girl, and shut the door behind you."
Holding back a flinch at the harsh tone in her father's voice, Elizabeth did as he asked and shuffled toward the desk. Her father hadn't invited her to sit, so she stood like a supplicant in front of his massive desk with her hands clenched tightly in front of her. His cheeks were flushed by excess drink; his nose red from burst capillaries under thin strands of greasy brown hair. Deep set dark eyes narrowed maliciously, and he smirked, stained teeth glinting.
"Lord Shepton, this is my daughter, Elizabeth. I trust she is suitable for your needs?"
The stranger stood, towering over her, and she looked up into his startling eyes.
"You are charming, like a tiny porcelain doll, and those lovely whiskey eyes quite stop my heart." Bowing low to her, he said, "I am Richard, Earl of Shepton."
She dropped into a curtsy and lowered her head, hiding her hot face. No one had ever said such things to her before. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord."
He grasped her chin, lifting up her face to peer at her as if he was buying her from an auction. She wanted to jerk away from his grip on her jaw but knew her father would punish such insubordination. As he stared into her eyes, she wondered what he expected to see.
Lord Shepton turned to face her father then bent down and scrawled his name across the bottom of a sheet of parchment. "She'll do. I'
ll expect things to be arranged when I collect her tomorrow morning. There is no need for her to pack anything aside from her personal mementos. I will see to her future needs."
Lord Shepton's nose wrinkled as he glanced around the shabby room. "She shall want for nothing under my care."
Her father's face turned purple at the snub, but she ignored him and placed a trembling hand on Lord Shepton's arm. "Excuse me, my lord."
"What is it, Miss Stratton?"
She wanted to hide behind her father when Lord Shepton leveled that frigid stare on her, but she straightened her spine, knowing such an act would be folly. "What do you mean when you say you will collect me?"
"Your father will explain everything, my dear. I'm afraid I must be off." He lifted his hand and stroked her jaw. "You will be well taken care of, indeed."
Her hand flew to her face, and she jumped when the door slammed closed behind him. Elizabeth stared at the closed door, her thoughts all a muddle until her father cleared his throat behind her.
He waved a pudgy hand at her. "I'm sure you have something suitable to wear tomorrow. Pack everything you wish to take to your new home as everything else will be burned."
"Sir?"
"Do try not to be an idiot in front of your new husband, Elizabeth. Tomorrow, you shall become the Countess of Shepton. It is my hope that you will behave appropriately."
She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. It had always been her dream to marry and set up her own household. Yet this was— Well, it was rather forward of Lord Shepton, but she supposed it was the nature of marriage contracts. With some surprise, she realized that the only feeling she could muster was relief.
She could admit certain truths to herself now that she would be leaving. She stared at the man in front of her, hiding her thoughts behind a placid smile. Her father was a bully. He was rude and uncouth and had the manners of a wild boar. He didn't bathe nearly often enough. And she didn't like him, much less love or respect him as the bible said she should. This was an opportunity, and she resolved to grasp it with both hands. Indeed, she should thank God for Lord Shepton's offer. How often did the impoverished daughter of a knight manage to snare a young and handsome earl for a husband?
Such things happened only in stories. Real life was far more prosaic and involved dissolute men of middle age with bad breath and worse habits.
"Very well, sir. I'll leave you to your work." As if the man ever did anything aside from eat too much and drink himself into a stupor every night.
"Where's my curtsy?"
She turned back to face him and lowered herself nearly to the threadbare rug in front of his desk, her skirts spread wide about her body. It would be the last one she gave him. Her future obeisance would be toward her new husband.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth sat in her empty chamber as she waited for her father to drink himself to sleep. The sum of her life rested in a small stack of cases and trunks by her door. Her father's threat to burn her belongings didn't upset her; she planned to leave nothing behind, even going so far as to pack the few watercolors she'd painted that were worthy of display. The last of her mother's things were safely tucked into one of the chests, along with the few books she could call her own. She would miss Mr. Harding, the kind bookseller who had looked the other way when she’d borrowed tomes from his rather eclectic stock, but perhaps her new husband would allow her to purchase books. Why, he might even have a library! The thought made her giddy.
Her father's feet were loud on the stairs as he made his way to his chamber. She waited until his trumpeting snores filled the upper floor of their home before creeping down to his study, avoiding the creaky spots in the centers of most of the treads.
Closing the door, she lit a taper from the banked fire and sat down behind his desk. The parchment Lord Shepton had signed laid in the center of the blotter. Bringing her candle closer, she began to read. The amount for her hand was astonishing and insulting all at once. She couldn't fathom being worth such a sum, yet it likened her to chattel. The reduction of her life to a financial transaction was a humbling experience. Was her value no more than twenty thousand pounds? The document was dated for tomorrow; the twelfth of November, in the year 1890.
Even the amount listed for a settlement in the event Lord Shepton changed his mind was more money than they would receive in a year's time. The paragraph detailing the penalty her father would owe if she refused was laughable. If the earl wanted the house they lived in, he could have it; mice and all. She resisted the urge to crumple the parchment in her fists and stood up.
She poured herself a glass of her father’s brandy and sipped, the spirits burning a path into her belly as she stared at her marriage contract. The wretched oaf would probably drink himself into the grave within a year.
She smiled and lifted her glass. "To you, Sir James," she whispered. "May you enjoy the fruits of your actions."
∞∞∞
Sir James had chosen their finest parlor for the wedding. It wasn't truly fine, but had the dubious honor of being the cleanest and least shabby room in the house. She would have preferred to marry in the village church, but Lord Shepton requested a small ceremony in Sir James's home. Theirs was by no means a love match, so Elizabeth supposed it didn't matter that she wasn't married in front of an altar.
Indeed, it was for the best. If she had been married in the church, the vicar would have refused her friend Lily entrance, and Elizabeth was grateful for her company.
Sir James hovered at the window, glaring outside as he ignored the few neighbors who had taken the time to attend the nuptials. Elizabeth's friends, Matilda and Lily, flanked her on the worn chaise longue. She'd already done her duty as hostess, and had greeted each guest as they'd arrived. They milled about as they sipped up the last of the wine stored in the cellar, thankfully leaving Elizabeth alone with her friends.
"Your fiancé is late, Elizabeth. Do you think he's not coming?" Lily asked, her blonde head tipped down as she wrung her fingers in the skirt of her navy dress.
The word fiancé made Elizabeth hold in a dry chuckle, and she gave her nervous friend a comforting pat on the knee. This was surely the shortest engagement in history! By her estimation, it had lasted fourteen hours, and – she glanced at the clock on the mantle – twenty minutes. It was a blessing in disguise, she supposed. She wouldn't be forced to cobble together acceptable clothing for engagement excursions.
"The peerage keep their own schedules, Lily. Don't make Elizabeth worry." Matilda's usually crisp voice was soft as she squeezed Elizabeth's hand. Matilda's first pregnancy was starting to show, and her brown eyes sparkled with contentment. Elizabeth had to thrust away a tiny pang of jealousy. She hoped to be so blessed very soon.
"I'm not worried." Giving her friends a smile, Elizabeth added, "He's already signed the contract."
"But—" Lily wrung her hands, and her lower lip quivered. "What if he doesn't come?"
"Then he shall be out a great deal of money, and I will have something to eat besides boiled cabbage," Elizabeth snapped. She was immediately ashamed of her harsh words when a fat tear rolled down Lily's cheek, turning her cornflower eyes into pools of distress.
Elizabeth leaned toward her friend and embraced her with one arm around her shoulders. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Lily. That was unkind of me. I think I must be nervous about getting married." She chuckled softly and straightened her spine. "Why, I've only met him once, and we barely spoke! Perhaps he's late all the time."
Tears sparkled in Lily's eyes and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief. "I know, but—"
"It's not the same as what happened to you, darling." Elizabeth bit back a yelp when Matilda pinched her, but the damage had already been done. Lily paled and pressed her lips together, her expression pained. Thankfully, nothing had come of poor Lily's disgrace, yet the memory of her rakish suitor stung all three girls, even though no one had seen his face, and she'd refused to tell anyone his name.
Elizabeth tugged irritably at
the green silk of her skirts, suddenly wishing the earl would do her the great courtesy of appearing so they could get this farce over and done. She was tired of waiting in this nasty room, and her impatience was making her testy.
The dress had been her mother's, and it was the only bit of finery left in the house, though she knew it was many years out of fashion. There had been no time to make it over, even if she possessed the skill for such an endeavor. She'd settled for removing the excess lace, ribbon, and decorative flowers adorning the bodice.
It surprised her that no one commented on the unseemly haste of the wedding. Even contracted marriages usually required a period of time for the engagement and banns. Shepton would have had to have purchased a special license, and she didn't understand why he was in such a hurry. Indeed, she wondered why he was so bloody late if he'd gone to so much trouble. Had he gotten a license with her name, or had it been a blank space he could fill in at his leisure?
"I'm sorry, Elizabeth, what did you say?"
Elizabeth's head came up at Matilda's words, and she cringed when she realized she must have said her thoughts out loud. "Nothing. I'm sorry; I was just thinking to myself."
Her father stomped toward her from his perch at the window. "Lord Shepton has just driven up. We'll have some refreshment and commence with the wedding shortly."
She thought she heard him whisper 'thank heavens' as he hurried from the room to greet her fiancé. Had he thought the earl wouldn't show? It made no sense to her, and she shrugged the thought away.
The man himself suddenly loomed in the parlor doorway, his countenance set in firm, uncompromising lines. Heavens, her father hadn't even thought to take his cloak! Elizabeth rose to her feet and walked toward him slowly, careful to avoid stumbling over her long skirts.
Her fiancé made her nervous. He was far too tall and handsome for a poor little mouse, and she wondered what had made him choose her. She supposed he sought a meek and biddable wife as she'd heard all such gentlemen did.
Wicked Deception (Wicked Magic Book 1) Page 1
