Regency Rogues Omnibus Read online

  Catherine was his sister and she was beautiful, compassionate, loving . . . and everything good that he was not. In spite of everything, he’d never regretted that. Because he had understood by the time he was five years old and Catherine was born that if he did not do something to turn their father’s insane rage continually toward him, Catherine would be lost, just as he was. So he had, daily, weekly, and through all those years that his crazed unbalanced father had lived until . . .

  Harrison took a long swallow of whiskey feeling the slow burn down the back of his throat as he left that thought unfinished. Nonetheless, he knew why he could not whip Lia, and it was because he knew what it felt like to be whipped helpless . . . and God help him he loved his sister. He swung back toward Lia. No, there had to be other ways, because he knew better than anyone that not even the lowliest beast deserved to be whipped helpless.

  Christ, she was beautiful, he thought, pacing back toward her slowly in a roundabout widening arc. He could not deny it. What sane man wouldn’t be thrilled to have a woman stripped naked and tied to his bedpost? Lia’s hair was the color of black mink and hung straight and lustrous down to her tight little ass. No other women had an ass like the women of Asian descent and Lia was a mongrel Asian. She was born of an Asian whore and a French aristocrat and she was taller than most Asian women with longer legs and not as much slanting to her brown eyes. Only a provocative tilt that hinted at her ancestry above a cupid-nose and gracefully cupped chin. Her face was delicate and feminine but he imagined that it would look impish if she smiled. Her lips were the kind that begged a man to kiss them, reddened, bow-shaped, and full.

  Yet after all was said and done, it was the shape of Lia’s lithely-rounded hips and what was between that really drew him. He was not a celibate man, at least he’d not been before he was disfigured. So he’d seen his share of women’s cunt’s before. Yet Lia’s, seeing it for the first time, was unique and would be delectable to any man, he argued with himself. It was the way the downy curls of her ebony-colored pubic hair did not cover her pussy lips so that a man could easily see her little girls pink slit.

  He stopped beside her. Very close. Seeing that her eyes were still clenched and she was silently crying. No wracking sobs behind the gag any longer, just quivers. He found that it heightened his sense of revenge to have her quivering before him and it was then that he decided on the first way he would make her pay without using the whip. It was, he thought, brilliant.

  “My name is Ravenscar and you will never call me anything else but Ravenscar,” he commanded in his grating voice, watching Lia’s eyelids scrunch tighter. “And I will call you, my pussy, my whore, or my slut!”

  A small helpless sound escaped Lia’s throat. Ignoring the sound Harrison reached his gloved hand forward to touch his fingertips between the impressive cleavage of her uplifted breasts. She panted in fear, he assumed, as he watched her pink-colored nipples crimp tight into quarter-inch spikes thrusting forward in trembling shame. He languidly stroked his fingertips through her cleavage, downward over her fragile rib cage and petted further to her shivering belly. Her skin was unblemished, an ivory-cream color, and he experienced a rabid desire to feel it against his scarred flesh without the gloves. But not yet. First she must be made to learn the impersonality of the gloves she was responsible for.

  “Spread your legs . . . pussy,” he whispered insidiously.

  “M-m-m!” Lia’s head jerked fearfully back and forth as her voluptuous nude body undulated against the restraints holding her.

  “You cannot stop me,” he rasped, pressing closer to her shivering body as he stroked his gloved hands deliberately lower to the top of her curling black pubic hair. Lia’s lush conical-shaped breasts heaved upward beneath her anguished and labored breathing, then he deliberately moved his hands, circling and plucking at the jutting spikes of her shamelessly aroused nipples. He pulled both of her nipples outward between his gloved fingertips, engorging and stiffening them further into fevered rosy-pink.

  “A-! A-!”

  Lia’s nude body squirmed sinuously as she tried to twist away while he abraded the swollen plump spikes of her nipples relentlessly with a rolling motion between the leather of his thumb and first finger. She tried to writhe away again, this time coming up on her toes for leverage and he stopped her quickly by pushing his knee between her bare shaking thighs. He continued pressing his knee upward until her cunt rode his leg and her back was pressed hard against the bedpost behind her.

  “Now we will play, my little pussy,” he whispered harshly.

  Lia’s eyelids jerked open and he saw her anguish and fear before he turned his gaze away, telling himself that he was glad, as he clasped her breasts fully into his hands slowly kneading the meaty soft flesh. Her breasts were young and firm, weighting his hands elegantly as he began to incessantly play her nude body like a finely tuned instrument beneath his gloved fingers. He fondled and petted her exquisitely rounded contours until she was writhing in passion despite herself.

  She ardently rode her legs over his thigh, rolling her drenched cunt across the width of his leg as he stroked his gloved hands once again over every contour of her opulent curves. Starting high on her arms stretched upward over her head, to sweep down into the hollows of her armpits, lingering over her breasts, belly, hips, and the back of her firm thighs. Her head fell forward in defeat with her face pressed into the crook of his neck as he groped his hands around each of her buttocks deeply massaging the pliable female flesh over and over. Each kneading motion of his splayed fingers rode her cunt up over his thigh and thrust her pillowed breasts into the wall of his chest.

  She began whimpering . . . erotic sounds not in fright this time but of needy arousal. The sound shocked him out of his own haze of passion and he abruptly realized that he’d been grinding his stiff dick against her hot cunt like a humping beast.

  “Christ,” he swore holding himself still, gripping Lia’s buttocks tightly with their groins locked together. The posture he held her posed in lifted her shapely legs upward around his hips. “How does it feel to be a bitch in heat?” he hissed with a sneer. Trying desperately to break the tension.

  Lia wailed, it was a hurt humiliated sound as she jerked over his thigh. Possibly trying to escape but with nowhere to go it only rubbed the heat of her cunt, hot over his impassioned cock. He snarled in denial yet his hands which were filled with her lush feminine ass lifted her too easily to slide up and down the raging length of his dick. God. He did it again and she mewled with the sound of longing and denial.

  “Your limitless lust will make you my slave,” he hissed. Wondering vicariously as his own lust drew hard on him which one of them he truly meant. Then he angled his body back and grasped Lia’s smoldering drenched pussy into his gloved hand. Squeezing. “Look at me,” he demanded as she whimpered sharply and turned her head away from him.

  He grabbed a thick pile of her waist length hair and tugged, stretching her neck as he forced her to face him. With his other hand holding her exquisitely hot cunt, he stretched his middle finger forward searching for the opening of her vagina. Her irises were black with passion and fear as he caressed her tender entrance with his gloved finger, circling more . . . prodding lightly.

  Chloe died a hundred shameful deaths as Ravenscar penetrated her convulsing core with his leather encased finger. How could she respond? How could she undulate her hips so wildly and ride his fingering like the begging slut he wrongly named her! Only nothing mattered but the friction of leather abrading her and plunging deeper inside her with ever stronger thrusts.

  “Ah- Ah,” she cried against the gag as Ravenscar began to smudge his thumb over the bead of her clitoris while his other finger coupled her harder. Her thighs lifted and spread wider with intense erotic begging motions as her head fell back and her breasts thrust forward brazenly.

  Suddenly . . . horrifically . . . he stopped! She wailed with a muffled sound beneath the gag as he pulled away from her and stepped backward leaving her
throbbing . . . and unrequited . . . and quivering in shameful lust. It was horrible! She was left in agony to watch Ravenscar smiling at her with his heavy-lidded gaze of coal black eyes and his sneer of impossibly handsome lips over arrogant white teeth.

  “My slave,” he rasped venomously as he slowly began to take off his gloves and she hung there, his prisoner, knowing if the gag were not in her mouth that she would be begging him to touch her again.

  Chapter Three

  When Chloe saw Ravenscar’s hands, she flinched in reaction and she knew with little doubt that Lia was responsible for the scarring injuries. The man before her was seeking revenge. Seeking retribution where there could only be Buddha’s serene judgments. Yet he would take his own justice out on her because he thought she was Lia. She whimpered then, woefully in fear and with the unrequited arousal harshly riding her. What would he do to her? What would he do?

  “Are you wondering who I am, Lia?” he asked with a wicked sliding whisper.

  Didn’t she know, Chloe thought fearfully? Didn’t Lia know?

  “It must be driving that sharp vixen’s mind of yours mad not to know . . . or why.”

  Why wouldn’t Lia know, Chloe wondered with raising panic? Ravenscar neared and she twisted against the silk holding her wrists above her head.

  “Perhaps when you are my complete slave I will tell you as a reward for your slavish obedience to me.”

  Oh Buddha, save me, Chloe thought desperately! Save me!

  “Right before I toss you out the door.”

  He would release her!

  “That is the moment that I live for, Lia. The moment when you will crawl on your hands and knees begging me to take you back. But I will refuse!”

  Then Chloe screamed, a terrible wracking sound caught behind the gag as Ravenscar put his roughly scarred hands on her bare waist sliding them downward over her hips.

  “Damnation,” Harrison rasped. His petite captive had fainted again! He quickly caught her up into his arms removing the gag and the bonds around her wrists. Then he easily lifted her, carrying her to the bed. Why was she not acting at all as he expected? How in the hell did a master spy such as Lia faint? History told that she was made of much sterner stuff than that. After he laid her on the bed, he checked her once again to make certain that she truly had fainted. Nevertheless, she had and he sat on the bed beside her where she lay limply on her back.

  There was no denying that she was a beautiful erotic woman, he thought, taking an unobserved moment to stroke his fingers through her midnight-colored hair. He could not exactly feel the tresses with his scarred fingers, however he could see that the blue-black strands were sensuously silky. It was easy to envision why Bonaparte had fallen all over himself to have the little vixen as his mistress when Drummond had first planted her in Paris to be just that. She had started out as England’s spy but turned coat . . . When? Why?

  What disturbed him the most were her eyes, he thought, as he stroked the part of his finger that could feel sensation over the creamy-smooth flesh of her cheek? Could any individual truly feint such innocence reflected through guileless eyes the color of chocolate-cinnamon?

  “I am not, Lia! I am her twin sister, Chloe!”

  Harrison reacted instinctively, grasping Lia’s wrists, piling them over her head with one hand and leaving her stretched out beneath him. He took a moment to catch his startled breath, and then he laughed. A harsh sound given the condition of his voice.

  “It’s true,” Lia cried beneath him. Interestingly with puckered pink nipples and thrashing long lithe legs.

  Fuck! He could not deny wanting the witch. “You will have to do better than that, my little soullion,” he charged harshly.

  “No, it is true! You must believe me,” she cried, bucking her hips upward with a healthy struggle.

  Harrison rolled himself on top of her, grinding her to a shaking halt. “You will be silent,” he hissed. “Or I will take the whip to your ass!”

  Lia heaved a shuttering breath beneath him and he glimpsed huge teardrops in the corners of her eyes before she turned her face away from him. Why did she sound so strange? An American accent? It was another trick! “If you say one more word, vixen, I will gag you again. Do you understand?” he growled.

  Lia nodded her head still turned to one side and lay still beneath him yet he could feel she was trying to hold back her tears. She was playing him! He suddenly grabbed her to push her onto her stomach. She screamed, and then she choked on some more sobs as he straddled her hips.

  “Give me your wrists,” he snarled, grabbing at them but she wedged her arms beneath her chest.

  “But I am not Lia!” she wailed. “I hate Lia! Lia uses me!” Harrison practically growled in frustration until he’d gotten Lia’s wrists above her head and tied to the bedpost. “Listen to me, please! Please! We are twin-n-n . . .” Harrison pulled the red satin gag snugly across Lia’s mouth. Thank god, he thought, leaning back to rest on his heels over the back of Lia’s thighs as he ran an impatient hand through his disheveled shoulder length hair. He rested there, staring at the small scar on the back of Lia’s perfectly molded thigh. She was gasping on her sobs beneath the gag, twisting her wrists against the red silk binding her to the bedpost. Damnation, he’d be a limp prick fool to believe anything she said . . . Only his prick was not limp, it was raging, and his memory was relentless.

  . . . That night over two years ago was purported to simply be an information gathering operation. His team the Archangels planned to break into Josephine Bonaparte’s apartment and gather what information they could find. It should have been fairly easy. Lia, playing Napoleon’s mistress, had passed along the information that Josephine had gone to the countryside for several days, if not weeks. Napoleon did not live with his estranged wife, yet he visited her there often. That and the intelligence gathered by the Archangels showed that many top Bonaparte officials courted Josephine’s favor and visited her apartment. The chances of finding something useful there were favorable.

  Their leader Drummond sent three of them. Only seven people had known of the operation. The time, the date, and the place. And those seven people were, the six men of the Archangel spying team . . . and Lia.

  Harrison went to those apartments with Radford and Saxonhurst. That should have been enough. Nothing would have been enough after what they met there. It had been a setup made to look like it wasn’t. Made to appear as though the servants had just gotten lucky and discovered them. Made to appear as if those servants were just defending themselves from a burglary attempt.

  But he’d fought with those servants. He’d killed two of them. They were military trained. Saxonhurst thought perhaps and Radford wasn’t sure. But he knew. They had been trained. It also explained the explosion and why the chemicals had been there in the first place. It was not just simply a cache of fireworks stored for the upcoming New Year celebration, right next to the cases of pure Russian vodka in the cellar. His hands were not scarred by fire, but by acid, and his throat was not burned by the heat, but by fumes. The tremendous explosion had cost Radford one eye and Saxonhurst his hand. They were all lucky to have made it out of there alive. Interestingly, none of the servants were harmed in the explosion . . . they had all fled just before the fire ignited. Someone went to immeasurable trouble to make it look as though this was all an accidental happening . . . and he’d never disabused Drummond or the others of this notion. They all thought it could be . . . Yet no one knew except him.

  He’d gone back to the charred and ruined apartments. With his hands in bandages and his throat still so burned that he was unable to speak. In the charred remains he’d found the remnants of the broken glass beaker that must have carried the acid . . . yet he had not found one piece of bottle that would carry Russian vodka . . .

  “Damn lying, bitch,” Harrison snarled, angrily coming out of his memories.

  He moved his position over Lia’s back until he could wedge her thighs open with his knees. She tried to twist away from
him but there was no place for her to go and the motion drew and flexed the ivory flesh of her buttock cheeks erotically beneath his gaze. She was helpless, exposed, and spread before him as he reached his bare hand between her thighs and clasped his fingers over her fevered cunt.

  Lia moaned and he laughed hoarsely, delving his fingers deep into the eddy of her feminine flesh . . . so tender and wet, until he found the pearl of her clitoris. God, it had been so long since he had touched a woman this way and he was surprised at all that his scarred hands could feel. He could feel the heat of her, the pulsing sharp throbs, and the fragile texture of her clit swelling and drawing upward. He rubbed firmly over the aroused nubbin of flesh and Lia answered with the sound of a deeply sensual mewl of longing. She lifted her ass upward to him in a purely feminine begging way.

  “Lusty, rosebud,” he rasped gruffly, chasing the hardening pearl of her clitoris around with his finger. Faster, faster . . . faster.

  “Aa- Aa-!”

  “Yes, I know,” Harrison crooned unable to stop himself from placing mouthy hot kisses along the graceful slope of Lia’s back, as he circled his finger harder on her clit bringing her to the edge of a climax. “Beg me to let you come, Lia,” he commanded hoarsely as he loosened her gag. “Beg me.”

  “Ah! Ravenscar, please!” she cried.

  “Swear to me that you will do anything I command,” he demanded.

  “Ye-Nn! OhBuddha save me. Please!”

  “Swear to me,” he hissed, and then abruptly he took his hand away from her trembling cunt.

  “No! R-Ravenscar, please!” she wailed, tugging her wrists frantically against her bonds. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me like this.”

  “Swear to me,” he hissed as he once more reached between her quivering inner thighs to cup her throbbing hot cunt into his hand. Squeezing. Dipping his fingers and wetting them in her arousal.