Bad Kitty (2 page)

He had already waited the customary few minutes before returning to the party himself. He straightened his clothing and rejoined the fray.

Katrina had bitten her bottom lip so hard, she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She swallowed and let out the breath she’d been holding. She couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed.

That vile man had defiled the duchess between the bushes like a common scullery maid. It was unthinkable!

Still, Katrina had seen the whole disgusting episode from where she sat in the shadows on one of the many garden benches. A furious blush rose to her cheeks when she recalled the depraved words the fiend had uttered to the duchess.

If we weren’t in earshot of your husband’s party guests, I’d bend you over my knee and spank your luscious arse.

And the duchess…

Katrina drew in a sharp breath. She’d had a view of the duchess’s face. Never would Katrina be able to erase the memory of the woman’s closed eyes, the rounded lips, the furrowed forehead or the harsh sound of her breathing punctuated by every forceful thrust. Obviously she had experienced something…exquisite.

No. The fiend had to have some hold over the duchess. He had to know some secret and he was forcing her to submit to his will in return for his silence.

Why else would a woman willingly surrender to such disgraceful acts?

Surely what Katrina had just witnessed was not really what happened in the dark between a man and a woman.

Her aunt had told her it was a woman’s duty to lie back and silently but fervently pray while a man took care of his needs. No woman
enjoyed
the act of sex. Did they?

No. It wasn’t possible to enjoy having a man see your most private recesses, much less poke and prod them.

Renewed spite for the man burned through Katrina’s veins and she resolved that she would do everything in her power to expose him and rescue women like the duchess from his evil clutches.

Chapter Two

With her spectacles on and disguised in the common attire of a maid, Katrina waited nervously in the hallway outside Bram Barclay’s study.

This was a mistake.

It was stupid.

She had certainly gone mad to be here like this. She had never dreamed the fiend actually interviewed potential servants himself.

Instead, she had assumed she would be whisked in to work anonymously until she could get enough information for her article and then she would make good her escape like a quick hare from the hounds.

She had been wrong. For here she stood, wringing her hands while she waited to be summoned into the devil’s lair.

The estate itself was the largest she had ever seen, with sprawling, well-manicured lawns and a massive manor house. While she had entered through the servants’ entrance, Katrina had still gotten a grand tour just walking from the head housekeeper’s office to this hallway.

Her gaze scanned the gleaming paneled walls that stretched upward to the impossibly high ceilings. The Barclays were an old, old family with strong connections to the crown. It only stood to reason their lands and estates would reflect their wealth.

Katrina’s breath caught when the big door swung open and a maid skittered out, rubbing her backside with both hands. Katrina felt her eyes widen as the maid gave her a red-faced look and then disappeared down the hall.

Heavens. What had she gotten herself into?

She had dressed like a boy to spy on various men of the
ton
to get fodder for her articles. She had eavesdropped on ladies while recording their conversations in her notebook. But she had never gone this far before.

Never.

The fiend himself appeared in the doorway. His sun-burnished cheeks were flushed and one corner of his full lips twisted up in a smug smile.

Oh God, what did he just do to that woman?

Katrina’s heart pounded.

“Miss…
Hartley
, is it?” he asked, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly as he took in her appearance. His smile faded.

Katrina cleared her throat. Her gaze clashed with his before she reminded herself she was supposed to behave like a maid. Standing, she kept her chin and eyes down as she dropped into a curtsey.

Bram flattened himself against the door to admit her but not so much that Katrina could not pass by him without her arm brushing his broad chest. Common sense screamed at her to turn and run from this place as quickly as her feet would carry her but she tamped her terror down.

Once this initial meeting was over, she could go about her business of collecting information for her story. She could save other women from the humiliations this man foisted on ladies like the unfortunate duchess and that poor maid who had left this room like a whipped pup.

A shiver tore through Katrina when she heard the door close behind her. Heart fluttering, she felt like a fox pursued by bloodthirsty hounds as the fiend stalked up behind her.

His hands cupped her shoulders and Katrina jolted at the unexpected touch. Heat from his palms radiated through her black cotton sleeves, mingling with the furious burning of the blood in her veins as it raced from the back of her neck to her cheeks.

She tensed.

“What is your given name?” he asked, his mouth only inches from her ear.

“K-Kitty,” she stammered, using the nickname her father had called her before his death.

“Well, Kitty,” he purred. “You are aware why women sign on in my service, are you not?”

She swallowed. Hard. “Yes.” Really, she had only a naïve inkling.

“Good. Then there will be no mistaking my commands,” he said and gave her shoulders a little squeeze before he released her and moved behind his desk.

With grace that seemed impossible for a man his size, he sat in his chair and appraised her.

Kitty kept her eyes lowered. She didn’t dare look at him.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. “You don’t seem like the women who usually come to me. Are you certain you are in the right place?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Then what am I to call you?” She made the mistake of lifting her shocked gaze to his.

A half-smile played on his lips. “You may call me…Master.”

That heat in Kitty’s face began to trickle downward. She resisted the urge to bite her lip and instead, she pushed her spectacles up on her nose.

“Once again,
Kitty
,” he said, emphasizing her name. “Are you certain you are in the right place?”

“Yes.”

The fiend raised a black eyebrow.

“Yes, Master,” Kitty added.

His gaze moved down her body with deliberate slowness and despite herself, Kitty felt her nipples tightening against her cotton chemise. Her thighs trembled as if the lecher could see straight through her clothes.

“I am a difficult man to please,” he said, and Kitty had the distinct feeling he was baiting her.

But for what reason?

His gaze traveled back up to her eyes and Kitty once more lowered her gaze.

“When are your menses?” he inquired bluntly.

Somehow, she stifled a gasp. “Pardon me?”

“Your menses. Your curse. When is it?”

Her face flamed. “What does…that…have to do with anything?”

He laughed as if she should know the answer to that question. “I need to know when to give you the week off. Now, when is it?”

Kitty still could not comprehend his meaning. Did he think menstruating women were unclean? Did he find them distasteful? New ire for him smoldered within her. “If you must know, I had my courses just this last week.”

He stared as if awaiting something else.

Realization flooded her. “Master,” she added quickly.

He relaxed into his chair. “Take off your clothes.”

Kitty’s gaze collided with Bram’s. “Sir?” Certainly she’d heard him incorrectly.

“My dear, are you hard of hearing?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, Master.”

“Take off your clothes. Strip. Down to your drawers. Now. I shall not repeat myself again, Kitty.”

Her lips parted to ask him why but he leaned forward in his chair. “Now!”

Kitty stared, debating. She could leave now. She could refuse. But then she would not have her story.

But dear Lord, what would he do to her?

Fear swamped her and she trembled as she reached for the buttons at her throat. She could not tolerate this. She could not submit to this.

“Get on with it,” he urged.

Her breathing quickened as, with shaking fingers, she undid the row of buttons down the front of her dress. Whatever was the purpose of this?

The earl gestured with his hands. “Off with it, girl.”

Hesitantly, Kitty pushed one sleeve down and then the other until her bodice hung around her waist and she stood with her top bared to her thin cotton chemise. Without looking down, she knew her nipples were pebbled and blatantly visible and the way his gaze fixed on them made Kitty even more aware of her breasts. She moved to cover them.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, his gaze warming as it lifted to hers. “The skirt as well.”

Kitty’s breath left her body in a ragged rush.
No!
Her brain screamed the word and yet her fingers untied her apron and let it fall to the floor. She could hardly believe it when her hands began unhooking the fastenings of her black broadcloth skirt. The fabric whispered downward, settling in a pool around her ankles.

Bram stood and Kitty’s knees went weak. Would he bend her over his desk and take her like he had the duchess?

Somewhere in Kitty’s mind it occurred to her if word got out that she, a chaste woman, was standing here in dishabille in this lecher’s study, she would be ruined, without any prospect for marriage.

But what did that matter?

She never intended to marry anyway and there was her article to think of.

“Is your thatch as blonde as the hair on your head?” he asked.

“Sir!” Kitty said, aghast.

Every muscle in her body grew taut as he came around the desk, his eyes narrowed into slits. “That is a fine chemise for a servant girl,” he said knowingly.

Kitty tore her gaze from his and cast her eyes to the floor. She had already overstepped the boundaries of any servant. She shook as he came impossibly closer.

“I paid you a compliment, girl.”

“T-thank you…Master.”

His devilish chuckle infuriated Kitty but she keep her eyes down while her mind raced at what he might do next. She was in over her head and she realized it. Common sense told her that as soon as she got out of this room, she should leave this place and forget she had ever come here.

“Now, are you going to answer my question or am I going to have to coax it out of you?” Bram asked, dragging her back to the present.

“Question?” What had he asked her again?

“Your thatch,” he ground out.

Kitty’s breath caught. “I’m not sure, Master,” she muttered. She was not about to confirm it was, in fact, the same color. What did he take her for? The same sort of licentious libertine as himself?

“Then let’s have a look at it.”

Her gaze swiveled to his. He could not be serious.

Oh, but he was.

This close, she could see that his eyes were the color of polished silver. This close, she could smell the scent of him, of his masculinity tangled with something spicy and clean. His hair was the blue-black of a raven’s wing and one dimple played on his otherwise chiseled cheek. A combination of chills and perspiration trickled down her spine.

“Draw up your chemise, Kitty,” he said, his voice low and husky like the rough nap of velvet brushed backward.

Everything Kitty had ever been taught about propriety and being a lady simmered beneath her frightened surface but still her hands were already clenching the flimsy fabric, pulling it up, higher and higher.

Cool air brushed her stocking-clad legs and the tops of her thighs, which were bare. Underneath she wore short cotton drawers, the only barrier preventing him from seeing her femininity.

“Remove your chemise, Kitty.” It was a command.

Something deep inside her clenched in anticipation as she drew the fabric up and over her head. Instinctively she attempted to cover her bare breasts with her chemise but Bram took it, tossed it across the room and caught her hands in his before she could move.

Kitty could hardly swallow as his eyes drank in the sight of her breasts, of her diamond-hard nipples. She held her breath, afraid of the slightest movement.

His hands were hot as coals on her wrists and she wondered what that same heat would feel like if he cupped her breasts or if he tugged on her nipples the way he had the duchess’s.

“Do not cover yourself,” he said as he released her.

A surge of something akin to disappointment swept through her at the sudden absence of his touch.

“Now,” he said. “Take down your drawers.”

Kitty’s heart ran wild as she tugged the drawstring that held up her cotton drawers. She even felt as if her pulse were beating in the crevice between her legs but the thought of exposing herself to this rake suddenly became unthinkable. How dare he ask her, a supposed maid in his service, to represent herself to him this way!

“No,” she said with authority.

He laughed and Kitty’s cheeks burned with shame and anger. She clenched her fists to keep from slapping the grin right off his face. This was enough. She had no business here. She started to dip to retrieve her clothes but he caught her and, before she could cry out, he had her bent over his desk.

His knee pushed between hers, prodding her legs apart as he easily held both her wrists in one hand and pinned them behind her back.

Kitty bucked until a resounding slap landed on her buttock. Shock immobilized her. Heat radiated through her bottom and, as the sting subsided, something else replaced it.

Something delicious that seemed to prick that throbbing between her legs, making it more acute, almost painful.

Part of her was humiliated beyond belief and another part of her yearned for him to do it again.

Would he?

She struggled.

Once more, the firm hand found its target.

Kitty heard a sigh and realized it was her own voice, sounding very reminiscent of the moans the duchess had made in the bushes that night. This should have been the most humiliating moment of her life and yet Kitty’s body rebelled against propriety, wanting more.

“Are you ready to pull down your drawers and show me your cunny, Kitty?”

Her pulse thrummed through her veins in a slow, steady, thick throb and all she could think about was assuaging this yearning between her legs.

What was she considering?

This man was a fiend. A deviant!