A Regency Ravishment

A/N: This is meant to be a two-part story while I rework and retool the plots of my other stories. It's set in the Regency era and is a shameless bodice ripper. It's also sort of slow and takes its time getting to the juicy stuff. Please rate and leave a comment! It means a lot for newer authors like me.

***

Anne Musgrave, daughter of Sir Phillip Musgrave, was the darling of East Venmel. With her dimpled smile, unruly locks, and curvy figure, she had captured many hearts at the local dance assemblies. Town gossips would often say that in the summer of 1803, almost every single young officer of the Royal Navy, and quite a few married ones too, were smitten by her. Not that she cared. She took her father's wealth and her beautiful looks for granted, as most young ladies of 18 or 19 years do. If life ever threw any obstacles her way, she would overcome them with a winning smile and her father's coin. For his part, Sir Phillip thought his dear daughter could do no wrong and deserved the very best. As far as she was concerned, the word "no" did not exist in his dictionary.

Which is why he surprised them both one morning when he thumped his hand on the mantelpiece and shouted, "No! Absolutely not!"

Anne jumped. "But Papa, we love each other very much!"

He scoffed. "Love! What has that got to do with marriage? This boy has no prospects."

This was not strictly true. The "boy" in question, Oliver Wentworth, was a commissioned officer in the Royal Navy. The war against Napoleon had begun and there was a tidy bit of profit to be made for enterprising young officers. All she had wanted was the chance to marry him and legitimise their relationship before he left. Her father disagreed on all counts.

"Mark my words, Anne. The only thing he truly 'loves' is your generous dowry and the title your family holds. I know all about him and the company he keeps. Gambling and whoring, hoping for a rich wife to both enable, and turn a blind eye towards, his misdeeds."

"Papa!" Anne gasped. "What do you mean by gambling and w-whoring?"

Her father looked at her in anguish. "It pains me to speak this way in front of you, my dear, but 'tis the truth. Young officers care simply for pleasure, not honour, and besides, you have been promised to your cousin since he was born."

"Who, Phillip?" It was Anne's turn to scoff. "You cannot expect me to marry him simply because he carries your name and will inherit your title. He is but a child!"

"And so are you, if you think love will put food on the table and keep a roof over your head!" Her father roared, and then began to cough and wheeze.

"Papa!"

Clutching his heart, he collapsed as she rushed to his side.

"Papa, what's happening?"

He looked at her piteously, grasping her hand in his as he wheezed. "Promise me, Anne. You will not marry him. For your mother's sake and mine. If you love me, if you ever did, you will obey me in this."

Tears clouded her eyes as she screamed for help.

The butler ran in, took one look at Sir Phillip, and paled. And just like that, her only parent, her biggest supporter and source of comfort, passed away.

The doctor later told her he had had a heart attack and attempted to gently inquire what had transpired to make her father to agitated. But Anne did not respond.

What was there to say? That she had killed her own father because an ineligible bachelor had made her believe she loved him, all the while he spent money gambling and surrounded by ladies of the night? She could not even discount what she had heard. She knew Wentworth gambled; she had heard many an officer bemoan his losses at the tables, but she had never realised the true extent of his depravity.

She wept over her father's lifeless body until she was dragged away from him. She wept as her lady's maid brought back black clothes from the local tailor's. She wept the entire day and night, feeling bereft. And in her grief, she missed Oliver. Because with her father's passing, he, too, had become lost to her.

He came to visit her the next day, asking to see her. But she had instructed the staff to tell him she was not taking visitors. At night, he threw stones at her window, entreating her to at least talk to him.

She buried her head under the pillow and ignored him. She blamed her foolish affection for him for all her pain and loss. She blamed him for stealing her affection when he should have known better. The only thing to do was bury her father and move away from the place that had been the cause of so much pain for her.

Days went by in a stupor. Yet, Lieutenant Oliver Wentworth never stopped trying to visit her. He even turned up at the funeral, beseeching her quietly with his eyes, drawing murmurs from the crowd, as well as a curious gaze from her aunt, who had come to take her home.

Angered and alarmed, she dragged Oliver away after the ceremony, away from prying eyes. "Why do you persevere in tormenting me thus, Lieutenant Wentworth? Have you not done enough?"

"Please, Anne." He clasped her hand in his and brought it up to his heart. "I do not know what has happened. I do not understand why you are avoiding me. Let me make you feel better. I'm here for you. I cannot fill the void your Papa's loss left in your life, but I will do my utmost to cheer you up every day, I swear on my honour."

"You have no honour," she hissed. "For you shamelessly seek me out even when I do not wish to see you. You haunt my home's grounds at night without a care for my reputation. Not everyone indulges in recklessness and w-whoring like you!"

He stiffened and dropped her hand like it had burned him. "Whoring? Is that what you think of me?"

"And worse," she retorted. She did not know where the anger was coming from. She did not even know if she truly believed what she was saying. But in that moment, she only wished to hurt him the way she had been hurt.

He gripped her shoulders and shook her. "Did your dear Papa tell you that? What else did he tell you? I have gambling debts which only your sizeable dowry will alleviate? That I am a degenerate who was only looking to use you?"

"You do not deny it!"

"Why should I?" His anger was palpable. "I had hoped you would know me and trust me, as I know you and trust you. But I knew I was asking too much of a spoiled chit with more money than sense. I curse the day we met!"

She broke free from his grip and slapped him.

For a moment, there was utter silence.

"I leave for my aunt's manor tomorrow." She winced inwardly at her tremulous tone, before taking a deep breath and speaking in a cooler voice. "I must formally end our engagement, brief though it was."

"I see." His eyes were cold, his tone icy. "Go, then. It would not do you good to be caught alone with me."

He was right. She would be compromised, right on the day of her father's funeral. Steeling her heart, she abruptly turned and fled.

***

Ten years later.

"Come on, Phillip!" Anne whispered. "Thirty minutes. That's all I ask. You did promise."

Sir Phillip Musgrave, Anne's cousin, sighed deeply. "I say, old girl, you take an awful lot of advantage of my goodwill and honour."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You inherited my father's title but none of his wealth, Phillip. Now if you wish me to continue funding that lavish lifestyle of yours, you might as well take me for a spin so I can see what the fuss is about."

She stepped up to adjust his cravat, breathing in his comforting scent of soap and tobacco. Then she adjusted her own clothes, smoothing them over and checking to ensure her ample breasts were hidden under the men's attire.

"I should have just married you," Phillip grumbled. "Then I wouldn't have to suffer this indignity and you would have to listen to me."

"Good thing I refused." She winked, and then jumped out of the carriage and held her arm out as though she were a dashing gentleman and he, the lady. "Now, shall we?"

He grumbled and cursed some more, and then stepped out, ignoring her hand. "Thirty minutes. You will not interact with anyone beyond the simplest of greetings. You will not drink anything that I do not give you with my own hands. And you most certainly will not wander away from my eyesight."

She rolled her eyes. "Looking at you, someone would think you're the older cousin, not I."

"Yes, and remember, Mr. Smith, today you are a young man of one and twenty, not a spinster fast approaching her thirtieth birthday."

They walked into one of the most infamous dens of iniquity in London, Phillip's eyes moving rapidly as he scoped every possible threat, Anne's own widening as she took in the sights.

"Stop gawping," Phillip snapped.

"I'm not gawping, I'm just looking," she shot back.

Sighing, he pointed her towards a chair in a well-lit area by the fireplace. "Go sit there. I will grab us drinks and be back in a jiffy."

"Why can't I come with you?"

"Because there are too many damned acquaintances at the bar, aren't there? I don't want to have to introduce you to everyone!" He looked so agitated, the poor boy. She really had pushed him too far this time in her quest for adventure in London.

"Fine," she huffed, and walked towards the chair, while her cousin walked off in the opposite direction, towards the bar. The seat was comfortable and there was a newspaper for her to read. Did men come to these sorts of degenerate places to read the news? Something told her that was not true, but even being there was enough excitement for Anne for now. She began reading, content to wait for her cousin's return.

Having said that ... Phillip was taking an awfully long time, wasn't he? It was perhaps a good idea for her to check up on him, lest he had fainted while attempting to pretend he was here with a man. She checked her pocket watch surreptitiously. It had almost been 20 minutes since he left her. Knowing the clod, he would probably come back at the thirtieth minute and ask her to leave immediately.

Putting her newspaper down and sighing, she weaved her way towards the bar. Without Phillip's warmth, she suddenly felt exposed and raw, overstimulated by the sights and sounds around her.

Everything was loud, raucous laughter and rowdy conversations ringing through the air. Through the heavy plume of cigar smoke, she could see many well-dressed men of all ages and sizes, gambling, drinking, and doing...other things. With ladies in revealing clothing and masks on their faces. Before her eyes, one man lowered his head to the swell of a lady's breast, giving it a little nip. He grabbed her by the hips and ground her closer to himself when she gave a little yelp and tried to break free.

Her stomach did a flip flop when she saw the way his hands grazed over the woman's behind. There was a tug in her private area, the place she would touch herself when thinking about him.

Dragging her eyes away and blushing furiously, she quickly scanned the room for her cousin. He was lean and of slight build, but she should still have been able to see him, tall as she was.

"I can take you to your friend if you like," a low voice rumbled behind her, making her jump.

She spun around to look at the man who had addressed her, only to feel her heart drop to her stomach. It was him. Lieutenant Oliver Wentworth, all though perhaps he had received a promotion by now. The years that had passed since their last meeting had been kind to him. His face, once youthfully round, was all hard lines and planes. His hair was still flaxen but it was longer now, tied back carelessly to give him a rakish appeal. But his most riveting feature remained his eyes, now a lighter shade of blue, still as piercing as ever.

While she took him in, heart thumping, he cocked his head to the side, his full lips tilting upwards in a teasing smile. "You are Mr Smith, yes? Sir Phillip - ah, suffered a sartorial mishap, by which I mean that he spilt his drink on his trousers. He awaits you in one of the private rooms upstairs."

"U-upstairs?" she squeaked, before coughing.

Oliver had not recognised her. This, she was certain of. Even if she were not dressed as a man, he would not have recognised her. The same way that he had grown handsomer over the past decade, she had grown plainer. Her figure was no longer as pleasing ever since she had lost so much weight due to her grief; combined with her height, it made her look gangly. Her skin looked pale and bloodless instead of glowing and pink. And while her dimples still came out when she smiled, it was so very rare that she smiled to begin with, except in that false manner one does in social situations, and even then, the joy would not reach her eyes, now dull and without their exuberance.

For a heart stopping minute, he observed her, from head to toe. It could have been her imagination but his eyes stopped at her breasts, even though she had tied them up tightly and worn a baggy coat to hide them. But as seconds passed, he said nothing, instead nodding politely. "Upstairs, yes. He sent me to pass on the message."

"Why you?" This time she ensured her voice was deep, all though it still sounded squeaky compared to Oliver's gravelly voice.

"Because this establishment belongs to me, of course!" He spread his hands and laughed. "He did tell me that his friend Mr Smith was from the countryside and knew very little of London, but I must say that it is very refreshing indeed to see you. Now come along, young man. We must not keep your friend waiting."

Draping his hand over her shoulders, he began to steer her towards the staircase.

Something was wrong. She tried to weasel out of his grip but it was strong as a vice.

"Now, now," he said, voice dropping low. "Do not resist, my dear Anne. Surely you know of the scandal that would arise if people knew it was you parading around as a man, in London's most notorious gambling hell."

He had called her by her name. He recognised her. This was making no sense. He was supposed to be in the Navy. Not here, not beside her, not murmuring threats into her ear.

"Oliver," she implored. "I don't understand what's happening. Where is Phillip?"

"Upstairs," he repeated, no longer smiling. "You have my word, Anne. I will take you to him safely."

Pursing her lips, she allowed him to lead her up the staircase. The thought of screaming and attempting to get away from him did cross her mind, but it would be futile. If people found out who she was, scandal would rock London and follow her back home. Besides, despite how things had ended between them, Oliver would not hurt her. This, she was sure of.

The crowd was thinner on the first floor, and non-existent on the second. Being alone with him was wreaking havoc on her nerves. The silence stretched between them, becoming more unbearable by the second.

Clearing her throat, she tried to make small talk. "It ... it's good to see you again."

He looked at her once, surprise and contempt flashing on his face, but did not respond. Clearly, he did not feel the same way.

"I'm, um, glad to see you survived the war. All though I would not have imagined the son of a Vicar to own a gambling den."

This time he did not even bother to look at her. "I have done a lot of things that you would not have imagined me to do, Anne. Here we are." He stopped her outside a room. The heavy ornate door was heavy and thick but she could still hear muffled sounds."

"Wait, what's happeni-?"

Before she could complete her sentence, she was pushed inside the door, into the room. It was dimly lit and it took her eyes a moment to adjust, but she could make out her cousin's shape almost immediately. He was slouched on the chair, gagged and tied. Beside him were two burly looking men, glaring at him.

"My former crew's handiwork, is it not nice?" Oliver said, casually. "If there is anything the Navy teaches you, it is tying a knot."

Nervousness turned to fury as she rounded on him. "What do you think you're doing? Let him go this instant!"

"With pleasure." He nodded to his men, who untied Phillip.

She tried to rush towards her cousin but Oliver stopped her, grabbing her by the waist and holding her back. "Where are you going, Anne?" His tone was deceptively mild, but his grip was menacing.

"Let me go! You promised me no harm!"

"I promised to bring you to your cousin safely. I did not say I would let you leave with him safely."

Phillip tried to yell something from around the gag. Oliver stared him down coldly. "My men will take you away from here, Sir Phillip. If you know what is best for your cousin's reputation, you will not attempt to make a scene here. Or she will be utterly compromised."

"I don't understand." Tears were starting to overwhelm her. "How did you even know we were here?"

"I know everything that goes on in my own establishment, Anne," he said, voice hard. "Your disguise might have worked on others, but I saw through it the second you stepped through the door. And I knew then, that very second, that I could not let you go this time."

As he spoke, his hands worked to tear the powdered men's wig from her head, before starting to tug at the pins painfully, setting her hair falling around her face.

"Stop!" She screamed, and Phillip once again attempted to throw himself at them.

"Take him away," Oliver said to his men. "Restrain him in another wing. And see that he does not leave before morn."

"Oliver, no, please!" Anne begged. "Do not do this to me."

"Keep begging, Anne," he said, undoing her cravat and popping the buttons of her collar. "It really gets me going."

As she struggled, he ran his finger down her cheek, to her neck, tracing her collarbone, and then the top of her breasts, until he cupped one and squeezed lightly.

"Tell me, Anne," he growled. "Have you wanted me to do this to you, ever since our first kiss that night on the balcony? Have you burned for me like I have for you?"

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't do this."

"Stay still, dear Anne," he whispered, turning her around and dropping feather light kisses on her neck and shoulders. His hands went down her side, before grabbing her own and placing them against the wall. "Do not move your hands, or I will have to punish you. Do you want to be punished?"

She shook her head but did not dare look back at him. Her body started to tremble as he undid the buttons of her shirt, letting it fall open.

"Look at the way you have bandaged yourself to flatten your chest." He almost sounded amused. "It is like a pretty little present, waiting to be unwrapped by me."

In the dark, aware of nothing but the feel of his hands on her body and the brush of his voice against her ear, she thrilled and ached. Suddenly, it was not fear of punishment that kept her obedient, but the promise of pleasure. She closed her eyes and imagined his face, eyes dark with desire like they had been all those years ago, gaze intent upon her. And then she hated herself for feeling this way. And she hated him for making her feel this way.

She began struggling anew, finally lowering her hands in an attempt to get away from him. She would not stand by meekly and allow him to have his way with her.

In an instant, he had swept her into his arms, forcing her to cling to him or risk falling. He carried her to the chair and forced her onto his lap.

Slap.

He smacked her bottom, making her wiggle in shock, which made her twin globes all the more enticing. He slapped her again, his hand coming down hard on her naked flesh.

"No! Stop!" She screamed from her awkward position, trying and failing to right herself.

"Do you like being spanked, my dearest?" He drawled. "I must say I quite enjoy it. Perhaps you should disobey me more often."

As she struggled against him, she started to feel something hard poke against her belly. Memories of animals rutting in the countryside overwhelmed her, and she panicked.