Emily's Seduction (23 page)

Tears pricked her eyes and she blinked them back. “No, no, it’s me. I should have understood…” She gulped back a sob. “You were only responding out of what you knew, what you had experienced. You only wanted to protect me. I should have had faith you would come around to my way of seeing things. I should have been patient instead of running away.”

He pulled back and tipped her chin up. “Will you stop being so damned soft-hearted and let me apologise?”

Her tears poured in a torrent. She nodded and sniffed. “All right…but you needn’t go on. I forgive you.”

“And will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, oh goodness yes.”

His mouth came down on hers. And then they kissed as if their very next breath depended on the other. Maybe it did. She couldn’t help being bold. She caressed his hard, muscled stomach through the satin waistcoat. Moving lower, she found his erection and stroked it through his velveteen knee breeches. It throbbed against her touch. She tried to grip him but his breeches were too tight. Her inner walls contracted and she dripped wetness. She wanted him. Here, now.

“Christ,” he gasped.

He backed away from her and she followed. He sat in the comfortable chair where Cato napped in the afternoons while his wife toiled in the kitchen. She watched in fascination as his shadow moved, as he unfastened his breeches buttons. Desire trembled through her, the roar of pounding blood deafening in her ears.

He reached to her and she came to him, lifting her skirts as she did. His hand slid up the inside her thigh and touched her soaking cunt.

She closed her eyes and moaned but he removed his hand and grasped her hips, pulling her down. She’d never thought of people doing it this way but she allowed him to draw her down. His cock impaled her, sliding deep and fast. Filling her emptiness. Joyful anticipation tingled through her whole being. And then they were moving together, the junction between them all slick friction. God, it was hard, it was fast, it was glorious. She gave a small, hitching whimper then cried out. His mouth covered hers, sucking in her cries. Her cunt contracted fiercely, convulsively, her pleasure spasms milking his cock until his seed jetted into her. The moment seemed to last forever, suspended in time.

And then they panted against each other.

“Oh, Christ, my love,” he breathed against her neck.

She closed her eyes and melted into him, revelling in the sense of utter release and satisfaction. In the closeness between them. They were one. Now and always.

“Get up,” he said, pushing her off his lap. “Quickly.”

She stood, dazed as her skirts fell to the floor in a soft whoosh. His seed rushed down the insides of her thighs, copious amounts of it. The sound of shoes on the floorboard came from the kitchen. Emily’s heart seemed to beat up into her throat and she whirled to face the kitchen door.

Light shone from a candle, illuminating Mrs Webbs’ brown face. The elderly woman’s eyebrows raised and Emily turned in the direction of her gaze.

Alex was fastening the last button on his fall.

“Now what are you two doing in here?” Mrs Webbs laughed, the sound rich and velvety.

Emily’s face burned and she put her hand to her face.

“Don’t go all blushing and hiding your face, Miss Emily. I am a mother six times—it’s a fact I have done my share of making the beast with two backs in my time.”

Alex snorted. “The beast with two backs. Does anyone call it that any more?”

“I don’t rightly know, Mr Alexander. Nor do I greatly care. But I’ll tell you what I do wonder.”

“What’s that, Mrs Webbs?” Alex asked.

“Mr Alexander, I really want to know when—just when are you going to marry this little girl? Or is she going to have to be shoving her huge belly into a wedding gown?”

Emily caught her breath at that. None of this meant anything. He might continue to postpone their marriage forever. She met Alex’s eyes and lifted her chin.

“Yes, when are we to marry, Alex?”

“Next Saturday, at eleven o’clock in the morning, if that suits you.”

Relief and happiness warred for supremacy and her whole body relaxed.

She smiled. “It suits me just fine.”

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A Measured Risk

Natasha Blackthorne

Excerpt

Prologue

Suffolk, England

August 1818

“In London it’s going to be different this time, Anne.”

Anne Bourchier, the Countess of Cranfield, continued to watch the rain pelting the widow as the carriage rolled on through the night. The interior was hot and humid and she used her fan to cool her face with long, deliberate motions.

“I mean it. You’re going to be active in society and make me proud for once.”

She flicked him a disdainful glance. “And who will see to the running of our estate now?” It wasn’t her fault William’s long-term mistress had found another interest.

“I do keep a bailiff on staff.” His voice was uncharacteristically terse.

“His incompetence costs us too much. Since you refuse to dismiss him, someone needs to be there to keep an eye on him.”

“He’s my half-brother, Anne. How can I dismiss him?”

“You let your sentiment and your passions rule you.”

“Oh, always so cold, so in control, aren’t you, my darling? I meant what I said about the other, too. You shall welcome me to your bed every night, except when nature inconveniences you. And you’ll at least pretend to be happy about it.”

Her chest went tight and she slapped her fan closed. “I have never locked my door against you.”

“I mean that you shall reside with me until the deed is done. Else I shall be forced to take more extreme measures. Five years of marriage is enough. I’ll have my heir or die trying.”

She opened her fan and resumed cooling her face. She knew her husband well. Once in town, he’d find new distractions and she’d be able to slip away, back to the country.

The carriage jolted; slid for a heart-stopping moment in the mud. Two days of rain had made the roads treacherous at best. She turned to him. “We should have waited for the other carriages.”

Indignant eyes met hers in the lantern light. They were the most beautiful eyes—as green as summer grass and framed with thick, russet lashes. His elegant jaw tightened. “I didn’t want to wait—”

A sudden jolt rocked the seat beneath her and shook through her bones. A loud crash sounded and the carriage rattled as if it would fall apart. It veered over slightly. Her heart knocked against her ribcage as she clutched the seat’s edge. Her mouth went dry.

She glanced at William. He was so pale that his freckles looked like black specks. Her stomach flipped over.

“Christ.” His word was a whisper; a prayer that hung in the air between them as the carriage rolled. She went flying from her seat. Something smashed into her side and forced the air to whoosh from her lungs. Her forehead met a hard object. White shards of pain exploded in her head…and then nothing.

She opened her eyes slowly. Her head throbbed so fiercely that it made it painful to think. It was dark. Hard planks jammed into the softness between her hips and ribcage. She was mostly on her back, twisted halfway between the carriage wall and roof. She tried to ease her position but something heavy pressed her down and held her immobile. Helpless. She reached out to touch it and pain sliced through her shoulder and up into her neck. The sudden intensity made her nauseated and lightheaded. She cried out.

“Anne?” His voice came from directly above her and it sounded weak.

“Yes?”

“Are you unharmed?”

“Mostly.” With an effort, she moved her hands over the wool of William’s jacket. “And you?”

“It hurts to breathe.”

Afraid of injuring him, she stopped searching his body. “Some of your ribs must be broken. That’s all. The doctor will patch you up easily.”

Dread went twisting through her stomach. How badly was he injured? Lightning flashed through the carriage window.

“Damnation, it hurts. Anne, I can’t move.” Beneath the sharpness, his voice quavered. He was afraid—very afraid. Her heart contracted. She had once felt such tenderness towards him. A fragile, barely-born tenderness that had been killed in its infancy—yet it had been the dearest feeling she’d known in her life. It all came back to her, washing over her in an intense rush. She cradled his head to her.

Thud, thud.

The sound was loud—and close. A horse’s iron shoe kicking the thin carriage wall. It sent her heart pounding up into her throat. Her hands tightened on his crisp, red, curling hair.

“I am sorry Anne. Should have waited. You’re always right…” His voice seemed to reverberate with pain.

She winced for him and caressed the side of his face. “Shh, it doesn’t matter now.”

His breathing changed, sounding deep and laboured. He had lost consciousness. Her chest constricted so hard that her breath began to hitch.

Please don’t let him die.

Lightning flashed again, brilliant and close through the window. Thunder rumbled through the carriage’s frame. One of the horses screamed.

Thud, thud, thud.

The horse’s hoof pounded the outside more frantically this time. Her heart beat furiously. That fragile wall was all that separated them from those hard, shod hooves. They were pinned here; trapped. She gripped his arms and tried to move and pull him along with her, away from the sound. But the pain weakened her shoulder and his lean frame proved to be far heavier than she’d have suspected. Sweat poured all over her body and her grip slipped.

The horse kept on pounding the wall. Her terrified heartbeat echoed each thud. God, she had to get them both away from those beating hooves. She clenched her jaw and redoubled her efforts, pulling with all her strength while groaning deep in her throat against the red-hot pain in her shoulder joint. She managed barely an inch, then her arms shook and gave out once more under the burden of his dead weight. They both slipped back to the carriage roof.

Her lungs burnt and she gulped for air. Her head throbbed so hard that it made her dizzy. Tears flowed down her cheeks. How utterly helpless she was. But William was depending on her. She couldn’t fail him.

She tried again to rouse herself but this time her arms were so weak and the pain in her shoulder so severe that she trembled and couldn’t move at all. Her headache increased to almost blinding intensity. She pressed her head to his satin-covered chest, inhaling the citrus scent he favoured. She gave in to her tears, sobbing silently.

Lightning struck again; thunder boomed violently.

The horse screamed.

Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Another solid thud sounded, followed by a crunching, cracking. Her head jolted up. Jagged edges of yellow lantern light broke through the blackness of the carriage wall and water trickled down the interior wall. It transfixed her eye.

Crack!

Light reflected off iron, the white of a fetlock. Something skimmed past her face; she sensed the radiant heat more than saw it. Icy tingling raced over her scalp, chilling her blood, freezing her heart.

She tightened her hands on William’s shoulders. As if she could possibly protect him. A hollow, dull knocking sort of noise reverberated through her bones.

Warm wetness splattered her face.

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About the Author

Emotional. Evocative. Erotic. Historical romance from the Georgian and Regency eras, set in both England and America. Whether they are bold or shy, my heroines’ strong desires and deep emotions drive the plots—and their heroes—to the point of no return.

I have always been a daydreamer who told myself stories of love and romance set in other times and places for my own pleasure. Eventually my story worlds became so real that they demanded to be brought out of my imagination and on to the page. It gives me great joy to finally share them with you. I hope you enjoy my story world.

I am married to my own hero and we share our life with a very quirky calico cat. I have a BA in history, I love to read, both romance and scholarly history, and I listen to a variety of music from classical to reggae. But mostly I am hard at work researching and writing my next story.

Email:
[email protected]

Natasha loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com
.

Also by Natasha Blackthorne

Carte Blanche: Grey
’
s Lady

Carte Blanche: White Lace and Promises

Carte Blanche: Alex’s Angel

Regency Risks: A Measured Risk

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