A Riding Crop for Two

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2013
Karyn
Gerrard

 
ISBN:
978-1-77130-309-5

Cover
Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor:
Marie Medina

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.
 
No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a
work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

My thanks to the readers who read my free read short story,
The Riding Crop, and contacted to me to ask: What happened to Gideon and Olivia
after they had run off together?

Here is the
conclusion to their erotic adventure.

My
thanks to Evernight Publishing, as always.
Also thanks to my critique
partner,
Gayl
Taylor, for her continued support and
help.
A nod to my own hero as well, just for being there.

A RIDING
CROP FOR TWO

Riding Crop, 2

Karyn
Gerrard

Copyright
© 2013

Chapter One

October 1887
London

On impulse, Olivia Durham had taken a man’s hand and followed him to
his townhouse on Hyde Park Corner. A man she had only met that same night, and
in all places, a brothel called The Riding Crop. Three days and nights had
passed since she made that hasty decision—a decision that would affect her future.

Olivia reached for the
pot and poured tea into the china cup. Perhaps she’d made a grave mistake. Lord
Gideon Broyles, Viscount
Cravenbrook
, had been her
customer. She’d been known as “Mistress Birch”. She wielded a riding crop on
her debauched clients. The act of sex was not part of her repertoire.

She raised the cup to
her mouth and took a sip and looked about the plush parlor. The room spoke of
class and money, something he had in abundance from what she could ascertain.
It seemed to be decorated in a rococo and Elizabethan mix, not that she was an
expert. What little she knew, she learned from books in her vicar father’s
abundant library.

Olivia’s thoughts
drifted back to the absent viscount. A few hours with ‘Lord Craven’ and she had
confessed her wretched past and agreed to come away with him. With a hasty
abruptness he dumped her at his townhouse and left for points unknown. She had
not seen him since.
 
His staff was
attentive and saw to her every need.
So much for his
emotional plea that they share everything.
Even now she could recollect
every heart-felt word he passionately spoke.

“I ask you to come with me. I swear you will not be my
possession, but my partner in all things. We will share it all,
Liv
. Life, joys, sorrows, sex, companionship, respect,
trust and who knows—love.” He held out his hand. “Take it,
Liv
.
Take my heart, for I am giving it to you. Take my hand and come away with me,
now.
Tonight.
This very moment.”

Apparently, somewhere
along the line, she had turned into a romantic fool. Olivia set the cup on the
saucer and placed them on the table. A frustrating anger roiled through her.
She should leave. And go where exactly, to The Riding Crop? Pan, the owner,
would welcome her back. She frowned. She owed him an explanation, far more detailed
than the scribbled note she’d left in her room. Pan, or rather James Sidle, had
taken her in off the street where her father had abandoned her. He gave her a
roof over her head, protection and friendship.

Gideon’s butler, Hobson,
entered the parlor and bowed.

“Is there anything else
you require, Miss Durham?”

“Yes, the whereabouts of
Lord
Cravenbrook
would do for a start!” she snapped.
Hobson did not even flinch at her sharp tone. Olivia exhaled. “Forgive my
temper. Do you know where he is?”

“His Lordship rarely
tells me of his comings and goings, Miss. He instructed me to see to your every
need and that he would return soon. He did not give me an exact date or time.”

She took another
fortifying breath to calm her irritation. “Please bring me pen, ink and
stationery. I will want a letter delivered. Is there someone who can see it
done?”

“Robert, the footman,
will be happy to deliver whatever you wish. I can show you to the study where
you might be more comfortable composing your missive.”

“No, I will do it here.
Thank you.”

Hobson gave a stiff bow
and left the room. She had to speak to James right away.

****

Gideon stared into the
contents of his whiskey glass. He had been staying at his club for three days
and drinking copious amounts of alcohol while he brooded in the main lounge. He
must have looked imposing and thunderous as most of the other men stayed away.

Impulsive behavior was
not something he could be accused of.
Until three nights ago
at The Riding Crop.
A golden-haired, voluptuous beauty with haunting
blue-gray eyes had captured his attention, and damn and blast, his heart. In a
few short hours they had shared so much, giving, taking—and trusting. He
brought her to his townhouse in
Mayfair
, and
then did not have the least clue what to do next. So he made an escape.
Coward.

The stark truth was he’d
met a woman as unhappy as himself. Add boredom into the mix along with a cold,
indifferent heart and you had the essence of Lord Craven, the nickname he
despised. The name Lord Craven spoke more to his sexual cravings, not for its
meaning of being of a timorous nature. For once, he lived up to the true gist
of the word.

He knew his scandalous
reputation reached every bedroom and parlor in
London
. He did not much care. His selfish,
sexual appetites fueled his existence these last several years. As long as he
received pleasure in his debauched adventures, he did not give a hang for
anyone else.

Until he met
Liv
.

Submitting to another
had not been on his list of sexual activities, but he did with Olivia Durham.
He closed his eyes, reliving the moment he’d grabbed the bedpost and let her
birch him with her riding crop. The sting across his back was exquisite in its
pleasure-pain. He exacted a price from her. She had to reveal her secrets. Damn
the woman, she did.

The intimacy that had
surrounded them felt potent and real. While they brought each other sexual
release, they did not engage in the act of sex.
A first for
him.

Gideon took a swallow
and let the single malt burn down his throat. The alcohol hit his empty stomach
in a fiery, raw blast of heat.

His weary eyes cracked
opened as he wondered if she was still at the townhouse. Perhaps she’d left. He
wouldn’t blame her if she had. He emptied the glass and set it beside him on
the table. The Dutch courage did not work. He would have to dig deep and find
his own. Considering his arrogance and over self-confidence in most situations,
this should not be a difficult task. However, where
Liv
was concerned, all previous actions and behaviors were thrown out the window.

His whiskey-soaked brain
struggled to sort through his churning emotions. He wanted so many things. He
wanted his empty life to cease being so bloody barren. He wanted to give a damn
about something—or someone. Feelings he had never felt before had bubbled to
the surface in those few, intense hours with
Liv
. He
wanted to protect her, care for her. Hell, he wanted to love her.

Enough wallowing
in self-doubt and pity.
First order of business, sober up. Next, back to Hyde Park Corner and talk to
Liv
—if she hadn’t fled.

****

Olivia sat in the quiet
parlor for several hours. The clock ticked the minutes away from its perch on
the fireplace mantel. Sitting next to her on the table was the letter she’d
written to James. She did not have the footman deliver it yet. The anger she’d
felt earlier that morning had turned into crushing disappointment. Her opinion
of men was decidedly low before. The one time she tossed common sense to the
wind and took a chance on a man, he’d let her down.

 
The door slammed, and men’s voices filled the
front hall. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Gideon? Her hopeful thoughts were
wrapped in anticipation at seeing him again.
Pathetic woman.
 
She placed her hands primly in her lap and
fought to keep her face impassive.

The door banged open,
and Gideon stepped into the room. He slammed the door closed behind him and
stood, legs apart, his gaze intense.

A sharp breath caught in
her throat. He looked wild and beautiful and appeared not to be in total
control. His obsidian eyes glittered with all manner of emotions. Did she
glimpse regret, desire, and doubt? Her gaze roamed over his six foot one inch
length. His suit coat was unbuttoned and his neck-cloth askew. Dark whiskers
were visible on his impossibly handsome face. His raven black hair tousled
either from the wind or his hand roving through his locks. Either way, he
appeared disheveled in appearance and from the look on his countenance.