My Lady Enslaved (3 page)

“Perhaps when you are my complete slave I will tell you as a reward for your slavish obedience to me.”

“Right before I toss you out the door.”

He would release her!

“That is the moment that I live for, Lia. The moment when you will crawl on your hands and knees begging me to take you back. But I will refuse!”

Then Chloe screamed, a terrible wracking sound caught behind the gag as Ravenscar put his roughly scarred hands on her bare waist sliding them downward over her hips.

“Damnation,” Harrison rasped. His petite captive had fainted again! He quickly caught her up into his arms removing the gag and the bonds around her wrists. Then he easily lifted her, carrying her to the bed. Why was she not acting at all as he expected? How in the hell did a master spy such as Lia faint? History told that she was made of much sterner stuff than that. After he laid her on the bed, he checked her once again to make certain that she truly had fainted. Nevertheless, she had and he sat on the bed beside her where she lay limply on her back.

There was no denying that she was a beautiful erotic woman, he thought, taking an unobserved moment to stroke his fingers through her midnight-colored hair. He could not exactly feel the tresses with his scarred fingers, however he could see that the blue-black strands were sensuously silky. It was easy to envision why Bonaparte had fallen all over himself to have the little vixen as his mistress when Drummond had first planted her in Paris to be just that. She had started out as England’s spy but turned coat . . . When? Why?

What disturbed him the most were her eyes, he thought, as he stroked the part of his finger that could feel sensation over the creamy-smooth flesh of her cheek. Could any individual truly feint such innocence reflected through guileless eyes the color of chocolate-cinnamon?

Harrison reacted instinctively, grasped Lia’s wrists, piling them over her head with one hand and leaving her stretched out beneath him. He took a moment to catch his startled breath, and then he laughed. A harsh sound given the condition of his voice.

Lia heaved a shuttering breath beneath him and he glimpsed huge teardrops in the corners of her eyes before she turned her face away from him. Why did she sound so strange? An American accent? It was another trick! “If you say one more word, vixen, I will gag you again. Do you understand?” he growled.

Lia nodded her head still turned to one side and lay still beneath him yet he could feel she was trying to hold back her tears. She was playing him! He suddenly grabbed her to push her onto her stomach. She screamed, and then she choked on some more sobs as he straddled her hips.

“Give me your wrists,” he snarled, grabbing at them but she wedged her arms beneath her chest.

. . . That night over two years ago was purported to simply be an information gathering operation. His team the Archangels planned to break into Josephine Bonaparte’s apartment and gather what information they could find. It should have been fairly easy. Lia, playing Napoleon’s mistress, had passed along the information that Josephine had gone to the countryside for several days, if not weeks. Napoleon did not live with his estranged wife, yet he visited her there often. That and the intelligence gathered by the Archangels showed that many top Bonaparte officials courted Josephine’s favor and visited her apartment. The chances of finding something useful there were favorable.

Their leader Drummond sent three of them. Only seven people had known of the operation. The time, the date, and the place. And those seven people were, the six men of the Archangel spying team . . . and Lia.

Harrison went to those apartments with Radford and Saxonhurst. That should have been enough. Nothing would have been enough after what they met there. It had been a setup made to look like it wasn’t. Made to appear as though the servants had just gotten lucky and discovered them. Made to appear as if those servants were just defending themselves from a burglary attempt.

But he'd fought with those servants. He’d killed two of them. They were military trained. Saxonhurst thought perhaps and Radford wasn’t sure. But he knew. They had been trained. It also explained the explosion and why the chemicals had been there in the first place. It was not just simply a cache of fireworks stored for the up coming New Year celebration, right next to the cases of pure Russian vodka in the cellar. His hands were not scarred by fire, but by acid, and his throat was not burned by the heat, but by fumes. The tremendous explosion had cost Radford one eye and Saxonhurst his hand. They were all lucky to have made it out of there alive. Interestingly, none of the servants were harmed in the explosion . . . they had all fled just before the fire ignited. Someone went to immeasurable trouble to make it look as though this was all an accidental happening. . . . and he'd never disabused Drummond or the others of this notion. They all thought it could be . . . Yet no one knew except him.

He'd gone back to the charred and ruined apartments. With his hands in bandages and his throat still so burned that he was unable to speak. In the charred remains he'd found the remnants of the broken glass beaker that must have carried the acid . . . yet he had not found one piece of bottle that would carry Russian vodka . . .

He moved his position over Lia’s back until he could wedge her thighs open with his knees. She tried to twist away from him but there was no place for her to go and the motion drew and flexed the ivory flesh of her buttock cheeks erotically beneath his gaze. She was helpless, exposed, and spread before him as he reached his bare hand between her thighs and clasped his fingers over her fevered cunt.

Lia moaned and he laughed hoarsely, delving his fingers deep into the eddy of her feminine flesh . . . so tender and wet, until he found the pearl of her clitoris. God, it had been so long since he had touched a woman this way and he was surprised at all that his scarred hands could feel. He could feel the heat of her, the pulsing sharp throbs, and the fragile texture of her clit swelling and drawing upward. He rubbed firmly over the aroused nubbin of flesh and Lia answered with the sound of a deeply sensual mewl of longing. She lifted her ass upward to him in a purely feminine begging way.

“Lusty, rosebud,” he rasped gruffly, chasing the hardening pearl of her clitoris around with his finger. Faster, faster . . . faster.

“Aa- Aa-!”

“Ah hh-! Ravenscar, please!” she cried.

“Swear to me that you will do anything I command,” he demanded.

“Noo! R-Ravenscar, please!” she wailed, tugging her wrists frantically against her bonds. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me like this!”

“Swear to me,” he hissed as he once more reached between her quivering inner thighs to cup her throbbing hot cunt into his hand. Squeezing. Dipping his fingers and wetting them in her arousal.

“Then raise up on your knees,” he commanded roughly.

Chloe knew the act was shameful somewhere in her passion raped mind, however she could not care! She quickly crawled up onto her knees grasping the bed post as an anchor because of her wrists bound to its width. All she understood was that she would surely die if her captor, Lord Ravenscar left her unrequited again on the brink of a climax! It was torture of the cruelest measure and she knew that he would do it over and over again if she did not yield. Buddha save her worthless soul, she had always been too weak!

“You are going to do exactly everything I command of you,” Ravenscar uttered as he relentlessly toyed with her sex. Keeping her agonizingly and painfully on the edge of a wrenching orgasm. “Or I will do this to you again and again. Until you go mad. Now tell me!”

“Excellent,” he rasped. “And now for your reward. Turn over, Rosebud.”

Chloe felt Ravenscar rising up behind her as his hand left her loins and she convulsed with torturous need. Then his roughly-scarred hands were there urging her onto her back. She was so shaken that she wobbled until he laid her stretched out on her back with her arms crossed over each other still tied to the bedpost. But she kept her eyes clenched tight against seeing him . . . seeing herself enslaved by him. And because she had her eyes closed, she did not know where he was positioned until she felt his long hair brushing her inner thighs making her jerk in reaction.

“Lift your legs to me,” he murmured roughly. “Up, over my shoulders.”

His tongue touched her sex! “Oh hh!” she cried.

Ravenscar lapped his tongue deep into the folds of her loins as she squirmed senselessly over his shoulders, but his strong hands held her outer thighs to his command. He flicked the tip of his tongue over the budding deep in her sex, making her squeal. And then he used the flat of his tongue licking deeper again, making her whimper until she was screaming his name as he flicked his tongue on her harder. The first climax followed the second simultaneously and the third came relentlessly some minutes later. In the shuddering convulsion of the third climax she lost her breath and everything went black.

Harrison gently eased Lia back down onto the mattress. God, he was shaking and he did not know if it was because he was so tightly aroused or if it was just the incredible taste and feel of Lia still lingering on him. The arousal he ignored, it was nothing new in the last two years of celibacy. More piquant . . . definitely that, he thought, as he untied Lia’s wrists from the bedpost and he laid her more comfortably on the bed. The other he passed off to exhaustion, which he was, he thought tiredly. He might even be able to sleep this evening for a few hours. To that end he considered masturbating to relieve his sexual tension, yet then decided against it once he had undressed and curled his larger body around Lia. This could just be enough.