"Remove your clothes."
"What?!"
Sophia Latwicke stared at the man sitting in the chair next to her dining room table; not her dining room table exactly, but her former master's dining room table. God rest his soul. She backed up against the wall next to the hearth. Her former master had not been in the ground more than three days when the executor of his last will and testament showed up on her doorstep demanding to inspect the grounds, and now
her
.
"As I told you before, girl. Your contract will not come to term for another two years. Until that time, you are my property," James Gardiner said this with the calm one would expect from someone reading out of an almanac, "And I would like to see all of what I have inherited from my late uncle."
How dare he. Sophie knew that if his uncle David Farthing were alive he'd have the young man horsewhipped for saying such things to her. She stood her ground against this tall man who sat in her kitchen; his legs crossed with a foot resting on the knee of his breeches, regarding her with disdain as she spoke, "M... Mr. Farthing said this farm was supposed to go to me once Iβ"
"Yes, but you haven't, have you? I'm sure my sentimental uncle gave you his word that he was setting up a trust to entail the land as a dowry for you once you fulfilled your contract but alas, no such written contract exists, and he is dead. You won't find a judge in the whole of the Kingdom who would hold up verbal consent deeding my family's land away to a mere servant girl. Therefore, you are still bound to this land and its owner and therefore bound to me as my property," James came to this backwater dairy farm in Ashford only to assess the place and most likely liquidate it. He had no interest in his family's ancient profession; he was a gentleman, his home Westminster in London, albeit on the unfashionable side.
But that thought changed instantly as soon as he had seen her curly blonde hair falling out from under her mobcap, her overskirt pulled up into the hem of her bodice out of the way as she worked in the heat of the late July morning, cranking the lever of the well. Her breasts rode high over the edge of her chemise as her body pitched forward and back, pulling the full water bucket upward.
James watched her from his chaise and couldn't help but picture himself standing directly behind her as her body heaved forward, her skirts uplifted, thrusting deep into her luscious curves. He felt himself harden at the sight of her and looked down to his satchel where he had her Parish Apprentice Terms of Indenture. This dreary place may prove interesting after all. Now here he sat as the girl's new master, and she his indentured apprentice. He held the paper up for Sophie to see: the deed to her person. Her green eyes grew wide.
Sophie just stared at him in horror. How could he ask her such a thing? His cold gray eyes showed no emotion as he relayed these facts to her. His dress was that of a city gentleman. Not a nobleman with a powdered wig but one of the sons of the bourgeois, his dark brown hair tied at the nape of his neck with a black satin ribbon. She had hung his black frock and hat by the door when he entered. He was dressed in full mourning garb from the brim of his hat to his stockings. Sophie thought him strikingly handsome when she first him, but she could only see the beguiling devil under his appearance now.
"Now... Sophia," he peered at the contract, "Sophia? What kind of a name for a country girl is that?"
"It was after my paternal grandmother, " Sophie said, trying to humanize herself to him. Maybe that was the answer for having this man see her as more than just his property, "My mother died giving birth to me. My natural father was a lord. I was named after his mother."
"Oh, I see. That explains some of your noble features. You're the high-born progeny of a whore," he said snickering. His face returned to its previous seriousness, "Now, Sophia... I'll ask you for the last time. Remove your clothes."
She balled up her fists in rage, "You loathsome coxcomb; how dare you! Get out of my house! The only 'progeny of a whore' around here is you!"
He rose out of his seat, towering a head above her, and took a menacing step forward, "You will do as I say, wench; and if you do not, I will throw you into the gutters to make a living in the same manner as your mother!"
She grabbed a poker from beside the hearth, ready to beat his smug, handsome face into the wall behind him. Mr. Farthing would have done no less by now. Before she could look up to focus on her target, he was in front of her. His hand caught her downward swing, squeezing her wrist. The iron poker fell from her hand, clattering loudly to the floor. Sophie was too shocked to react quickly enough before James grabbed her other wrist, spinning her in place. He wrenched her arms behind her against him in one hand as he pressed up against her back, his freed hand at her throat. Her eyes widened in fear as the air left her body. She felt him inhale close to her hair, taking in the scent of her fear.
"Listen, girl," he said into her ear as he tightened his hold on her neck, "I was hoping we could do this the easy way. But you've left me little choice but to teach you a lesson in respect for your master."
His hand came off her throat and she leaned forward, her hands still held firmly by his. As Sophie bent over gasping for air she heard the once-familiar sound of a leather belt clearing its loops. That sound had preceded enough beatings at the orphanage for her to know exactly what it was. He was going to strike her with his belt as if she was a child! She struggled against him, waiting to feel the lash of corded leather on her back. Instead, he brought it across her wrists and bound them together, the leather squeezing her forearms behind her. He spun her around to face him. Sophie screamed, her eyes wild, "What are you doing?!"
James was enraged. How dare this little bastard milkmaid defy him, and then try to smash his brains in with a poker. She was lucky that she still had a place to sleep instead of being turned out on the street as he had originally intended before coming here. His rage started to dissolve into something far more powerful as he observed Sophia, bound in front of him, arms clasped behind her, milk white neck and bosom jutting forward invitingly. Her breath came in constricted pants behind her bodice, causing her breasts to rise and fall faster. Immediately, James was brought back to the lust that had inspired his first request of her. He grabbed Sophie's cap and threw it off her head, her long blonde tendrils rolling down her back.
"You are an apprentice, are you not? Consider this your first lesson."
He grabbed Sophie at the waist and hoisted her onto the oak table, standing between her legs as she swayed without the balance of her arms. He wrapped an arm around her to steady her and lifted her skirts with the other. He couldn't be serious! Her eyes grew wild and she kicked her legs out toward his lower back, losing her shoes in the process.
Grabbing a hunk of her hair, he steered her head back and to the side, exposing the long pale flesh of her neck. Sophie stood paralyzed in panic. He nipped at her collarbone and ran his tongue down to the crest of the heaving orbs of flesh below. He would teach her a lesson in obedience she'd never forget. If only he could stay in control. The heat of her body against his, the taste and scent of her flesh were driving him to madness. He needed so badly to be inside her, to feel this wild country filly around his hardening cock.
Sophie's struggle only sent her skirts higher, exposing long shapely legs covered to above the knee in stockings. James thrust a hand underneath until it met the hot bare skin of her inner thigh. Her flesh burned and twitched under his touch as his hand moved closer to the source of that heat. James felt his cock straining against his breeches at the touch of her. Sophie looked away, eyes squeezed shut and brimming with tears as he roughly ran his fingers along the soft down of hair covering her crease.