Historical

Continues from chapter four Chapter Five Countess Alexandra Gladstone saw the shadow seconds before the white, bony hand gripped her face. The handkerchief was soaked with chloroform. Her next memory was of a tall, thin man with an abundant nose, locking her into a cage atop a wagon. Her kidnapper drove a Landau carriage; the wagon had metal bars to prevent escape. Alexandra’s screams for help were rendered silent by a steel spider gag, the ring inside her mouth attached to a wide black leather strap around her head. ...

Continues from chapter three_ ### Chapter Four The soothing rays of the sun awoke Countess Alexandra Gladstone. The gold light streaming into the bed-chamber enhanced her afterglow from The Bootmaker’s machine. As she predicted upon her arrival the day before at Brunel Hall, spring had returned to the Lancashire coast. Walking from the ornate bed, with its canopy in scarlet red with silver leaf, to the French doors, she slipped off the black silk robe as well as her corset, made of the finest leather in olive green. She made sure no one could see her from below and stepped onto the balcony. ...

Continues from chapter two_ ### Chapter Three The letter from The Bootmaker arrived six months to the day after Countess Alexandra Gladstone’s visit to his mansion. Breaking the envelope’s seal of black wax featuring its distinctive letter B, she read its contents with great haste. _> Countess Gladstone, I pray that you are well. I have finished your pair of boots. Please forgive me for my immodesty, but I am particularly proud of the result. The leather is of the highest quality I’ve ever secured and in an amount I had not anticipated. As a result, I have a surprise for you. It is the product of a new venture for me and you are the inspiration. I remain humble, for you will be the judge of my efforts. ...

Author’s note: I never expected to write a story that took place in Regency England, the favorite setting for Romance novels (also known as bodice rippers), but here it is. Many thanks toJennifer Harrison for providing details of Wiltshire and for channeling the thoughts and emotions of her ancestor and namesake. I groaned as I tried unsuccessfully to ease the pain I had endured since midnight of the previous day, locked in stocks that imprisoned my wrists and ankles in their implacable oaken clasp. Once again I strained to see if the sky was darkening, peering through the small barred window at the top of the cellar wall. My torture would last until sunset, if I survived it. But I knew I would survive this torture, even though my back ached from being bent so long, even though my muscles were tied in knots from their forced immobility. The thick wooden dowel forcing my mouth to stay open made it feel as though my jaw would drop off. ...