Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph

Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Fri, 06 Dec 2024 20:23:13 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Slow Burn (Properly Spanked Legacy #4) Read Online Annabel Joseph http://www.ilovenovels.com/slow-burn-properly-spanked-legacy-4-read-online-annabel-joseph Fri, 06 Dec 2024 20:23:13 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/slow-burn-properly-spanked-legacy-4-read-online-annabel-joseph Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Authors: Annabel Joseph Series: Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)

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The Earl of Augustine is the last of his friends to hold out on marriage, though he knows he must give in soon. After years pining for his heart’s love, Felicity, he’s considered a less-than-ideal prospect, and his whispered reputation as a rakehell disciplinarian doesn’t help. At least he’s not having troubles like Wescott’s youngest sister, the mysteriously perceptive Lady Elizabeth, who’s suffered three broken engagements on her way to nuptial bliss.

Alas, such bliss is not guaranteed. August finds himself compelled to play the hero when her fourth engagement ends with spectacular cruelty before all their family and friends. Their hasty marriage of convenience solves problems for Elizabeth and August, yes, but creates problems too. For August knows he can never reveal the depth of his debauched hungers to someone so innocent and vulnerable, lest he hurt her even more than she’s already been hurt…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

A Piano Lesson

Oxfordshire, 1826

Lady Elizabeth Morgaine Drake lowered her head, her gaze focused upon her gloves as the carriage pulled into the courtyard. Already, an excited flush heated her cheeks, despite the cold outside. Did her chaperone notice? She brought Larissa to her music lessons precisely because her middle-aged cousin tended to be an absent and unobservant supervisor. Elizabeth looked out the window at Lord Augustine’s stately country manor, then gathered her piano music from its place upon the cushion. She hadn’t touched it all week, by design.

The tall, heavy door opened as she approached, the somber-faced butler admitting her and Larissa with a deep bow. Elizabeth’s father was a duke; she’d grown up accustomed to such scraping and bowing, though it always seemed silly to her. Her father was the distinguished and powerful person. She was just his youngest daughter, flighty and strange, given to whimsy. Whimsy indeed, her conscience chided. These lessons have become too whimsical by half, and you to be married to the Marquess of Fortenbury at Christmas.

She shrugged off such thoughts. Why, a wife ought to improve herself, and Lord Augustine was one of the most talented musicians in London. Truly, his artistry knew no bounds. Her artistry, however…

The butler took their hats and warm, lined pelisses, and guided them through the manor’s grand foyer, past the polished, winding staircase, and into the formal parlor, where the customary setting of biscuits, cocoa, and tea were laid out for their enjoyment. “I shall inform my lord that you have arrived for your piano lesson,” said the butler, bowing again.

“We’re rather early,” said Elizabeth.

“No matter. If you wish, you may proceed to the music room to practice before the start of your lesson.”

“Thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

Larissa collected a plate of fresh biscuits as a maidservant poured tea. Elizabeth looked about the parlor, thinking what a lovely house Lord Augustine kept in the Oxfordshire countryside. St. Pierre was an old family mansion, half done up in a modern way and half left to history. Elizabeth felt ghosts here, but they were the benevolent kind, the sort that had settled in with contented resignation and had no impulse to haunt at all. The windows admitted the afternoon light, and a generous fire crackled beneath an ornate oak mantel, ensuring a perfect temperature.

“The cinnamon biscuits are my favorite,” said Larissa. “I believe they’ve just come out of the oven.”

“Lord Augustine knows how much you like them. He instructs the cook to make them for us on piano lesson days.”

Well, for Larissa. Elizabeth felt too nervous to eat, or perhaps she was too enthralled by August’s great, fine country house. Many things enthralled Elizabeth. Everything had an energy. She listened and learned from that energy and perceived more sometimes than she wished to. It took some time before she realized herself isolated in this ability. Others could not intuit the things she did.

Of Larissa, she perceived a harmless personality: goodness and a deep love for biscuits, sweetness, and comfort. Of Lord Augustine’s butler, a fervor for duty somewhat tempered by an impatience for womenfolk. Of her husband-to-be, Lord Fortenbury, she sensed deep rectitude and faith which made him seem solid. Her father called Lord Fortenbury an “upstanding gentleman,” a summation with which she agreed. He was a wealthy, lofty peer, quite handsome, and a good marriage prospect. He was certainly the best prospect she could manage at this point, with her history of broken engagements.

She’d hardly come to know the first marriage candidate, Lord Cole. He’d died in a tragic digestive accident, choking upon a fish bone shortly after their betrothal was announced. She’d very much liked her second fiancé, Lord Sylvanbrook, until he’d succumbed to a brain apoplexy in ungenteel surroundings mere days before their nuptials. She’d been very, very wrong about his suitability for marriage. Her third prospect—her third!—had died in a fall from his horse two weeks after he’d proposed to her in her father’s study. A fall, her parents said, but she learned later he’d sailed over his horse’s head and into a tree because he’d been racing with a friend.

People had wondered at that, why she had not foreseen this outcome and tried to prevent it, as if she had such specific powers of precognition. As if she might foresee that a horse would stumble! Perfect strangers ascribed all sorts of mysterious powers to her, which was utter nonsense. If she’d known Lord Greyfield might die, of course she would have tried to prevent it. Greyfield had been handsome and virile, if somewhat avaricious of her dowry. One hadn’t needed special powers to understand that. She sensed less avaricious leanings in Lord Fortenbury, which improved his stature as a fiancé.

As for Lord Augustine, she had known him so long and so well that her perception of him contained too many feelings and energies to dissect. Which was nice, in a way. Sometimes she didn’t wish for nagging observations about this or that companion. She only wished to exist with that person. Her closest friends were not readable, merely comfortable.

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Mad With Love (Properly Spanked Legacy #3) Read Online Annabel Joseph http://www.ilovenovels.com/mad-with-love-properly-spanked-legacy-3-read-online-annabel-joseph Sat, 15 Oct 2022 22:39:05 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/mad-with-love-properly-spanked-legacy-3-read-online-annabel-joseph Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Historical Fiction Authors: Annabel Joseph Series: Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)

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The Viscount Marlow’s got a reputation for wildness and wicked behavior. He’s earned the nickname “Mad Marlow” through years of determined vice, but now he’s in love with his friend’s sister, the glitteringly pure Lady Rosalind. She’s kind, polite, obedient, and well-respected—in short, everything he’ll never be. Whispered promises and a secret kiss lead to a marriage proposal, one her protective parents dismiss out of hand.

That should be the end of their provocative love affair, but instead, it’s the beginning of a journey fraught with deceit and danger, and passionate disciplinary sessions for a young woman Marlow fears he’ll never deserve…

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

A Rabbit Funeral

London, 1823

George Bernard, most commonly known as The Honorable Viscount Marlow, leaned against a tree in his friend’s town house garden, surveying the crowd of mourners from his vantage point near the back. At the garden’s edge, beside a small, white memorial, his friend the Marquess of Townsend delivered a eulogy for his wife’s deceased pet rabbit. A fully serious eulogy, spoken with great tenderness and not a hint of dry sarcasm.

Lord Townsend, the driest of dry at sarcasm. Lord Townsend, formerly rumored to be heartless.

This was the same Townsend who used to spank the courtesans at Pearl’s for looking at him the wrong way. Lofty, cynical, stick-up-his-arse Townsend, now lovingly eulogizing Bouncer the rabbit before dozens of guests because his wife had cared for the creature as a pet. What had come of the world? What had come of him and his friends’ raucous bachelorhoods? Why were all of them here in Townsend’s back garden paying tribute to a dead rabbit who, incidentally, had been consumed by Lady Townsend’s pet python?

He shook his head, then disguised the movement by jerking his long hair out of his eyes. He was here mourning the rabbit too in this unforeseen new existence. Reckless, dashing, you-mustn’t-marry-him Marlow was standing amongst all the others with his head bowed in respect.

To a rabbit.

Lately consumed by a snake.

He stifled a sigh and shifted his weight to his other foot. Could he leave yet? He liked both Townsend and his wife Jane very much, but if he had to withstand another moment of their cloying affection for one another at this damned rabbit funeral, he might well scale the tree he stood beside and fling himself from its highest bough.

He allowed himself to imagine, as an amusement, his own funeral following hot on the trail of this one, perhaps in this same garden for convenience. Would the ton mourn him more or less than Lady Townsend’s rabbit? Hard to say.

He was shaken from his dreaming by a half-hearted cheer offered up to Bouncer’s memory by his cousin Lord Augustine. Good old August. He could always be counted on to be artless at the most entertaining times. Now people would mingle and say what a good rabbit Bouncer had been, and eat some of the glorious repast set out for guests. They’d sit in the bright spring sun and speak of the Season’s highlights so far, the best balls, the most brilliant matches… If his mother could catch him, she would tell him which young ladies of the first water were still available, should he wish to pay his addresses.

He did not wish to pay his addresses. Ever.

Better to steal away, to seek a hiding place where he could be here but not really be here. Once everyone started mingling, this tree near the back would not be hidden enough. Even here, Rosalind, Townsend’s youngest sister, had found him. She’d caught his gaze three separate times, peering back at him from her spot near the front. Each time their eyes met he could tell she felt caught in a transgression. She’d drop her gaze and turn away, pretending to speak to her mother or her cousin.

Sweet Rosalind, his joy and agony, his flame and burn.

He wasn’t sure when he’d become aware that Rosalind loved him, whether it was before or after he’d developed feelings for her. Why did she idolize him? Who knew? Perhaps she’d been born with some predilection for men with blond hair, or his particular tall, rangy build. It wasn’t his character or anything he’d done for her. He had no redeeming qualities. Not like her.

Marlow had watched Rosalind grow from a honey-haired child to a quiet, shy teenager and now a demure young woman new on the marriage scene. He’d always felt protective of her; they all had, for she had a delicate way about her that inspired protective feelings.

But at some point, his protective instincts had reeled drunkenly sideways into something else, something she must never understand, something she wouldn’t be capable of understanding with her virginal glances and blushes. He could not admit the twisted fantasies he entertained because she was so bright, wholesome, and untouchable, and he so perverse.

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A Proper Lord’s Wife (Properly Spanked Legacy #2) Read Online Annabel Joseph http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-proper-lords-wife-properly-spanked-legacy-2-read-online-annabel-joseph Sun, 17 Jan 2021 19:49:00 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/a-proper-lords-wife-properly-spanked-legacy-2-read-online-annabel-joseph Genre: Erotic, Historical Fiction, Romance Authors: Annabel Joseph Series: Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	A Proper Lord's Wife (Properly Spanked Legacy #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Annabel Joseph
Language:	English
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Lord Townsend’s been skulking about France for weeks, having fled London with a broken heart. Why’d he have to lose the love of his life, the beautiful Lady Ophelia? And to his damned best friend? If he can’t have Ophelia, he’ll have vengeance. He vows retribution upon Lord Wescott and returns from France with a solid plan. A solid plan that swiftly goes awry. Lady Jane McConall is minding her business—and her small winter garden—when she learns she’s to wed the devastatingly handsome Marquess of Townsend. Goodness, who on earth would refuse? She vows to be the very best wife to this dark, mysterious man, to make him love her even though they’re little more than strangers. She doesn’t realize yet that her prospective husband nurtures a long-standing affinity for order and discipline. Nor does she realize a plot is afoot, a plot that will come undone at the worst possible time...
Books in Series:	Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph
Books by Author:	Annabel Joseph

Chapter One

Revenge

December, 1822

Edward Lionel, Marquess of Townsend, strode across St. James Street feeling incredibly smug about his afternoon’s work. One day home from the continent, and he’d already engineered a satisfying act of revenge against his former friend, Lord Wescott.

It involved getting married, yes, but sometimes sacrifices were warranted.

He stopped in the doorway of his preferred gentlemen’s club, taking in the familiar scents of tobacco, smoke, and leather. Ah, it was good to be home, even if London was a cold, muddy mess in the thick of an early winter.

He handed his cloak and hat to the attendant, smoothed his dark hair, and went to the dining room in search of his closest friends, Viscount Marlow and the Earl of Augustine. He’d barely entered when the two men stood, calling his name in a boisterous fashion more suited to a boxing emporium.

“Is that Townsend I see?” Marlow said.

“Look at him, in the flesh!” Augustine strode to him, grinning. “He found his way back to London after all.”

He’d been gone so long their noisy breach of decorum didn’t bother him. He’d drifted around the French countryside for three long months, devastated that Wescott, one of his best childhood friends, had stolen the love of his life. The loss would always hurt—Lady Ophelia had been meant for him, he knew that—but at least he’d been able to pull off a satisfying counterblow.

“Come and sit, Towns,” said August, his black hair messily tousled, as customary. “Are you hungry?”

“We’re drinking more than eating,” Marlow confessed, pale blue eyes glinting beneath his famously white-blond hair. “We’ve missed you. How was the hunting in France, my friend?”

He meant women, not wildlife. “Très bon,” Townsend answered, although, in truth, he’d been too heartsick to respond to any advances that came his way.

He glanced around the half empty room. Things weren’t as busy at White’s outside the Season. Come spring, there’d be no empty tables, as married gentlemen returned from their countryside haunts. Speaking of married gentlemen… “Wescott’s not here, is he?”

“No,” said August. “But if he was, we’d have to broker a peace between you. You can’t hold that grudge forever.”

“I certainly can.” He poured himself a glass from the spiced brandy on the table. “He stole the woman I loved.”

“I don’t know that he stole her so much as saved her life in a fire,” said Marlow.

Townsend glared at him. “Even so, I can’t forgive him. You don’t know the whole story. The man is no longer my friend.”

“The two of them are happy, anyway.” August ignored his obvious anguish to deliver the cursed update. “They’re content as lovebirds, now that they’re over their rough start. He took her to Wales and everything. Taught her how to fight with swords.”

“He taught her swords?” Townsend found the idea preposterous. “She’s not strong enough to wield a sword. She’ll end up maiming herself.”

“She’s not your worry anymore,” said Marlow. “You’ve got to face that. Lady Wescott’s happily married, and you’ve got to make amends with Wescott before Christmas, anyway, so the four of us can be friends again.”

Townsend did his best to hold back a smirk. He generally tried to be a proper fellow, not the smirking sort, but his recent victory was too great not to gloat a bit. “He won’t want to be friends again when he learns what I’ve done.”

“What have you done?” Marlow and August asked at once.

“I’m going to be married,” he announced, raising his glass of brandy.

“Married?” Again, both his friends spoke in unison. They both sounded displeased and ignored his invitation to toast.

“It’s bad enough Wescott caught a leg shackle,” said Marlow. “Why are you getting married now?”

“That’s fifty percent of us, right out of commission,” grumbled Augustine.

“You’re supposed to ask me whom I’m to marry,” said Townsend.

Marlow threw up his hands. “Fine. Who are you marrying, Towns? Who’s the unfortunate innocent?”

“The Earl of Mayhew’s daughter,” he said triumphantly. “The woman Wescott was meant to marry before he lost her by ruining Ophelia’s life. Isn’t it capital?”

“The Earl of Mayhew’s daughter?” Augustine echoed. “Isn’t she—?”

“In the country right now? Yes, but I’ve spoken at length with her father. We talked about how difficult a time she’s had since Wescott jilted her.”

“But…Townsey…”

“Of course, I didn’t mention Wescott’s name when I brought it up,” he continued over his friends’ protests. “That would have been unseemly, to confront him with the whole debacle, so I went about it delicately. Her father was instantly agreeable to a contract. He said, considering her situation, that Lady Jane would be happy to wed me right now. A Christmas wedding in Berkshire! I understand it, really. Wescott left her in a terrible lurch when he dropped her in favor of Ophelia.”

“Townsend, dear fellow—” Marlow tried again to interrupt, but he held up a hand.

“I don’t want to hear any scolding,” he said in a strident voice. “If Wescott can steal my intended away, I can steal his.” His friends would never understand how deeply Ophelia’s loss had wounded him. He took a drink of brandy, savoring the heat on his tongue. “The idea came to me halfway across the Channel, and I couldn’t get home fast enough. Thank God her father was in town or I’d have had to slog all the way to Reading. I would have done it, though, to pull this off.”

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Rival Desires Read online Annabel Joseph (Properly Spanked Legacy #1) http://www.ilovenovels.com/rival-desires-1-read-online-annabel-joseph Sun, 29 Jul 2018 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/rival-desires-1-read-online-annabel-joseph Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Historical Fiction, Romance Authors: Annabel Joseph Series: Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Annabel Joseph
Language:	English
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Lady Ophelia’s voice is so lovely, so incomparable, she’s permitted to break convention and appear on the London stage. The young ingenue has more admirers than she realizes, but after long years cloistered at a Viennese music school, she has no idea how society’s games of courtship and seduction are played. The Marquess of Wescott is prone to bucking convention too—not always in a good way. He and his friends are frequent subjects of gossip for their rakish behavior, like their regular forays to Pearl’s Emporium, where lovers of discipline explore risqué fantasies in secret rooms. Wescott and Ophelia’s fates collide on a dry autumn night, when a fast-moving fire strands them together on the outskirts of London. As the sun rises, they learn convention can only be stretched so far. They’re obliged to wed in a quick, quiet ceremony, and embark upon married life as little more than strangers. From the start, their dueling personalities tangle into knots of frustration and regret. But marriage is marriage, and they must learn to live with one another. Lord Wescott tries to bring his wife into line using the disciplinary tactics he’s honed over the years, but Ophelia’s not so easily tamed. She’s a stubborn soul, determined to resist her husband at every turn. Life is not an opera, and love is not easy. For Wescott and Ophelia, the battle has only begun…
Books in Series:	Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph
Books by Author:	Annabel Joseph Books

Chapter One

A Fire

London, 1822

The Marquess of Wescott leaned away before his victim’s fuchsia-pink slipper could connect with his forehead. It caught the edge of his gold-blond hair instead, which had long since straggled free of its velvet tie.

“Don’t be naughty, Ellie,” he scolded, delivering a few more spanks to the quivering backside balanced upon his lap. “If you can’t behave yourself, I’ll have to tie you up.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be so cruel, sir,” she cooed, twisting herself upright until she managed to straddle his thighs. She tugged one of his wavy locks, not at all intimidated by his stare.

“I think we both know I can be considerably crueler.” He taunted the buxom courtesan with a hard twist of her nipples, reveling in her pain-filled moan.

Across the room, his friend Viscount Marlow tightened his fingers in Berta’s hair, urging her to take his cock deeper in her humming throat. She wiggled her ample arse while she serviced him, showing off the cane welts he’d made minutes earlier.

“If only Lord Townsend was here, my sweet,” he said, thrusting between her lips. “He’d have been pleased to add a few more stripes to your bottom while you suck me off.”

“Ooh.” She paused long enough to simper with theatrical alarm. “He’d bugger me too, wouldn’t he, milord? Right up my sore arse, hard and rough like?”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Marlow pushed back his riotous, white-blond hair and favored her with a grin. “And Towns would love to do it. Too bad he’s off pining over someone.”

“Pining over who? Some society lady?” Ellie sniffed. “Such a faithless customer. He hasn’t been here in weeks.”

“Tedious, to be in love, and miss out on such glorious perversions,” said Wescott, arranging Ellie back over his lap.

“More tedious still to be in love with someone he can’t tell us about,” said August from the silk-draped bed. The dark-haired man was more formally known as the Earl of Augustine, but he didn’t look very formal now as he stroked his rigid cock, waiting his turn. “I bet he’s burning for Lady Pissy Pot.”

“Good God, not her.” Wescott spanked Ellie’s cheeks for emphasis, then pointed at his friend. “And it’s Lady Priscilla Pott to you, you perverse bull calf. She’s got money and class, even if she hasn’t the best temper. You wish you had half a chance at courting her.”

“I wish no such thing. Unlike you, I don’t have anyone on the hook, and I prefer it that way.”

Wescott rolled his eyes. Everyone in the ton knew he was all but betrothed to the beautiful Lady June, not that he wished to think about that now, with a famously lewd courtesan draped across his lap.

“If you ask me, Miss Priss would be perfect for Towns, with his love of proprieties,” said Marlow. “As for me, all I want is right here.” He fondled Berta’s full, round arse, then bent her over a chair for more caning. The lass danced and whined at each stroke, but also arched her back with the grace of a quality professional.

No, talk of engagements and marriages didn’t belong in high-class brothels like Pearl’s Erotic Emporium, where duties fell away and fantasy reigned. Townsend’s secret sweetheart might cut into his randy activities, breaking up their foursome for a while, but there was still plenty of fun to be had. Wescott sent Ellie over to tend to August’s waiting erection and settled in to watch Marlow flick a cane against Berta’s reddening arse. Why did he enjoy the frantic struggling and crying of women? Why did he enjoy punishing them, and watching them go wild?

And what would happen once he won the hand of Lady June, and settled down into a society marriage? All his life, women had thrown themselves at him with lusty abandon, earning him a reputation as a rake. His handsome features, combined with his bold height and stature, had been more a curse than blessing. His parents, the Duke and Duchess of Arlington, hoped a marriage would improve his reputation, but life would be dull without forays to the brothel.

At Marlow’s invitation, Wescott gave Berta a few stripes of his own, flicking the cane mercilessly against her already tender cheeks. She gave a tormented squeal at each stroke, her feigned agony rousing him to full staff for the third time that night.

“Go on and take her cunny, you horny bastard,” Marlow offered. “I’ll have her mouth.”

Wescott shoved into the courtesan’s soaked quim, fucking her steadily enough that she could still fellate his friend, but firmly enough to elicit some ball-tightening groans. Meanwhile, August alternated between spanking and diddling Ellie on the bed, until her giggles and cries rose to moans of ecstasy.

Suddenly, a gruff male voice interrupted them, and a fist pounded on the door. Charlie, one of the house bruisers from downstairs, shouldered it open and entered, gasping for breath.

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Read Online Books/Novels:

A Proper Lord's Wife (Properly Spanked Legacy #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Annabel Joseph

English

Annabel Joseph

Read Online Books/Novels:

Rival Desires (Properly Spanked Legacy #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Annabel Joseph

English

Properly Spanked Legacy Series by Annabel Joseph

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