Tight Laced Read Online Free PDF Page A

voice was at his ear now. Duke , she whispered. Take me. Take me away from the constraints of this wretched world. Fill me with the measure of your want.
    His hand tightened the hold on his cock. He pulled as though he wanted death. Only death. The edge of the natural world and the leap off into the great abyss where the mother dragon waited to consume all. He would take her with him, the beautiful daughter. To a place where only light and sound and touch and nectar enwrapped them both in a velvet belly.
    His cock grew more yet, thickening fully under his command. His stroking became urgent, and then, the final shudder.
    He cried out as he came, his seed fountaining forth and spraying the floral papered walls of the Highcastle guest quarters. His mark. His wanton signature, there for all to see.
    He dropped to his knees.
    Duke Darlington, delusional from lack of sleep as dawn forced itself upon the day, his skin bristling with unquenchable desire, felt his cock soften slightly in his grip. But a moment later, he grew firm once more. Would his hunger ever abate? But more to the point, if he agreed to the outrageous bargain dangled before him, would he ever feel like a man again?

    Lacy woke to the sound of a crow outside her window. Its sharp caw-caw, a warning. She ran to the glass and noted the thick grey cloud of winter hovering on the horizon. Why, it was merely October! Where was the clear sky? The turning leaves? In was as if the season had leapt ahead – the earth turned errantly whilst she’d slept.
    A chill bore up her spine and out to her fingertips. She hugged herself, turned from the window, and then pulled the tartan plaid lap blanket off of her father’s portrait. Looking at her father’s kindly blue eyes, his strong chin, she nearly collapsed in a wave of grief.
    “Papa,” she whispered. “How can I go on without you? Without your warm demeanor and the winks you give me when I scowl and lament the small indignities of every-day life?”
    She ran her fingers over the portrait of her dear father. Over his whiskers, his rich mane of white hair. He’d been such an honest, forthright man. Loved by all. Without him in this house, the walls were cold and unyielding. Yes, it was fitting that the clocks still claimed the time to be near midnight.
    The crow cawed once more, and then a thud against the glass. Lacy jumped, spun round, and watched the crow slam into the window twice, thrice, before flapped away. An omen? She knew not. But what she did know was, the day stretched before her as one bleak, unending cloud.
    She felt the swell of tears again. Her dear father passed. Her mother dead as well. And now, she had even lost the lock of hair that she’d kept close all these years.
    Her heart was heavy, and her limbs, dead wood. Grief settled in her bones like iron balls. She turned from her father’s portrait, set on enduring the long, dark day, when there was a rapid knock upon her door.
    “Enter,” she called.
    It was Tansom, and she bustled in as though followed by a startled nest of honeybees. “M’lady, m’lady,” she gasped, only coming to a halt to catch her breath. The woman must have leapt up all four flights of stairs.
    Lacy held her hands out in front of her, and latched on to those of her maid, squeezing hard. “What is it?”
    “Oh, it’s terrible news. Terrible!”
    “Well, my goodness, out with it then.”
    “It’s all over the post. A terrible disaster in the North. A special messenger delivered a note just now.”
    “But what business do we have with the North?”
    “Oh, m’lady, that poor man. The duke. He’s ruined. Ruined!”
    Lacilia’s heart picked up a pace. Of course! How rude of her to forget that their houseguest was from the North. She let go her maid’s hands, and took her by the shoulders instead, looking her square in the eye. “Tell it true, Transom. Tell it straight.”
    The old maid took in a breath, her downcast eyes trained on the floor. “The Blantyre mine.