Her Lord's Table Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  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 standi
ng 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.

  “We weren’t properly introduced, of course. I’m Lady Milthorpe.” The woman looked at her with upraised brows.

  “I’m Susan Brody,” she replied, too focused on the small plate holding some cucumber sandwiches and a slice of butter cake to pay much attention to the niceties of social behavior.

  Lady Milthorpe gestured with her hand. “You’ve obviously had a long journey. You must be hungry. We’ll continue our discussion in a moment.”

  Susan didn’t need any further encouragement. Good manners, lady-like reserve or any other consideration fell before her hunger. Lady Milthorpe herself barely touched the food, but still, within a matter of minutes, she’d emptied the tray. Lady Milthorpe rang the bell and ordered more sandwiches.

  Susan murmured a half-hearted protest, but Lady Milthorpe shook her head.

  “I can certainly spare a few sandwiches. You need to take the time to regather your composure.” She leaned forward. “You appear to be unaware your brother had left the country. Had he expected your visit?”

  “I don’t know,” Susan said miserably, although her misery wasn’t sufficient to make her put down the sandwich she held in her hand. “My mother wrote him several letters, but we had no reply.”

  Lady Milthorpe folded her hands in her lap. “Perhaps you’d better tell me the whole story. There might be something I can do.”

  Although she knew no reason why Lady Milthorpe should take any responsibility for Susan or for her brother’s disappearance, Susan found herself pouring the whole story in her hostess’ sympathetic ear. She finished the tale by describing what had happened just before Lady Milthorpe had appeared on her own doorstep.

  “You poor creature,” the woman said. “Have you no other relatives in London? No one at all to whom you might apply for help?”

  “No one,” Susan replied. In spite of her now full stomach, another wave of dizziness hit her as she came to an awful realization. If Charles had indeed left the country, if Lady Milthorpe had told her the truth, then Susan was stranded. She didn’t have enough money to go home, and no way of getting any.

  She despised weak, crying females. No matter what had happened to her, she prided herself on staying strong, showing a determined, cheerful countenance to her mother and the girls, but she couldn’t stop the tears falling onto her cheeks.

  “There’s no need for despair.” Lady Milthorpe placed her hand over Susan’s. In spite of the fire burning in the room, the touch of the woman’s icy fingers sent a chill rippling down Susan’s spine. “Would I offend you if I were to offer you an opportunity for some employment?”

  Relief brought on another wave of dizziness. The woman had already been more than kind. Her good nature apparently knew no bounds. Any position offered to her by an obviously prosperous, socially acceptable person such as Lady Milthorpe had to be respectable.

  Susan would be happy to act as a governess or a housekeeper. As the oldest daughter, she’d had plenty of experience in helping manage a household. Even if she were only to be offered a maid’s duties, she’d still accept gratefully. She couldn’t afford to be picky. “I wouldn’t be offended at all. I welcome the opportunity to find some respectable way to support my family, especially since Charles seems to have abandoned us.”

  Lady Milthorpe looked her over from head to toe, her eyes assessing. Once more Susan felt an inexplicable chill.

  “I have an acquaintance who likes to entertain, who takes pride in offering select guests a very special experience.”

  “Someone who needs a housekeeper!” Excitement swirled in Susan’s chest. She knew she could oversee the production and service of meals to lend credit to any family. “Such a position would suit me perfectly.” She leaned forward, eager to show Lady Milthorpe why she could handle the job, despite her youth and inexperience. “Before my father died, we often held dinners and entertained. Even though I’m young for the position, I’m sure I could send up as good a dinner as would be required. I am quite adept at household management.”

  Lady Milthorpe’s lips stretched into a tight smile. “There is no need to convince me. I can see you have exactly the qualities needed for this post.” She turned to face Susan but didn’t quite meet her eyes. “You must be tired. I’ll have one of the servants show you to a room. Oh dear.” She lifted two fingers to cover her
mouth. The gesture seemed artificial but perhaps Susan was too tired or too unfamiliar with the ways of London society to tell. “How clumsy of me. This used to be your home. I’m sure you know your way around. I keep all the bedrooms made up. Do feel free to take the one you were used to sleeping in—or any other if it takes your fancy.”

  Chapter Two

  The next morning Susan awoke when the maid sidled in with the morning chocolate. Feeling guilty, because she was far more an imposition than a guest, Susan leaped from the bed. Her bag, which she had clutched to her when she’d knocked on the door but hadn’t given a thought to since, sat on a small side table. Her dress, which she had taken off last night, had been pressed before being hung up beside the bed.

  When Susan made her way downstairs, Lady Milthorpe waited for her. “Breakfast is ready, my dear. I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I have had the staff lay out a selection.” She indicated a sideboard, where in the tradition of many upper class houses, the family served themselves for this one meal without the benefits of servants.

  “Thank you, Lady Milthorpe. You’ve been more than kind.” That was an understatement. Lady Milthorpe’s generosity overwhelmed her.

  “Please, call me Estelle. If you feel I have been kind, perhaps you can repay me by taking the position I spoke of last night. I sent a note to my friend. If you are still of the same mind, the post is yours.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Susan said. “I am completely in your debt. I’d like to start as soon as I may. I shouldn’t remain here with you when I have barged in without an invitation. I don’t feel comfortable being treated as a guest.”