Purr

Purr

Paisley Smith

Having been caught kissing a servant girl, Arabella suddenly
finds herself shackled and bound for Katzenhalle Villa, where she expects to be
forced into servitude. Instead, she discovers the mansion is home to other
young women with Sapphic penchants—and good behavior is rewarded with
kittenhood
.
All who reside at the villa dream of donning cat ears and tails and earning
status as one of the mistress’s “pets”.

There’s one caveat. Romantic entanglements are strictly
forbidden, and this poses a problem when Arabella catches the eye of a favored
pet, Giselle.

Risking discovery, the women indulge their mutual desire,
heated looks escalating to thrilling touches with fingers, mouths…tongues.
Until Arabella discovers things are not as
purr
-fect as they seem at
Katzenhalle. While breaking the rules may see them punished, the treachery of
falling in love may come at a fatal price.

Purr

Paisley Smith

Dedication

As always, I’d like to give a shout out to my critique
partner, the supremely talented Naima Simone. The most wonderful thing about
trading works in progress with Naima (other than her invaluable insight) is
that I get to read her fabulous books first!

Chapter One

Salzburg, 1740

Arabella Lehmann peered sullenly through the bars of the
cart as it rolled over the bumpy cobblestone streets toward Katzenhalle Villa.
The imposing structure sat etched into the side of one of the mountains
overlooking the town of Salzburg, possessing the appearance of a fortress
rather than an alpine retreat.

Trying to get comfortable on the wooden bench, Arabella
sighed and tugged at the shackles binding her wrists, shame flaming in her
cheeks as she recalled how the authorities had taken her away after she’d been
discovered kissing one of the dairy maids behind the stable. Her own aunt and
uncle had divulged her.

She’d thought they’d loved her. But they had not been able
to forgive her. She should have lied to them but some spark of defiance had
refused her that privilege. Hands on her hips, she’d told them she had indeed
kissed the servant girl—and would have done much more had she not been found
out.

Throughout the town, Salzburgers stopped to stare at the
cart rumbling past. Arabella kept her chin high as she stared them down. Shame
threatened to force her to look away but she fought it. Still, she wondered if
they knew where she was going.

And worse—why.

While other girls her age discussed marriage to village
boys, all Arabella could think about was kissing the servant girls. She
entertained doing far more than kissing. She swallowed thickly as the memory of
the one illicit touch she’d shared with another woman rose to the surface. Soft
lips. Probing fingers…

Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes and the images
crumbled to dust.

Why did she have to be so confused? So deviant? She wished
she could be like other young women, excited about marrying into a good
Salzburg family.

The cart lurched and Arabella’s eyes snapped open as the
driver urged the old draft horse to start the climb up to Katzenhalle.
Occasionally a girl from the town and surrounding boroughs would be swept away
and placed in the care of the Komtesse Katarina von Graffenried, never to be
spoken of again. Arabella had known her destiny was sealed when she’d heard the
whispers between her uncle and the cart driver who’d locked her in this thing.

She scooted forward. “Driver.”

He ignored her.

Undaunted, Arabella continued. “What will be expected of me
at Katzenhalle? Will I be forced into servitude?”

He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, his silence inspiring
cold terror in Arabella.

“Why won’t you say?” she asked pointedly and kicked her feet
against the hay-strewn boards.

He glanced back at her, his features cross. “The komtesse will
decide your fate, girl.”

“Fate?”

True, no girl ever delivered to Katzenhalle seemed to leave.
Arabella bit her bottom lip. “But I have not committed any crime.”

“Hmph.”

It was a regrettable fact that she could be fined or
imprisoned—or even put to death—for acting on the fantasies that plagued her
sleepless nights, but she had done nothing more than share an innocent kiss
with a girl. The irony that she was being punished merely for taboo
thoughts
was not lost on Arabella.

As the wooden wheels ate up the distance between Salzburg
and Katzenhalle, Arabella’s unease mounted. Finally the old draft horse stopped
and the driver hopped down. Arabella looked for any opportunity to run but
there was none. Spear-bearing sentries trussed up in full livery stood on either
side of the magnificent door.

If she hadn’t been terrified for her life, Arabella would
have been fascinated by Katzenhalle. Its pale-ocher façade stretched toward the
cloudless sky. A multitude of tall windows dominated the two floors but she
could see no semblance of life inside. Thick, high walls flanked either side of
the enormous estate, hiding the gardens from view.

Katzenhalle was even larger and far more ominous up close
than it looked from Salzburg.

The driver raked his sleeve under his nose and stabbed a key
into the lock on the cart. As Arabella awaited her release, she gazed down the
mountainside to where the Salzach River snaked through the valley below. Her
pulse accelerated when the driver seized her wrist and pulled her out onto the flagstone
pavement.

Her apprehension ratcheted up several notches. She pulled
back but was no match for his firm grip. “Let me go! You can say I escaped. I
won’t tell anyone!” she bargained desperately.

He grunted. “There’s no need to make this hard on yourself,
girlie. Come along now.”

No need to make it hard on herself? Arabella had no doubt
she’d been brought here to be punished. Or worse. “Is this some sort of
madhouse?” she asked, panic rising to a fever pitch.

The driver sighed impatiently before hefting her over his
shoulder and carrying her inside the villa. Arabella struggled but to no avail,
and when she finally landed on the hard marble floor, for a moment she sat
confused and disoriented.

Villa?

Katzenhalle was a
palace
!

This was no madhouse.

A grand marble staircase rose gracefully toward the upper
story. Chandeliers with dozens of candles dripped from the vaulted ceiling.
Gilt gleamed from every corner. But the aspect that most caught Arabella’s
attention was the focus on
cats
.

Cats dominated the painted walls, the ceilings, the art.
Live cats of all colors and sizes flitted about. Some bore jeweled collars and
others lounged on sumptuous pillows. Arabella had never seen the likes of such
finery. From her position on the floor, she stared, awestruck.

“Genuflect to your betters, girl,” the driver hissed as two
wide parlor doors opened, revealing the most stunning woman Arabella had ever
seen.

As she glided closer, snowy ringlets from her immaculate wig
bobbed around her perfectly powdered face. Ice-colored eyes appraised Arabella.
Rouged lips pursed into an indecipherable pout. Layer upon layer of silver
gossamer fabric spilled over the woman’s wide panniers and, as she stepped
forward, the jeweled toes of her heeled slippers peeped beneath the rustling
skirts.

Despite warring emotions of astonishment and fear, Arabella
scrambled to her feet and dropped into a low curtsy.

The driver poked Arabella between the shoulder blades,
thrusting her forward. “Fräulein Lehmann. Niece to Baron Georg von Gerhardt.”

“Rise,” the komtesse said, placing her finger under
Arabella’s chin.

Their gazes collided briefly but the connection held long
enough to cause a strange sinking sensation in Arabella’s belly. She inhaled
sharply and lowered her stare to the sparkling diamond necklace circling the komtesse’s
dainty throat.

The komtesse took one step back. “She’s a bit unkempt and
woefully turned out, but I imagine a good scrubbing will take care of all
that.”

Unkempt? Though her aunt and uncle were not the wealthiest
aristocrats, Arabella had always thought her clothing passable.

Uniformed servants appeared as if out of nowhere.

“Bathe her and dress her as an attendant and bring her to
me,” the komtesse directed to one of the servants.

Unable to stop herself, Arabella spoke up. “An attendant?”
Her voice was louder than she’d intended.

The komtesse’s eyes widened in surprise at the outburst.

Undaunted, Arabella continued. “What is to become of me? Why
was I brought here?”

The rouged lips blossomed into a disarming smile. “All will
be revealed, my pet.” And with a wide sweep of her voluminous skirts, she spun
and went back the way she’d come.

Bewigged male servants clad in full regalia opened two
double doors at her approach and Arabella craned to view the shadowy room.
Flashes of nude flesh and the sound of soft moans emanated from the chamber but
the doors closed quickly behind the komtesse, leaving Arabella more confused
than ever.

What was this place?

“She won’t give you no trouble,” the driver assured as he
clapped his hat back on his head and started out the front door.

Fear mounting, Arabella looked back. Even though the man had
brought her here under dubious circumstances, he remained the only connection
to her life at her aunt and uncle’s estate. “Will I ever see my family again?”
she asked as the tears she’d previously refused to cry began to spill down her
cheeks.

Wordlessly, he glanced back before the big door boomed shut
in his wake. Sentries leveled a heavy board over the doors to lock people out.
Or in.

Arabella’s heart sank.

“I am Petra. Come with me, please, Fräulein Lehmann.”

As Arabella gaped at the petite blonde maid, she considered
tearing away and running as far as she could from Katzenhalle…but something
about the way the komtesse had looked at her intrigued her. Unmistakable desire
and dangerous promise had lurked in the woman’s eyes. Arabella’s insides
tightened.

Petra motioned for her to follow and, summoning courage,
Arabella did just that. Still shackled, she climbed the stairs behind the
servant, overwhelmed by the sumptuous surroundings. Even if she were destined
to be a servant at Katzenhalle, her lot would be better than the one she’d
faced as the niece of a minor baron who was expected to make a good marriage
match—to a man.

Candlelight illuminated the halls, attesting to the
komtesse’s vast wealth. Petra led her into a bathing room where steam wafted
from a slipper tub. Arabella had expected to be bathed in a wooden washtub like
the one her aunt and uncle possessed. This was far more luxurious. Her fear
began to melt away as she breathed in the soothing fragrances of lavender and
peppermint.

Petra withdrew a key from the pocket of her white apron and
unfastened the lock on the shackles. Arabella rubbed her wrists once the heavy
metal was discarded.

“Disrobe and leave your clothes on the floor,” Petra
instructed, then stood back to wait.

Arabella paused. “W-with you in here…with me?”

Petra nodded.

Arabella had never undressed fully in front of anyone else
that she could remember. Shame rose when she remembered the paltry condition of
her undergarments. Shaking, she turned her back so the servant could begin to
unlace the ties on her bodice. The room was warm and Arabella didn’t feel a
chill as she shrugged out of her frock. As directed, she dropped the garment on
the thick rug. Fingers trembling, she untied the ribbons holding up her skirt
and then let the fabric billow downward into a pool around her ankles.

“Everything,” Petra said firmly.

Arabella gulped as she toed off her slippers then steeled
herself before whisking her chemise off over her head. Hugging her arms over
her breasts, she dashed toward the tub and plunged into the hot water. A gasp
tore from her throat at the shock.

Petra chuckled softly. “You will soon lose your reticence.
There’s no need for it at Katzenhalle.”

“What do you mean?” Arabella asked, quickly adjusting to the
soothing effect of the scented water.

“It will be necessary for you to be comfortable wearing very
little clothing if you are to eventually become one of the komtesse’s kittens.”

“Kittens?”

Petra nodded. “The komtesse will explain the details but
yes, most of us wish to earn her favor and join the ranks of the kittens.”

Arabella took up a sponge and began scrubbing one arm. “I
don’t understand.”

Petra leaned closer as she whispered, “You were brought here
because of your partiality for females, weren’t you?”

A torrid blush infused Arabella’s cheeks. She clamped her
lips shut.

“There’s no shame in it. We all were,” Petra confessed.

“But what does that have to do with—” Arabella began before
Petra shushed her.

A hidden door in the wall flung open and another servant
paraded in, bearing a jeweled case. “I am Eleanor. I am here to coif your
hair.”

As the servants thoroughly bathed Arabella, washed her hair
and then neatly snipped the ends, she pondered all she’d learned thus far.
Petra’s words gave credence to the look the komtesse had bestowed on her. There
had been blatant sexual interest in the aristocrat’s eyes. Still, Arabella
could not discern whether Katzenhalle merely posed as a safe haven for wayward
women or if these walls harbored a deeper, darker secret.

Yet another servant appeared who manicured Arabella’s finger
and toenails, trimming and buffing until they gleamed in the light. Petra
helped her dress in the uniform, a cherry-and-white-striped ensemble with a
shepherdess-style skirt. Swan-white stockings and embroidered slippers
completed the outfit. She had never worn such costly clothing, and she couldn’t
resist preening in front of the looking glass.

Petra smiled. “I am to take you to the komtesse for
approval.”

Arabella thanked Eleanor and the manicurist before she
followed Petra through the meandering hallways and down the stairs to what
appeared to be a study. Her uncle’s house boasted only six rooms. The sheer massiveness
of the mansion was not lost on Arabella.

Liveried guards served as sentries, their powdered wigs
immaculate as they stood expressionless at the open doorway.

The komtesse sat behind a gilt desk that faced the massive
hearth. She rose. “Ah, Arabella. This is quite a welcome change indeed.”

Both Petra and Arabella curtsied.

“Turn around for me. Let me see you in your entirety,” the
komtesse cooed.

Arabella revolved slowly, knowing the pride she felt at
being turned out so well shone on her face.

The komtesse smiled, but the display of pleasure held no
mirth. Something devious lurked in the woman’s eyes. “Lift your skirts and show
me your cunny.”

Arabella’s breath froze in her lungs.
What?
She
cleared her throat. “Pardon me?”

The komtesse motioned with her fingers. “Come, girl, lift
them up. Let me see.”