Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) Read Online Free PDF

longer belittle the effort you are making on this country's behalf. Just be careful, that's all I ask of you."
    The Raven drained the brandy glass, then he stood. "I must take my leave now. I don't know when I will see you again. Watch your own health, Uncle."
    Before Silas had time to reply, The Raven had gone through the door as silently as he had entered earlier. The old man walked to the doorway and stared out into the darkened night. He wondered what new and daring adventure his nephew would attempt next, and secretly he wished he could go with him.

 
     
    3
     
    England—February 1779
     
    Lady Season Chatsworth stared at her image in the mirror. She knew she was pretty, but she had never found much satisfaction in that fact. So far, her beauty had proven to be only a curse. Of late, her hand had been sought by many titled gentlemen, yet Season still couldn't believe her father had betrothed her to the odious Earl of Ransford.
    At the tender age of nineteen, Season felt as though her life was over. She shuddered in disgust, remembering the touch of the earl's sweaty palms sliding down her arms and over her breasts. Lord Arthur Ransford was always correct and respectful when her father was present, but whenever her father left the room, Ransford would touch her in the most disgusting and intimate ways. Season remembered the feel of his wet mouth on hers and closed her eyes, trying to block the dreadful experience from her mind. She remembered the time she had escaped from him by running into the garden, only to have him follow her. He had been delighted to have her alone, and he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her. In trying to free herself, Season had bitten the earl on the lip. She had felt no guilt for having done so. Indeed, she had felt great satisfaction from drawing blood that day. Afterward, Lord Ransford had angrily declared that she wouldn't act so high and mighty once she became his wife.
    Season frowned at her image in the mirror. Her skin was creamy white and she had been blessed with high cheekbones. When she smiled, dimples appeared on either side of her cheeks. Her hair was a vibrant golden color, and when the sun struck the shiny mass, her curls came alive with red highlights. Her father had once laughingly told her that there was distant Viking blood running through her veins, thus explaining the color of her hair. Season was tall for a girl and, she thought, much too thin, but her body was appealingly curved, though very firm from the many hours she spent on horseback.
    Although Season found her eyes were too large for her face, she was pleased with their deep green color. Unlike many women with light-colored hair, Season's lashes weren't pale in color, but long and dark. They were complemented by her delicately arched brows. Her mouth was full and generous, but at the moment it trembled as she pondered her future.
    Lord Arthur Ransford was a widower who, it was rumored, had long been searching for a young wife to bear him the children his barren wife had been unable to give him. Season shuddered, remembering the earl's assurances that he could father children. He had mentioned several bastards scattered about his estates as proof of his virility.
    On many occasions Season had begged her father not to give her hand in marriage to the odious earl who, in truth, was more than ten years older than her father. On those occasions her father had raged at her, accusing her of being an ungrateful chit and declaring she should feel honored because the earl had asked for her hand. No amount of pleading on Season's part could sway her father. He was determined that his daughter would be Countess of Ransford.
    As the date for the wedding drew near, Season became almost desperate to save herself from the lecherous old man. The young girl thought that if her mother were still alive she might have taken her side in the matter, but Season's mother had been dead for twelve years. The girl had been left