STORY EXCERPT

“My dear, we must discuss your future,” Agatha stated, dispensing with any preliminary small talk. “It’s been nearly eleven months since my dear son’s death. And in those eleven months—actually, since his injury nearly three years ago—you have acquitted yourself honorably. However, as we reach the one year anniversary of Michael’s demise, it is time to think not of grief, but of more practical matters concerning my son’s estate and your daughter’s future.”

A cold knife of fear stabbed Faye’s stomach. The smile she received from Agatha was the same smile a rattlesnake gives a mouse before making a strike and injecting its poison.

She cleared her throat, realized she couldn’t speak, then cleared her throat again. Finally she managed to say, without much quavering in her tone, “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mother.”

That familiarity had always tasted foul on Faye’s tongue. But once she had spoken her marriage vows, both Michael and Agatha had insisted Faye call Agatha “Mother,” so as a dutiful new member of the family, she went along with it, even though it seemed patently false. Agatha had always viewed her with intense suspicion and the unspoken yet palatable contempt that happens when a mother believes her son has married beneath his station, even if she possessed considerable wealth.

“Michael was a good man, and so is Derwin. You’re a young widow with a child. I don’t have to tell you those factors rather significantly limit your marriage options.” She raised a single eyebrow, giving Faye a look that challenged her to disagree with her matrimonial assessment. “It is in the best interests of both you and your child to have a wedded union between you and Derwin.” Agatha had never once called Lisbet her granddaughter, and the fact that she had even brought up the girl was a noteworthy moment for Faye.

She narrowed her lips into a thin, bloodless line. “Derwin feels a certain responsibility toward you since you are his brother’s widow. He could very easily take on a wife without your baggage.”

She looked straight at Faye, challenging her to defend herself or refute even the mildest accusation. “Debutantes from the finest families are coming out this season, and as we all know, Derwin can have his pick of them. But he’s determined to honor his late brother’s spirit and memory by raising your daughter as his own and taking you as his wife.” She paused before adding, “We do hope you have a son next time. It’s rather expected, you know.”

Each individual word struck Faye with the impact of a well-thrown punch from a seasoned and battle-scarred pugilist. In the time it took to blink an eye the air in the room seemed to disappear, so much so that Faye opened her mouth rather wide and momentarily had had to literally gulp in her breaths.

“It’s time to face reality, Faye. You’re twenty-seven years old, which puts you well into a spinsterish age. You’re a widow, which means you are used goods. You’ve got a child, which means your husband has to look at the end result of another man’s sperm. Derwin comes from a quality family, a family of social stature that’s respected in the part of London that’s worthy of respect. When you marry him, you’ll get back everything you lost with Michael’s death. Furthermore, your child will have a father figure she can look up to.”

Faye’s lavender eyes glazed, but only for a moment. It had taken her a while, but now she understood what this was all about—and it had nothing to do with the paucity of her matrimonial options now that she was a widow with a child. This was about Michael’s will and its peculiar codicils regarding who should inherit what if she ever decided to remarry.

“Yes,” Faye said at last, withering under Agatha’s cold scrutiny. She knew she had to stall for time, because any decision she made when coerced could have horrific consequences. “I…I see your point.”

She felt like a convict needing to escape imprisonment before even worse punishment was meted out. She needed time—a delay that would stall Agatha without letting her know what she was really doing. In her opinion, there wasn’t a more vulgar swine in all of England than her brother-in-law, Derwin Smythe.

“But as you know, my year of mourning is not yet up. For me to make any decision at this time would be”—she paused for just the right amount of time, for theatrical effect—“unseemly.” She delivered the word, drawling out each individual syllable with an ear for both diction and drama that would have impressed even the most skilled thespian. “And I do thank you for your concern, but I just feel that this discussion is premature. When a year has passed since my husband’s demise, then we should talk.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes. The old woman had crippled, in one manner or another, untold numbers of people. She wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered by anyone and certainly hadn’t considered the possibility of going toe-to-toe with her daughter-in-law, whom she had always considered as having far larger breasts than brains.

“You’re right, of course,” Agatha said smoothly. She was obviously schooled in tactical retreat as well as in making vicious, full frontal attacks. A delay did not mean surrender. “Concern for you and your future, as well as for my”—she momentarily choked, gagging on the next word as though it were a black mark on her soul—“granddaughter, is foremost in my mind. We will continue this discussion later. I want you to think about the generous offer Derwin has put forward.” She curled her mouth into a smile that never took the frostiness from her eyes. “I believe you’ll find that such a favorable union is in the best interest of both you and your daughter.”

Derwin didn’t put it forward. You did. She did all she could to remain seated in her chair instead of running from the room. And if he weren’t so cowed by you, he’d have presented that disgusting offer to me himself instead of hiding behind his mommy’s apron.

“You may go now,” Agatha said, her brittle smile firmly in place.

With an act of supreme willpower, Faye walked rather than ran from the room.

ADULT EXCERPT

Radburn pulled back Faye’s left arm, slipped his own arm near her elbow, and then pushed his forearm behind her back. When he wrapped his fingers around Faye’s right elbow, he had her arms pinned back using a single arm. With her elbows forced into that position, her back arched, thrusting her breasts forward to strain against her blouse.

“What are you—?”

Being held captive by Radburn in such a manner did something other than just cause her breasts to be thrust into prominent display. Her hands, forced behind her back, were unintentionally but fortuitously directly in front of the swiftly expanding bulge in Radburn’s trousers. The long lump grew beneath Faye’s palm. She waited a couple seconds before pulling her hand away and felt a twinge of guilt at her hesitation. He seemed very large, and though Faye knew she shouldn’t even think of such things, the fact that the brawny Scotsman was well-endowed was an enticement to carnality to which her traitorously responsive body instantly reacted.

When Radburn eased his right arm over Faye’s shoulder and cupped her chin in his palm, she flinched but didn’t resist as he tilted her face up and back. A moment later, when his lips sealed over hers, she uttered a soft, almost plaintive whimper as his tongue eased into her mouth.

Faye was helpless with Radburn holding her prisoner using just a single arm. Though she had never before responded in such a way, it was the sensation of being in bondage, defenseless with two powerful and dangerous men, that made her heart pound in her chest and caused the slick dew of passionate arousal to moisten the tingling lips of her pussy. Her clitoris, awakened to the possibilities of unimaginable and never-before-experienced passion with a pair of deliciously wicked rogues, pulsed and throbbed in anticipation of the forbidden.

Dirk’s hands roamed her breasts, pinching and tugging at her nipples through the barrier of her blouse and camisole. As she kissed Radburn, her tongue playing with his, Dirk’s warm, moist lips met her taut throat, his teeth sharp and dangerous when he nipped teasingly at her velvety skin.

With hands as nimble as a surgeon’s, Dirk swiftly unfastened the row of pearl buttons running down the front of Faye’s blouse. Moments later, while Radburn continued to hold her arms behind her back, Dirk opened her blouse and made quick work of unfastening the camisole’s tiny buttons.

“My God, she’s beautiful,” Dirk sighed upon seeing Faye’s bare breasts.

Faye heard the words but did not look at the man who said them. She couldn’t because Radburn’s hand was still at her chin, turning her head so he could stand behind her and feast on her mouth. And though Faye knew she should scream, should at least make some attempt to defend herself against these men who simply wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, her resistance evaporated when the warmth and wetness of Dirk’s mouth engulfed the crest of her left breast while Radburn’s probing, questing tongue stripped her of willpower.

One of them lifted her skirt. Sudden panic gripped Faye. So far, she had been kissed by the two wickedly tempting men, and they had fondled her breasts. But being foolish enough to allow them to kiss and caress her did not mean that she was immoral enough to allow them beneath her skirts.

Wrenching her face aside, Faye ended her kiss with Radburn. She looked down and was shocked to see Dirk, still immaculately attired in his charcoal-gray suit with his crisp, white, high-collared shirt, on his knees, slowly pushing up her skirt and petticoat. The quivering mounds of her breasts were held up naked and high by the half-cups of her silk underbust corset, their pink areolas and erect nipples still moist from Dirk’s oral caresses.

“Don’t,” she whispered, sure her expression starkly displayed the crosscurrent of emotions, both positive and negative, shuddering through her. “Please…please…don’t do this to me.” But she heard the uncertainty, the lack of conviction, in her tone.

With ease, Dirk unknotted the drawstring of Faye’s mid-thigh silk drawers. They were sliding down her legs a moment later, eased lower by strong, masculine hands that caressed her with a feathery touch through her silk stockings.

Dirk tilted his head back, and Faye looked into his eyes. The blue flames of passion in them were of such intensity that any rational woman would have been afraid. Only Faye wasn’t rational. She had been rational earlier in the day, and perhaps she would once again be rational at some later date. But at the present time, Radburn and Dirk had stripped away her ability to think coherently and logically, just as they had, with their kisses and caresses and their devilishly tempting words, shredded her will to resist them.

Dirk looked into Faye’s eyes and asked in a faintly sardonic voice, “Are you certain you don’t want me to do this?”