Trust Me (40 page)

 
“You’re just inexperienced. But you must be
more cautious in the future.”

“Yes, I will be. What
shall we do about Nellie?”

“We shall do right by
her. Find her a good marriage or set her up in a business. It shall be as she
wishes. She was good to you. We cannot forget that.”

Her face wrinkled
with deep concern. “Oh Jon, please promise me, you won’t go charging after
Saxby. You said yourself that nothing matters beyond the circle of you and me.”

The distress in her
voice gave him pause. “He wronged you. You could have come to harm. Our unborn
child could have been harmed.”

“But I didn’t come to
harm. And it would only needlessly draw more
 
attention to the whole matter of you and me and our marriage, were you
to challenge him.”

“Perhaps you are
right.” He moved closer to her on the bed and he touched her face. “For it is
true, nothing matters but you and me.” His gaze moved over her face. “You do
not know what it means to me to have you back here with me.” He put his lips to
hers and kissed her, long and deep, tasting the tangy-sweet pineapple on her
tongue, tasting
her
. “I love you, wench,” he said when he had lifted his
head. “You drive me to being as knotty-headed as you are, but I love you
anyway.”

Her eyes were as
brilliantly blue as sapphires. “I love you more.”

“You couldn’t
possibly.” He put his lips to hers again.

The odds had been
stacked against them.

Jon had never seen a
real marriage. And to his knowledge, neither had Anne. When one had no idea
what love meant, or how to even go about loving another person, marriage was a hard
adjustment.

But they were
learning to love each other.

It
might prove to be a rough journey.
        

However, it was
theirs.

It was his last
conscious thought before the lush softness of her breast, cupped in his hand,
drove everything but sensation from his mind.

If you enjoyed Anne and Jon’s story, please watch
for
A Perilous Risk
, Regency Risks book three.

What vengeance did Jon seek on Lady Waterbury and
the Duke of Saxby? What lasting consequences could that vengeance have for Jon,
Anne, Rebecca Howland and others?

Find out in
A Perilous Risk
, Regency Risks
book three.

Coming Summer 2014.

Anne and Jon got their start in
A Measured Risk
,
Regency Risks, Book One.

Dear
Readers,

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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.