Read Online The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne by Natasha Blackthorne - Free Book Online Page A

you are doing.” He kissed her nape again, this time opening his mouth. Heated breath blew on her flesh, and then the slight bite of teeth.
    Wild shivers of pleasure chased down to her belly, tightening her nipples all the more and sending gooseflesh all over her body.
    Despite the kindness in his voice, he had been teasing her. Mocking her. How foolish of her to have come here.
    To have thought he might still want her. Was that it then? His wounded pride at having been rejected for Freddy’s sake?
    But what other choice had she had? Freddy had needed her.
    James would never need anyone.
    He didn’t even feel the need to bed her when she had come to his chamber and presented herself naked for his pleasure.
    Why hadn’t he come after her that night, so long ago in the garden? Surely he had known she must slap his face, that she must resist his seduction. Why had he simply let her go?
    Because he didn’t want you badly enough, he didn’t need you.
    Freddy did.
    You had to be needed!
    It was you who made the decision to wed Freddy, not Mama, not Papa.
    You!
    Your vain desperation to be needed!
    All her fight left her. Her body went weak and she collapsed against the sheets and burst into tears.
    It was too much. Just too much to think about.
    James had never loved her. Not really.
    He wouldn’t care about her now. Her means of escape had been an illusion.
    Vain girl! Vain, needy, desperate girl! A wife’s place is to serve and obey, not to be needed with desperate passion.
    James Blayne saw the unnatural hunger in you. He ran. Believe me, Catriona, he ran. Any sane man would. You must learn to cool your passions. You must sublimate that unholy passion of yours.
    She had wanted passion. Wanted it desperately.
    She hadn’t really ever found it, had she?
    The emptiness rose up in her, threatening to choke her.
    Some people had passion in their lives, didn’t they? They had fire. They were allowed to take joy in being alive.
    Why was she denied? Why had she always been denied?
    She hated her life. She hated herself.
    Hated herself!
    “I want to die! I want to die!” The words tore up through her throat. “If I have to stay here, I shall kill myself, I swear it!” She heard the rising hysteria in her voice, but she couldn’t tamp down her emotion—not now, not lying naked in James’ bed. “Do no’ let him hurt me. I can no’ bear it any longer! Don’t let them keep me here, I am a prisoner!”
    He lit the lamp and held it to her face and studied her for long moments. “Christ,” he said softly.
    His calm tone sank through her panic. She clung to that. To his calm, his strength. How like James to be so stoic in the face of her hysteria.
    Hysteria.
    Oh, how she wished to have never heard the word!
    She had lost control of herself. Shown him her worst side.
    It couldn’t be undone.
    He would never want to help her now.
    He will run, Catriona. Any sane man would.
    James caressed her cheek, ever so gently. “You’re not drunk at all. You’re drugged.”
    Then he leapt up from the bed. She heard the bellpull. Heard the rustle of him dressing. Then some time passed and, from the adjoining dressing chamber, she heard him order his valet, Robert, to fetch some strong coffee and to leave it in the dressing chamber and to stay the hell out of the bedchamber and not to allow anyone in.
    She laid there in James’ whisky-scented bed, tired, drained, defeated. Too weak and limp to move.
    Eventually, she heard the door open and close. He had left.

Chapter Five
     
    With the sound of the door closing still echoing in his ears, James closed his eyes.
    His heart hammered his chest wall. Each beat rocked through his whole body, shocks of desire radiating down to where a second heart seemed to be centered in his cock.
    God.
    He could still taste her mouth.
    And her kisses were just as sweet as they had been that evening years ago. Sweeter, for she had thrust her hot little tongue so fervently against his, with an intensity of