Bound by Deception (Bound Series Book 1)

Bound by Deception

The Bound Series, Book #1

Ava March

Lord Oliver Marsden has a secret. He's been in love with his childhood friend for years, though Vincent's never shown an interest in him beyond friendship. Ruggedly handsome, wealthy, and successful, Vincent is everything Oliver is not. And above all, Vincent doesn't prefer men.

Then Oliver discovers Vincent hires a man during his visits to a London brothel. Desperate to be with Vincent, Oliver orchestrates a deception, switching places with the brothel's employee. Yet Oliver’s in for another surprise. Restraints and a leather bullwhip? Apparently Vincent isn't as conservative as he appears.

Lord Vincent Prescot has a secret of his own. One kept locked away and only indulged once a month. But this month's appointment is different. The mysterious man is so beautiful in his submission, rousing protective instincts Vincent can't deny. Yet Vincent refuses to believe he prefers men, for it could mean the end of his hopes of earning his father's respect.

Will betrayal destroy them or will they be bound together by deception?

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Bound by Deception

Bound Series #1

Published by Ava March at Smashwords

Copyright 2017 by Ava March

2nd Edition

Cover Art: Kanaxa

All rights are reserved. No part of this work may be sold, manipulated, or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not construed to be real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely incidental.

Warning

This work contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Intended for adult audiences only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

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DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in this BDSM title without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. The author will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in this title.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Thank You

Excerpt: Bound to Him

Also Available from Ava

Other Books by Ava

About Ava

Chapter One

April 1822

London, England

How much?

Madame Delacroix tapped a finger to her rouged lips. Your request is unique.

I don’t believe I’m the first man to make such a request. Certainly there is some precedent.

Of course. The madam tucked an errant strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "But in a situation such as yours, one man is not interchangeable for another. That it is your request makes it unique."

Her falsely aristocratic tone held a confidence that made Lord Oliver Marsden shift uncomfortably in the crimson leather chair. He avoided this woman whenever possible, preferring to deal directly with her employees, but tonight he had no choice. After gathering his courage, he had come to this office and voiced the fantasy that haunted his dreams and most every waking moment. He would find a way to pay whatever price she named, and the madam who sat behind the satinwood desk clearly knew it. He could only hope his father, the Marquess of Campden, had a reputation that preceded him, and that she would not inflate the price overmuch for fear of going beyond Oliver’s means.

But there was no reason to make it too easy for her. Oliver squared his shoulders. You will receive payment from Lord Vincent as well. You will earn double, and your employee will be free to see to another client.

That is correct. Delacroix stood. The soft swoosh of her crimson silk gown broke the silence as she walked to a console table along the wall. She glanced over her shoulder. Would you care for a drink?

Even a bottle of whiskey couldn’t unravel the knots in his stomach. No, thank you.

A scowl flickered across her brow. Likely the woman was unaccustomed to hearing the word no. She half filled a short, plain glass with clear liquid. The scent just made its way to his nose. Glass clinked as she replaced the stopper in the tall narrow bottle. Her choice of drink belied the contrived elegance of the room and of her appearance. She did, however, manage to take a very demure sip of the gin.

You have requested the use of my establishment.

Oliver tipped his head then hastily pushed up his spectacles, which had slid down the bridge of his nose. It is a necessity. He frequents your establishment on the first Thursday of every month, not another’s.

Resting a hip against the console table, she swirled the contents of her glass. You wish to deceive one of my clients. A faithful, reliable, well-paying client. Lord Vincent Prescot would not be pleased if he learns of my role in your scheme.

He will never find out.

He could, she said, with a casual lift of one shoulder.

You assured me the whore will keep her silence. I will never tell him, and I will take every precaution to ensure he does not discover it is me.

She arched an eyebrow. Lord Vincent is an astute man. He will recognize you. The stubble from a three-day-old beard will not fool him.

Oliver passed a hand over his bristly jaw. Nor am I fool enough to believe it will. At least not by itself. The room will be dark, and Lord Vincent will have no reason to even suspect my true identity. He will believe what the whore will tell him—that I am simply a replacement for the man he usually hires.

He had known Vincent since childhood. Both second sons to marquesses, they had met on the first day of boarding school, and for reasons Oliver still couldn’t explain, the stiff and proper eleven-year-old boy had gravitated to him. Oliver had been an average student at the best of times, and he only kept from getting expelled on numerous occasions because Vincent tutored him. In return, Oliver had been the first person to congratulate Vincent whenever he received top marks, which happened more often than not. Nearly inseparable, they even spent holidays together at Vincent’s grandfather’s Dorset estate. For a space of about four years, Oliver didn’t return home once. Based on the lack of letters, it seemed no one had missed him. With a father who practically lived at the gambling tables and an elder brother who never bothered with him, Oliver doubted they even noticed his absence. Those holidays spent fishing, swimming, and hunting with Vincent were the most treasured of his youth. Then Vincent had gone onto Cambridge and Oliver…had not.

Though they were no longer as close, in their thirteen years of friendship, Vincent never once hinted at an interest in men. Apparently it was something he never wished to share, never wished to reveal—a reluctance Oliver understood, as he hadn’t confided his own preferences to Vincent. And if Vincent found out what he planned to do tomorrow night, he knew without a doubt Vincent would see it as a betrayal of the utmost proportions. It was one thing to indulge secret desires in the safety and obscurity of a brothel, quite another to take a friend as a lover.

After refilling her glass, Delacroix sat back down behind her desk. She was silent for a long moment. It took all of Oliver’s willpower to hold her unwavering