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Regency Risks Book One.
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June
20-22, 2014
A
MEASURED RISK
By
Natasha Blackthorne
Book one in
the Regency Risks Series
He is her
most dangerous temptation, the only man she has ever trusted and now
he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?
Emotionally
scarred in 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, as
she senses intuitively that he might be able to teach her how to
overcome the terrors that hold her in bondage.
And now she’s
willing to risk almost anything—her reputation, even her
virtue—to find out.
But what Lord
Ruel proposes startles her.
When the shy,
studious and socially awkward young widow approaches him, Lord Ruel
instantly senses she will be the sweetest, most submissive experience
of his life—but first he must gain her complete trust. Lord
Ruel makes Lady Cranfield 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-defences and show her
how to love when he himself has spent his life avoiding that tender
trap?
Erotica Romance ~ Light BDSM ~ Rubenesque / BBW
~ Regency Historical ~ Shy Heroine ~ Novel Length 86,000 Words .
Contains graphic erotic descriptions and frank sexual language. As a
work of historical romance fiction, A
Measured Risk is not intended to be an
accurate portrayal of modern BDSM lifestyles.
Excerpt
from A Measured Risk
©Copyright Natasha Blackthorne 2012, 2013
For Adults 18+ Only
She backed all the way into
the bookcase.
“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
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 talk of 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 rays of the
late-afternoon sun played over his pale hair, turning it the colour
of winter wheat, all her carefully rehearsed words flew from her
mind.
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’s 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.
“My dear,
lovely Lady Cranfield, I am going kiss you again.”
About Natasha Blackthorne:
Escape into the past with intensely erotic,
emotionally driven love stories. Natasha Blackthorne writes
character-focused historical erotica romance featuring strong
internal conflicts. Her stories are most frequently about the
intimate journey of the characters as they learn to open their hearts
to love.
Her heroines are not perfect ladies. They are
wildflowers and wallflowers who enjoy flirting with the forbidden.
Whether they are bold or shy, her heroines’ strong desires and
deep emotions drive the plot and drive their heroes to the point of
no return.
Connect with Natasha Blackthorne:
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free to “Friend” me on Facebook or subscribe to my public
feed.
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