M'Lady Read online

  M'Lady

  Hannah Morse

  Copyright © 2021 Hannah Morse.

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  ISBN: 978-1-7345054-2-9

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are

  products of the author’s imagination.

  Front cover image by Melody Simmons

  Edited by Laurie Krill

  Proofing by BBB Publishings

  First ebook edition 2022

  www.writesmorse.com

  Contents

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  6. Chapter 6

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  9. Chapter 9

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  12. Chapter 12

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also By

  Chapter 1

  The silk of the blindfold caressed his face as the madam secured it in place. Lord Ian Fitzwilliam’s heart hammered in his chest as she took him by the hand to lead him to the chambers where certain activities took place that involved ropes and riding crops.

  The mask he wore under the heavy silk should guarantee his anonymity, but his Scot’s accent might give him away if the woman involved had been studying her Debrett’s. His coin should ensure her silence, and with a bit of luck, she’d simply assume he was visiting London from the north.

  The slap of something hard against flesh followed by a muffled moan had his cock perking up.

  Ian had become a member of this particular gentleman’s club when he’d inherited an entire earldom from his great-uncle. Nobody had been more surprised than him when he’d been named as Earl of Whitecliffe. Being Scottish and not having so much as a Sir in front of his name had meant he’d never fathomed needing to know how to run a vast fortune and set of estates in England. His mother had rather forgotten to tell him that his dead father had been not just nobility, but English nobility. She’d looked sheepish as a solicitor had droned on and on about all the things that now belonged to Ian, who’d been expecting to spend his entire life in the study of the mechanical sciences.

  Beyond the official list of duties, properties, and social circles, were other, less savory pies Ian now had fingers in. Most of those accounts he’d closed, since betting on boxing matches and such wasn’t an interest of his, but this, membership in one of the most notorious pleasure clubs of London, had been niggling at him for a year and he’d maintained the dues.

  Ian had never paid for a night with a woman. He’d never considered it beneath him, but it’d been an expense he couldn’t afford when he’d had to pinch every penny to keep him and his mother warm in the winter and a roof over their heads. He’d had a few romps with older women who’d enjoyed his enthusiasm and had given him lessons when they’d discovered he was a quick learner eager to please, but then he’d left that life, moved to London, and been essentially busy day in and day out for more than a year.

  His only chance to see the fairer sex, except for his mum, was when he was dragged to some ball or dinner, and he had to awkwardly talk to a woman wearing a mound of fabric. They never had anything in common. The other was at playhouses, which, until this evening, had been the one vice he’d allowed himself.

  Now he’d gone past vice and straight into sin. When he’d spent a sleepless night exploring the last Earl’s library, he’d found a stash of erotic material. The drawing of a woman spanking a bound man had fired his imagination and he’d taken himself in hand far too many times since then with it dancing through his head.

  When he’d at last had some time of his own, he’d come to visit the madam of The Secret Treasure, and she’d gleefully assured him he’d find exactly what he was looking for within its less than hallowed halls.

  “Right in here, luv,” the madam, an older woman with a deceptively mothering tone, delicately maneuvered him onto a stool.

  “I’ll let the lady tie your hands, she’s ever so much cleverer at it than me.” She patted his fully clothed back. “Do have fun, m’lord. Heaven knows you need it.”

  He didn’t think heaven had much to do with this place, but he still inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  She hustled out, her thudding steps muffled by the plush rugs underfoot.

  Ian wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he rested them on his legs, tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh. With his sight hidden, his other senses strained to decipher where he was. Somewhere a clock ticked, and there were dim, animal-like noises from the other rooms. With any luck, he’d be making such bleats soon.

  His fingers tapped faster.

  He smelled her first, the faint hint of roses. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

  The lady’s steps were careful, measured.

  “Oh dear,” a soft, melodious voice said. “My present is still dressed.” She tsked.

  Heat flamed his face. “Er, was I supposed to take my clothes off?”

  “I didn’t ask you,” she snapped, now much closer to him.

  Blast, he was messing all this up. His cheeks warmed further, even as his prick pushed with determination against the front of his breeches.

  A hand brushed his shoulder, then his cheek. Fingers slid into his hair. The rose scent was now mixed with the woman’s fragrance, something sweet with a heady touch of musk.

  “A Scotsman,” she said, but not as a question. “I haven’t had one of those as a present before. And a smart one, since you’ve held your tongue after I scolded you.”

  Dear Lord, he wanted to blurt out that he had liked her scolding but didn’t know if he was supposed to do things to make it happen or not.

  “This is your first time here, is it not? I don’t like to share.”

  Ian wanted to see this woman so badly. Was she scarred? Is that why he had a blindfold? At the moment he didn’t care if she looked like the back end of a donkey, he just wanted to know.

  The hand in his hair yanked his head back, and he squeaked a little. His cock throbbed, surprisingly pleased with the rough treatment. At the best of times, he hated being uncomfortable, winter was the very devil, but this was far different.

  A soft, wet tongue licked up his throat, making him moan.

  “I like how you taste, present.” She let go of him, her fingers working to untie his cravat. “While I unwrap you, I would like to know more about you and what will please you, so you may answer the questions I ask.”

  “Yes … what should I call you, Miss?”

  She pulled the cravat free. “Well, ‘miss’ by itself certainly won’t work.” Her pronunciation was very London, he found it endearing, even if it made his voice’s timbre sound harsh in comparison.

  “Do you have a name?”

  The woman laughed as she deftly undid the buttons of his waistcoat. “Of course, but you may call me Rose.” That was no more her name than it was his, but he supposed everyone kept secrets here. “Or M’lady works just as well.”

  He shifted on the bench. He liked that idea. It made him think of all the fine ladies he’d doffed his hat to in Edinburgh. Now they’d all blush and chitter at him if he sketched a bow, not just ignore him. It was disconcerting. A bit of blunt and a few mumbled words saying he was a nob and it was the difference between an unlit wick and one aflame.

  “M’lady,” he breathed. His knee jiggled. “I’m so sorry to be a bother, but I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.”

  Rose, her hand on him, walked behind
him to help him slip his coat and waistcoat off.

  “Well, that very much depends.”

  “On what, M’lady?”

  She nuzzled her nose into his hair. It was a riot of brown curls he was barely able to keep in check and he felt odd having a woman smelling him like that. Her fingers trailed down his back, cold even through his shirt. “On what you like, present.” She tugged the tails of his shirt out of his trousers. “Most of the gentlemen and ladies who come to see me want me to talk down to them, to use them, to whip or slap them. I am very good at those things. I very rarely even take my clothes off. I have one fellow who likes me to tie him up and then pleasure myself in front of him.”

  That was a tempting picture, Ian licked dry lips as Rose pulled his shirt over his head.

  “Some want to bow. I have a lady who licks my feet.”

  He smothered a chuckle because it wasn’t very nice to judge others when his own longings were so peculiar. At least he felt better about stating them now when he knew others were stranger still.

  Oh, that had been her point. Miss Rose was quite brilliant.

  She moved to stand in front of him again, her hands trailing from his bare chest, up his neck, to the blindfold. It dropped away, and he was greeted with a very exciting sight.

  The lady’s bosom, nearly spilling out of her crimson dress, was right in front of his face. He must have made a noise because her breasts moved as she laughed.

  “I think I have found something my present likes,” she purred.

  He nodded, his tongue too clumsy for words.

  It took a great deal of concentration to move his gaze from her lush tits up to her face.

  Miss Rose’s face, like his, was hidden by a white mask, but what he could see stunned him. Brown eyes with the barest ring of green at the edge and a voluptuous mouth with pillowy red lips nearly the same shade as her dress. Her nut-brown hair was tied up in a neat bun.

  He dropped his gaze, only to realize her dress was barely worthy of the name. It fit her torso like a second skin, then flared out into a skirt of sorts, or at least a wee bit of fabric that draped over her hips and barely skimmed her upper thighs. Her legs were bare, but she wore shoes with jeweled buckles.

  Ian tried to look up at her face again but didn’t get any further than her breasts.

  “I’m not a virgin, m’lady,” he said.

  She laughed again. “I didn’t think so, though I don’t think you’ve had the kind of vast experience that leaves men jaded. Some of those sorts come to me, but I’m not what they’re looking for.” She bent down, her gaze meeting his. “Now, my present, tell me what you really want.”

  He bit his lip. The desire had driven him here, surely he could easily voice it. He opened his mouth, but then stalled. “The madam said I should ask you about intercourse.”

  Her lips pulled into a smile. “Are you expecting it?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never so much as had a tup in an alley with someone I’ve given coin to. I am very new at all this.”

  She straightened up and walked away, her hips swaying. “By all definitions, I am a whore.” She turned to face him. “But if I fuck someone, it’s because I want to, and it’s extra. If you please me, I might let you pleasure me. Or I might pleasure you. To completion, I should add. Most of my patrons aren’t here for that. But you’re a pretty enough present that I find you tempting, my Scotsman.”

  Miss Rose tilted her head, regarding him.

  He worried she was a bit daft. He was no prize, being work-roughened around the edges and his hair uncooperative. Or she was being paid to say she found his body pleasant enough. That would explain things, but he wouldn’t worry about flattery. His cock thought her the most wonderful thing in existence and despite how deuced awkward he felt, it wanted more of her.

  “Remove your boots,” she said with an easy air of dominance.

  He did as asked, glad for a tip from a friend to not wear the sort you needed a servant to help take off.

  Setting the polished leather aside, he basked in her pleased nod. “Now stand and strip the rest of your clothes.”

  “M’lady—”

  “Do as you’re told.”

  He pulled off his bracers, but hesitated, his hands in front of the show his cock was making in his trousers.

  Her mouth softened. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen more than one erect cock. That it’s standing up lets me know you’re in the right place.”

  Ah, well, of course, she’d noticed, and yes, it did suggest he’d found somewhere he belonged.

  Keeping his gaze down, he undid the fastenings of his trousers and managed to get both legs free of them, along with his underclothes and stockings. Ian took a deep breath then stood with his chin up and shoulders back, his feet planted on the plush rug and his hands at his sides.

  Miss Rose licked her lips. “Oh my, you’re a treat.”

  She almost sounded convincing.

  “Now,” she continued. “I’m going to ask for the last time, why are you here? Why not pick some sweet young thing on the marriage mart and bed her? What will I do that she won’t?”

  “How do you know I don’t have a wife at home?” He didn’t, or he wouldn’t be here. He wanted to explore these things he craved before he went to the altar and began the work of making heirs.

  The smile on Miss Rose’s lips turned shrewd. “I’m enjoying your quick wits. I was guessing because you’re too young and sweet to be here if you had a bride at home. You’ve just confirmed it.”

  “Aye, well, you’re right,” he grumbled. How the hell had she done that? His cock pulsed in admiration. He narrowed his eyes as Miss Rose covered a smile with her hand, not sure he liked that she could read him like an open book. Ian wasn’t sure how he felt about this entire thing.

  She didn’t say anything, and it took him a few frustrating moments to remember what she’d asked.

  “I’m here to … because …” He blew out a breath. “Why is this so ruddy hard to say?”

  Miss Rose crossed the room, cradling his face in her hands. He cursed the mask, as he couldn’t feel her fingers through it. “Giving our fantasies a name makes them real. You’ve thought about this a lot, but now you’re here, and you wanted someone like me.”

  He closed his eyes but drew strength from how gently she held him and her soft rose scent. He didn’t know who this woman was outside these walls, and she didn’t know him. It was safe.

  “I … I was looking through my uncle’s … actually it’s mine now.” Oh for pity’s sake, he might as well announce his full name and title to her. “There were these drawings tucked away. Erotic drawings. Most were the standard sort of thing, but a few weren’t.”

  Her hand drifted down. “And one of those non-standard drawings caught your fancy.”

  Ian nodded, then gasped as a warm fist grasped his cock and stroked. “That’s distracting.”

  Miss Rose hummed and continued moving her hand.

  The bliss rose immediately, and he groaned, leaning into her touch. His hips thrust, seeking more.

  The hand disappeared and the warm body so close to his stepped back.

  He whined about being left bereft, his eyes opening to find her standing a few feet away with her arms crossed, her lips in a pout. “Before you try it, don’t touch yourself. This is punishment for not doing as I asked.”

  “M’lady—”

  “The next words out of your mouth had better be what I want.”

  Chapter 2

  Jane had expected an uninteresting night at the Treasure, one where she mouthed a few stock phrases while tying someone up and telling them they were naughty. She’d perked up when the madam had taken Jane aside the moment she’d arrived, still wiping off paint from her stage performance that night, and said a special guest needed attention.

  When she’d learned it was the retiring Earl of Whitecliffe, her interest had been piqued.

  The man himself, who was probably relieved that she appeared not to know him, wa
s spectacular. His accent, curls, and lean body that was so obviously interested in her and what they were doing was an extra treat.

  Heat she’d not felt in a long time simmered low in her belly.

  Jane understood his hesitancy. He had no experience with this world she was mistress of, and most likely didn’t know how to even state what was in his head. But his sweetness didn’t stop her from using his innocence to her advantage. She had a decent idea of what he wanted, but they’d never get anywhere if he didn’t learn how to communicate his desires.

  Whitecliffe’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug and he chewed at his lip.

  “Right, so.” He closed his eyes again. “One of the drawings was of a man tied up with a woman spanking him. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And that, um, that’s what I want.”

  His cock jerked, a bead of precum forming at the tip.

  “Wonderful,” she said. She’d thought it’d be something like that. What she didn’t know yet was how much pain would be pleasurable to him, or if the binding itself was needed, or if he’d do better with her words keeping him in check. He might even enjoy the kind of domination where he knelt at her feet and was humiliated.

  It’d take them several nights together to figure it all out.

  His fingers twitched, then he reached for his prick.

  Jane couldn’t have that. She snagged a short crop from a stand and strode back over to her present, rapping his knuckles before he could fist his cock.

  His eyes widened comically behind his mask and he shook his hand. “Sorry, M’Lady,” he said, like the good boy he probably wanted to be. “I’m just … uh … my …” He gestured at his prick.

  “While you’re in this room, your cock is mine.”

  He inhaled sharply and nodded.

  “It’s for my pleasure, do you understand?”

  He bobbed a very un-Earl-like bow while reaching for a hat that wasn’t there. He tugged at his forelock instead. “Yes, M’Lady.”

  It was so sweet she nearly apologized but stopped her tongue from blurting the words. For a brief moment, she wished she were someone else, a real lady meeting this man next to the punchbowl at a ball. They’d smile, awkwardly dance a waltz, and make eyes at each other for the rest of the evening. Then he’d call the next morning, offer for her, and they’d spend the rest of their lives making lovely babies while he doted on her and she rode him into the mattress every night.