Her Lord's Table
A Totally Bound Publication
Her Lord’s Table
ISBN #
978-1-78430-376-1
©Copyright Alysha Ellis 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright December 2014
Edited by Jennifer Douglas
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Burning
and a
Sexometer
of
3.
HER LORD’S TABLE
Alysha Ellis
The aristocratic Lord Winslade provides a sensual feast to feed all the body’s hungers.
Gently bred Susan arrives in eighteenth century London starving, penniless and desperate to find a job. When a chance-met acquaintance offers to help, Susan happily accepts a position as housekeeper in the home of Lord Winslade.
But the position is not what she expects it to be. She is greeted by a grim manservant, who locks her in a room and orders her to wear the scandalous costume she finds there.
She is forced to attend an erotic banquet of carnal and epicurean delights, presided over by the darkly sinister Lord Winslade.
Susan’s expectations of domestic service shatter as she is seduced into fulfilling appetites of an entirely different order.
Chapter One
The man taunted her. His tongue stroked slowly over the slick surface of his lips, his pupils darkening as he savored the taste. Susan couldn’t stop herself. She moaned.
Desperate hunger gnawed at her insides. The sight of the rotund older gentleman in the corner, gorging himself on his luncheon of cheese and bread, almost made her weep. Even the pungent aroma of the raw onion he crunched between his yellowing teeth smelled good.
Everyone in the swaying coach turned to look at her. Heat mounted in her face. To set the seal on her humiliation, her stomach gave a loud, inelegant growl.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt full. With three sisters and her widowed mother at home, their supply of money gone, they had to eke out what little food they had. They never had enough.
Now there would be even less. The coach fare to London had taken the last of their available cash. Mama and the girls had stores of enough vegetables and oats to last another week or two, but Susan had brought nothing with her, assuring them she wouldn’t feel hungry on the long, stuffy coach ride. The man sitting opposite her, devouring his packed lunch, had proven it to be a lie.
Once she got to London and found her brother, she’d be able to eat as much as she wanted. As soon as Charles understood their plight, Mama and the girls would be able to buy the food they needed. He surely wouldn’t begrudge spending a little of his sizable fortune to support his stepmother and half-sisters. They weren’t asking for fripperies like smart dresses or horses or carriages, just enough money to ensure they didn’t starve.
The extra expenditure shouldn’t be too irksome. As Papa’s only son, Charles had inherited all the estates entailed to the male line, including the income that went with them. Not long after their father’s death, on Charles’ twenty-fifth birthday, he’d also gained control of fifty thousand pounds from the estate of his late mother. Her half-brother was a wealthy man.
Papa had been certain he’d provided well for his second wife and their three daughters. The estate’s unentailed capital, itself a considerable sum, had been invested for their ongoing support. They should have had no need for any further assistance from anyone.
Since Charles had no obligation to share his fortune with them, he’d told his stepmother and half-sisters they were welcome to continue living in the drafty old country house, then packed his bags. Without any parting words of affection or promises of future visits, he’d headed back to London.
No one had suffered any pangs of regret when Charles left. His lack of familial devotion hadn’t been surprising. He had never shown much interest in anything other than hunting, drinking and socializing with his friends. Susan’s mother had been sorry to see him go, but not concerned. They could get on very well without him.
But only six months later, the lawyer administering their inheritance had disappeared, taking all their funds with him. When the man hadn’t returned or been apprehended, Susan’s mother had written to Charles, asking him for help.
He hadn’t replied to that letter or to the three following. Now, after weeks and weeks of waiting, Susan had set out for London to find him, so she could apprise him of the situation in person.
She’d been on the road for five hungry hours with three more to go. Never had one hundred and eighty minutes seemed such an interminable time. Only the anticipation of her reception waiting at Charles’ home kept her from moaning again.
Once she got there, she’d be welcome. The townhouse had once been the family’s London residence. Susan knew the staff. Charles could be at home, or out for the evening, or even out of town for a few days, she would still find a meal and a bed.
She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the hunger pangs, pretending to doze. When the coach stopped for a change of horses, she stayed inside. Better to let her fellow passengers believe her too tired to wake up than to have them know she couldn’t afford any of the meager fare the posting house offered.
By the time the coach rattled over the cobbled streets of London, she didn’t have to feign tiredness. She ached all over—her eyes felt gritty and dry. She dragged herself out of the door and picked up her small case from the pile the coachman tossed onto the pavement, ready to make her way to her brother’s home.
She knew she drew some strange looks. Her clothes were worn and out of style but were originally of good quality, an indication that someone her age and gender should have been accompanied by a maid. Still, she assured herself, serving girls walked about London every day without being accosted. If they could do it, so could she.
Nevertheless, when she finally turned the corner near Charles’ house, she picked up speed, running up the stairs to grab the knocker.
The door swung open, but before the butler had a chance to speak, she burst out, “Oh, Roberts, I am so pleased to be here. I’ve been on that wretched coach all day. I’d love a cup of tea and something to eat.”
An unfamiliar voice, cold and formal, replied, “I beg your pardon, madam. You seem to have made a mistake.”
Susan looked up. She didn’t recognize the man standing there. “Where’s Roberts? Don’t tell me my brother let him go? He’s been with the family forever.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone named Roberts, madam. Nor do I know who your brother might be.”
Susan frowned. How dare this man speak to her in such a haughty manner? “I am your employer’s sister. I wish to come inside. If Roberts isn’t here, let me speak to Mrs. Good.”
The butler blocked her way into the house. “My employer is Lady Milthorpe. I am not aware of her having a sister. There is no one named Good here.” His daunting formality dropped. He glared at her. “I don’t know what your game is, girlie, but you’d best be off. Go on, before I get one of the footmen to chase you away.”
Waves of dizziness washed over Susan. She was too tired and too hungry to make sense of this. She looked frantically at the façade of the house. She’d definitely come to the right place. “This is my brother’s house. I don’t understand who you are or why you’re lying.”
“Is there a problem, Henry?” The soft voice spoke from just behind Susan.
“Lady Milthorpe.” The butler stood to attention. “This young person claims to be seeking her brother. She says he owns this house.”
Susan turned. A well-dressed, elegant woman, accompanied by a footman and a maid, stood on the step below her. She looked Susan up and down, her expression neutral. “Is Mr. Charles Brody your brother?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” Susan said, sagging in relief at the first thing anyone had said to her that made sense. “Charles is my brother. This is his house.”
The woman’s white forehead wrinkled. “I bought the house about a month ago.”
“Then where is Charles? Where is the staff?”
“I couldn’t say where the staff have gone, but your brother has left for the West Indies. I am led to believe he had to flee some gambling debts. I am afraid…”
The woman’s voice seemed to come from a great distance away. The twilight deepened into black. Susan thought she ought to say something, but the steps heaved in a strange manner. Darkness absorbed all the light and sound.
* * * *
When she opened her eyes again, she lay on a couch in a small room. For a moment she couldn’t get her bearings, then she realized she been taken to the rose sitting room of the London townhouse. But it wasn’t rose pink anymore. The entire room had been repainted in soft shades of blue.
“Here, drink this,” a female voice said.
Susan felt the cool press of glass against her hand. From the acrid fumes, it had to be some kind of alcohol. She took one sip. The harsh fluid caught at the back of her throat, making her choke.
When the coughing fit had passed, she drew an uninterrupted breath into her lungs, wiped her eyes and looked at the woman in front of her. Susan had seen her before. Outside. On the doorstep.
A memory came flooding back. “You said my brother wasn’t here. He sold the house to you.” Humiliation made her face burn. “I have to leave. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”
“Nonsense. You haven’t inconvenienced me at all. Henry carried you in here.” The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Susan suspected she made her disclaimer more for show than reality. She stood, planting her feet wide apart to try to brace herself against the faintness.
“Do sit down,” her reluctant hostess said. “You’re far too pale. I can’t send you away if you’re just going to faint again on the pavement in front of my house.”
After a discreet rap on the door, a maid entered with a tray set for two. Susan took one look at the array of sandwiches and cakes and her determination to leave disappeared in a waft of tea-scented steam.