The Dowager Duchess of Hereford dragged in a shaky breath as she made her way through the crowded streets of Leeds. Fighting the fear that threatened to bubble to the surface, Willamina lifter her black silk gown out of the muck, straitened her spine and walked steadfastly onward. Though she couldn't resist casting occasional anxious glances behind her at the smiling nine-year-old boy and the grim-faced nanny clutching his hand.
Nanny Jones didn't approve of Willamina's mission. She had made that very clear when she described it with words such as 'foolish', 'reckless' and 'bloody daft'. The old woman was probably right, she usually was, but Willamina still had to try. She couldn't miss her last chance to see
him
again.
It was only by sheer chance that she had seen a poster advertising the execution of the notorious criminal Black Jack Turner in the market the day before.
Nearly ten years had passed since that day when she had met him, yet in all that time he had never been far from her thoughts. She could practically see it now- lost in the forest she had stumbled on Jack and his band of highwaymen. Every detail of her woodland ravishment was emblazoned in her memory; the power of their groping hands, the punishing pleasure of their cocks and finally the sweet sense of surrender that lifted her to the gates of paradise.
Her husband had not exactly been pleased when she had returned that night covered in sweat and other men's come. But once it was determined that she was with child, all was quickly forgiven. Nine months later she had given the Duke the one thing he wanted from a wife- a son. As the only child of a long line of unfruitful descendants Giles knew securing a legal heir was paramount. Even if that heir was a dark-eyed, raven-headed, little stranger.
With the Worthington legacy assured, in name at least, she and the Duke enjoyed a happy marriage due largely to the fact that they lived entirely separate lives. She had her beloved son John and he had his mistresses. That agreeable arrangement had ended nearly a year ago when Giles suddenly died of the pox leaving Willamina a wealthy widow of only thirty.
But there was no more time to contemplate the past as the present suddenly intruded. For she had reached her ultimate destination- the imposing stone archway of Bentlow Prison. Nothing about the location was inviting; from the severe architecture, to the grated windows, to the rank odor that hung about the place like an abattoir on a hot summer day.
After a few rapid knocks, the rusty wrought-iron gate creaked open. The fact that the gate bore an unfortunate resemblance to the yawning mouth of hell did nothing to quell her jangled nerves. Still, in she stepped clutching her basket close to her side.
Once inside it was surprisingly easy to gain an appointment with Warden Stokes. A few smiling words and a couple of coins was all it took to persuade the guards. In a matter of minutes she found herself waiting in his office. Outwardly she tried to appear calm but on the inside her stomach was turning summersaults.
Mr. Stoke entered proceeded by the sound of heavy boots and rattling keys. He was a large, imposing man with an air of command about him. He was slightly past middle age, judging by the grey shading at the temples of his chestnut hair, but still quite handsome with strong but regular features.
He was richly dressed in a suit of vibrant blue with shiny golden buttons down the front. A warden's income is reliant on the 'donations' of his inmates. Stokes showy garb was a calculated message to prisoners and their families that within his walls basic necessities and moderately humane treatment would not come cheaply.
He settled in the chair behind his desk, eyeing her shrewdly. Despite the outward appearance of gentility, he gave off a rather hard, menacing aura. Willamina couldn't decide if that frightened or excited her. Perhaps a little of both.
"I was told there was a lovely lady awaiting my presence and I see now that I have not been deceived." The warden said with a broad smile. His voice was low and as rough as burlap. "How might I be of service to you, my lady?"
"Well, Mr. Stokes, I-"
"Warden." He interrupted.
"Yes, warden." She fidgeted nervously in her seat, "I wish to be granted an audience with the prisoner John Turner."
He smiled at that though it didn't reach his eyes. "There are many ladies who would like to see that particular prisoner to offer him relief in his final hours."
"You mistake me sir." She replied sharply, bristling at his crass accusation and condescending tone. "The man is a distant relation and my kindly and quite wealthy grandmother would never forgive me if he were to end his days without a friendly face and a few creature comforts."
As she spin her yarn he snatched her basket from the desk and began riffling through it. He plucked a pastry from the linen-lined interior and sniffed it dubiously.
"A wealthy relation, you say. I didn't think such a notorious outlaw would have his roots in such exulted ground." Digging deeper, he took a bite of an apple he found there and then tossed it carelessly to the floor.
She watched the crimson orb roll across the ground before turning her gaze back to the smug warden. "This particular apple has fallen very far indeed from his ancestral tree. But even the rottenest fruit is a creation of god and therefore deserving of a little Christian charity."
Finally, he reached the bottom of the basket and the sizable bag of coins that she had put there. This time the smile made it to his eyes. In fact, they practically lit up like pound signs. The bag quickly disappeared into the pocket of his fine silk waistcoat.
"I see you are serious about performing your Christian duty." He regarded her from across his desk with obvious interest like a wolf eyeing a tasty hare. It was clear from that ravenous look that he wanted more than just a pecuniary payoff from her.
Willamina had hoped that a heavy purse would be sufficient to pay her way into Jack's cell but she had walked into that office willing to do anything necessary to achieve that goal. She knew that she was a beautiful woman with the kind of fine features and womanly curves that men seemed to find endlessly appealing. If her beauty was the only bargaining chip left to her then she would play it to full advantage.
"Entirely serious." She dropped her voice to a seductive purr.
"I'm not sure if my conscience would allow a lady of delicate breeding to meet with a notorious criminal alone."
"Be assured that despite my breeding I am not as delicate as I look." She leaned in so that he could get a good look of the two lush mounds of flesh as they spilled forward.
Taking in the view, he tipped back in his chair, thoughtfully stroking his chin. Before long a rapacious smile spread across his face as if he was the first cat to ever consider eating the canary. "Perhaps if we might find a way to test your fortitude."
"And if I satisfied your... conscience in the matter of my fortitude then you would allow me to see the prisoner?" She ventured.
"You have my word."
With that he rose from his chair and stalked towards her. Something about the predatory flash in his eyes momentarily shook her resolve. Before she knew what she was about, Willamina had leapt up and shuffled backwards until she was pressed flat against the wall.
Still, he advanced. She tried to hold back a shudder of apprehension but didn't quite succeed. While the gentleman was admittedly attractive, Willamina was disgusted by his apathy and avarice. So she was surprised to feel the tell-tale tingle of desire rise in her as he sandwiched her between the hard wall and his equally hard chest.
He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "So do we have a deal?"
She shuddered at the feeling of hot breath against her neck. "Yes."
"Good, now remove your dress." He announced matter-of-factly.
Willamina jumped to obey though her hands trembled. He didn't offer aid as she struggled to unfasten the elaborate mourning dress. Fearing she would lose her nerve, she tried to keep her gaze cast downward and away from the warden's tight breeches. Particularly the prominent bulge therein.
One by one she stripped off her gown and petticoats. As the cool air hit each part of her body it caused her delicate white flesh to rise in goosebumps, enhancing the sensation of vulnerability.
Only once she stood before him in nothing but a corset and stockings did she dare to raise her eyes from the floor. She watched his gaze upon her, roaming keenly over her body. It was rather obvious that he approved of what he saw.
Abruptly he grabbed her by the nape of the neck and forced her to bend at the waist so that her cheek was pressed against the cool desk. His hand caressed her raised buttocks before delivering a brutal slap. She bite back a whimper as fear and arousal warred within her.
"Lovely," he breathed. "A pearl of great price."
Her heart raced as she sensed him unbuckling his belt directly behind her. Her arms were then efficiently pinned together at the small of her back and the rough leather belt was being wound around her slender wrists.
She gulped, wondering just what she had gotten herself into. But it was too late for second thoughts. Her heart beat even faster when she felt his fingers prying open the lips of her sex. First one then two digits slipped into the snug passage. The slick, wet sound of his fingers entering her quim proved that despite her reluctance, she was not entirely unmoved by his actions.
