Product Description
My Lady Enslaved is the second book of Shirl Anders bestselling erotic Regency romance series called the Archangels. This dramatic and carnal adventure finds ex-spy Lord Harrison Ravenscar out for revenge. Erotic twists start quickly with a mistaken identity when he seizes the wrong woman for his vengeance and he forces innocent Chloe into being his sexual slave for revenge.
Captured between her deadly twin sister and Lord Ravenscar, Chloe finds herself kidnapped and imprisoned against her will. The coldly handsome and sexually arrogant Ravenscar refuses to believe her claims of mistaken identity as he propels her into the heady realm of submission. This is an adventurous and erotic tale of revenge and intrigue. HEA, m/f
Review, Vikky, Fallen Angels Review: "Such an erotic story I definitely recommend this regency BDSM to everyone." 4 Stars!
Favorite Lines:
She was naked!
. . . And now she knew why Lia had cut the back of her thigh, Chloe thought frantically, as she tried to twist away from the English nobleman’s hands. Only he held her pinned to his tall frame by one gloved hand tightening on her buttock. She could feel the press of his black satin evening clothes touching her naked skin from her knees to her breasts. All at once he tilted her head back roughly with his fingers on her chin. She whimpered in fear, caught helplessly against the heat of him.
“Who are you so afraid of that you would mar your own beauty so?” he asked harshly, twisting her chin higher.
Take the gag off, Chloe pleaded with her eyes. Take the gag off and I will tell you.
“Do not look at me like that,” he suddenly snarled, and then he released her, backing away. “Brandy-colored doe’s eyes on a venomous bitch!” he hissed.
Chloe watched him abruptly turn away from her and stalk to the chair where he grabbed up a black leather riding quirt from the richly padded seat. She instantly jerked helplessly against the restraints holding her wrists, seeing nothing but the wicked riding quirt as she watched him turn slowly and gracefully toward her once again. He was tapping the quirt along the outside of his muscled thigh.
“Beginning to understand, are we?” The expression on his rugged features was dangerous and lethal and Chloe clenched her eyes with a terrified whimpering sound escaping her throat.
He ought to whip her, Harrison goaded himself. He ought to flay Lia’s round sleek ass red! He ought to make her cry and whimper more. Damnation, why was she doing that whimpering, he thought viciously, as he watched her. Could she play the simpering game this long and not once express any hint of defiance, anger, or lethal revenge in her dark brandy-colored eyes? Not once! Only this fear and this helplessness?
Yes! Yes, she could. Lia was the best, he savagely reminded himself. Lia had fooled Napoleon himself. She was the consummate actress in the guise of an undercover spy. He raised the quirt and watched Lia’s incredibly lovely body shuddering as large crystal teardrops slid down over the red silk gag he had tied over her mouth. He stepped closer and she sobbed, quivering like a helpless frightened doe.
“Damnation,” he swore hoarsely, throwing the quirt across his bedchamber in a violent gesture as he stood straining like a beast against its leash, clenching and unclenching his scarred hands. He dropped his chin looking down at the black leather encasing those hands. Knowing whose fault it was. Damning himself for his . . . this weakness.
Captured between her deadly twin sister and Lord Ravenscar, Chloe finds herself kidnapped and imprisoned against her will. The coldly handsome and sexually arrogant Ravenscar refuses to believe her claims of mistaken identity as he propels her into the heady realm of submission. This is an adventurous and erotic tale of revenge and intrigue. HEA, m/f
Review, Vikky, Fallen Angels Review: "Such an erotic story I definitely recommend this regency BDSM to everyone." 4 Stars!
Favorite Lines:
She was naked!
. . . And now she knew why Lia had cut the back of her thigh, Chloe thought frantically, as she tried to twist away from the English nobleman’s hands. Only he held her pinned to his tall frame by one gloved hand tightening on her buttock. She could feel the press of his black satin evening clothes touching her naked skin from her knees to her breasts. All at once he tilted her head back roughly with his fingers on her chin. She whimpered in fear, caught helplessly against the heat of him.
“Who are you so afraid of that you would mar your own beauty so?” he asked harshly, twisting her chin higher.
Take the gag off, Chloe pleaded with her eyes. Take the gag off and I will tell you.
“Do not look at me like that,” he suddenly snarled, and then he released her, backing away. “Brandy-colored doe’s eyes on a venomous bitch!” he hissed.
Chloe watched him abruptly turn away from her and stalk to the chair where he grabbed up a black leather riding quirt from the richly padded seat. She instantly jerked helplessly against the restraints holding her wrists, seeing nothing but the wicked riding quirt as she watched him turn slowly and gracefully toward her once again. He was tapping the quirt along the outside of his muscled thigh.
“Beginning to understand, are we?” The expression on his rugged features was dangerous and lethal and Chloe clenched her eyes with a terrified whimpering sound escaping her throat.
He ought to whip her, Harrison goaded himself. He ought to flay Lia’s round sleek ass red! He ought to make her cry and whimper more. Damnation, why was she doing that whimpering, he thought viciously, as he watched her. Could she play the simpering game this long and not once express any hint of defiance, anger, or lethal revenge in her dark brandy-colored eyes? Not once! Only this fear and this helplessness?
Yes! Yes, she could. Lia was the best, he savagely reminded himself. Lia had fooled Napoleon himself. She was the consummate actress in the guise of an undercover spy. He raised the quirt and watched Lia’s incredibly lovely body shuddering as large crystal teardrops slid down over the red silk gag he had tied over her mouth. He stepped closer and she sobbed, quivering like a helpless frightened doe.
“Damnation,” he swore hoarsely, throwing the quirt across his bedchamber in a violent gesture as he stood straining like a beast against its leash, clenching and unclenching his scarred hands. He dropped his chin looking down at the black leather encasing those hands. Knowing whose fault it was. Damning himself for his . . . this weakness.
