Disciplining the Thief
-Complete Series-
Georgia Fowler
Copyright 2015 Georgia Fowler
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. The characters and stories are all fictional and any resemblance to real life individuals is purely coincidental. In addition, this is a story of adult content. Inside, this story is filled with naughty nasty acts between consenting, legal aged adults.
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Table of Content
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Disciplining the Thief
Part One
One
Abigail ran as fast as she could, her breath tearing through her lungs as she raced down the cobblestoned streets. Well-dressed men and women dodged her careening path, yelling out remarks against her rudeness. But the only sound Abigail heard was the distant voice of the haberdashery shopkeeper calling out, “Thief! Thief! Oy, I’ve been robbed by that little mangy thief!”
The road in front of her swam in undulating lines as she ran. How long had it been since she had eaten? Three days? Four? She had gone as long as six days without food before, sustaining herself on melted snow water before finally finding a frozen crust of bread somewhere. Abigail shook her head and bore down further down the road. It didn’t matter. She had to get to Pinzer as soon as possible. If he didn’t get his cut of the day from her, he’d beat her black and blue again. He’d also not share any food that he might have scavenged. And the idea of being beaten while starving made Abigail run past the edging blurriness of her vision.
“Well you’ve done it again. You’re a lucky son of a bitch, milord,” Lord Anthony Sutton added with a sardonic brow and a wry smile pulling at his lips. Anthony was on quite familiar terms with Lord Jeremiah Brynwood but as the younger of the two Earls, he quite liked observing formal protocol in jest. Earl Brynwood shook his head, his eyes crinkling in the corner with reserved amusement.
The clerk stood nervously in the office. In the presence of such esteemed men, he felt inadequate and small. But indeed most men felt small when compared to Lord Brynwood and Sutton. Both men were unusually tall, standing well above head and shoulders over most people. Both were well educated, fabulously wealthy, and impeccably charming, making them the most desired men in England. But the clerk shuddered when he looked at the sitting form of Lord Brynwood. There was something darker about that particular earl.
Unlike Lord Sutton and most other English men, Lord Brynwood’s skin was quite tan. The clerk had heard that when Lord Brynwood had been in Her Majesty’s Navy, he had been taken prisoner by a merchant mercenary ship. But within three months, Lord Brynwood had not only arranged his own release, he had also taken control of the ship and had led the crew of mercenaries in their illicit pirating for another two years before returning to England. The clerk shook his head, sweat droplets beading down his temple. But those were all hushed rumors. Lord Brynwood did not talk about his past and he certainly did not enjoy others talking about it behind his back.
“Wi-Will you be needing the receipt for the next load of shipments to India as well, milord?” the clerk asked, trying to firm up his voice to show a level of competency.
Lord Brynwood nodded. “Yes and I’d like a copy of the logbooks for each ship. I have two new captains and I want to make sure that they understand my intolerance for theft,” he said, his voice low and innately commanding.
Lord Sutton shook his head in amazement. Nobody else had trusted the recent new trade route between two new and inexperienced suppliers but Lord Brynwood had seen the potential of the venture. He had gambled and the risk had paid off handsomely. It had paid off just as handsomely for Lord Sutton as well. He had been in the company of Lord Brynwood long enough to know a shrewd mind when he saw one and he had no doubts in putting his trust (and his funds) in the man.
“Very good, sir. Will that be all, sir?” the clerk asked.
Lord Brynwood nodded, standing so abruptly it caused the little clerk to jerk back in reaction. Lord Sutton bit back a laugh. With only a hint of his amusement peeking through his voice, he asked, “Well, old boy, shall we go play a hand at White’s before you head back to your country home?”
Although savvy with business and commerce, Lord Brynwood preferred to live his non-business related hours in the comforts of his country estate, several hours south of town. Lord Sutton, younger and more open to the lures of city life, could never understand the draw of the open and empty country.
“No,” Lord Brynwood replied as they stepped out of the clerk’s office. He had finished his business for the day. “I have some correspondence that I must finish tonight. I’ll see you another time, Tony.”
Lord Sutton sighed in patient exasperation. His friend seemed to exert such overwhelming control over every aspect of his life. He had thought that once Lord Brynwood had found romance, it would help loosen his tight hold on his life but that hadn’t been so. Lord Sutton watched as his friend spoke quickly with the driver of his expensively trimmed carriage. Perhaps nothing would change the man.
“Then another time, Jeremiah,” Lord Sutton said, gesturing farewell and wondering how he had ever become entangled with such a tightly reserved man.
Lord Brynwood politely nodded to a passing viscount as he placed a foot on the stepladder, ready to climb into the carriage. But as he gripped the sides of the carriage door, he heard the growing sound of people shouting down the street.
“Stop, I say!”
“Watch that hellion!”
“Look where you are—”
“How dare you—!”
As Lord Brynwood turned to meet the commotion, he caught just in time the sight of one of his horses rearing back and kicking what looked like a child in the chest. With a sickening sound, the small body flopped back and landed hard against the street stones.
Abigail felt the world swimming above her. She felt the thundering ache of her chest. She groaned, or at least she thought she did. Voices and images floated above her. They were questioning her but she couldn’t figure out how to open her mouth, let alone form words. Soothing blackness crept along the edges of her vision.
A shadow fell across her face as she contemplated surrendering to the darkness. She blinked and saw a dark and immense form hovering over her. Quite suddenly she was lifted and floating in the air, carried in ease as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. Maybe it was an angel to take her away from this earth. Although Abigail felt a detached sadness at the thought of leaving the living world, she more so felt the overwhelming sensation of gratitude at finally being able to rest.
She closed her eyes and let the blackness take her.
Two
Abigail winced before even opening her eyes. It felt as if someone had dropped a load of bricks onto her head and then had buried her underground. She felt suffocating pressure
, pain, and the deep throb of a concussion. Her entire body felt as if it was pulsing from pain. Her chest felt aching and sore and her legs felt heavy and detached from her body. She didn’t even know if she could feel her toes. She remembered shouts and the loud braying of an enormous horse. Then all she recalled after was the blackness.
Tentatively, eyes still closed, she raised a hand to her head. Her fingertips brushed against the soft wrappings of a bandage. But who would care to wrap up her injury? Who would—?
“Ah, so you’re awake,” a male voice said, interrupting her thoughts.
Abigail’s eyes flew open, a decision she immediately regretted. She cried out and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the light still burning across her eyeballs. Tears naturally sprang to lubricate her eyes but not one to want to cry in front of strangers, Abigail kept her eyes firmly shut even though she now clearly felt the presence of another person in the room.
But was it a room? Where was she? She suddenly realized the softness of the material underneath her. She must be on some kind of bed. But what kind of bed felt so luxuriously soft and decadent? Gripping the covers around her, she felt the heavy silk blankets slipping through her fingers. Her body had never known such comfort! But feeling such unworldly comfort made Abigail only more wary. Where was she? Who was in the room with her? Her breathing grew more rapid and shallow as she tried to figure out if she had enough strength to run.
“I would first try to ease my breathing before I began to think up escape plans,” the strange voice said with distinct wryness.
Abigail choked on her next breath. How had the man known what she was thinking? Feeling unnerved, she knew that escape would now be her most paramount concern and damn her legs if they didn’t carry her to safety!
She slowly breathed in and out to calm herself. The man was right—she needed to control herself before she could make her way out. Could this man be a police constable? But surely the police didn’t provide such comfy beds to criminals they were about to arrest, did they?
And what about Pinzer? Abigail felt her stomach drop. All the other thieves and pickpockets would be back now, turning in their loot for the day. Pinzer had a connection of thugs and criminals all across the county and was notorious for tracking down any defectors from his gang. She had to go find him as soon as she could! She had to explain—
“Now, if you’ve collected yourself somewhat, slowly open your eyes,” the voice said, interrupting her thoughts once again.
Abigail took a deep breath. She felt a natural instinct to rebel against the man’s orders but she did need to open her eyes to run. Slowly she opened her eyes, letting herself adjust incrementally to the brightness of the room. Her head throbbed in protest but Abigail ignored it and finally opened her eyes fully.
She looked around and found herself in the most extravagantly decorated room she had ever seen. Rich Aubusson rugs covered the floors, heavy velvet drapes hung by the window, which let in enough light to showcase the soft leather chairs and dark wood armoire. It was unbelievable to see such richness in one space.
But nothing shocked her more than the tall man standing with his hip against a desk. Tall indeed! He seemed like a giant! And with dark hair and equally dark features, he looked like a fearsome warrior wrapped in gentleman’s finery. The warring images of the genteel Englishman and the savage brute were so clearly seen, Abigail felt unsure if this man was real or not.
“So you’re alive,” the man repeated, his lips twitching.
Abigail tried to pull herself up into a sitting position but felt the room immediately swim. She felt her stomach heave and was grateful she had not eaten for several days; there would be no food to vomit.
“Easy now, little one,” the man said, moving closer to the bed.
Instinctively, Abigail shrank against the covers, confused and unsure what or who this man was. “What do you want?” she demanded hoarsely, her voice cracking on the last word.
The man raised a dark sophisticated brow in surprise at her voice. Ignoring her question, he turned towards a slender table holding a porcelain ewer. Pouring out a glass of water, Abigail felt her tongue flick across her dry lips. Nothing had ever seemed so heavenly as that glass of water.
Abigail tried again to push herself up for the glass but hissed in pain as searing white pain shot across the back of her eyes. Before Abigail could regain her composure, the man had seated himself at the head of the bed. “I said, easy, little one. Now drink,” he said, holding up her head gently by the neck with one hand while pressing the water against her lips with his other.
Uncomfortable at the intimacy of his touch but too thirsty to care, Abigail took huge swallows of the refreshingly cool water. She felt like she could drink the water for ages. But almost too quickly, the glass was taken away from her. The man looked down at her, his eyed studying her face. “Not too much too soon. We want the water to stay down after all,” he said.
Why did everything he say seem to have a teasing note? It irked and frustrated Abigail to be talked to so.
The man stood again and placed the glass back on the table. “Now that we’ve woken up and had our water, I think then we can attend to some business,” the man said, leaning casually against the wall.
Abigail’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. Business? What business? The only kind of business she knew was thievery. And clearly by the fineness of what this man wore, he did not engage in the business of thieving. Probably had hardly ever even broken a petty law, Abigail thought cynically.
“Business?” she asked, her voice clearer now with the water.
The man nodded. “For example, why don’t you give me your name?”
Abigail’s eyes darted around the room. She certainly wasn’t about to do that. If this man had any intention of turning her over to the law, she had to cover her identity and her criminal associations.
“Margaret,” she said quickly. “Margaret Smith.”
The man raised his brows, another small smile tugging at his lips. “Margaret, is it?” he said, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Well then, Miss Smith, would you care to tell me how you came to possess such an eclectic amount of goods and money in your unusually made skirts?” The man lifted Abigail’s dirty and tattered faded calico skirt.
Her eyes widened. If he was holding her skirt....Looking down, Abigail realized she was only in her thin and worn underclothes! With a shriek, she pulled the covers up to her chin. “Who-Who are you?” she demanded. “And who do you think you are to stand in a-a woman’s chambers while she is indecent?” Having grown up dirty and in rags, Abigail felt foolish referring to herself as a woman but she couldn’t justify any man standing so close to her nearly naked form like this.
The man seemed unperturbed by her outburst. “Who am I?” he answered. “I am Jeremiah Brynwood, Earl Brynwood and owner of the horse you so foolishly ran into. I am also master of this home within which you are convalescing in at the moment.”
Abigail felt like fainting and never waking up. An earl! An earl had caught her! She was sure to go to prison now! No matter how cruel Pinzer was or how often he beat and starved her, she preferred that to prison. How would she ever escape now?
“So, Miss Smith,” Lord Brynwood said, leveling her with a sharp gaze, “would you care to please explain how three pairs of pearl cufflinks, a gold watch chain, a purse of four shillings, and a pink ribbon ended up in your pocket?”
Abigail’s heart was racing. That was her entire loot for the day. Pinzer would’ve been pleased about the four shillings. She looked at her shabby skirt. It was fashioned with hidden ribbons that loosely tied at her hips. This allowed her to wear breeches underneath and if ever she needed to run quickly without the hassle of skirts, she could just rip away the garment, allowing her more freedom to escape. It was a thief’s skirt.
“Th-they’re all mine,” she said, her voice breathy with creeping panic. “And I’d thank you to not go through my personal belongings.” She tried to raise a haughty brow but her
aching head wouldn’t allow it.
Lord Brynwood looked wholly unconvinced. Abigail decided to tie matters up quickly. The sooner she could find her way out of the earl’s presence, the better. “Now sir, if you’d allow me to dress so I may find my way back home,” she said, gesturing towards the door.
“And where is your home, Miss Smith? Perhaps I can provide you with transportation,” he said evenly, calling her bluff.
“That is none of your business!” Abigail snapped.
Lord Brynwood’s long fingers closed over her skirt. His dark eyes probed her with cool calculation. “Very well then. We will leave the matter as is for now. Rest then and if you are well enough, you will join me for dinner tonight.” With that, he walked out of the room, skirt still clutched in his hand.
“My dress!” Abigail cried as she watched the earl shut the door behind him. She looked around the room. Despite its luxurious fineries, she realized that without her dress or her stolen goods, she was not a guest convalescing--she was suspected criminal trapped for more questioning.
Three
As Lord Brynwood finished reviewing the last page of his quarterly reports, he rubbed his eyes and thought back to the little hoyden upstairs in his manor. He felt himself grin as he remembered her posturing haughtiness and its utter lack of realism.
When his horse had struck the girl, Lord Brynwood had felt his heart stop and cold terror wash his stomach. Although a small crowd had formed around the fallen girl, many began walking away once they saw the state of her clothes. She looked a common beggar. Her injury was of no concern then. Several men thumped Lord Brynwood on the shoulder and assured him not to worry and to just ride on. Surely someone would come by to either claim her or take her to a workhouse. But Lord Brynwood couldn’t stop staring.
Disciplining The Thief - Complete Series (Historical Victorian Forbidden First Time Steamy Romance) Page 1