A Gentlewoman's Ravishment Read Free Page A

somnolence.
    What is this place? Am I in a courtesan’s boudoir? Or maybe the pleasure chamber of some sultan or other Eastern potentate in London on a state visit? Perhaps this powerful lord has a penchant for the bodies of respectable Englishwomen and has his servants snatch them off the streets of the city for his pleasure.
    Was it he, in the carriage, who touched my sex?
    There’s another door, at the other side of this intimate enclosure. I suppose I should try it. After all, comfortable as this place is, it’s still my prison. And who knows what further fate worse than death will be inflicted on me if I linger here. It’s bad enough that I’ve displayed my wanton nature to an unknown and dangerous stranger instead of my wedded husband.
    The door yields up a most modern bathroom. Elegantly appointed with the finest porcelain ware. There’s a window, but it’s high, out of reach, even if I stand on the pedestal, and the glass in it is frosted, yielding no detail of the exterior.
    I’m still trapped.
    Pausing only to avail myself of the facilities, I wash my hands and study my face in the gilt-framed mirror.
    What a fright I am! Hair all askew, and pink in the face, with lips that are bruised cherry red from kissing. My dress is ruined, buttons still rolling around on the floor of the carriage, I presume, and my bosom looks very white against the dark blue of my bodice where it hangs open. And I haven’t the first idea where my hat and shawl and walking cloak are.
    Yet when I look into my own eyes, an imp of mischief laughs. Goodness, I’m such a strumpet! I’ve enjoyed my escapade so far. I should be ashamed of myself, and yet still I smile, an unrepentant houri.
    When I return to the boudoir and the peacock, there are two men waiting for me!
    “Please don’t be alarmed, madam, we’re only here to serve you,” says the more forward of the two, a fresh-faced, rather jolly-looking lad in his twenties, perhaps. His brown hair is short and his eyes are blue…and, like his companion, he’s clad in just a pair of loose trousers, made of linen or some other soft fabric. His chest, his arms and his feet are quite bare. How astonishing.
    His friend says nothing, but his eyes, brown as old port, are bold. He stares unabashedly at the open bodice of my gown, and for half a second, I wonder if he was the wicked, skillful devil who manhandled me in the carriage. He has a piratical look, almost, with wild dark curls and a faintly swarthy complexion.
    But my carriage man was taller than he, I suspect, and built quite differently. I didn’t see him, but his presence and bearing were not like this man’s at all.
    Not that this dusky, exotic fellow is unattractive. In fact, either of my new “friends” could be called beaux. Unable to prevent myself, I find my gaze skittering over the pair of them, noting fine muscles, smooth skin, a little masculine hair on their well-formed chests…and dear me, I hardly dare say…splendid male appendages prominently visible through the thin and revealing cloth of their light trousers.
    My pink face rapidly becomes as brilliant as a peony.
    “Wh-what do you mean by ‘serve me’?”
    “We are here to help you to relax, and to prepare you, madam,” the darker of the two answers. He has a little accent, quite charming and so alluring it makes me quiver.
    “For the pleasure of our master,” the other young man says. He has rather attractive lips, and all the time, they seem to be right on the edge of quirking into a smile, or even broad laughter. Something seems to be amusing him mightily, I must say, and even though I’m in the most perilous of situations, and I really don’t know what’s going to happen to me next, I find myself bizarrely amused and inclined to smile too.
    I think I must play along with this. It seems my only option. I cannot escape so why resist?
    “So be it. It seems I have very little alternative—” I bow my head a little, acquiescing. Or at least