A Gentlewoman's Ravishment Read Free

in this way? Fondled and handled? There is a considerable difference between a woman’s secret fantasies and the real danger of being kidnapped and whisked away off the street like this. Perhaps he wishes to sell me into white slavery, and has simply toyed with me to ensure that the goods he has to offer are desirable? That when I become the plaything of some jaded debauchee in a far-flung land, I’ll be satisfactory…and diverting.
    If I had my wits about me, I’d fight. Kick out. Struggle. Attempt to escape. Surely I could work the key in the lock with my hands behind my back, if I disabled my companion with a sturdy booted foot applied to his sensitive, gentleman’s regions?
    But I attempt none of this. I succumb like a debauchee myself, like a willing sensualist.
    I’m still glowing with pleasure when his hands slide off me, only to turn the lock himself and open the carriage door while I’m still half in dishabille.
    Who is this wicked, ruthless man? Why can’t I resist him?
    Before I know it, I’m jostled out of the carriage and half manhandled across a stretch of pavement and up a set of steps. Somewhere in the erotic rumpus, my blindfold has become a little dislodged, and I can see just a sliver of my surroundings.
    There’s the lower part of a black-painted door, very well maintained, and as that door opens, I see polished shoes that immediately step back to admit me and my captor.
    Inside, I get an impression of space and airiness, I know not why. There are tiles beneath our feet. As I’m led along, firmly but not cruelly somehow, the blindfold slips back and I’m in darkness, complete and inky, once more.
    We ascend a staircase. Without use of my arms, this is difficult, but I’m borne up by my companion, and strangely, I have no fear of falling. He might be a brigand, but he’s strong and sure and clearly has no wish to damage his stolen goods.
    Once on a landing, I’m bundled through a door.
    Immediately, I’m in surroundings far more intimate. Sound is muffled by a carpet beneath my feet, and a sense of similar material all around me. I cannot think why I think that, but theimpression I form of the room is womblike, luxurious…and sensual. The scent of perfume, of incense, tickles my nostrils. I smell sandalwood, patchouli, exotic herbs and spices. The aromas are not unlike my abductor’s delicious cologne.
    Plucking at my wits, I’m just about to demand details of my whereabouts, and the reason I’ve been brought here, when there’s movement behind me, and I’m let loose. Efficient fingers slip off my bonds, and as the cord drops away, my own fingers fly to the blindfold.
    But the knot is well tied, and just as I manage to undo it, the door to the room swings shut, and I hear the heavy click of yet another lock.
    No, no, no! The wicked man! He’s trapped me again!
    But I supposed I could be sequestered in far worse places.
    The room is opulent, luxurious, quintessentially Eastern, with a thick plush carpet beneath my feet, and furniture that’s low to the ground. A little table with carved legs, and laden with a crystal flask and a set of glasses, and a large dish piled high with fruit, peaches, plums and figs. Around the walls, heavy velveteen hangings, embroidered with intricate-figured designs, whorls and curlicues. Clusters of huge cushions scattered about, plump and in jewel tones. A low, deeply upholstered daybed covered with a crimson and old-gold brocade throw sits on a small dais, set a little way from the wall, and beneath the most magnificent of the wall decorations, a beautiful woven depiction of a peacock that dominates the entire room, complete with the most astonishingly lifelike “eyes” in his erect and multicolored tail. The rendering of these is so vivid and detailed that one almost seems to wink.
    There seems to be no window at all in this room, unless it is hidden behind one or another of the hangings, but a multitude of lamps impart a warm, amber glow of luxurious