by Sue Lyndon
His by Law
by
Sue Lyndon
His by Law
Copyright © 2016 by Sue Lyndon
All rights reserved
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Sue Lyndon. All names, brands, characters, and settings are purely from the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to real people, real brands, and real locations is a coincidence. Contact: [email protected]
Published by Sweet Savage Press, LLC
About this book:
When Lucia is caught trespassing in Jackson McNabe’s home, she fears he’ll turn her over to the constable. With the holidays approaching and the nights growing colder, she had only wished to warm herself by his fire and pretend for a few minutes that she was the lady of the grand house, rather than a homeless girl stranded in a peculiar village. Though she hadn’t meant to break the law, she now finds herself at the mercy of a handsome stranger whose deep, commanding voice makes her heart flutter and her pulse quicken.
Jackson is taken in by Lucia’s wide, pretty blue eyes, and he sees the young lady’s sudden appearance in his home as an opportunity. He needs a wife, and Lucia clearly needs a husband. To his delight, she agrees to his terms, even when he tells her he expects obedience and won’t hesitate to spank her bare bottom when she misbehaves. The thought of owning her by law makes his blood heat, but a sinister plot threatens the legitimacy of their union, on their wedding day no less. Will Jackson and Lucia find their way back into one another’s arms in time for the holidays?
Publisher’s Note: This book was originally published in the naughty holiday anthology, Unwrapped.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About Sue Lyndon
Chapter One
2689, the region formerly known as the United States of America.
600 years after the lights went out.
A blast of icy wind pierced through Lucia’s dress, chilling her to the bone. She drew her cloak over her head and continued down the street. The Christmas tree that had just been erected in the village square swayed to her left, its decorations clanging together like a wind chime and its miniature solar lights dancing in the night. It stood out amongst the virtual darkness of Gerrardsville at this late hour, but the sight of it failed to warm her insides as she’d hoped.
She tore her gaze from the festive tree and trudged away from the village square. She had been roaming aimlessly for hours and probably wouldn’t stop until morning. It was too cold to cease moving. She prayed tomorrow’s daytime temperatures were more merciful. Fatigue plagued her but still she traipsed through the village, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach and letting her mind wander as her numb feet carried her through the bitter cold.
She closed her eyes briefly and conjured the image of a beach. She’d seen a picture of one in an old tattered encyclopedia once, and she had wished she could jump inside the book and live there forever, spending her days walking barefoot through the hot sand and relishing the warmth of the sun beaming down from a brilliant blue sky. How wondrous it must’ve been to live in the Before Times when travel to such exotic locations was common, before the Nuclear War of 2087 and the Great Solar Storm of 2089 ravaged the planet with a double dose of fury.
The smell of wood smoke and an orange glow from within a nearby house drew her from her reverie. She paused and stared at the towering house on the most affluent street in the village, her heart full of longing. How warm it must be within the walls of that grand estate. Looking up and down the street, she ensured no one was watching her and then crept around the building to a side window. She peered inside and gasped at the fancy décor in the sitting room, and she wondered who called this place home.
A fire blazed in the hearth, and a man sat with his back to her in a lounge chair. An open book dangled from his hand and his head was tilted back. On a small table beside him, an empty wine glass rested next to a plate, and beside that sat a half-empty bottle of wine. Her stomach growled when her eyes fell upon the cheese and crackers he hadn’t finished eating.
Did the man live alone? Curious, she circled the house, gazing through each window but finding no evidence of another person. Of course, most of the rooms were darkened. The glow from the fire and the lanterns left burning in his kitchen didn’t spread far, and she couldn’t peer into the windows on the second floor. For all she knew, he had a wife and children snug in their beds upstairs.
When she came upon a back door, she stared at the smooth silver handle. Temptation rose and common sense threatened to flee. She wanted so badly to feel the warmth of the fire in the sitting room. Another gust of wind left her teeth chattering, and she decided to try the door. It was probably locked, but what harm was there in testing it out?
To her shock, the knob turned and she soon had the door cracked open just far enough to peek inside. Lantern light flickered from the kitchen at the end of a long hallway, practically calling her to enter this residence. As the wind began to howl and swoop down from the trees, she slipped through the door and closed it behind her with a faint click.
Her heart pounded faster and her palms suddenly broke into a sweat.
She must have lost her mind. Either that or the cold had frozen all good sense. During the last few months she’d lived on the streets, she had managed to keep her morals despite her increasing desperation. She hadn’t picked pockets, or sold her body, or stolen bread, and she most certainly had never trespassed in someone’s house.
For now, she survived by cleaning pots at the Miller Street Inn every afternoon. A hot bowl of soup and a piece of crusty bread was her payment, and she had managed to survive on that one meal a day thus far. She’d been trying to find another establishment in town that would provide her a place to sleep in exchange for work, but so far she hadn’t had any luck. The townsfolk usually shut their doors the second they saw her coming.
Madame Angelic had long been trying to get Lucia to work in her brothel, so the woman had spread all manner of nasty rumors about her through town, trying to block all her options until she had no choice but to work as a prostitute or freeze to death on the streets. As a result, some believed Lucia was a witch, others thought her a murderer. She supposed Madame Angelic’s customers wouldn’t care what she was as long as she dutifully spread her legs when they came calling. She prayed it never came to that.
Pushing away the ruminations of her bleak future, Lucia drew the hood of her cloak back and moved down the hallway. The warmth of the place surrounded her and her teeth ceased chattering, but oh, how she wished to feel the robust waves of heat wafting up from the fire. Did she dare enter the sitting room where the man slept?
The skirt of her dress swayed as she took quick but silent steps. The lanterns beckoned to her. Perhaps she might find something to eat in the kitchen before she ventured to the sitting room. The man had obviously partaken in spirits this evening, and the chances of him waking up at this late hour were probably slim. Besides, she was good at keeping her footfalls light. When guilt pushed its way into her heart over the fact that she was most definitely breaking the law, she promised herself she wouldn’t stay for long and would only steal enough food to quell the painful rumblings in her belly.
Embers from a hearth in the kitchen burned low, the fire smoldering out for the night. She knelt and held her hands out to catch the last rays of heat. Once moderately thawed, she snuck about the kitchen and stole bites of food here and there. A slice of cheese. A wedge of bread. A sip of cold tea left carelessly
on the counter beside the sink.
The kitchen wasn’t horribly messy, but Lucia suspected the master of this house didn’t have a wife or any regular servants, or the counters would be wiped clean and there would be no dirty dishes lying about. A bachelor, then, and a rich one at that. But why no servants?
Even though she envied his wealth, she felt a pang of pity for the man sleeping in the sitting room. How lonely he must be to live in this massive home all by himself. She was well acquainted with loneliness and longed for the days when she’d had a roof over her head and a family to love. She hadn’t known such simple joy since her childhood though, and because of Madame Angelic’s rumors she doubted even the most vile, desperate man in town would think twice about taking her as a wife.
The promise of comfort drew her to the sitting room. She continued taking soft steps and managed to avoid any creaky boards. The man’s light snoring and slow, rhythmic breathing indicated deep sleep.
Nerves churned in Lucia’s stomach, her fear of getting caught putting her senses on high alert. She became aware of every noise in the house, every crackle of the fire, and every breath the man inhaled.
She would only stay for a short spell. Ten minutes at most. Then she could walk about the village until morning when pausing to sleep somewhere outside wouldn’t be so terrible with the sun beaming down. The last of her belongings had been stolen last week, or she could have buried herself in the extra clothing she used to own to keep out the chill and manage sleep during the cold night hours.
Once she stood in the center of the sitting room, her gaze was drawn to an undecorated Christmas tree hidden in the shadows. She hadn’t seen it as she peered in the window earlier. A sense of déjà vu circled her as the familiar aroma of pine needles filled her senses. She moved to the tree and touched its prickly branches, thinking it sad the man hadn’t decorated it yet. Christmas was in one week.
She spotted a box underneath the tree and knelt to examine the contents. Pulling the lid back, she gasped with delight at her discovery, then flung a hand over her mouth. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the man stir briefly before he stilled and resumed his steady snoring. Breathing a sigh of relief, she reached into the box and retrieved a shimmering red and silver ball ornament. Beautiful. She smiled at the object as she stood up and placed it on the tree, rising up on her tiptoes to hang it near the top.
First ornament on the tree. Make a wish, child.
She heard her mother’s voice clear as day and blinked back tears. Very well. She would make a wish, if only to honor the memory of her dear mother.
“I wish to have someone special to share Christmas with this year,” she whispered, her heart squeezing at the thought of spending the holidays on the streets. By herself. In the cold.
She stared at the lone ornament for several minutes, thinking of the last Christmas she had spent with her family, years ago before the plague had swept through Lincolnshire. What she wouldn’t give to relive that happy day, to suddenly be catapulted back in time to her childhood home and be surrounded by her family.
Would anyone hear her wish? She turned around and eyed the fire, knowing she had dallied at the tree long enough.
She crept to the center of the sitting room and paused to study the sleeping man. Dark wavy hair topped his head, frown lines marred his face, and he sported several days of beard growth. Though unkempt and snoring lightly, he managed to exude power even in his sleep. She found his dark, rugged features handsome.
Lucia had only arrived in Gerrardsville a few months before and still didn’t know many faces, and his was one she did not recognize. She wondered about his frown lines and why he seemed so unhappy. Was he truly lonely, as she had imagined him to be? Or was he simply plagued by a bad dream?
She took two steps closer to him, unable to tear her eyes away. His clothes were of high quality, perfectly tailored to fit his massive form. Though he was sitting down and sprawled out in the chair, she knew he would tower over her if he stood up.
For a moment, she pretended she was his wife and the lady of this grand home. He was tired from working all day and had fallen asleep in front of the fire, and she had ventured downstairs to rouse him from his slumber and urge him to join her in bed.
The sudden thought of lying in bed with this man, this handsome stranger, brought a rush of heat to her cheeks and a spasm of longing to her core. He would kiss her thoroughly, she decided, and touch every inch of her naked body before claiming her roughly.
What would it be like to belong to this man?
She inhaled a shaky breath, her body aching with unfamiliar need, and she forced herself to move away from the man and toward the blazing fire. She’d trespassed into the house to warm herself by the sitting room hearth, not to ogle a stranger and conjure up dreams of marriage.
Ten minutes, she told herself again. Ten minutes and no longer. Imagining she was his wife was a delicious fantasy, but she doubted he would share such a fantasy should he awake to find a stranger in his home. He would probably call the constable to take her away, and then she would end up at Madame Angelic’s for sure. The madame visited the holding cells regularly and paid the fines for the younger, attractive women, thus freeing them from jail but binding them into her service for as long as she thought sufficient to work off the fine.
The fire crackled and sent waves of wondrous heat up to greet Lucia as she knelt and spread her hands over it, soaking up the warmth and once again wishing this was her home and the sleeping man was her husband. Even if he were unkind, she thought perhaps if she were sweet and submissive and kept house as efficiently as her mother had done, he would soften and become a more agreeable man. Perhaps if she was especially good, he might fall in love with her. The idea of belonging to a man who loved her brought a mist of tears to her eyes.
She cursed Madame Angelic and wished the road to the next village wasn’t so dangerous. A convoy of wagons made the twenty mile trip to Marystown once a month, but sometimes they met with trouble on the road. Oftentimes less men returned than departed, and once only two wagons out of ten had come back. All manner of outlaws ruled the lands outside the villages.
A calmness settled over Lucia as the fire finally thawed her completely. She yawned and knew she must leave soon, lest the man awaken from his drunken slumber before she managed to tiptoe back outside.
With reluctance, she rose up from the hearth and turned to exit the sitting room.
She gasped and froze in place.
The man was awake and sitting upright with a dark, curious gaze fixed upon her.
She felt all the blood drain from her face. Unable to find her voice, she stood with her feet rooted to the floor and her eyes staring into his. A smirk turned his lips up, erasing his frown lines for the briefest moment.
“Well, what do we have here? A naughty little intruder, it seems.”
Chapter Two
Jackson rose up and came to loom over the pale, frightened young lady. Tremors wracked her body, her hands shaking especially hard at her sides. Streaks of dirt smudged her face and she looked disheveled. Her long golden hair was a tangled mess, and his fingers tingled with the urge to stroke through her glorious waves and tame them. His groin tightened at the thought of taming any part of her, of touching her and making her quiver under his power.
He crossed his arms and glared at her with as much sternness as he could muster. He was a bastard for enjoying her discomfort, but her appearance in his house both annoyed him and left him feeling unsettled inside. She was obviously down on her luck, possibly homeless, and if he were a better person he would offer her a hot meal and a warm place to sleep for the night. But as he stared down at her, he saw a beautiful possibility.
“What is your name, little intruder?”
“Lu-Lucia.”
“Lucia, why did you break into my house?”
Her eyes went wide. “Please, I beg your forgiveness, sir. I only wished to warm myself by your fire for a brief spell. Your back door wasn’
t locked and I confess I let myself in. Pl-please don’t call for the constable.”
“Are you from this village?”
“Not originally. I was born in Lincolnshire, sir.”
“Lincolnshire is long way from here. How did you come to Gerrardsville?”
She swallowed hard and twisted her fingers together in front of her. Her pretty blue eyes glistened with tears. “My family died when a plague swept through Lincolnshire five years ago. After that I lived in an orphanage there, but the nuns were finally able to track an uncle down, and he came to fetch me to take me to Marystown. Unfortunately, he died while we were passing through Gerrardsville, and I’ve found myself stranded here and unable to find work. Madame Angelic…” A blush stained her cheeks and he decided to be merciful and save her from saying aloud what the madame wanted from her.
“I am well aware of Madame Angelic’s tactics to secure new ladies for her establishment.” He visited the brothel now and then, but for the most part found the girls lacking in his requirements. They pretended to submit to his dominant and often rough lovemaking, but only through silly giggles that completely dispelled his mood and resulted in him returning home feeling quite unfulfilled.
Having decided it was high time he settled down and took a wife, he hadn’t visited the brothel in some time, thinking perhaps if he behaved himself for a few months finding a wife wouldn’t prove such a challenge. Unfortunately, the rumors of his salacious desires made it difficult to find a woman, despite his immense wealth. No man in this particularly religious village wanted to hand his daughter over to a man who would spank her, tie her up, and do all manner of abhorrent sexual things to her. The rumors had grown so bad, thanks to a few jilted ladies at Madame Angelic’s establishment, that he now had a difficult time keeping a regular staff at his home. The last two maids had quit abruptly three weeks ago and so far no one had answered the ad he’d posted in the village square.