Silver Silk Ties Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Raven McAllan

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-176-3

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Natascha Jaffa

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Doris for pushing me and making me believe I can, listening to my late night moans and providing virtual chocolate.

  To Cherie for my amazing web and blog sites, and the girls of UCW for being there.

  To Paul who puts up with dust bunnies, forgotten meals and a lap top permanently glued to my hand.

  And to all at Evernight Publishing who gave me this chance.

  Thank you all.

  SILVER SILK TIES

  The House on

  Silk Street

  , 1

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  The man who stood in front of her was an immovable object. In fact, Ara thought, one could almost say he was the epitome of the great ape she had seen at Exeter Exchange the week before. Except, it was possible that was doing any great ape an injustice. The one she had perused had intelligence and humor in his eyes. This man, she decided, had neither. He was overlarge in every way possible. Not only was he so tall she had to crane her neck to look up to him—and she herself was not a short woman—he had wide shoulders and an impressive girth. All bulk and no brains. She decided he was not a person to mess with.

  "I have to enter," she said for the third time. It was obvious he’d heard her. His eyelids had widened at her words, therefore, he could not be deaf. Would persistence pay off? Her body quivered with worry. She put her hands into her muff to ensure he did not see the way they trembled.

  "I must speak to Viscount Willingham." Once she found him, she would shake her brother. Until his teeth rattled. "I know he is within." She stopped to gather her thoughts. The ape needed to be made aware of the urgency of her demand. "It is of paramount importance." How she managed not to stamp her foot, either on or off his instep, Ara could not be certain. She held onto her temper with the greatest of difficulty. It had long been one of her personal diktats that more flies were caught with honey than vinegar, for all that she wished to be acerbic.

  Damn Willingham, why he had to slope off to his club when so much was at stake she would never know.

  Actually, I do know. His cock aches and his balls are blue. This is the only way that he is able to sate them. If I had those appendages, I fear I would be in the same state. As it is my mound is damp and my nipples hard as I imagine the delights to be had inside.

  "Well?" The ape had cleared his throat.

  "Sorry, marm. This is a private members club." Was that a glimmer of pity she could see in his dark eyes? "You are not a member. Members only. Invited guests, who have been notified to us well in advance. No deviations from the rules, more than my job's worth. And I have no knowledge of such a person." Evidently not.

  Now that I know to be a lie. I have oft followed him when he departs in a certain set of clothes. Those he wore tonight when he visited me were they. She opened her mouth to protest, just as he moved to one side. The door opened and a masked and caped gentleman exited the door and doffed his cap. Ara saw the coin that passed between them.

  "And tipping the doorman is allowed?" she asked in a voice deceptive in its mildness. The doorman flushed.

  "It is none of your business. Now, may I flag a hackney for you? It is getting late."

  She shook her head. Late? To most members of the ton, they would just be going to bed after an evening of frivolity. Only she, it seemed, was missing such jollities. "It is a matter of life and death. I beg you." And how it irks me to beg. "At least pass him a message and I will wait here until he exits." She opened her reticule for a tablet and pencil.

  "No, I've told you. I know of no such person. Just leave now, before either of us is in trouble. This is not for the likes of you." He glared at her as if he dared her to argue. Predictably, she did.

  "You lie. He is here, and so it seems am I. I will—I must speak to him somehow."

  He took a step towards her and took hold of her arm. Before he had a chance to do anything else, she jammed him in his ample stomach with her elbow. Caught unawares, the man bent over with a wheeze as he gasped in pain. "No need for violence, miss, you can't go in and you can't stop here. That's final. You'll put the members off coming."

  Ara choked on a splutter. Luckily the ape didn't see his double entendre.

  "Oh, I think I can." She looked at the flags below her feet and mentally sighed. It was lucky her pelisse was dark, and the pavement dry. "Do both," she said as he stared at her. His expression was one of bewilderment. With a gentle touch, Ara patted his arm. "No matter, you cannot be held responsible for your imbecility." With a shrug of one elegant shoulder, she lowered herself to the ground and sat down.

  "Hey, you can't go and do that." He looked agitated. "It's not right, a lady on the floor."

  That was not what she had heard. Ara smiled, and her eyes narrowed. His face mottled as if he was a turkey about to have his neck rung.

  "Miss, Marm." His voice was hoarse. "Please, for the love of God, remove yourself. It is dark, 'tis not safe for the likes of you. And,"—he rolled his eyes—"you'll get me sacked, so you will." She may sympathize, but could not back down now. Too much rested on seeing her brother.

  "May I go inside?"

  He shook his head. His hands clenched and unclenched.

  "Ah, well." With an insouciance she did not feel, she took one of the latest editions from Hookham's Circulating Library out of her spacious reticule and began to read. The lamp was perfectly placed to allow her to see the print. Nonetheless such was her agitation, it could have been written in Latin for all she understood. Her anxiety was too high to concentrate on anything.

  The stone flags were cold, the night air chilly, and her dress and pelisse nowhere near enough to ward of the chill as it seeped into her.

  My arse will be frozen. It will need a great deal of heat to warm it. Well, she thought, it seemed she was almost in the right place to rectify that.

  Ten minutes passed. She flicked the pages in an attempt to look enthralled. Another cloaked and masked figure approached, took one look at her, and hurried away. Twenty more minutes ticked by on the church clock she could spy over the rooftops. Three more mysterious people later, all who declined to approach, and she could feel the waves of frustration emanating from the doorman. He had eventually stopped rubbing his stomach, and had taken to glaring at her from a safe distance.

  At last the door opened and light streamed out, sending long shadows towards her. Ara wished she had not chosen a gothic horror story to read. Mrs. Fuller's prose was enough to send thrill and chills through her without any encouragement.

  A tall, elegant, unmasked gentleman stepped out. After one brief look, she kept her head down. It was one thing to suspect, another to have her suspicions confirmed.

  "Leyton, we are several members short," he said as he addressed the ape. "To say nothing of the entertainment. Is there any reason they should be held up?"

  It seemed the doorman was the so-called Leyton. Out of the corner of her eye, Ara saw him gesture to her. Her seat was partially screened by a bush from the doorway, but not
iceable to anyone who approached from the street. She had chosen that particular set of flags on purpose.

  "The lady over there, my lord. She has a particular yen to see Viscount Willingham, even though I told her I knew no such person." Had those last words been emphasized? Ara chose not to move. All of a sudden, a frozen arse seemed the last of her worries. This evening was proving to take a very different direction from the one she had expected.

  "Where? Ah, behind the bush. Is she hiding?"

  "No, my lord." The doorman's voice was lugubrious. "Scaring off the punters...I mean member…oh, tarnation. The…ah, visitors, your visitors, actors. Ah…"

  "Quite," said that well-known voice. "I will see what the young female wants."

  "Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that, sire," Leyton said. He sounded hesitant. "Not a young lady as such."

  Bastard. I may be three and thirty, but I am not in my dotage yet. As footsteps approached her, Ara resigned herself to the inevitable and sat upright, staring in the direction from whence they came.

  "Hello, my lord. Fancy seeing you here." She injected just the right amount of insouciance into her voice.

  "Araminta?" He sounded surprised, as well he should be. "Why are you here?"

  "Your oaf,"—she waved at Leyton—"would not let me in. I need to speak to Jeremy at once. It is imperative he returns home immediately. Father is dying and if he is not there at the last, anything not entailed goes to cousin Stanley. Aa Stanley is the attending physician. I have left Jeavons watching him closely, but there is not long, even a fool can see that."

  "What makes you believe he is at this, er, establishment?"

  "Oh, really, Felton," she said crossly. "I am not so gullible as to imagine Jeremy spends his leisure playing tiddlywinks, or spillikins," she said, her impatience showing. Although, she suspected he might well spill something! Truly men were so ignorant of a woman's intelligence. How could she show her hand in a ladylike manner? She decided she couldn’t. She took a deep breath. "I neither know or care how he is tied up this evening." I could but wish I had the chance to indulge so, but I may as well wish to be spanked until my cunt weeps. Neither is likely to be forthcoming. "He must untangle himself and return home post haste. We all know he could not sustain his indulgent lifestyle with only the entail, and I for one am not prepared to share my own inheritance with him or any man." She paused and said with deliberate emphasis, "As you, my husband, should know."

  There was silence. His lordships eyes sparked fire and Ara thought she saw amusement in them at her well-chosen words.

  "I am sure he does, my lady. Alas, I must deny your access. Leyton is correct, only members and their pre-arranged guests are allowed through the doors. You are neither." He may as well add or ever likely to be; the cad.

  Fire swept through her body at the appraising look he gave her. Does he wish I could be?

  "No, I expect not." Her tone was cordial. "Although, you also admit performers?"

  "If the committee agrees. No one else. You are not one."

  She smiled. Ara knew it was not a pleasant smile. Her body was too taut, too fine-stretched for it to be so. The color ran under his skin and one brief glance showed her his cock proud and hard outlined by his pantaloons. She moved in for the kill, as a predator in the wild would do. He had never seen her aroused. That was to his detriment and her favor.

  "I think you err, my Lord Dalrey. I suggest you read your lease." Her voice, she hoped was like liquid silk, soft and seductive as it curled round him.

  His eyes were like arrow slits with molten metal behind them. Not a man she knew to be swayed by sensual things, his look sent long lost sensations of arousal through her. Her quim tingled and her juices flowed at the expression on his countenance. If a man ever wanted to gain the upper hand by any means, his demeanor showed him to be that person.

  "I beg your pardon, Lady Suster?" The name was a knife in her side.

  "Your lease, third page, clause eleven." Her heart was breaking as she took a deep breath. Why now call her that? Her nails dug into her palms to steady herself. The pain kept her equilibrium for her. "The owner shall be permitted to enter at anytime, to inspect the premises without prior warning."

  He nodded. Enlightenment swept over his face as she paused for effect. He held a hand out to her, and she took it to help her to stand. His touch sent goose bumps up her arm, and a low throb began in her cunt. He stroked her palm with his finger. All Ara could think of was how that finger would feel stroking her quim.

  Stop that. He does not know what you like, or desire. Nor does he want to. Be thankful for what you have. Or are about to receive.

  Once on her feet, she dusted herself down briskly.

  "You do remember that clause I presume?"

  He nodded.

  "Good, then let us go in. Lead the way, Lord Dalrey. I am the owner and I am exercising my prerogative, whatever name you chose to call me." She took a sheet of vellum out of her reticule and handed it to him. "As you see."

  He took it with one hand and scanned the copperplate writing.

  He dropped her other hand, just as swiftly as she had dropped her bombshell.

  Chapter Two

  Fuck, now what? Felton picked up her hand again and kissed it. Why had he used the name of her late husband? Why did he not address her with her new title? He could kick himself. It could be arranged for someone to do so. He chose not to listen to that voice.

  "My love, you need not. I will see if he is within and send him home. Do you not think you should be there?" He hoped he did not sound as frantic as he felt.

  "Why?" she asked him. "Why should I be at home? My husband is not. Nor it seems, am I your love."

  Sparks flew from her eyes and hit him as tiny daggers, piercing his heart. He had an idea she would not listen to his answer.

  "Truly, my dear, you should not be here."

  "Truly, my dear," she said and her tone mocked him. "Nor should you."

  Felton thought she had a point. How could he tell her what demons chased him out of his marital bed?

  "Araminta," he said. "I beg you, give me leave to have someone find Willingham, wherever he is, and escort him home. Let me find someone to escort you to your papa's side. I will join you later."

  Her eyes shone with unshed tears and his heart sank. He had brought her to this and had no idea how to cure it. Unless… No his mind shied away from the one thing he desired. Araminta would be horrified. Or would she? His balls were rigid, his cock rock hard as he saw the glint of battle spark in those deep grey orbs.

  "Felton, you know as well as I, he will not wish to see me. I am his disappointment. I have long accepted that, and it matters not. Willingham has to be there. As for you? You may lie to yourself about your reasons for leaving me on our wedding night, but do not lie to me. I was married, happily married for five glorious, exciting, and too many, perverted years. I have done more than most, and less than others. Why do you think George left me this building and told me his plans for it? Why—" She paused, and her tongue slid between her lips and traced their contours. His dick did a cotillion at the sight. "Do you think he admired you so?" she continued. "Demanded I allow you all this?" Her arm swept out to encompass the grey stones of the building. After one swift downward glance, she lifted her gaze back to his face and ignored his rampant erection. "Why he told me to ensure you could continue to have this place for your activities. Why I was to reveal my position as owner when I felt it was time?" She shook her head, and he saw amusement obvious on her face. "Let us be clear here also. Why did he make sure all he left me was sewn up so tight no future husband could acquire it as is the norm?"

  He was silent. What could he say? He had no answer, except, possibly, I want to bury my cock so deep in your arse my balls will slap your cunt as my hand reddens your globes? Even though his newly wedded wife professed to know all things dark, he was sure this would be beyond Araminta’s ken. He had heard no rumors about the proclivities of her late husband, or indeed met
him in any clubs he had frequented. He wondered how the true name of the owner of the building had been kept from him. The ton seeped secrets like a leaky bucket.

  "So," she said once the silence had lengthened to discomfort, "let us go."

  He let out the breath he had not realized he was holding. To his amusement, his cock deflated as a pigskin bladder bereft of wind. She let him place her hand on his arm and he moved away from the building.

  The tug on his arm rocked him on his heels. The swat to his rear made him spin round.

  "I said I wish to go inside, Felton. As is my prerogative. The fact you are trying to be helpful makes no difference. Already I suspect your doorman will have hurried inside to dispatch any excesses you think fit to hide from me." Her fingers drummed a rapid tattoo of impatience on his coated arm. Each tap gave him the urge to respond with a similar chastisement on her bottom. Thrice over. Even so, her prosaic statement made him laugh.

  "You are wrong. He is standing slack-a-jawed watching us, wondering if I am about to castigate you for that tap to my arse."

  He felt a shudder go though her, and heard her gasp.

  "Ah, and are you?" Her breath came in pants and he saw a sheen of perspiration appear on her soft skin. Felton's body tightened in desire. Did she truly desire such delights? He feigned not to hear. Not then, he had a lot to think about, it seemed, before he sat down and spoke with frankness to his wife.

  She tilted her head up to him. Her dark curls were beginning to come loose from her elaborate hairstyle. Felton had to clench his hands tight to stop himself from discarding her hat and hairpins and using it to pull her to him. He wanted to tug until he made her moan, pull her to him, and wind it around his hand to hold her where he desired. Instead, he bowed his head. Who looks the sub now? he wondered.