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Bundle: His Naïve Brat (6 short stories)

Rosie Zweet

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Rosie Zweet

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Edition: September, 2018

Author’s note: This work is only for ADULT.

All characters are 18+

** Individual pictured is model and used for illustrative purposes only


Wrong Invitation: Sir, It’s not You, but Your Son!

Consoling My Father!

Cross Dress: Caught by Her Naughty Professor

Older Man: A Forbidden Affair with the Villager

Naughty with My Twin Daughters

Older Man: Rainy Day with My Guardian

Wrong Invitation: Sir, It’s not You, but Your Son!

Helen Blakney

England, 1813.

The Drumor’s house party was quite splendid, yet I missed the excitement of the city. Sighed, I never cared about country life. It was so boring. I pouted, annoyed at myself, but Mama forced me to attend this one.

I had to catch a husband before I turned nineteen next month and became an unmarriageable old maid. But still, I didn’t think nineteen was terribly old. But with four younger sisters waiting their turn to be launched into society, this season was my last chance, Mama said. 

Honestly, I didn’t really care. I had a lot of suitors, but Mama insisted on catching a wealthy husband. And the Drumor was rumored as rich as Croesus.

The melody began, and the room quieted immediately. But sitting beside me, Mary and Rachel giggled as they batted their eyelashes to the gentlemen across the room.

“Shh...” I whispered. 

At least, we had to pretend to listen when our host’s daughter, Miss Celia Drumor, was playing the pianoforte. Even as dreadful as it sounded. Nay, especially if it’s dreadful.

Tapping my fan on my palm, my eyes scanned the room. My heart skipped a beat as I caught Mr. Drumor, not the father, but the younger’s eyes. 

The man smiled, and like a silly girl, I smiled in return. 

Goodness, he was so handsome! In an instant, my gloom evaporated. 

With his deep blue eyes and winning smile, the man was easily the most handsome man in this room.

The Drumors didn’t come with a title, but they had an earl as an ancestor few generations back. To be honest, I didn’t really care, but of course, Mama delightfully imparted the news to me, willing or not. And the fact that they were well-connected and rich made them the darling of the ton. Therefore, a prime candidate for a husband.

But with a handsome visage like James Drumor, I wouldn’t mind even if he were a mere blacksmith. Oh, dear! What a shocking thought! 

I gave the man another shy smile. Could I charm him? I wondered.

I bit my lip. Perhaps I could. After all, I was a beauty, albeit a penniless one.

Mama said some men might be content with the dowryless bride as long as she was pretty. I hoped James Drumor was one of those men. But still, his father’s approval what was important. Papa said Mr. Drumor was a ruthless banker and shrewd man, not easily dupped.

Yet, he didn’t look like it. He reminded me of my late grandpapa. Genial and easy to smile. And of course, old.

He must be more than fifty if he was a day. Terribly ancient. He might be handsome in his youth. His eyes were the same shade as his son, but his hair had turned snowy white, and his face lined with fine wrinkles. 

I wonder if his son would look like him later. Goodness! What a lowering thought, and my body shivered involuntarily.


I knew sending invitation letter to a gentleman was brazen move. Not even Mary or Rachel would do it. But tomorrow, the house party would end. Today was my last chance to secure Mr. Drumor—no, not Mr. Drumor, he asked me to call him James—Yes, this was my last chance to secure his affection. 

Mr. Dromur senior seemed to like the idea of me as a daughter-in-law. In the last few days, I had used all my power to charm the old man.

And just yesterday, he said I had pretty smile. Even that said with much cajoling on my part. Still, a compliment was a compliment. 

The problem was his son. Lately, he seemed distracted. His affection seemed to wan. Yet, I didn’t see him courting other ladies. And now, I had no time for subtlety.

I heard Mama planned to marry me to Cousin Andrew. Goodness, I rather died than marry my pious cousin.

I jumped when the grandfather’s clock chimed in the distance. James would come soon, of course, if he accepted my invitation.

I paced the room. It felt like years, and still, no sign of him.

He wasn’t going to come. The realization hit me hard, like a tidal wave, shame swept over me.

He must think I was a girl with a lack of moral. And what his father would say? Goodness, he wouldn’t approve the match if he knew.

God, what I was thinking? I wasn’t thinking. That’s why!

Sounds of footsteps came from the corridor. Hastily, I climbed the bed. My nightgown rode high on my thighs, revealing my smooth, creamy skin. I struggled to tug it back, but the door flung open. I had no time.

Immediately, I wrenched my eyes closed. My body froze as I heard the footsteps came near.

Then, the sound ceased, and the silence descended. Suddenly, I felt foolish. I was the one who invited him here. Yet now, I was cowardly played dead.

Please just go away, I prayed.

But the footsteps drew near. My heart began to race as the bed dipped. 

What’s he going to do? I wondered, yet I didn’t dare to open my eyes. 

The bed shook as he crawled closer. Oh, dear, he was so close to my exposed legs. I felt the ghost of his hand over my skin, making my fine hair rose, and a shiver ran through my spine.

Goodness! He put his hand over my thigh, slowly moving up and down as he shoved my legs wider.

“Helen, my girl,” the male voice murmured. 

For a briefest moment, my heart stopped beating. It wasn’t Drumor junior but his father’s. 

Oh, God! How did this happen? I was sure my letter was addressed to Mr. Drumor... goodness, how could I be so stupid. Of course, the servant gave it to Mr. Drumor, the father

Heavens! I wanted to die from mortification. But now, all I could do was pretending to be fast asleep. There was no other choice.

The bed shook again as the old man moved. He tugged the front of my nightgown. Sweat began to dampen my skin, yet I dared not to move as he took a peek at my young tits.

“Hmmm…” he made a chocking voice.

Then, all fell back into silence. My heart tattooed hard. It was a miracle he couldn’t hear it.

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