Their Harlot Bride (Bridgewater Brides 7)

Prologue - London

Sassy

* * *

“Come here, you little whore,” Lord Carmichael snarled, his handsome face twisted in anger as he lunged at me. My heart was racing, my mouth dry with fear. I dared not let him get his hands on me, but I also knew this could only end one way. “I bloody own you now.”

“I’m not for sale!”

He laughed, a short, sharp bark of pure amusement and my cheeks flushed hot.

My services were for sale, just like every other woman in Mrs. Burk’s House, but I was not. Mrs. Burk could not sell me. At least, that was what I told myself. She and Lord Carmichael disagreed.

“I paid for you, and now, I’ll have you,” he vowed, his hazel eyes glowing hot, turning almost golden. A terrifying sight, I almost whimpered at the dangerous passion I saw reflected back at me.

The others had warned me about him when they realized he’d taken a liking to me, warned me Lord Carmichael was dangerous. His handsome features hid a mean streak. He was cruel. Obsessive. Another tart had gone with him, promised a position as his mistress after he’d paid off her debts to Mrs. Burk. She’d disappeared after leaving the house with him, never to be seen or heard from again. A month later, he’d reappeared at Mrs. Burk’s, looking for another woman to bed.

What was I to do?

Mrs. Burk found me on the streets after my father died, and the landlord cast me out. I had just fled the laundry, the only place I’d been able to find work, and my hands had been chapped and bleeding. I’d been terrified after the manager had pushed me up against a wall, fumbling at my skirts. I’d fought him off and run, but I knew he’d be at me again the next day—I had no choice but to return. I needed the money.

She’d cooed over my hands, held me while I cried as I told her my sad story, and promised me I could have a better life in her house. I would have a doctor to see to my hands, a room of my own, three meals a day, and beautiful dresses. I would be safe. There would be friends.

I knew what kind of house she was taking me to, but what did it matter? The laundry manager had wanted the same thing from me. At least this way, I would have a room with a bed and a full belly, too, two things I had not had since my father died.

She had cleaned me up, brought the doctor, taught me how to please a man, then arranged for my first night with one. It had been more pleasant than working in the laundry. The other ‘ladies’ had been wary of me at first, but when I did not cause trouble or try to poach their callers, they had begun to relax. They warned me about several of the gentlemen who frequented Mrs. Burk’s, including Lord Carmichael. I had begun to feel at home, and the work was certainly no worse than at the laundry, although I never experienced the bliss in my pussy some of the ladies claimed could happen.

Of course, there were debts. I owed her for the doctor, for my room and board, and for my dresses. She kept a strict accounting of every farthing she spent on all her ladies.

Lord Carmichael had paid that debt, and as he saw it, had transferred that debt to himself.

There was only one way this could end, and we both knew it, but I could not stop myself from trying to run from him. He was going to hurt me when he got his hands on me. It would not be the first time. Lord Carmichael liked to make women cry. The last time he’d chosen my services, I’d been left with bruises, welts, and a bite mark on my breast that had taken days to heal.

He’d had to pay extra before Mrs. Burk would let him back in the house. She’d been forced to call the doctor for me again, and I hadn’t been able to work for several days.

The knowledge that she had kept him somewhat in line only terrified me more. What would he do now that he felt he owned me?

I did not want to find out.

Tears sparked the back of my eyes at the hopelessness of my situation.

“Come here, Sassy, or else you will regret it,” Lord Carmichael said, almost crooning the words. The sadistic glint in his eyes told me I would regret it either way.

Still, I hesitated. The table between us was no real shield. If I ran to the door, I could not undo the lock before he caught me. I was trapped. Should I not at least try to placate him? And perhaps I could escape later…

He took advantage of my hesitation, and I screamed as he practically vaulted over the table. I turned, trying to flee, but his hand caught my long black hair, and I fell to the ground as he jerked me back, my scalp burning from the cruel pull. My hands went to my head to try to relieve the pain as tears spilled over onto my cheeks.

“Stupid cunt,” he growled, his hand wrapping around my throat as he pulled me up and back against him, cutting off my air. I tried to scream, but no sound emerged. My fingers scrabbled against his, nails digging into his flesh, but his grip did not loosen. “I’m going to fuck all your holes bloody, then I’m going to take you back to my home and use you until I’ve had my fill. Then I’ll turn you over to my men and let them have you.”

Panic, already beating against my chest, turned me utterly frantic. He let go of my throat to spin me around and shove me into the table I’d been hiding behind. The edge slammed into my stomach, knocking my breath from me, my upper body flopping down across its hard surface.

Behind me, I heard fabric shift, giving me a rush of energy.