Lady Ravenstorm, Darla Tabbethah Wainwright, daughter of the Earl of Ravenstorm, awoke with a start. For a moment, she thought it was a dream. As she struggled to comprehend, a seemingly impossible situation crystallized. At forty and six years, the spinster daughter of an Earl was not given to vapours, but sometimes there had to be an exception.

Brightness left her blinking. A bed curtain and heavy window draperies had been pushed back, light of a full moon shining into her face. There was no mistaking the shape of a man looming over her, and he certainly wasn’t a transparent, ghostly apparition. One knee was pressing down on the side of her bed. Mouth opening on a sharp intake of breath, Darla wasn’t allowed a scream. Faster than sight, a hand covered her mouth, pressing her head back into the pillow.

“Damn!” the man expostulated. “I can’t read your mind!”

‘What?’ Lady Ravenstorm thought incongruously. ‘He Can’t read ... my mind?’

Before she could react, let alone blink, he was atop her. Her arms were trapped by a substantial weight and tangle of bedding. The middle-aged spinster tried to thrash free. Her legs were as quickly pinned, powerful knees wedging tight between her thighs. For the first time ever, the aristocratic woman felt the weight of a strong, virile man atop her.

Moments of terror gave way to hot anger. She tried biting the hand, but his thumb slipped under her chin, exerting an irresistible pressure that forced teeth together, keeping her jaw shut. Overpowered, furious, her thoughts reeling, Darla whimpered, rapid breaths whistling through flaring nostrils. After a few more seconds of struggle, she collapsed in helpless rage.

“How did he get in?” she wondered frantically, trying to absorb her situation. The Her bedchamber of her apartment was at least thirty feet above the ground.

Though still a bit muzzy with sleep, she found herself taking in handsome features.

Dark eyes were Focused on her forehead, and they looked bewildered. They were also glowing with flecks of incandescent silver. Darla stopped wondering about the how. Instead, she wondered who and why. One reason might be theft. The other possibility didn’t bear consideration.

“Cad!” she growled in her throat. “Beast! Monster!”

Nostrils still flaring, Darla drew in deep breaths, taking in every detail, determined that if she survived the encounter, she would be able to identify the rogue. She made certain his features were burned into memory; but of course, she realized that if this intruder killed her, that would be of no consequence. Still, as Lady Ravenstorm, this insult to her person was too much to be borne.

She dug in heels, tensing and repeatedly arching her body, attempting to buck off the man. Her efforts were futile.

Legs trapped, she couldn’t even bring a knee into his groin. Though a most unladylike move, lessons in defending her virtue had been taught her at fourteen by their head groom, a retired sergeant major of the Dragoons. Not until she was twenty-six had those lessons in self-defence proven useful.

One evening, during a quiet garden party, the portly, and persistent Lord Bathingate ketp flirting, finally getting too much.Somehow thinking himself a rake, the man tried embracing her after gradually separating her from the group of Ton ladies exploring his estate gardens. Unfortunately for the reprobate noble, Darla had been wearing a summer frock with only a single petticoat. With his arms wrapped tight about her, the portly rake must have believed she was surrendering when Darla grasped her skirts, bunching them higher than ribbon garters. Before his wet mouth captured Darla’s, her knee came up sharply between his legs with swift, crushing force.

Days later, whispers of gossip told of a doctor’s visit, and that mysteriously, severe damage had been done to the lecherous Viscount’s manhood. Unfortunately, this time she had to contend with a situation that was far worse. Between her and this assailant, there was no comforter, only a sheet, the thin wool of a summer blanket, and a cotton night-lawn.

When she continued bucking against him, the man let slip a sound rather like a growl.

Only then did Darla become aware of another fact. Large and long, a rigid shape was lodged between her thighs. However proper her upbringing, Darla had seen stallions mounting mares. She knew that signified male arousal. Now, she was confronting the prospect of being ravished. Beyond her wildest imaginings, Darla experienced a quickening hunger that started coursing hot through her sex. Despite covers and clothing, the substantial, very solid ridge was intimately wedged against her cleft. In spite of cloth barriers, he was parting those private, tender regions and rubbing cloth over her very special pleasure spot.

Darla gasped, writhed and arched. She couldn’t get away. Attempts to remove the man precipitated another unexpected consequence. Feminine regions were being stimulated, coming alive but in a manner far different from that caused by her tentative, caressing fingertips.

Now, her sex was being stimulated by independent movement, the pressure beyond her control. Astonishingly, she felt wetness, her body responding without conscious volition. A fiery blush coursed up her throat, heat tingling in nipples before pulsing through her nexus and inner thighs, rippling up through her womb. Somehow, any fear of defilement was lost in an uncontrolled, unexpected arousal. She was an elderly spinster, and technically a virgin, yet the man atop her stirred wants that inserting fingers never quite satisfied. Having what remained of her maidenhead torn away by force seemed unavoidable; yet, at the back of her mind, another thought niggled. After so many decades, maintaining that aura of virgin distance seemed ridiculous. One part of her wild thoughts was cheered by the prospect of being forced, losing whatever virtue still remained without being responsible. After all, at forty and six, she no longer cared much about maidenly values. For another few seconds, she thrashed frantically, struggling to be free. The man seemed immovable. Certainly he was far too strong and skillful.

“Lady Ravenstorm, please cease these struggles,” he quietly growled beside her ear. “I did not come to ravish you. I certainly intend you no hurt.” His breath tickled her, his fragrance assaulting her. He smelled of bay rum over something intangibly masculine and musky. Her nostrils twitched. She drew in his scent and shivered, finding that arousing. Even with his hand on her mouth, she managed to shift her face a little to the side, rubbing her nostril against his cheek, drawing in his scent. The contact was electric. He gasped, head jerking back as though stung.

Disappointed, Darla wanted that cheek back. It was clean-shaven and smelled good enough to eat. Thoughts still a bit dazed from that brief contact, she found herself staring at his mouth. His breath hinted of peppermint, his scent intoxicating, his parted lips seeming an invitation to kiss. Obviously misreading her reaction, he made his voice soothing, his English oddly accented with curious inflections. He was cultured, but not quite English, certainly neither Welsh or Scottish. She couldn’t place him, yet something of his face seemed vaguely familiar. She squirmed, trying to get him off.

“Damnation girl, I did not ... do not intend you harm. This is all ... a terrible mistake. I cannot read you, or control your thoughts, else, I would have your mind lost in a delicious, erotic dream, unaware of my presence. You would not have wakened this way, nor tried to make an outcry or toss me off!”

‘Delicious erotic dream? Girl?’

she thought, wondering, stilling as the words took root. Vainly, she tried to parse his meaning, the words quite puzzling. Darla stared up into glowing, predatory eyes and somehow, inexplicably, found herself believing him. She blinked, realizing that anger and her initial fright were gone. He had become an entertaining distraction, his cologne alluring, his lips and powerful body an invitation to sin. Even more disturbing, the hard pressure of his loins against hers kept stoking a profoundly carnal desire. However much a rogue, he was handsome, remarkably fit, and so very male.

Darla tried chastising herself, since those kind of thoughts were completely inappropriate and beyond the pale; yet, the evidence of a large, very hard erection had already stimulated a delicious response in her nether regions. More, her cleft and the thin cotton night rail were now beyond merely damp.

However much a lady, Darla Ravenstorm was not ignorant. Despite stuffy governesses, and their rigid training in Victorian manners, propriety, social graces and decorum, a bright, inquisitive child could still learn of things forbidden to little girls. A precocious child, and forever inquisitive, she managed to glean extensive knowledge about socially inappropriate topics. More than a few times she had eavesdropped or spied on servants busily indulging in pleasures. Before her teen years, Darla learned much about the mystery of sexual desires.”

Visits to the barnyards and stables often proved instructive. Barn cats were always producing kittens, the toms hardly discrete with their mating. Once, she watched from hiding as one of her father’s hounds mounted a receptive bitch in heat. The female whined and whimpered and the male panted, thrusting and thrusting, hind legs walking his stiff crimson rod deeper and deeper until all had vanished. Expecting the male to finish like bulls or stallions. She was astonished when they seemed locked together. Even after dismounting, they remained tail to tail for several more minutes. Only later, with a little secret investigation did she explore the male hound in detail, finding him eagerly compliant, helping her discover the full extent of his slippery shaft, and how swelling bulbs became a large, hard knot in her fingers. With that, she understood why the mating pair had been tied together. She also learned that, unlike a human, male dogs continually squirted copious amounts of seed.

On another occasion, when only a girl of fourteen, she witnessed a strapping footman bending a maid over the desk in her father’s study, that illicit coupling viewed from behind heavy drapes that concealed a window seat, and a voyeuristic young spy. With skirts and petticoats flipped up, his shaft exposed, the footman had plunged in no more than a dozen times, spent himself and pulled out. Darla estimated that The deed was done in less than two minutes. While the downstairs maid tucked a hankie up between her thighs and brushed down skirts, the footman merely tucked away a wet, much shrivelling instrument, leaving by a side door. Features rather disgruntled, the maid simply continued dusting furniture and shelves.

Darla hadn’t been seriously missish since her early years. However restrictive her life, she became addicted to trashy romance novels, then French pornography, entertaining a measure of erotic satisfaction through fantasy.

Now, Darla’s submerged desires were erupting like a volcano. Every time her attacker’s body pressed into that very sensitive, very private region, she had to acknowledge a lusty flare of need. Somehow, amid an angry turmoil, embarrassment became secondary. Thoughts shifted as each new sensation intensified her discomfort. Inner walls of constraint were crumbling. The stiff morality and strictures of polite Victorian society had long ago become tedious.

Not for the first time, Lady Darla Ravenstorm acknowledged that she had lost a token battle. Sexual need was clamouring for attention. However unlikely, this unexpected attack was stimulating and exciting, possibly offering the opportunity she had been denied for so many years

‘Propriety be damned,’ she thought, deliberately arching hips, delighted when she managed to rub awakened parts against the male hardness.

Instead of blushing with embarrassment, she gasped, delighted when an overwhelming swirl of delicious, pleasurable sensations surged through her core. Except in daydreams and the privacy of her imagination, Darla seldom indulged romantic notions. As the years advanced, she entertained forbidden fancies on various occasions, repeatedly daring to explore sexual feelings, touching and petting herself, finding erotic gratification in guilty pleasures. Finally, at thirty, she had even dared examine her sex in a hand mirror, finding the explorations fascinating, instructive and delightfully arousing. Even then, Darla tried to convince herself she didn’t need a man. Fingers and scented oils helped bring on a climax, providing delicious release. Nevertheless, she couldn’t escape the sense that down deep, she longed to experience total fulfillment. For a moment, she considered her attacker, wondering if she dare suggest that very thing. That thought did provoke another hot blush.

Hips starting a rhythmic movement, Darla thrust against him. He groaned out a garbled curse. She smiled, increasing the pressure. A hiss passed his clenched teeth.

“Please, young lady, stop doing that! Behave!”

‘Behave? Young lady?’

Her brows arched. However puzzling, those words, plus his earnest growl held a note of pleading that Darla found heady and empowering, even titillating.

‘Young? Me? Has he confused me with another woman?’ She wiggled, deliberately lifting and rotating hips. However bizarre, it was the first time that her sex had encountered the rigid bulge of an aroused male.

‘Perhaps inexperienced, but not at all young,’ she thought amusedly. However dry and dusty her life, Lady Ravenstorm acknowledged that longing, and her immediate craving was to feel her attacker naked, thrusting that enticing horn into her vitals.

She took pause to once again study the man’s face. He was really quite handsome, strong and virile. Though trapped by his weight, tangled in bedding and a nightgown, Darla began to feel in control. After a moment, she also felt delightfully wicked.

There was no mistaking the quality of that object pressing between her thighs. It was easy to glean a clear impression of large, virile manhood. That he still remained aroused gave her a curious satisfaction. No handsome men of her early acquaintance ever found her attractive. Most men of the Ton only considered her a financial prospect. As much as allowed by nightgown and bedding, she parted her thighs even more, hips lifting and rotating with slow provocation.

“Dam nation girl!” His word was hissed through gritted teeth. “I didn’t come here for sex, but I can promise you a good fuck if you keep rubbing that hot cunny against me!”

Darla flinched and blushed. His use of such explicit language was shocking, but the earnest behind his crude statement registered.