Regency Rogues Omnibus (16 page)

“Ah- Ah,”
she cried against the gag as Ravenscar began to smudge his thumb over the bead of her clitoris while his other finger coupled her harder. Her thighs lifted and spread wider with intense erotic begging motions as her head fell back and her breasts thrust forward brazenly.

Suddenly . . . horrifically . . . he stopped!
She wailed with a muffled sound beneath the gag as he pulled away from her and stepped backward leaving her throbbing . . . and unrequited . . . and quivering in shameful lust. It was horrible! She was left in agony to watch Ravenscar smiling at her with his heavy-lidded gaze of coal black eyes and his sneer of impossibly handsome lips over arrogant white teeth.

“My slave,” he rasped venomously as he slowly began to take off his gloves and she hung there, his prisoner, knowing if the gag were not in her mouth that she would be begging him to touch her again.

Chapter Three

When Chloe saw Ravenscar’s hands, she flinched in reaction and she knew with little doubt that Lia was responsible for the scarring injuries. The man before her was seeking revenge. Seeking retribution where there could only be Buddha’s serene judgments. Yet he would take his own justice out on her because he thought she was Lia. She whimpered then, woefully in fear and with the unrequited arousal harshly riding her. What would he do to her? What would he do?

“Are you wondering who I am, Lia?” he asked with a wicked sliding whisper.

Didn’t she know, Chloe thought fearfully? Didn’t Lia know?

“It must be driving that sharp vixen’s mind of yours mad not to know . . . or why.”

Why wouldn’t Lia know,
Chloe wondered with raising panic? Ravenscar neared and she twisted against the silk holding her wrists above her head.

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

Oh Buddha, save me,
Chloe thought desperately!
Save 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?

“I am
not
, Lia! I am her twin sister, Chloe!”

Harrison reacted instinctively, grasping 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.

“It’s
true
,” Lia cried beneath him. Interestingly with puckered pink nipples and thrashing long lithe legs.

Fuck!
He could not deny wanting the witch. “You will have to do better than that, my little soullion,” he charged harshly.

“No, it is true! You
must
believe me,” she cried, bucking her hips upward with a healthy struggle.

Harrison rolled himself on top of her, grinding her to a shaking halt. “You will
be
silent,” he hissed. “Or I will take the whip to your ass!”

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.

“But I am
not
Lia!” she wailed. “I hate Lia! Lia uses me!” Harrison practically growled in frustration until he’d gotten Lia’s wrists above her head and tied to the bedpost. “Listen to me, please! Please!
We
are
twin-
n-n
. . .” Harrison pulled the red satin gag snugly across Lia’s mouth.
Thank god,
he thought, leaning back to rest on his heels over the back of Lia’s thighs as he ran an impatient hand through his disheveled shoulder length hair. He rested there, staring at the small scar on the back of Lia’s perfectly molded thigh. She was gasping on her sobs beneath the gag, twisting her wrists against the red silk binding her to the bedpost. Damnation, he’d be a limp prick fool to believe anything she said . . . Only his prick was not limp, it was raging, and his memory was relentless.

. . . 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 upcoming 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 . . .

“
Damn
lying, bitch,” Harrison snarled, angrily coming out of his memories.

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-!”

“Yes, I know,” Harrison crooned unable to stop himself from placing mouthy hot kisses along the graceful slope of Lia’s back, as he circled his finger harder on her clit bringing her to the edge of a climax. “Beg me to let you come, Lia,” he commanded hoarsely as he loosened her gag. “
Beg
me.”

“Ah! Ravenscar, please!” she cried.

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

“Ye-
Nn!
OhBuddha save me. Please!”

“
Swear
to me,” he hissed, and then abruptly he took his hand away from her trembling cunt.

“No! 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.

“Please! Please! Buddha help me, don’t do this to me,” she cried as she wriggled wantonly over his hand, spreading her knees, supplicating to him with the rise and erotic undulation of her buttocks.
“Oh!
I will do anything.”

“Swear, Rosebud,
swear,
” he snarled the command as he relentlessly tweaked her passion again with a pluck of his fingertips nipping at the thrust of her clitoris.

“Oh!”
she mewled convulsively with her entire voluptuous body shuddering. “Please! I swear! I swear.” she squealed.

“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!”

“Yes,
Ravens-scar,” she sobbed on a choked cry while anguished and passion-racked tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. “A-Anything you demand. Anything!”

“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.”

Sacred Buddha
, how could she? How could she be so debase? Yet she did, lifting her legs beneath his complete domination with her body shaking in perverse anticipation. This was her reward, he would love her more intimately than any man ever had.