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Authors: Natasha Blackthorne
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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
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
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