A/N - This work is set in the same universe as my other regency novelettes but can be read as a stand-alone. It is NOT a romance. Trigger warnings include manipulation and intimate partner violence. Huge parts of the story will be told through the perspective of the abuser, who seems to neither realise nor care that he is one.
***
On an early December night, at the London Townhouse of the eighth Earl of Applefield, Miss Millicent St Vincent found herself tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Insomnia had been her childhood companion, and it had only worsened ever since her dearest friend, Lady Vivian Applefield, had become engaged to a rather handsome baronet.
Despite the fact that Millicent had precipitated the betrothal by happily inducting the gentleman into their women's liberation club, she felt dismayed by this quick turn of events. Why, it seemed like only yesterday that she and Vivian had been encamped against the wall at parties, carelessly guzzling champagne and plotting to get Lord Applefield to table a Bill in Parliament on improving the rights of married women. And then, seemingly overnight and out of nowhere, Vivian had announced she was affianced to the man who had often sent her brooding looks from afar, permanently sending their world into disarray.
It was all a bit sad, really. Two bluestocking spinsters were fearsome forces of nature. One bluestocking spinster was merely an aberration. And the last thing Millicent St Vincent, the little orphan torn between her mother's working-class family and her father's noble one, wanted to be anymore was sad or aberrant.
You should have just married Sir Stubbins when he offered for you last year
, the ever-disappointed voice of her aunt Poppy, the Viscountess St Vincent, said in her head.
He was not a day below sixty, and he had been a tradesman before being knighted, but he was
something
at least.
Good old Sir Stubbins had been
something
, all right, Millicent remembered with a snort. Not wasting any time after his failed proposal to her, he had married an eighteen-year-old miss and promptly gotten her with child within the space of a few months.
Oh, but this would simply not do. She needed to find a distraction fast, given that she was now pining over a sexagenarian she had met but five times in her life. With a sigh, she got out of her comfortable bed. The question was, how was she to amuse herself with Vivian snoring so soundly?
When in doubt
, Aunt Poppy's voice lectured,
embroider!
Shuddering, Millicent pushed the overly decorous woman's opinions out of her mind and decided to head to the library instead, taking a single, flickering candle with her.
On second thought...
She paused. The Earl's library housed a respectable collection of tomes, but it was his son and heir's study that held the truly good stuff, those books full of wicked drawings and detailed descriptions that made her stomach flutter. And given that Golden George (named after his hair, not deeds), the Viscount Byrne, was still away on his travels, there was no chance of her getting caught.
Feeling very naughty, she rerouted her steps to the cosy study on the ground floor, making sure to be as quiet as possible. The first time the girls had perused those volumes together, Vivian had launched into an intellectual discourse on the artist's offensive choice to fully expose the nude, doe-eyed girl in the sketches, while only showing the back of the clothed man towering above her, and that had quite dampened the fun. Millicent had actually liked not knowing the man's face, for then she could imagine whoever she wanted in his place, touching and kissing
her
instead of the girl. And if the man in her fantasy happened to look remarkably similar to her friend's older brother, then well, that was only to be expected, given that he was her closest male acquaintance outside of actual family. It was the least of her transgressions against George. After all, here she was, traipsing into his inner sanctum for a taste of adventure.
Her heart racing, she began to rummage through his desk, before finally finding the book she was looking for. Flipping it open, she peered closer at the drawing of the same doe-eyed girl, whose hands were between her legs, fingers parting the lips of her sex while one reached inside her canal. The girl's face was contorted in what looked like agony, but was more likely pleasure.
Her breathing hitched as she turned another page, and then stopped entirely when she heard a scratching noise at the window. As her head whipped in its direction, there was a soft rattle, and the window started to open.
Alarmed, she backed away, accidentally knocking the book to the floor. She winced at the sudden noise.
A tall, sinewy form stilled in the act of climbing inside. "Who's there?" It growled.
Oh God oh God oh God. The Applefield residence was being broken into and she would be found murdered in a room she had no business being in. She could already see the pained looks of Aunt Poppy.
Always her mother's daughter,
Poppy would say sorrowfully at her funeral,
all my attempts to civilise her were for naught...
Millicent knew that her chances of getting to the door and outrunning the intruder were minimal. There was nothing to do but attack while she still had the benefit of surprise. Murder was more acceptable to society than being seen by a fully conscious man while in one's nightclothes; this, she was sure of. Clutching the candlestick, she rushed at the shadowy figure and swung wildly.
He ducked at the last minute, but she still managed to catch his shoulder, making him grunt. And then his features, pained as they were, became clear to her in the moonlight. And going by his extremely incredulous look, he had recognised her too.
"
Mousy Millie
, it's you!" Her friend's brother exclaimed.
"Oh, hello, George," she said, trying to hide her mortification behind an air of polite indifference. "Back from your travels already?"
"Just today, and then someone at the gentlemen's club told me my sister was engaged, so I decided to come here directly instead of waiting till next morning." He gave her a wry smile, tugging at her heart. "I had hoped to get inside without waking anyone up, but here you are, my personal welcoming committee."
Suddenly realising she was in nothing but her sheer chemise and thin banyan, she hunched inwards, while still trying to appear nonchalant. "Ah, yes. I - um - was walking past when I heard noises and thought to investigate. One tries to stop a burglary when one encounters it. Naturally."
"Naturally," he agreed amenably, finally climbing inside and closing the window behind him. He gestured to where the erotic book lay facing up, open at a particularly egregious page. "And you thought you would make a detour to my desk and do a bit of light reading before apprehending the burglar?"
His query seemed innocuous, but the air was charged with something now, and it was making her mouth dry. "I do not know how this book came to be here."
"Oh, I think you do." With a cat like tread, he advanced upon her, dark eyes glinting in the scant light. "I think you knew what this book contained and came to take a peek. But if you were curious, little mouse, you only had to ask."
She backed away, but he was faster. Without warning, his lips were upon hers.
She froze, unsure what to do. On the one hand, the soft pressure of his lips upon hers was dizzying. On the other, Aunt Poppy would surely not approve.
"Loosen up, you peagoose," he whispered, licking the seam of her lips and encouraging her to part them. "There, see? Like that."
She moaned in pleasure. Sparks were dancing on her skin and butterflies fluttered in her belly.
Her sounds encouraged him and, with a growl, his hands dug into her hips and pulled her close to him, fingers kneading her globes.
"George-"
"Shh," he said, kissing the spot where her pulse jumped in her throat. "Millie, I never thought you would taste so sweet."
He had thought about tasting her?
With a gasp, she backed away, pushing him off and brandishing the candlestick that was somehow still in her hand. "I - I will hit you again!"
"Why, because I kissed you without permission?" Hands raised in mock surrender, he grinned. "Look at you, terrified as ever, little mouse. Go, then. And do not let me catch you alone again, for no candlestick will stop me."
Not waiting for him to finish, she turned and bounded up the stairs, back into her room and into her bed. Heart pounding, she relived their kiss. Drat, she definitely would not be able to sleep
now
!
***
The next day, at the breakfast table, Lady Applefield was harassing her son, talking about making a list of eligible matches for him.
"Mama!" Vivian interceded. "I understand that George can be deeply repellent to the female sex," - as if to prove her point, she waved at his ridiculously handsome face, somehow rendered all the more appealing by his crooked nose - "but surely he can find himself a wife without you needing to bother everyone here."
"Everyone?" Lady Applefield peered around the table. "Why, it is only you and Millie here! Speaking of which, Millie dear, your cousin made her come out this year, did she not? I hope she is not already attached?"
Ah, yes, Minerva. With her rosy cheeks and dimpled chin that made Millicent's own pale, pointy face and brown hair look very nondescript indeed. No wonder George continued to called her Mousy Millie. All though he would perhaps desist now that he had kissed her. Surely when men kissed women, they decided to compare their brown hair to something poetic and beautiful and not a mouse.
"Mother!" The man in question erupted. "I am hardly going to marry a chit fresh out of the schoolroom."
"Why not?" His mother asked airily. "It's not as though any half-decent young lady remains unwed well into her twenties."
"Mama!" Vivian complained.
"Oh, besides you, my dear, but even you are now betrothed." Her mother patted her hand indulgently. And then she looked guiltily at Millicent. "And also you, dear. But your case is...
