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Authors: Natasha Blackthorne

waltzofseduction

Waltz of Seduction

Natasha
Blackthorne

 

A painful personal experience makes Lord Lockhart believe
that a gentleman doesn’t inflict his passionate desires on a wife. The marriage
bed is for begetting heirs, not animal lust. No matter how much he desires his
wife. But under Lady Lockhart’s shyness is a determination to tempt her
handsome husband, to satisfy them both and spend every night together in her
bed.

Innocent waltzing lessons in their chambers soon become
indecent, and may lead the newlyweds to overcome their preconceptions and learn
to be lovers, as well as man and wife.

 

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

 

 

 

Waltz of Seduction

 

ISBN 9781419934759

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Waltz of Seduction Copyright © 2011 Natasha Blackthorne

 

Edited by Raelene Gorlinsky

Cover art by Syneca

 

Electronic book publication May 2011

 

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of
Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

 

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not
be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home
Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

 

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Waltz of Seduction

Natasha Blackthorne

Dedication

 

To my husband, who always believed in my writing.

 

Chapter One

 

She wanted to tempt her husband. She wanted him to desire
her madly.

Lady Sara Lockhart paused at the foot of the stairs, waiting
for her husband to notice her beautiful new ball gown. It was shimmering silk
with a low-cut neckline, a neat black ribbon beneath her breasts and a narrow
skirt that flowed gracefully as water to the floor. She stood the way her
friends had her practice. Head held high, back straight, her torso turned ever
so slightly and her hand on the stair rail.

Her lord remained obsessed with some aspect of his watch.

“Colin?”

Lord Colin Lockhart looked up, classically handsome with his
long, narrow face and high cheekbones. Even a glimpse of him never failed to
make her stomach bottom out. She couldn’t help but smile. His dark brows drew
together sharply and his beautiful eyes, blue like a clear lake, flashed with
irritation. “This watch runs slower every day. I took it apart this morning and
see no reason for it.”

Colin enjoyed tinkering with clocks. Anything with gears
really.

“It’s a new frock,” she explained. He always needed nudging
on this type of thing.

“Oh.” He brushed that wayward lock of onyx hair off his
forehead then glanced down. His eyes widened and he dropped the watch back into
his pocket. He walked over, his tall, broad-shouldered body elegantly displayed
in his well-tailored dark blue coat in a way that always made her breath catch.
She could never believe he was really her husband. Not even after all these
months.

He stared down at her, his eyes intent on the gown.

She fiddled with her string of seed pearls and its ruby
pendant. “Well, what do you think?”

His frown returned. “You’re wearing red now?”

The hard undertone in his voice made her stomach twitch. He
was so often good-natured she forgot how exacting he could be when he decided a
matter was important. Her heart fluttered in alarm. “You are displeased? The
dressmaker called it claret. Priscilla says it is quite the thing.”

“Priscilla may be right, but it seems rather a bold color
for you.”

She knew what that meant. It was polite way of saying a
plain girl shouldn’t wear such a vivid color. How foolish of her to think she
could be pretty or enticing. She made a fool of herself in the attempt.

But how else was she to win his undying devotion, to get him
to visit her chamber more often?

His eyes dipped to her low-cut bodice, studying the delicate
black ribbon trim and sparkling jets, and then his eyes cut away quickly. His
mouth twisted in that way it did when the soup was too cold or the fish too
salty. Who could blame him? Her breasts were pitifully small. She hunched her
shoulders and pulled her wrap up to hide herself. All her earlier excitement
drained away.

By the time they arrived at the ball, her throat was
burning. Did he regret marrying her? She often wondered. The youngest son of
the Duke of Wakefield, he could have done a lot better than the plain-faced
daughter of a merchant prince. But his family’s coffers were nearly empty and
her dowry, a near fortune, had made her a very desirable bride. Especially when
her father purchased them an estate in Kent as a wedding present.

Last spring through autumn, Colin had worked on the estate
from sunrise to sunset. He had also handled all that messy business with her
clay mine, breaking the strike without violence. He had proved himself no idle
fortune hunter—just an ambitious fortune hunter.

The carriage slowed and stopped. Colin opened the door and
all but jumped out of the carriage. Then he stood, tapping his foot while he
held his hand out. He was always so eager to be done with his duty to her, in
bed and out of it, so he could be on with something else. Something more
exciting. Like taking a watch apart or gazing at distant planets with his
telescope. The truth of that was quite lowering.

Head held stiffly, Sara placed her hand into his and let him
help her out of the carriage.

* * * * *

From across the ballroom, Colin watched his wife. Sara was
hiding in the shadows, talking with an older turbaned woman. As usual. Why must
she always hide like a frightened mouse?

His eyes trailed down to her low-cut bodice, her peach-sized
breasts displayed to perfection. His jaw tightening almost painfully. Against
that damned red gown, her skin glowed like porcelain and her hair shimmered
like honey. His cock had been hard enough to hammer nails, the whole carriage
ride. Keeping his hands off her hadn’t been easy. And just as he’d feared, upon
their arrival she’d captivated every male eye.

He knew his wife was beautiful in her own special and
delicate way. But he wasn’t used to having other men notice this.

The strains of a waltz echoed through the ballroom and
resentment twisted through his stomach. For his wife did not waltz. He
understood her reasons. Logically. But emotionally, he did not. He supposed he
should just be happy no other man would waltz with her either. He turned and
stalked back to the card room.

* * * * *

“Colin, are you angry with me?”

They were standing in the sitting room that connected their
bedchambers. He was having a difficult time ignoring the ache in his groin. But
he had already
bothered
Sara this week. Last night, in fact. To do so
again, so soon, would be piggish. A gentleman shouldn’t treat his wife like
some whore waiting on his needs. Ladies had delicate natures. Sexuality and
arousal could prove too unsettling to their nerves. Medical science was
starting to discover this but he knew it from a very personal experience.

“Colin?” Her voice held that gentle insistence that was like
leading strings on his heart.

And her large gray eyes were luminous with what he suspected
were soon-to-be-shed tears. He was in no mood to comfort her. If he got
anywhere near her, he’d be on her and shortly thereafter, in her, balls deep
and thrusting.

“It’s late. Go to bed, Sara,” he said, covering his angst
with a bored tone.

“It is the gown, isn’t it?” Her voice quavered.

He struggled for the right words. “I just think red is a
little bold.”

Her lower lip trembled. That velvety pink lower lip. “I am
sorry to have offended you, Colin.”

Inwardly he sighed. “You did not offend me. I am just thinking
of your good name.”

What a miserable lie to cover his jealousness. And shameful
to mislead her when he longed to draw her into his arms and tell her how
utterly lovely she looked in the gown. But he didn’t want to encourage her to
display herself like this.

“Come here,” he said, holding his arms out. She came to him,
her eyes large and glossy with unshed tears. He took her hands and gave her a
quick, chaste kiss. “It’s no matter now. Forget it.”

She nodded.

“Now to bed,” he said firmly.

He watched her depart, his eyes trained on the way the
shimmering red silk clung to her tight little bottom. She slipped into her
chamber, the soft click of the door speaking more profoundly than any
satisfying slam. He knew a sense of both relief and loss. Sweating and shaking,
he sank into his chair and hooked a finger into his cravat, loosening it.

Dear God, he was not cut out for marriage. Shy, sweet Sara.
He mustn’t frighten her with his animal lust. Nine months of marriage had
proven to be blue balls hell. There were other women with greater fortunes he
might have married. His father had been pushing the daughter of an obscenely
wealthy Italian merchant. A charming brunette with dark, flashing eyes and lush
breasts.

So why had Colin picked Sara? Honestly? Because of the way
her eyes lit up with genuine pleasure and her face blushed at his least
attention. In a town of bored, spoiled coquettes, her open adoration had been
terribly flattering. And she was sincere and intelligent. The type of woman he
could imagine mothering his children. He quickly became infatuated with her
delicate features, her quiet warmth.

And naturally he had assumed he would keep mistresses as all
men of his station did. But a funny thing happened. By the time they married,
she had worked her way under his skin. So deeply that he couldn’t even stomach
the thought of chasing pretty opera dancers with his friends the night before
the wedding.

Since then, his sexual outlet had been limited to the
marriage bed, where he must always hold himself in check and hurry so as to
inconvenience his wife as little as possible.

With a long, ragged sigh, he resigned himself to spend
tonight as he seemed to spend most nights lately. Getting a little foxed,
palming off and then getting seriously soused. He sat down in the chair, took
the decanter from the side table and poured himself a glass of brandy.

The longer they were married, the more he wanted her.

Yes, he loved her.

Who wouldn’t love Sara once they came to know her?

Which was why he’d wanted to dance with her in public. To
show the world how much he cared for and respected her. That their match was
more than mere convenience. That he admired her for more than her clay mine and
her trust fund. She might be a commoner but she was his lady.

Three brandies into his binge, he decided the matter was
more urgent than he’d first given it credit. He needed to show that she was
indisputably
his
. How were the men of Mayfair to know this if he and
Sara spent all of their time in society separated? He in the card room, she hiding
in corners. It could make her the target of rakes and would-be-lotharios. Not
that he distrusted his wife’s virtue. But just the thought of another man
making her indecent proposals turned his stomach.

He left the sitting room, determined to do something about
it.

Chapter Two

 

At the knock on her door, Sara sat up in bed. Her heart
leapt with hope. Colin never visited her bedchamber two nights in a row. But
there was always the possibility of a first time.

“Enter,” she said, a little breathless.

The door opened and he came in, still wearing his evening
clothes. His cravat was askew but otherwise he looked every bit as elegant and
handsome as he had earlier in the evening. Did he want to share her bed? Her
belly tingled at the prospect and her body began to prepare for him, as it
always did, wetness seeping into the folds of her cunny.

But on second glance, she could see his jaw held firm, his
eyes burning with something close to anger. Her belly tingled again, this time
with apprehension. He was unhappy with her over the gown. She should never have
listened to Priscilla. Her dear friend was an earl’s daughter. She could afford
to flout the rules. It was different for Sara.

“Will you come and sit?” Sara patted the place beside her
hopefully.

He shook his head.

There were depths to her husband that he sometimes allowed
to show. Dark and dangerous depths that made her aware of how little she still
knew him. She might never truly know him, she realized. His personal, inner
face might only someday be shown to some courtesan who managed to catch his eye
and win his heart. When that happened, Sara would be forced to smile and turn
the other direction. It was just the way with Mayfair gentlemen.

A sick sadness welled in her stomach.

“I was somewhat less than truthful when I said I wasn’t
angry,” he said.

“Colin, I am sorry—”

He held up his hand. “Hush and hear me out.”

She clamped her jaw closed, drew her knees up and rested her
chin on them.

“I resent that I may not waltz with my own wife at a ball.
You are my wife and I want the world to see us together as a couple.”

“But the very thought makes me ill.” She blurted the words
before she thought.

“The thought of waltzing with me makes you ill?” He raised a
brow.

She hugged her knees tightly, glancing down at the bed. “No,
the idea of waltzing in front of all those people.”

“You’re not a girl anymore. You are a mature, married woman
and you must act the part. Two weeks from now, at your birthday ball, you will
waltz with me.”

“Please, Colin, I—”

“I am determined to have my way in this,” he said.

He didn’t understand. He had been born to this society
world. She was the plain, well-dowered commoner he wed. A social climber,
people would say. A pretender. An interloper.

But still, commoner or not, she was his wife now. She owed
him obedience to his wishes.

“Don’t worry.” His voice softened. “We shall practice and
practice until it is second nature. In fact, we shall start tonight. Come.” He
held out his hands. “Arise and waltz once with me and then I shall leave you in
peace for tonight.”

“But Colin, it is late and I am so tired.”

“Indulge me.”

She rose from the bed.

“Wait,” he said. He lit the lamps, then returned to her and
placed his hand firmly on her waist and took her hand. His large palm eclipsed
hers, all warm and strong.

“Colin, this is just going to humiliate me. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Just follow my lead.”

She touched his shoulder, her hand tingling as it closed
over the hard bulge of his muscles. He pulled her closer. She sensed his
warmth, smelt the clove and citrus scent of his shaving soap. Then she smelled
something else. Brandy. Her mouth fell open and she pulled back slightly.

“You’re foxed, aren’t you?”

He grinned, flashing strong white teeth against his tanned
skin. “Only the slightest bit. I can still dance, never fear.”

He pulled her closer again. Being this close to him always
made her body vibrate and pulse, even in the most secret places. She wished so
desperately they could spend each night like this. Close and romantic. What a
silly, girlish wish. Marriage was for making heirs and love was for lovers. But
she didn’t wish for any other lover. Except her husband.

“Attend to me, Sara,” he said. “You cannot daydream whilst
dancing.”

He led her around the chamber, taking his time. Still, her
bare feet landed on his time and time again and he caught her several times,
steadying her on her feet. Finally he stopped.

“Do you see now? It’s hopeless,” she said laughingly.

“Dancing needs lubrication.” He walked to her sideboard and
poured a glass of wine then handed it to her. “At least two of these, that’s my
recommendation. Then we try again.”

They drank in silence. He took a half a glass and she one
glass. Afterward, she danced worse than ever.

“Wait, this is no good.”

“As I said, it is hopeless,” she said.

“Don’t be so quick to give up.” He reached up and tugged the
knot on his cravat free. Then he slowly unwrapped it. “Here,” he said, catching
her wrist and winding the linen strip around it.

Alarm accelerated her heartbeat and she glanced up at him.
“What are you doing?”

“Trust me.” He moved behind her and took both her hands. She
felt him tugging and pulling.

Then he faced her. “Now we try again.”

She pulled at her hands. She couldn’t move them. He had
bound them together. “Colin?”

He came back to face her and clasped the sides of her waist,
holding her firmly. “I will not let you fall. Do you trust me?”

“I suppose,” she replied. But she worried about his state of
mind. He did seem a little foxed.

He began to move, slowly. She stared down at her feet.

“Stop counting the steps.” He pointed at his face. “Look me
in the eyes. Feel this in your stomach, not your head. Trust me.”

Her feet wouldn’t obey.

“In my eyes,” he said.

She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on this
mysterious thing he seemed to think she would see in his eyes. He smiled at her
and then she did feel something in her belly. A gushy sensation that did
nothing to steady her balance. She returned his smile. He was certainly more
handsome than her dancing master had been. More graceful as well. They finished
the dance with a few trips and stops. Then mercifully, it was over.

They rested a moment.

“I think I have it, will you untie me now?”

“Oh no, my Lady Lockhart. That was just practice. If you
trip this time, you shall owe me two waltzes at that ball.”

It was an unfair edict. She felt helpless as a marionette in
his arms. She didn’t know how she was expected to keep her balance.

After a time, his steady blue gaze transfixed her. She
forgot about her feet and just followed him. He was right, there was something
in the stomach. A feeling of connection between what she saw in his eyes and
how her feet seemed to move in tune with his as if by magic. He twirled her
faster and faster until she was laughing and trying to catch her breath. He
slowed down and bent his mouth to her ear.

“This is waltzing. And you dance beautifully when you forget
yourself.” His husky voice sent shivers though her and her nipples drew tight.

His lips touched hers. His tongue caressed her lower lip in
feathery strokes. Her lips parted of their own volition and his tongue swept
into her mouth. Hot, wet and wine tinged.

Dear sweet heaven.

He had never kissed her like this. She wanted to embrace him
but he didn’t seem in a hurry to release her from her bonds. Maybe she should
ask. But then, Priscilla said men didn’t like to be directed in the bedchamber.

His face scraped hers, startling her. He was always clean
shaven when he came to her bed. He touched her breasts, his fingertips flirting
over the peaks. Her nipples tightened even harder, pressing through the gauzy
nightgown. He groaned softly then pinched one nipple between his thumb and
forefinger. Spears of delight pierced her and centered low in her belly. She’d
never felt anything that powerful, that direct. Wetness trickled between her
cunny lips. She gasped.

He stopped and stared down into her face. His eyes were
darkened to a purplish hue, glittering with desire. “I can’t help myself.”

He bent down, his mouth homing in on her breast. His tongue
lathed a nipple through the thin cloth. With the hot, wet moisture it felt as
if he licked bare flesh. He cupped the other breast, squeezing it lightly and
drawing the other tip into his mouth. He drew on her as if he were a babe.
Pleasured warmth surged through her and the trickle of wetness between her legs
became a deluge.

He had never been like this with her. Then again, he’d never
been in her chamber when intoxicated. Maybe that was what made the difference
with a man. Oh, she wished she could move her arms and embrace him. She became
aware of her vulnerability and strangely, it sent pleasurable shivers through
her.

He raised his head, his eyes blue and wild. Then he backed
her to the bed and eased her down onto it. “I want my rights.” He kissed her
neck, open mouthed and hungry. “Can’t wait.”

Twice in one week? Well, it was certainly a move in the
right direction. Maybe the claret gown
had
helped. Her channel clenched
as if in answer to his question.

“Yes, yes,” she breathed.

He fumbled with his pantaloons then pulled her nightgown up.
He looked at her and seemed to freeze. It was the first time she’d been bare to
his gaze in the light and the moment proved more than a little embarrassing.
The urge to pull her gown back down was strong but her hands were still tied.
She bit her lip, wishing he’d move on to the next part and cover her body with
his.

He traced the outer lips of her cunny and she jumped.

“Do you mind if I touch you there?”

“No, I am yours to touch, aren’t I?”

He smiled. “You’re so very sweet, my darling. And you are
correct. You are most definitely
mine
.”

Nervousness made her giggle. His finger trailed into her
moist flesh and rubbed lightly, starting first on the sides and then
concentrating on the central nub. She caught her breath. That part of her began
to tingle in the most delicious way. He increased the speed and the pleasure
intensified. Moans seemed to bubble up from the depths of her. She bit her lip,
harder this time, trying to hold them back. It surely wasn’t ladylike to moan
like a cat in a back alley with a tom. But a moan still rose, coming out as a
strangled sound.

He glanced up. The skin was tight across his cheekbones and
his eyes glittered darkly. He almost frightened her. A thrill raced over her.

He knelt and put the head of his cock to her flesh. Dear
heaven, she was so wet. He would know. He would know how badly she wanted him
there. Inside. How she couldn’t wait for him to push himself deep and stretch
her tight, fill her completely. The thought lent a delicious sort of
vulnerability to the moment, making her wetter than ever. Her channel
contracted, aching and empty.

But he seemed in no great hurry. He rubbed the head slowly
over her nub, tracing it in warm, sliding circles. And it was better, vastly
better, than his finger. She arched up and moaned, no longer caring how it
might sound. Everything was drawing tight, as if any minute something was going
to happen. Something momentous. She moaned and moaned, straining there on the
edge.

The clock chimed two in the morning, startling her. She
tried to sit up but couldn’t because her hands were still trapped beneath her,
still bound.

He startled as well, glancing at the clock then back to her,
his eyes glazed with desire.

He smoothed the hair off her forehead. “Pardon me for
dawdling, my love.”

He thrust inside, and then pulled almost all the way out.
Then plunged again. She gasped. Dear heaven, it wasn’t just pleasant this time.
It was
good
. Like raspberries and clotted cream good. Each stroke was
sweeter than the last. She was wetter than the other times and she could hear
the slurpish little noises their joining bodies made. She could smell her own
scent on the air. Strangely, these things only ratcheted her excitement higher.
The tension began to coil tight and low again. Her breath grew shallow and quick,
as quick as his thrusts were becoming. Her heart pounded against her rib cage.
Oh
God, oh God, oh God.
Then she was holding her breath, waiting. She arched
up to meet his thrusts, straining to find…something.

He stopped.

He groaned. It was so loud, such an uninhibited sound from
her husband, that her eyes popped open. He stared at her as if stunned. Then
his eyes closed and violent shudders racked his whole body.

He slumped against her. The bedding smelled of their sweat
and stale brandy. Her hair was damp, sticking to her scalp. The chill of the
air sank into her bones, making her shiver. An aching soreness was settling
into her pelvic regions. She couldn’t help a disappointed moan.

He kissed her cheek then panted in her ear. Several moments
passed, then he kissed her cheek again. “Thank you for indulging me.”

After a few moments, he rose.

She tried to reach for him, to draw him back. But she
couldn’t move her hands. They were still bound behind her back, underneath her.
She couldn’t even feel them anymore.

“Colin,” she called after his departing back.

He turned. “Yes, my love?”

“My hands.”

He hurried back. “I forgot.” He worked quickly then he
examined her wrists, rubbing them lightly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, despite her hands tingling with
pins and needles.

He smiled and dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “Good night
then.”

* * * * *

Colin had left the house by the time Sara arose. She moped
about, saddened that he didn’t come and wake her to say goodbye. He often did,
especially on a morning
after
. But he had grown distant more and more of
late.

At noon, her two closest friends arrived and she entertained
them in the parlor over tea and cakes.

“He hated the gown,” she told them.

“He could barely keep his eyes off you all night,” Priscilla
said.

“When he came over and took you home early, we just
assumed…” Fran said.

“Well, he hated it. Loathed it. He said it was too bold a
color for me.”

Priscilla laughed softly. “Oh, I see.”

Fran nodded, smiling into her teacup.

“What do you mean?” Sara asked.

“I don’t think he hated the gown or the color, what he hated
was other men seeing you in it.” Priscilla tapped her finger against her cheek.
“What you need is some nice, French lingerie.”

“In claret,” Fran added.

“Yes, and no frills or lace. Your petite shape will not
tolerate it. Something silky and simple, sinfully simple.”

* * * * *

Sprawled in his favorite chair in their private sitting
room, Colin sipped at his brandy. He was determined not to get drunk and lose
control the way he had the night before. However, he did look forward to
waltzing with his wife again. More than he ought. His cock pressed against his
pantaloons, straining at the buttons. He remembered the feel of her firm little
nub beneath his fingers. That had shocked her. He’d heard the cry she’d tried
to suppress. It had been hard to stop. He’d wanted so badly to take the nub in
his mouth, to feel it grow firmer against his tongue. To lathe and suckle her
until she cried out in bliss.

But there were things a gentleman didn’t do to a wife and
that was definitely high on the list. Would he always be in such a fever of
lust around her? Maybe after their children came, when he could see her as a
mother, then he would come to respect her more than he lusted for her. Until
then, he seemed doomed to burn with fire.

At the whisper of her feet, he looked up. She was standing
there calmly, expectancy etched into her fine features. A deep red silk gown
clung to her breasts like a second skin and fell to the floor in a hundred tiny
pleats. He put his brandy aside and approached her.

She gave him a tiny smile, her gray eyes piercing. His
stomach bottomed out in the way only she could make happen. He touched one of
the tiny ribbon straps. “Where did you ever get this?”

“Bond Street.” She tilted her head. “Too bold?”

“No, definitely not too bold for our chambers. You look very
lovely.” And he was in for a severe case of blue balls. He handed her a glass
of wine. “Drink this and then we’ll waltz.”

She smiled and put the glass to her lips. He’d never been so
jealous of a wineglass and he found himself tossing down another glass of
brandy in three swallows.

“Let’s dance,” he said, setting his glass down.

She held out her wrists, her eyes veiled by her lush, dark
lashes.

“What?” he asked.

“Aren’t you going to tie them again?”

He hadn’t thought about that. But perhaps they did need more
of that sort of practice. He untied his cravat then slowly, carefully wrapped
her wrists behind her back. A bolt of desire shot through his groin. Her hands
bound like that was such an unwittingly erotic sight. Even more erotic was the
slide of silk over the curve of her waist as he embraced. Her gray eyes were
pools of shimmering silver, holding his gaze while he led her through the
dance.

She was so weightless, feminine and fragile in his arms.
Tonight they moved together in a near-perfect rhythm. As he spun her ’round and
‘round, their bodies seemed to move closer and closer, until her breasts
pressed his chest, their tips like firm little points of fire.

Only a saint could resist kissing her and he was no saint.
He lowered his head and placed his lips on hers. She opened to him, all wine
and sweetness as his tongue thrust against hers. They stopped dancing. He
cupped her face, tilting her head so he could drink deeper, unable to get
enough of her mouth.

Eventually they were forced to part and breathe.

He studied her flushed face and glowing eyes. “What do you
think of kissing like that?”

“I like it. I wish there could be more of it.”

He chuckled. “I can’t keep kissing you. Not like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll want to have you in your bed again.”

Her lashes swept over her eyes and a small smile curved her
soft pink lips. “Yes, perhaps you should.”

His heart raced. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No, I shall welcome it. We must create an heir.”

“We must be patient. It will happen in its own good time.”

“Yes, but maybe if you shared my bed more often, it would
happen sooner.”

He couldn’t refute the logic of that. But surely one didn’t
treat a wife like a brood mare any more than one treated her like a whore. Yet
his cock twitched impatiently against her soft belly and his hands touched her
buttocks to press her body closer.

“Colin, may I ask a personal question?”

“Of course, you are my wife.”

A furious blush spread over her face. “Does it always have
to go quickly?”

Her question stunned him and his hands froze. Could he have
been mistaken, all these months? Oh God forbid—but please God, yes.

“No, it doesn’t.” He resumed caressing her silk-clad bottom.
“Are you saying you would like for me to go longer?”

“Well, if it is the proper way to hasten, I don’t think…that
is, I want to do whatever is proper.”

“Here in our chambers, I only care about pleasing you.
That’s all I have ever cared about. If it pleases you that I go slower, I will
certainly do so.”

“It would please me. Very much I think.” She bit her lip,
still blushing.

“Is there something more?”

“The touching, last time…” She took a deep breath. “You
touched me, down there.”

“Yes, and what did you think?”

“I rather liked it.”

God, his blood was on fire for her.

“I think we’ve had enough practice for tonight. Let’s go to
your bed.” He reached to untie her hands.

She looked over her shoulder and frowned. “Must you?”

“What?”

“Nothing…”

“Come now, Sara, tell me what is on your mind.”

“Must you untie me? Last night,” She cleared her throat
delicately. “You kept them tied.”

“I was carried away, my love.”

“Yes, well, it did feel as though I were, I don’t
know…somehow more connected to you.” Her tongue chased over her lower lip.
“More completely
yours
.”

At her last word, his cock became painfully rigid. He
grasped her by the shoulders. “You
are
mine.” He brought his lips down
on hers, kissing her hard and swift. “Never doubt it. I’d smoke a hole through
any man who dared touch you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “My goodness, Colin, you’re scaring
me.”

“Well, how else should I feel about it? You cut quite a dash
at the ball in your red gown. I was forced to watch all those men feasting
their eyes on you.”

“You hated the gown.”

“I loved the sight of you in it and that’s the truth.” He
cupped her soft breasts, grazing his thumbs over the stiffening tips. “So you
want to play games, then?”

“It would be horribly improper, wouldn’t it?”

“Darling, no one is going to know. But let me untie your
hands for now. It must have been wretchedly uncomfortable to have them tied
beneath you. I was quite drunk, you know.”

She nodded.

He untied her wrists and led her to the bed.

Chapter Three

 

Sara sat on the bed. He had shed his clothes and her gaze
devoured every hard angle and sleekly flexing muscle as Colin approached.

“We’ll leave the lamps on,” he said.

“Yes, just like last night.”

“Here.” He lifted the tiny ribbon straps brushing her
shoulders. She shivered with anticipatory tremors.

“This is lovely, but I prefer if you remove it,” he said.

The nightgown slipped away.

“Here,” he said, taking her hands. He wrapped his cravat
around her wrists, tying them together. Then he pulled them over her head and
secured them to the headboard. “There.”

He stared at her breasts. She felt too exposed and moved
instinctively to cover herself. But her hands wouldn’t budge. She was too
securely tied. Her throat dried. Maybe this wasn’t the thing after all. He
looked a lot fiercer tonight than the night before. But it was too late to back
out. She’d asked him for this. If she asked now to stop, she’d look like a
ninny. She already knew he thought she was the biggest ninny for being too shy
to waltz in front of other people.

He still stared. A thrill of helplessness passed through her.

“They are rather small…aren’t they?” she asked.

“They are perfect little peaches.” His fingertips grazed her
left nipple. It instantly puckered into a tight pebble. Warm pleasure sparked
through her and she gasped in surprise.

He glanced up. His eyes were so dark blue they looked like
sapphires. “I am going to kiss them.”

It sounded almost like a threat. She giggled nervously.

“I am, Sara. I am going to have them in my mouth whole.”

He couldn’t really mean that, could he?

He bent. His lips were soft against her breast. She giggled
again. He pressed quick little kisses on her flesh, leaving a tingling trail of
delight. She sighed and twisted against her bonds. His tongue flicked her
nipple, pure fire flashed through her. “Colin!”

A fierce look fell over his face and he took her nipple into
his mouth and sucked softly. Sensation rocked her. He increased the suction and
a warm burst of pleasure suffused her. Oh, she loved him so much. And she
wanted him. Just like this.

His fingertips brushed over her stomach, describing large,
languid circles that gradually grew smaller and smaller, lower and lower.
Delicious aching coiled tight in her lower belly and wetness began to flow
between her legs. Her hips began to arch up, as if of their own accord.

He opened his mouth wider and took her whole breast into his
mouth just as he’d promised. His fingers brushed her cunny hair. She started.
He released her breast and rose. His lips touched her neck. “Easy now.”

He touched her nub with soft, teasing strokes. The ache there
grew unbearable. A moan escaped her. He rubbed her more firmly, increasing the
speed. Her hips rocked up and down in time with his hand. There was nothing she
could do to still them. The room began to whirl and suddenly a pinwheel of pure
pleasure sucked her breath away.

When she came back to her senses, he was kissing her.

He lifted his head and his eyes were like blue smoke.

“What happened?” she asked, still dazed, her body still
ticking deep inside.

“You came.” He kissed her quickly.

“You knew about this? I mean, before?”

“Yes.” His look turned serious. “I am going to kiss you
there.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Surely not.”

“I am.” He moved smoothly down her body.

His dark head dipped between her legs and she gasped.
“Colin, it can’t be proper.”

His answer was to press a quick kiss to her mons. His breath
was warm against her and his tongue flicked against her nub. To her surprise,
hunger flashed to life. He flicked again. And again.

Flames of pleasure consumed her until she no longer cared if
this was proper or not.

She wanted it. Needed it.

Why had he waited so long to show her this world of
sensation?

“Oh please, please,” she panted, her hips arching up to
press his face. His tongue circled her nub, again and again, swirls of pleasure
that were carrying her away. Then he sucked lightly. Her cunny clenched hard
several times and waves of satisfaction swept through her, so strong she let
out a shriek of joy.

The waves were just starting to diminish when he growled
low, leapt up and mounted her. His knee pushed her thighs wider. He kneeled
between her legs, holding his cock in his hand. Then he put the head to her
entrance. His hands touched her hips and then he thrust, strong and hard.

After several quick strokes, he stopped. “Your legs.” He
lifted them.

“What?” she asked dreamily, her legs dangling at his waist
where he held them.

“Wrap them.” He thrust back and forth. “About me.”

She complied and he drove deeper, touching some part of her
she’d never even been aware of previously. Shock waves jolted through her and
she gripped him tightly with her legs. His lips fastened on her neck, sucking.
She was crying out with his every thrust as he moved faster, harder. The bed
was rocking. She could hear the ropes creaking. His sweat dripped onto her
breasts. The world exploded into white-hot bliss.

* * * * *

She awoke in her bed to the clock chiming.

He was awake, standing naked at the window in the moonlight.

“Colin?”

He turned and came back to the bed. He smoothed the hair
from her face and smiled but in the remaining lamp’s light, his eyes were
grave.

“I have denied you pleasure out of ignorance, but I assure
you I had the best of intentions.” He leaned back on the headboard. “Growing
up, I adored my sister. Worshiped her.”

She sucked in her breath. No one ever spoke of Margaret. She
knew from gossip that his sister had suffered a breakdown of nerves after her
husband died from a fall down the stairs. She held herself quiet, waiting for
him to continue.

“When I was eleven, she married and moved away and I missed
her very much. But she came back within a fortnight past her wedding trip. She
was in quite a state and Father sent for the physician. The physician diagnosed
it as a problem with her nerves, dosed her with laudanum and left. Worried, I
visited her chamber and she told me that the marriage bed was too horrible to
bear.

“She made me promise when I got married I would never, ever
treat my wife like a whore. She said ladies should not be expected to cater to
the base lusts of their husbands. She had never been the type to dramatize
before, so I took her words to heart.”