The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (47 page)

A little nervous quiver raced through her at the thought of being so open, so public with their intimate connection. To distract him, she trailed her hand down his midsection and touched his straining erection through the wool of his trousers. “Aren’t you eager to finish?”

“We did finish.” He grinned. “I think it would add a layer of sweet piquancy to our wedding night if I denied myself until then. I will prove that I can put your needs above my own if I so choose and deem it necessary. I am able to control myself, even where you are concerned.”

She squeezed his erection and he caught his breath and groaned then he grasped her wrist and put her hand away, held it firmly. “Will you let me marry you? Will you let me dominate you with pleasure like this every night and shower you with love every day? Will you let me prove myself to you?”

“Yes,” she breathed. She became aware of the rawness of her throat. She had been screaming, each time he had driven her to one of those mindless releases. “Surely, the maids…Oh heavens, thank God they didn’t…”

He laughed, a rich masculine sound. “I told Mrs. Taylor we would be wed soon. She’s an understanding woman.”

“Yes, Mrs. Taylor is a very understanding woman. But oh, goodness, James what about Mrs. Johnson?”

“I have sent her out for some rather urgent shopping.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” he said, and he laughed again. “You are quite the self-indulgent lady. You didn’t even think of that until just now, did you?”

She shook her head. “No, I did no’.”

He laughed. “My beautiful, self-indulgent lady, I’d have you no other way.” He put his lips to hers.

The End

Dear Readers,

Thank you for your purchase of this ebook. If you enjoy my writing and would like to give me further support, I am always very grateful for word of mouth recommendations and reviews. Reviews need not be overly detailed; one or two lines can be wonderful. You are my greatest source of support and encouragement. You make it all worthwhile.

Would you like to connect with me online?

Readers are welcomed to “friend” me or subscribe to my public feed on Facebook, where I am most socially active: https://www.facebook.com/natasha.blackthorne

My email for readers is: [email protected]

Want to know when my next book is coming out?

Please consider signing up for my reader groups: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/emotionalevocativeerotic

https://www.facebook.com/groups/NatashaBlackthorne/

Want to know more about my other stories?

Please check out my Amazon page: http://www.amazon.com/Natasha-Blackthorne/e/B0056H8TY6

Would you like to check out some of my other stories right now?

Please keep reading. I have included some excerpts from my other works.

A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

A MEASURED RISK features a shy, intellectual, strong-willed widow with real life curves (Rubenesque/BBW) and a protective, possessive Dominant, alpha male hero. This is a story of Dominance and submission with light BDSM, emotional healing, trust and love.

He is her most dangerous temptation and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?

Book one in the Regency Risks Series

Emotionally scarred by the horrific accident that took her husband's life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. She longs to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel. She senses intuitively that he could teach her how to overcome the terrors that hold her in bondage.

Now, she's willing to risk almost anything-her reputation, even her virtue— to find out. But what he proposes startles her.

When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approaches him, Ruel instantly senses she would be the sweetest, most submissive experience of his lifetime— but first he must gain her total and complete trust. He makes her a non-negotiable offer: his help in return for her submission and obedience.

But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming husband. She’s learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one but herself.

How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through Lady Cranfield’s self-protective defenses and show her how to love when he has spent his lifetime avoiding that tender trap?

Reader Advisory:
This is a BDSM themed romance. This book contains anal sex, spanking, light bondage, D/s themes and brief F/F touching.

This is a work of historical fiction. It is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of or guide to how people recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a work of historical erotic romance, it is also not intended to portray modern BDSM or D/s lifestyles.

A Measured Risk
is published in British English and uses British Spelling.

Excerpt from A MEASURED RISK

Copyright © Natasha Blackthorne, 2012, 2013

“Why did you run away?” His deep voice settled in her belly, rich and warm, like
crème brûlée
on a cold winter’s night.

“Because I wanted you to follow.” She tried to sound sophisticated and seductive, but her voice choked off on the last word.

Ruel placed his hand on the shelf above her head and blocked her path to the door. His tall, solidly muscled body leaned over her, surrounding her with the sumptuous, sinful scents of tobacco, Scotch whisky and something she couldn’t put a name to— something masculine and undeniably dangerous. A slow, sensual smile stretched his hard mouth.

He appeared different. Softer. More approachable.

At the change, her insides seemed to flip over.

“Well, sweeting, getting us off alone was a very inspired idea.” He touched one of her fallen ringlets. “I am bored to distraction with endless hunting and fencing.”

As he slowly wrapped the curl around two fingers, he brushed her collarbone. Fiery sparks tingled down her spine, so intense that she shivered and her nipples beaded, pressing against her stays. By some instinct she hadn’t even known she possessed, she arched her back, presenting herself for his assessment.

His eyes shone so vividly blue against his bronzed face that they resembled cornflowers. She swallowed tightly and wished for a long drink of claret. This more personal side of him suddenly seemed far more hazardous than his usually fierce exterior.

Well, no matter. There was nothing to fear. She would allow only as much contact as need be to get to know him a little. Since being torn from her lonely yet secure life in Ireland and thrust into society at age sixteen, she’d spent her time allowing people only as near as was comfortable. She was an expert at emotional evasion.

It should be easy to regain her control.

But now, as late afternoon sun rays played over his pale hair, turning it to the colour of winter wheat, all her carefully rehearsed words flew away.

Say something—anything—else he will think you’re a bird-wit.

An intimate smile, one that invited her to play, tugged at his mouth.

“In a situation like this, alone with a gentleman, it’s perfectly normal for a lady to feel some apprehension.” His hushed voice, barely audible above the piano and boisterous singing from down the corridor, accentuated their isolation. His gaze became so piercing that she had to lower her eyes.

He brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “She will invariably ask herself if he will try to kiss her.”

She jerked her eyes back to his face. God, he couldn’t mean to— Not yet, surely… Peculiar, heated chills swept over her. She tried to take a step back, but found her arse flush against the bookshelf.

He leaned closer; so close that his Scotch-scented breath tickled her face. “And just in case you are wondering, Lady Cranfield—the answer is most assuredly yes.”

She should demand that he put his arm down so she could pass by and leave. She really should. But she couldn’t stop looking at his hard mouth and wondering what it would feel like upon hers. He was so close to her that his breath blew on her lips. If she moved but a fraction, she’d be kissing him.

Kissing him.

Dear God. Her breaths began to come very fast and short. Her throat went tight with a suppressed moan.

His eyes burnt as brightly as aquamarines. He looked so fierce. If he kissed her, if he dared… Oh God, it would be so harsh. That cruel-looking mouth could express itself no other way.

Excitement rushed through her, sending tingles to every point of her body, even her toes.

But no, he wouldn’t. Not yet.

He kept leaning closer. He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he seemed to focus all the harder upon her.

Her heart pounding,  unable to move away, she braced herself for his assault.

His lips brushed hers, barely. A gossamer caress.

He lifted his head.

It was done.

Ended.

And it hadn’t even begun.

He held her chin, appearing so cool, so unaffected. His kiss had seemed to sear her. An urge to put her fingers to her lips arose in her. She resisted it, for it would give away too much of how she was affected.

Never show your feelings.

He traced his thumb along her lower lip, slowly, deliberately, as he studied her with eyes that now glittered with something powerful and predatory. Heat pooled in her pelvis, low and spreading even lower.

She went weak all over, as if she’d lain in a sunny window seat for too long. Her knees almost buckled. She forced them to lock. To be strong.

It should not have affected her so profoundly. It had been just a peck—not a true kiss at all. William had poured out all of his skill upon her and hadn’t garnered even a tenth of the reaction in her that this man’s peck had.

Ruel traced her jaw line with his fingertips. Unthinkingly, she leaned in to his touch.

“Of course, once he has kissed her, then it’s his turn to wonder…” His voice sounded unnaturally loud in her ears. “How will she respond? Will she withdraw, or can he ignite some hidden fire?”

She sensed that he was toying with her. She didn’t understand flirtation—why had she imagined she could carry off this ruse? Was he making advances in order to have a laugh with Francesca and her simpering friends later? Hurt blossomed in her chest. She resented him for that. She ought to feel indignant, superior, uncaring—anything but hurt.

“Please don’t make sport of me.”

She cringed. Was that quavering, pleading voice really hers?

An infinitesimal pause. “Now, why on earth would I do such a thing?” His voice was as smooth as velvet.

“To please your vanity,” she replied, trying to regain her wits.

“Here.” He placed her hand to his chest. The contours of his muscles were hard, powerfully developed. Even more so than she’d expected. His body heat radiated through the satin and, beneath her hand, his heart beat was rapid and strong.

“Is that vanity?” He put a finger under her chin, giving her no choice but to face him. “Is it?” He gentled his grip.

The warmth in his voice settled over her like luscious hot chocolate. Melting her insides to quivering burgoo, rendering her speechless, unable to move.

“My dear, lovely Lady Cranfield, I am going kiss you again.”

Then he touched his mouth to hers, more firmly this time. Delicious, steady pressure. Her lips trembled and she clutched his lapels. He lifted his head. At the loss of his touch, a throaty, pleading moan sounded in her ears. Had it really come from her?

Clearly, now was the time for her to reassert some control over her reactions. To put him at a more comfortable distance.

“Kiss me back.” At the commanding edge in his voice, hot, sweet honey pooled in her belly.

No. Focus.

What had she wanted to ask him? Focus? Dear God, what rubbish. She could scarcely remember her own name, much less anything else. What madness had made her think she could maintain control over him?

He traced her mouth with his tongue. Deliberately; lingeringly. This time she couldn’t hold back a moan. She had grown to dislike it when William kissed her open mouthed. It had always seemed such an overheated, messy thing. But where was her coldness now? She was burning to know what it would feel like to know Ruel’s full kiss. She had to know—just once—or she would surely die.

Just once. Certainly once wouldn’t hurt.

Tentatively, tremulously, she opened her mouth.

He thrust inside, his tongue like a bold blade of flame as it touched hers. He tasted of whisky and something smoky, too sensual to be borne. Fire burst within her, spreading over her breasts. Of their own volition, her hands slid up his muscled arms and she gripped his shoulders and moaned again.