by Brit Blaise
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Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com
Copyright ©2008 by Brit Blaise
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Also By Brit Blaise
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
Brit Blaise
Amber Quill's Rewards Program
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LADY IN A BOX
By
BRIT BLAISE
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Amber Quill Press, LLC
www.amberquill.com
Also By Brit Blaise
The Blood Club
Cave Creek Cowboy
Another Cave Creek Cowboy
Cave Creek Cowboy Christmas
Cave Creek Cowboy: Too Many Brides
Cave Creek Cowboy In Vegas
Cave Creek Cowboy Kama
Cave Creek Cowboy Ménage
Fix This!
Galaxy Gone Wild
A Lady's Lessons
Out Of Space
Music Man
Slayers Inc.
Taking It Slow
Two Weeks In Paradise
The Virginia Model-Logues
Wanton Warrior
Wild And Wanton
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CHAPTER 1
England,
1820
"You can't kill him. He's already dead,” Catharine mumbled against the gag stuffed into her mouth.
Her unintelligible words made her tormenters laugh.
How could she stop this band of miscreants from harming her late husband's elderly valet by mistake? Her foolish actions had caused this. Because of Lady Catharine Harcourt's poor judgment, a man sat bound and gagged, wearing her deceased husband's costume. Since her husband had died only hours earlier, she'd chosen to keep silent for one more day and make the most of her last night before taking the plunge into strict mourning.
She'd hoped to enjoy this clandestine gathering in a nearby shire without having to deal with the chaos Lord Frederick's demise would surely bring upon her young head. He'd died without a legitimate heir and, as his barren wife, she'd be cast off by the unscrupulous nephew she'd never met. Left with a paltry annual stipend sure to keep her in near poverty, she'd never secure an invitation like this again. The prospect of a lascivious crush while not under her husband's ever-diligent watch was too much for a forward-thinking woman to resist.
Lady Catharine now lamented her decision. Being held captive by four masked and costumed men behind the locked door of a dimly-lit chamber in a manor well-known to favor unsavory conduct, albeit with the utmost discretion, was not where she wanted to be at the moment. Then again, only hours earlier she'd been pinned beneath her husband's naked dead body. At the time, Catharine had sworn nothing could be worse.
She prayed these men wore costumes and weren't members of the high court. All of them wore slight variations of the same garb. Only their masks differed. Gentlemen in full court dress, all of them wore black velvet breeches with white hose, single-breasted coats of the same cloth with stiff standing collars, and long white neck cloths. Each had shoes with shining silver buckles, which was the only ornamentation on their otherwise dour apparel. Lastly, they wore powdered wigs, a symbol of their power to judge and ... condemn.
One of the men standing in judgment over her wore a harlequin mask, which made him look like a jester. In his large hand he held her little leather journal while he seemed to leer at her from behind his macabre visor. The grinning visage, the long, hawkish nose, and the arched black brows made the mask appeared demonic.
He cracked open the well-worn binding of her little book and turned away from her. It was too much to hope he hadn't read her most secret thoughts. “Shall we start from the beginning or traipse ahead to one of her more salacious fantasies?"
Why had she written them down and made exact renderings, only to be discovered now and used to torment her? But she knew why she couldn't resist recording them. She enjoyed reading her own fantasies and making them more and more naughty as time progressed. It excited her as nothing or no one else had in her life. Still, they were for her eyes only. How had these scoundrels gotten their hands on her journal?
The poor elderly valet she'd tricked into escorting her to the house of ill-repute sat with his head down, his chin resting on his portly chest. She'd only asked that he deliver the token assured to admit them and sit in the coach until she had her fill of whatever transpired within the walls of her husband's secret club. But somehow these men discovered him and mistook him for Frederick. They shared a similar characteristic in that both were wider than they were tall.
"Allow me to read an excerpt. ‘It seems to me a woman could see to the needs of at least four lovers at the same time. With two buried inside my lower orifices, I would have hands free to massage the male appendages of other two. I've devised a pattern, after much careful deliberation, which I've endeavored to depict with a modicum of reality.’ The lady has an interesting mind and a talented hand for drawing.” The jester held her journal with outstretched arms and turned it for all to see, but thankfully shut it with an abrupt snap before casting it aside. The dull thud as it hit the floor made her jump.
She didn't have to see it to know it well. This rendering had her held aloft by the man inside her front with her legs about him for leverage. The man thrusting inside her rear lent support with his arms surrounding her. The other two men would stand on either side, completely enclosing her within the box of male bodies. And the likeness of the lady's face could not be questioned. She did have a talent for portraits.
"She calls her drawing ‘Lady in a Box’ and says it's the rendering she'd most like to attempt, should the extraordinary opportunity be presented. I say we make a gentleman's pact to help her in this endeavor. We shall give the lady her desire, while giving his lordship his due recompense. And if you please, Lady Catharine, a better word for the ‘male appendage,’ as you so delicately state it, would be ‘cock.’ Saying ‘lower orifices’ isn't acceptable and does nothing to set the stage for romantic adventures. ‘Pussy’ and ‘pucker’ are the preferable words to use."
"Cock,” indeed. This strutting jester was the epitome of the strange word. When she decided to attend a gathering her husband would not have sanctioned for her, never in her wildest imagination could she have imagined this. Her husband, on the other hand, frequented this club and felt no compulsion to deprive himself of sensual pleasures. If not for poor Henry, who would be a tortured witness, she could even be excited at the prospect of bringing her most exciting rendering to life.
One of the other four came to stand directly in front of her. “She's excited by the prospect of living her fantasy. Her eyes are shining a most brilliant blue. I'd heard Frederick considers her a homely wench and wouldn't allow her to accompany him in public. Perhaps we should remove her mask and have a look for ourselves."
The jester placed a hand on the other man's shoulder. “Leave her mask for now. Thomas, will you take her pucker, while I dip inside her pussy?"
"My pleasure."
She had a name for the second man wearing an unadorned, white porcelain mask ... Thomas.
"That leaves William and
Wortworth to be pleasured by her hands. Agreeable, gentlemen?"
"Done!” Another of the men stepped forward with a smart click of heels upon the floor. The remaining man stood with his back to the far wall. He only nodded.
Lady Catharine wanted for more to distinguish them. Both the jester and Thomas were exceedingly tall, which set them apart from the other two. The jester's application of his accomplices’ names gave her some reassurance as to their character. It made them infinitely less threatening. Thomas. Wortworth. William. Only the jester lacked a proper name. Would this act ruin her or would these men be discreet? Since personal names were used, it appeared they could be trusted to keep their own counsel.
"I can see this worries you, my lady. These men have a grudge to settle against your husband and would not see you ruined, despite their hatred of the man whose name you bear."
This was more than she could've hoped for when she made her renderings. A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and thankfully the gag hid it from her would-be seducers.
"It's time to unwrap our present, gentlemen. I'll do the honors."
Who was the jester that these other men acquiesced without a murmur to his commands? And how had he come by her journal? He walked behind the high-backed chair and pulled the ties that bound her hands.
He hadn't tied her too tight, but her wrists ached from jerking on the restraints. It relieved her to be freed, and she shook her hands. When next he pulled her to her feet, she had to wonder if he would remove her gag. Instead, he fingered the garment she wore and sent chills running down her spine. For whatever reason, it seemed he'd determined it preferable she didn't speak. So be it. This was about experiencing the unknown, the forbidden fruit of her very vivid imagination.
"Our curious lady has worn a costume given to spontaneous pleasure if I'm not mistaken. Did you give forethought to your seduction on this auspicious eve?” The jester turned away from her to glare at her husband's servant. With him dressed in fine clothing, even she would be fooled by the imposter she'd created.
The jester gave her fake husband's chair a nudge with his booted foot. “Lucky old stiff. Wake up and enjoy the proceedings. Thomas, see if Lord Frederick's still breathing. I'd hate to have killed him, even though he heartily deserves that and much more."
The man he'd spoken to, Thomas leaned down and lifted Henry's masked face upward with his hand under his beefy chin. Lady Catharine held her breath for fear they'd remove his mask and discover it wasn't Frederick before they delivered on their promise to enact her renderings. It was true. She'd come here expecting much less than this ... and she wanted it. She wanted to see—experience—what these men suggested.
"He's breathing,” Thomas said. “I believe the man has swooned like a virgin maiden."
Thank God. If Catharine had been responsible for killing two men in single day, she didn't know what she'd do. Her husband had called the act he inflicted upon her ... passion. Passion? Catharine hadn't felt even the slightest hint of desire elicited by thumps from his skinny little stick against her mound.
"I was under the misapprehension he was too mean to display such tender sensibilities. I find I must now rearrange my beliefs,” Thomas said with a chuckle.
The jester gave a snarl very reminiscent of a wild beast. “He's a vile, old man not worthy of—"
What had he started to say in anger? She didn't dwell when he bowed to catch the hem of her gown. When he lifted the volume of rustling material, he allowed his hand to feather along her leg as he inched the warm contact upward. His touch, so light and naughty, left a burning trail. The thought of what he intended left her breathless and giddy.
"I'm well-pleased to discover you neglected to attend to your undergarments this night. Very thoughtful of you, indeed."
His warm hand slipped between her trembling bare thighs, where he nudged her until she widened her stance to give him access. A flash of moisture followed her movement. What would this stranger think when he came upon the unladylike occurrence dampening her inner thighs?
With a single finger, her seducer eased along her slit and straight into her feminine core. The bold act, along with the accompanying sensations, caused her to throw her head back and moan deep in her throat. She grabbed for his shoulders. While his finger continued to pleasure her, the jester caught her at the waist with his free arm and gave her ever-weakening knees support. Her husband had not once touched her like this. He was more interested in touching himself.
Without hesitation, Catharine shoved aside the niggling of trepidation creeping into her brain. She wouldn't allow modesty to ruin this experience, or persuade her captors she might be an unwilling participant for, by all accounts, she was most agreeable. If these men would allow her to act out her rendering, she wouldn't cheapen the experience with false modesty.
The jester pulled out of her orifice and touched a spot so sensitive she jerked, causing his hand to slip away. If only she could speak, she'd demand he put it back. Instead, he brought his hand before his face. His finger glistened with her juices.
When he held it next to the large, hawkish nose of his mask and inhaled with an audible sigh, another rush of moisture wet the tops of her thighs.
"Perfect,” he said. “And how would you taste? Alas, this mask denies me the pleasure."
Catharine never considered a man would care to taste her juices. What else hadn't she imagined? The consequences of marriage to an elderly man who thought of naught but his own pleasure had her both unsure and curious to the extreme.
Her seducer touched his hand to her shoulder where her Grecian costume attached with a single golden enclosure and then hesitated with his hand on her shoulder. He turned to one of the men to her left. “It is time."
With a swift tug the jester released her costume and it slid over her sensitive skin to pool around her calves and feet.
"Bloody hell! This is wasted on an old man."
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CHAPTER 2
Arden Caswell Harcourt, self-proclaimed rake of the first water, couldn't breathe as he gazed at the woman's alabaster perfection. Her pale skin rivaled the white porcelain mask she wore. Her midnight black hair piled high on her head would make a striking contrast should he free it. The black triangle of foamy curls at the juncture of her legs made his mouth water. If pressed, he'd admit never viewing skin this perfect, so milky white it begged for him to lap at her like a feral cat in heat. No freckles or imperfections of any sort marred the fragile surface.
Arden reached to touch when distracted by the sounds of his friends as they, too, were arrested by the sight. Who wouldn't be?
"I'm dreaming. This is an aberration.” Thomas found his voice.
Arden agreed wholeheartedly, but a contrary streak borne from his hatred for the lady's husband stopped him from speaking out loud. While he didn't want to flatter her in front of the man, he also wished his friend wouldn't either.
"You should have warned us,” William said only a second later. “It's one thing to have a casual liaison and yet another to lust after a peer's wife for the rest of my miserable bloody life. This isn't something a man can forget."
Even normally staid Wortworth huffed. “Unusual."
Arden looked away from the goddess to see the front of Wortworth's breeches tented out. Not Wortworth, too! He didn't arouse easily, which was why Arden had chosen him. That and the fact his uncle had swindled Wortworth out of his rightful inheritance.
He turned back to gaze into the woman's brilliant blue eyes beaming from the mask. “It seems you've bewitched us all."
This was a seduction he'd planned from the moment the woman's journal fell into his hands nearly two weeks earlier. He never dreamed his evil uncle would bring her here and make it easy for him to accomplished what he thought would take much planning. The last thing Arden wanted was their carnal exchange to be about desiring this woman instead of the opposite. This was about revenge.
"Wortworth, try to rouse Lord Fred
erick. We can't have him missing this important event."
Wortworth shook the old man, who only slumped lower from the disturbance. “He's out cold."
Lord Frederick had never given the impression of a man wont to faint. If he didn't witness this, what good was it? “We need to revive him, or our performance will worthless. Perhaps if we douse the bloody bastard with cold water we'll be able to cuckold the old fool to his face."
"I'll get a bucket,” Wortworth offered, but hesitated to move from where he'd planted his feet while gaping at the woman.
Wortworth wouldn't begrudge Arden the opportunity to explore the woman's delectable body in the interim, and so he would. Arden's fingers itched to touch. His cock grew harder than he could remember and for this reason alone, he hesitated to reach out for her until he gained a modicum of control.
She was tall, perhaps even equal to Wortworth or William in stature. In this case, with so much creamy perfection to explore, Arden found her height an advantage he'd never considered with statuesque women. He always preferred tiny women and this one was not even close, but he found her captivating. Perhaps there would be additional recompense in his ploy to ensure his uncle would finally suffer at least a small portion of what he generously dispatched to others.
The magnificent globes of her breasts were even more than a handful. He reached out to test his conclusion and discovered them heavier than he'd imagined. Small pale nipples pebbled at his touch. He pulled slightly back to free both thumbs, which he simultaneously employed to caress the delicate peach nubbins.
The woman moaned and rocked on her heels, prompting Thomas to move closer to steady her from behind.
"She's the most fascinating woman I've ever seen. Not even a single freckle to mar the expanse of this never-ending perfection,” Thomas said, while he examined her with undisguised interest. “Unbelievable. I've never been one to prefer a shapely bottom over a nice pair of ripe melons, but I've jumped the fence. The curve, the full roundness ... this is like awakening to a new day."