Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

LIZZIE

I was wearing my costume but it wasn't my costume.

I had hoped after a bath, some food, and a little sleep that perhaps I would gain some clarity. That maybe whatever drug I had been slipped last night would finally wear off, but everything was just as confusing as before.

After awaking from my nap, Mary from the costume department entered. She insisted on being called by her last name, Parker, and wouldn't stop saying that she was my lady's maid and she had no idea what play I was talking about.

Placing my hands over my ears, I screamed, "Stop saying that. You're lying! You're all lying!"

"Perhaps I should get the Duke," she said as she took a few steps away from me.

"No! Don't do that! Please, don't tell Richard."

Mary shook her head. "I've distressed you somehow and His Grace was very explicit that you are to remain calm after your… after your unfortunate grief episode."

I couldn't have her running to Richard. Not until I figured out what was going on.

Forcing myself to smile, I said, "I'm fine. Really. I'll be good. I promise."

After that, I stood still while Mary dressed me. It was hard not to think back on all the times we laughed and joked over Starbucks caramel macchiato drinks as she helped me dress for the play each night.

How could all those memories not be real?

Mary pulled a cobalt blue silk and satin reception dress out of the wardrobe. I recognized it immediately as the dress I wore in Act One of the play. The problem was as she pulled the silk paneer overskirt over my hips and secured it to the bustle, I realized the dress was finer than my costume and felt new, as opposed to a dress worn for decades by countless actresses.

The bodice had the same deep square neckline ornamented with a matching cobalt silk bow over cream-embroidered lace. Although unlike my costume, which clearly had stiff, machine-made lace, there was no denying the delicate work of handmade Irish lace.

After sitting for another hour in front of the vanity while she teased my hair into a dramatic chignon, I finally stood before the polished glass mirror. It was as if I was staring at a dream. I looked every inch the Victorian lady.

When you become an actress, it's partially because you want to live in an imaginary world. You want it to be real. You want to wear the dramatic dress with sweeping train and come running out of the castle into the knight's arms. Unfortunately, you are not fully prepared for the dress reeking like moth balls and body odor. For the castle entrance to just be the door to the backstage lot with the details filled in by computers later. Or for the knight's costume to be made of such thin aluminum you're told to only pretend embrace or you'll dent it.

I was not a fool, I knew all of it would be fake props when I got into acting, but I couldn't help wishing everything was just a little more realistic… a little more in keeping with the fantasy.

And now my wish had been granted.

Everything felt… real… authentic… yet it wasn't.

This was the dream, not the reality.

Wasn't it?

As I approached the large pair of polished wooden doors, two footmen who were standing at attention on either side immediately leaned over to open them wide.

Crossing the threshold, I took a tentative step into the massive dining room. The room was dominated by a magnificent table of veneered satinwood. In the center was an ornate silver urn filled with orange blossoms and fruit flanked by two tall silver candelabra ablaze with candles. The table easily sat over fifty people. At the far end, I could only get a glimpse of two place settings.

Heading in that direction, I finally saw the elegant display of crystal, silver, and china placed over a runner of lace.

In the center of the plate was a single perfect white rose. I reached out to caress one soft petal, needing to feel the silky texture to be assured it was real.

"I see you have found my small token."

Turning with a start, I placed a hand over my chest to somehow calm my beating heart as Richard approached me.

As always, all the oxygen seemed to leave the moment he stepped into a room. He was dressed in similar black attire but this time his silk waistcoat had been changed out for a cobalt blue one, identical to the silk of my dress.

Unable to move, I trembled in place as he came closer. I was now used to the possessive way he placed a single finger under my chin, forcing my gaze to his own.

Leaning forward, he placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. I half expected his touch to scald my skin; instead it felt cool and almost impersonal.

"Turn around."

It angered me to think it didn't even occur to me to disobey. Turning on my heel, I felt a frisson of primal fear as my back was momentarily turned to him. A heightened sense of awareness of his nearness.

"Slowly," he commanded, his voice dark and low.

I turned more slowly for him. A doll on display. Perversely, I hoped he liked how I looked in my dress.

As I once more met his gaze, I didn't see appreciation, the typical male expression when looking upon a beautiful woman. I saw something deeper and far more dangerous. I saw the dark light of obsession glow from his obsidian eyes. The type of deep satisfaction that only came from attaining a highly prized possession.

"Perfection," he intoned. The single word sent a chill down my spine.

Is that what was happening here? Had I somehow become his new possession? His prize?

Grasping the back of the nearest chair, he pulled it away from the table and turned an expectant eye on me. When I didn't move, he raised one eyebrow in disapproval.

"Elizabeth… sit," he said sternly.

Reaching for the folds of my dress, I shifted the fabric around the seat of the chair and gingerly perched on the edge as he pushed it beneath me. Richard took a seat to my left at the head of the table.

I needed answers to questions I was too afraid to boldly ask. I would have to play this by his rules.

The game of cat and mouse had begun.

Before we could speak, Jack, still dressed as a butler, entered with a glass decanter of wine.

He poured a small amount for Richard's approval. After raising the glass for a taste, he nodded. Jack leaned in to fill the glass and then turned to me.

Placing a hand over the rim of my glass, I said, "No, thanks, Jack." I needed to stay clearheaded if I was to survive this meal.

Jack straightened as if slapped.

Richard cleared his throat.

"Elizabeth, we do not address those beneath us by their Christian names," he admonished, as he nodded to Jack who continued to pour me the unwanted glass of wine. "We are ready for the first course, Hutley."

"This evening Cook has prepared quiche d'arboath smokie et poireaux ," intoned Hutley as a footman put a small blue and gold Sevres plate in front of me.

I heard the word quiche although I didn't recognize any of the other ingredients.

I watched as Richard selected the fork furthest from his plate out of a line of five different styled utensils and began to eat.

At least I knew for certain this dish wasn't poisoned if he was eating it as well… still I had no appetite.

Clearing my throat, I nervously played with the linen napkin on my lap as I tried to form the words I needed to say. "Richard, I was wondering if after dinner you could arrange for a ride home for me." Holding my breath, I waited to see his reaction, hoping my less direct approach would not agitate him.

Laying his fork carefully down, he reached for his wineglass and took a long sip before responding. "This is your home, Elizabeth."

Raising pleading eyes, I tried to reason with him. "Richard, I can't stay here with you. I have school, friends… a home back in London."

Carefully folding his napkin and setting it aside, he turned his full dark gaze on me. "I am tiring of these fantasies, Elizabeth. You are my ward and as such I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. There is no school or home in London. If you cannot curb these histrionics, I will be forced to take you in hand. Again."

The memory of him holding me down in the carriage and ruthlessly thrusting his cock in deep was so vividly stark, I instinctively fisted my hands and pressed them against my lap between my legs.

"You can't just keep me here trapped inside this fucked-up fake world!"

Richard stood. "I have warned you about using vulgar language unbefitting a lady of your station."

Stumbling over my skirts as I quickly rose from my own chair, I took a few steps back. "I am not a lady! I don't belong here!" I cried, anger rising in my breast and forcing away all reason.

Richard stepped from around the table, circling to my side.

Raising a protective arm up, I warned, "Don't take another step closer." My voice was weak and faltering.

No surprise, he ignored my command.

With a cry, I reached for my still-full glass of wine and flung the contents at Richard's face. Scarlet liquid dripped from his jaw, staining his white cravat. It didn't even slow his pace.

With every step, his voice became louder and more forceful. "I see you need a reminder of how I expect you to behave under my roof." I watched in horror as he shrugged out of his coat and tore off his cravat.

The squeak of an uncoiled hinge alerted me to a door opening behind me. A footman entered with some kind of roast beef on a silver serving tray.

"Get out," growled Richard without taking his eyes off me.

"No! Please, don't leave me!" I begged as I risked a glance over my shoulder to try to plead with the man. He didn't listen. With a bow, he hastily left the dining room.

Reaching blindly, I picked up a porcelain serving bowl from the sideboard and flung it at Richard. He easily deflected it with his left forearm, sending the delicate vessel crashing to the floor.

With a cry, I turned and ran, desperately reaching for the brass handle of the double doors I had entered through.

I didn't make it.

A strong hand fisted the elaborate curls of my upswept hair and yanked me backward. Reaching both arms back, I clawed at his wrists, trying to dislodge his fingers. Swinging my body in an arc, he slammed me against the wall. Two small gilt frames near my shoulder fell to the floor, the glass shattering.

Richard placed both his forearms alongside my head, caging me in.

"Now you listen to me—" he said through clenched teeth.

My mind snapped. It was all too much. I started to scream… and scream… and scream. I didn't even stop to think about it. I saw it all in slow motion as if it weren't even my hand. My arm shot out and struck him across the cheek. I felt the hot sting on my palm, as I watched his head twist to the right. Cringing against the wall, I waited for his retaliation.

For a spare moment, neither of us said a word. Our heavy mingled breathing the only sound in the room.

Then with a growl, his head swooped down to claim my mouth.

God help me, I kissed him back with a ferocity that shocked us both.

Like a woman possessed, the very fingers that were clawing at his wrists only moments before now delved into his hair, pulling him closer. My tongue dueled with his own. Breaking free, I ran the tip along his jaw, tasting the red wine that still clung to his skin. Then he captured my mouth again. Wrenching my hands from his hair, he slammed my wrists against the wall. Pinning me.

Jesus God, I was right. He was the type of man to just toss a woman against a wall and fuck her senseless. And just like the women in the movies, I was falling for it. Falling for every medieval, outdated, over-the-top, masculine bit of it.

Taking his lower lip between my teeth, I bit him in return, reveling in the metallic taste of blood that caressed my tongue. His primal growl against my lips only spurred on our blood lust.

Never.

Never in my life had a man ever treated me this way.

It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

To be taken.

Claimed.

He ground his hips into my own, pressing the thick ridge of his cock against the silken folds of my dress. Wrapping one strong arm around my narrow waist, he pulled me away from the wall. Pressing my body along his own, he took a few steps backward before swinging around. Spinning me till my back was against his chest, he once more slipped his fingers into my now disarrayed hair. Pushing forward, he forced me to lie down on the cool, polished surface of the dining room table.

The discordant scratching sound of fabric tearing met my ears as he tore away the overskirt and bustle, leaving only the thin silk underskirt and a pair of pantalets. His hand felt warm against my calf and the back of my thigh as he pushed up my skirt. The pantalets were just a sheer pair of linen drawers covering my hips and thighs and tied around the waist with a ribbon. Most embarrassingly of all, they were completely crotch-less with a slit that went all the way up the back, exposing my pussy and ass.

His slightly callused hand caressed the soft skin of my ass. Biting my lip, I tried to stifle a whimper. My whole body shook. I couldn't tell if it was from arousal or fear. Memories of his brutal fucking in the carriage swam before my eyes.

Oh, God, I knew this was going to hurt.

He was too big, too angry… too dominating for it not to.

Peeking over my shoulder, I saw his right arm raised. I choked on my own cry of warning before I felt the hard sting of his slap. This time on my ass cheek.

"Ow!" I whimpered as tears stung my eyes.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

I couldn't answer.

He slapped me again. In the same spot. My skin was on fire with a thousand pin pricks.

"Answer me, Elizabeth."

"Yes," I choked out. Sniffing, I repeated my plea, "Yes, I'll be good."

"What is about to happen?"

My shoulders shook as I whispered, "You're going to fuck me."

A volley of stinging spanks hit both cheeks of my ass and the backs of my thighs. I strained up on my toes as I desperately tried to escape his punishing hand. I could feel my flesh painfully swell as throbbing heat spread over my skin.

"Stop! Stop!"

"I have warned you against such vulgar language."

"I don't know what you want me to say." My tearstained cheeks slid against the wood of the table as my hands clawed at nothing.

"Say you were naughty and ask me to punish you."

"Please don't…"

"Say it."

Swallowing, I then took in a shaking breath. "I was… was… naughty…"

"And?"

"And… I need… need you to punish me." The rest came out in a pathetic rush of humiliation.

"And what should punishments do?" he asked as he kicked my legs open wider.

Oh, God.

"Answer me, Elizabeth."

"Hurt," I whimpered.

The fabric of his trousers felt like sandpaper when they brushed against my now sensitive, bruised skin. I could feel the caress of his hand as he stepped even closer while he worked the fastening. Then the press of his cock.

He pushed the bulbous head into the crack of my ass.

"No! I've never. Please!" I begged.

The backs of his knuckles slid along the seam as he guided his cock lower, till I felt him press against the entrance to my cunt. I knew deep inside that one day he would ruthlessly take my virgin ass but right now I felt dizzy with relief that it wasn't going to be today.

Already embarrassingly wet, my body gave him little resistance as he slowly slid inside. His body folded over mine, pressing me flat onto the table. His lips gently pressed against the shell of my ear as he wrapped one hand around my throat, lifting me till my back arched. Then he whispered huskily, "You belong to me now."

His hips pulled back and he thrust in… deep.

His fingers squeezed my throat, cutting off my cry of pain as he violently pistoned into my helpless body.

The edge of the table cut into my stomach as I was rocked with each powerful thrust. Pinned to the table, there was no escape. I felt his breath against my cheek. His hand around my throat. His chest pressing down on my back. His hips grinding against my ass.

And his cock pounding into me. Forcing my body to open. My inner muscles contracted painfully as he pressed deeper and deeper still. Each time he bottomed out I couldn't hold back a guttural whimper.

I felt dominated and used, which made my arousal that much more humiliating.

Why?

Why was this man having this effect on me?

Why did I almost crave the pain he promised?

Shifting his hand to my hair, he pulled on it roughly. "Are you my little harlot?" he snarled.

There was no denying it. "Yes! Yes!" I screamed.

I wanted more. More pounding thrusts. Harder and harder. I wanted it to hurt. Needed it to hurt.

I almost wept with relief when his free hand reached down to squeeze the flesh of my spanked ass, sending fresh waves of stinging heat curling between my legs.

"Harder! Make it hurt!" I shamelessly begged. Not caring that he was fucking me on the dining room table with numerous servants probably listening on the other side of the door.

Grunting, his thrusts slowed but became more powerful. Each one meant to punish and subjugate. I held my breath as pressure built deep within my body. I could feel my own release clawing its way to the surface. Just as I was cresting, he slapped my ass again. Opening my mouth wide, I silently screamed as I came in wave after heated wave.

Collapsing forward onto the now sweaty surface of the table, I was only slightly aware of his rough growl as he pushed into me one last time. His hot come stung as it poured into my sore and torn pussy.

I laid there motionless as he pulled free. Come dribbled down my inner thigh. It itched as it cooled. I listened without turning as he fastened his trousers and shrugged back into his jacket.

I kept waiting for him to come over and kiss me on the cheek or cover my nakedness with the torn shreds of my dress. He did neither.

My body began to shake and tremble as the magnitude of what just happened began to settle on me. I couldn't even call it rape because on some sickening level I wanted it… enjoyed it. Still, it wasn't voluntary. Nothing about my situation was voluntary. I could feel hysteria begin to strengthen its grip. My chest tightened. My breaths became shallow and quick as I pulled my fingers into fists and pushed against the table, forcing myself upright.

Richard took a step toward me, once more looking every inch the wealthy lord.

Grasping me by the chin, he ran his thumb over my lower lip before saying, "You would be wise to accept your new station in life. If you continue to fight me… to fight this … my punishments will only get crueler and far less pleasurable for you."

Tears blurred my vision. I tried to shake my head no but his grip on my face prevented me. "Don't do this," I whispered, my throat sore from crying.

He took a deep breath. Releasing my chin, he stroked his knuckles down my tearstained cheek. "It's done, my love."

He turned on his heel and walked away. I don't know if it was minutes or hours later when I felt Mary's cool hands on my shoulders, wrapping a soft blanket around my shoulders and leading me up to my room.