Miss Grey's Shady Lover

By Diane Scott Lewis

As posted on Diana Gabaldon's Facebook page, an excellent tongue-in-cheeck parody of the best selling novel Fifty Shades of Grey...

In this erotic, tongue-in-cheek parody of a bestselling novel, Anya Grey enters service at Pretentious Hall in the eighteenth century. She meets brooding, dangerous, but strikingly handsome, Lord Libidinous who soon involves her in a sultry, sexual relationship to soothe his damaged soul. Prepare to laugh, and sigh, at their sexy, and explicitly steamy, antics.

Reviews

"Diane Scott Lewis has crafted a witty, short parody that made me titter at the author's pointed euphemisms and veiled sexual overtones. The characterization of Anya and Libidinous is spot-on for the time period..." ~ Angie, The Romance Reviews

It isn't a prerequisite to have read the original bestseller before reading this parody, but having only recently read it myself, all the imagery was still fresh in my mind so the inside jokes and digs at the original material were all the more amusing.
Jenny Dare, erotica author, Goodreads

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Mar 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781771450775

Diane Scott Lewis

Diane grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. At nineteen, she joined the Navy. She has written and edited free-lance since high school. She married in Greece and raised two sons in Puerto Rico, California, Guam, and Virginia. She writes book reviews for the Historical Novels Review and works as an on-line historical editor. Diane served as president of the Riverside Writers, a chapter of the Virginia Writers Club, Inc, in 2007-2008. She has four published historical novels.She lives with her husband and dachshund in Clarion, PA. Check out her website at:

Book preview

Miss Grey’s Shady Lover

by

Diane Scott Lewis

ISBN: 978-1-77145-077-5

http://bookswelove.net

Copyright 2013 by Diane Scott Lewis

Cover art by: Michelle Lee Copyright 2013

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely accidental.

Preface

This is a tongue-in-cheek parody of a bestselling novel. It was all done in fun, but please be warned there is explicit sex involved.

Chapter One

Anya glared down at her friend as she tried to look sympathetic. Sarah sprawled on the plush, velvet settee, and she even made that appear graceful—though she wasted away with consumption.

I’ve never worked as a servant before. I’ve only been a pampered vicar’s daughter. Or as pampered as one can be on such a low salary, and living in a drafty vicarage with five other noisy, slobbering siblings. Anya teared up thinking of her father. He’d been killed by an overzealous parishioner in a runaway curricle, right in front of the church only one month prior.

You will forge along fine. You must take my position. Please say you’ll do this for me and for yourself, as well. Your mother needs the blunt now that she’s a widow. Pretentious Hall is a grand old pile, owned by Lord and Lady Snoot. Sarah raised a dainty white hand, draping it dramatically across her flushed forehead. Well, once owned by them. Lady Snoot’s brother—a dashing entrepreneur who has a mysterious past—has bought the place to rescue Lord Snoot from his debts.

"Very well, I’ll go. I know you’re not long for this world, but only you could make gaunt and dying look attractive. Anya kissed her friend’s cold white—yet indescribably lovely— brow. I’m off to toil as a kitchen wench and who knows what will become of me. I could be ravished by an enigmatic but incredibly handsome rake."

She straightened her shoulders, snatched up her shabby valise, and departed Sarah’s home, relieved to leave behind the pungent smell of illness. Her spirits drooping, Anya passed the vicarage, gave one final wave to her family, and left the quant thatch-roofed, half-timbered village she adored.

At the ripe old age of four and twenty, she was forced to enter service as no one had offered for her in marriage. Anya’s mother despaired of her ever attracting a suitable consort, and there weren’t many choices for a woman in 1781 England.

After several days walk, and tripping over a myriad of stones—and nearly crushing a badger—with her clumsiness, she had her first glance of the grand Elizabethan manor with its high casement windows and scrolled stonework. She dropped her valise and said, "Holy bumfiddle! It is impressive. How will I ever fit in at his magnificent place when I’m so plain and ordinary?"

* * *

Anya pressed against the wall, the tray of dirty dishes in her hands. Lady Snoot sauntered toward her, her quizzing glass raised. Why are you dallying in this corridor, girl?

I beg your pardon, Madam. Anya hadn’t dallied, but had nearly dropped the heavy tray and hesitated near the wall to balance it. The remnants of fish, capon, blood pudding, mutton, and syllabub filled her nostrils. I didn’t dare dally, but only paused for a moment. I’m away to the kitchen.

The Gargoyle, as Anya privately thought of her new employer, continued to glare down her chiseled aristocratic nose. The woman could probably slice beef with it. "Mind that you are. No one wants to ‘see’ the servants about. It’s highly distasteful. I didn’t hire you to make a spectacle of yourself. You’re fortunate I took pity on you as I have, since the other chit didn’t show herself. No one thinks of me when they inconvenience me." The woman waved a dismissive hand and continued into the rear parlor, the skirts of her fashionable purple open robe gown—pushed out at the hips by panniers—billowing behind her.

Laughter drifted from that rear room. Lady Snoot’s brother had returned from London three days before. Tall and handsome—and unfortunately he seemed well aware of it—he consumed the household now that he was in residence. Lord Libidinous’s laughter sent strange chills along Anya’s spine; she hurried with the rattling tray down the hall, through the green baize door and into the kitchen.

What took you so long? roared Mrs. Gastronome; the cook rounded on her, her fat cheeks wiggling, her mobcap all a flutter. She claimed French ancestry, but was probably as French as Anya’s scuffed shoes. "We’ll have no lazy servants here, Madamozelle."

Anya set down the tray and wiped sweat from her forehead. If the quality didn’t eat so heartily, the dishes would be far less to carry.

Aye, she’s right, Gastry. Pip, the footman, snickered. He plopped a leftover scrap of fish into his mouth. "The rich is always gorgin’ themselves. We’re just envious as we are the great undeserving…or is it deserving poor?"

Why are you loitering in here, and not helping? Anya asked. Shouldn’t a footman be fleet of foot?

You’re a saucy wench for one so new to the staff. He raised a pale brow. I’ll wager you’re a nice piece of tail, too.

Whack! The cook smacked the back of Pip’s head with her wooden spoon. Watch your jaw, boy. ’Tisn’t right to speak so in this house. Lady Snoot will have all our heads, she will.

How dare you, Pip. Anya wiped her fingers on her