Free Tight Laced by Roxy Soulé Page A

of understanding. She clutched his arm as though he were her rag doll, and had not stopped chattering since the coach left Cockermouth. “Will I have my own rooms with fine brocade linens?” she queried.
    “This came about so suddenly, Sarah Jane, we are not prepared at Blantyre Highmeadow to receive a lady. I must ask for your patience.”
    “And a room adjoining where Lala can come visit and we two can braid each other’s hair?”
    “Your mother has banished your sister,” cried Roland from the coachman’s seat. “She’s in hospital now!”
    “Oh, that’s right. Well, when she’s better.”
    Duke Darlington’s stomach sank to his groin. What had he done? Consigned the love of his life to an asylum for deviants? Even in the face of the mine tragedy, this situation loomed as the most terrible fate of all. He turned to Sarah Jane, and, trying to see past her puckered rashy skin, he commented, “I have many things to attend to once we’re home. You’ll excuse my absence, I trust?”
    “Yes, but first we must drink champagne from a slipper and then you’ll kiss me.”
    Champagne from a slipper? Whence did this girl’s references hail? He could no more imagine putting his lips to hers than to those of a sow.
    Lacy’s admonishment from the night before rang in his head: Darlington! That is my sister you speak of!
    The least he could do was respect her wishes. He forced composure onto himself and patted the girl’s hand. “All in due time, dear Sarah Jane.”
    She bounced in her seat like a child, “Faster, Roland, faster! Whip them!”

    At least they’d removed the wrist restraints, but Lacy found herself at the mercy of the horrid nurse (who really seemed to have it in for her for some reason Lacilia could not discern). She’d been forced to eat haggis and green potatoes, and now her stomach undulated in pain.
    The nurse shoved a vomit pan under her nose. “Maybe we should tight-lace you, Miss? Your sort seems to enjoy pain and agony.”
    Lacy gagged, but nothing came up. “Fresh air would do me right well. Any chance I could walk on the grounds?”
    “Nice try, Miss.”
    “Or perhaps you could crack the window?”
    The nurse groaned and grudgingly threw a sash. “I’ve got my eye on you, Miss. No funny business, now.”
    Lacy muttered to herself as the nurse left the room, and as soon as she heard the last of the clackity-clack down the hall, she leapt from the horrid cot and ran toward the cracked window. She bent over and stuck her nose in the tiny opening, breathing in the cold, autumn air. Bliss. Bliss! How long had she been interred? A day? A week? She’d lost track of time, utterly.
    They’d forced sedatives on her. In and out of a dream state she’d passed. And what of the charming, rakish duke? Was he actually now wed to Sarah Jane? The poor man. Had she unwittingly led him to his downfall? He must loathe her now.
    She breathed the outside air once more, taking it into her lungs deeply, and in so-doing, rekindled her tingle. Never had she had such a limbic response to a man. His smell, the dragon essence of him. The way he’d touched her and brought her to climax as if his mind and hers shared a body.
    She straightened, and listened for the nurse’s return. Hearing nothing, Lacy worked her fingers under the cotton asylum shift to the stubble of hair that was just re-sprouting. She stroked her mound with increasing urgency, and then slipped a finger just inside – her nubbin engorged quickly. She closed her eyes and pictured the duke’s erect cock, its firm girth, and the glorious taste of his nectar.
    She was close, so very close, and she could not contain the words that escaped: “Yes, Darlington, take me. Take me now!”
    Lacy’s knees buckled, and she crumpled to the cold floor in an ecstatic heap, coming hard. Her ears rang and she could hear her own breath. Her panting. Her heartbeat.
    That was the thing about her bursts of desire – she failed to consider the consequences