Netherby Halls

His kisses traveled over her face, down to the hollow of her neck; he held both her breasts in his large hands and licked at her nipples before he traveled further to her belly. And then with one knee, he parted her legs wide to receive his tongue at the cleft between her thighs.

She moaned as he worked her, and she bucked with pleasure, calling out his name as his finger joined his tongue and he shoved it deep inside. He vibrated her at just the right spot with his other hand, and the rocket explosion of relief made her entire body shudder with sweet pleasure.

“Justin … oh … yes,” she said as he took his rod and placed it at her sweet sugar box and asked her if she wanted him.

“This … do you want this now … are you ready, sweetlife?”

“Yes, now—give it to me now!”

And he did, as he had so many times since their wedding day the month before. Later, after they had explored new positions and new ways to please one another, Sassy sighed and said, “This is real magic, Justin.”

He kissed her nose. “There is no magic that comes close.”

“Do you think Percy and Sophy are as happy? I cannot think anyone could be as happy as we are.”

“Everyone finds their own level of happiness, but what you and I have … oh my Sassy, oh my …” he said before grabbing hold of her between her thighs once more.

~ End ~

Available in February 2013:

After the love of her life is taken from her at Waterloo, Jenny is sure that joy and love are lost t

o her forever. But life had more in store for Jenny,

After the Storm (unedited)

~ Prologue ~

THE WIND, NO longer warm from the rays of the sun, bit at her face, causing her to blink. Long, chestnut-colored hair whipped around her slender neck and her lashes. She put one ungloved, delicate hand up and brushed the thick strands away from her face as she stopped her determined steps.

Desolate eyes stared at the tall oak—their oak. They had carved their initials there when they had a future, when they had hope.

“Johnny,” she whispered. “Oh my Johnny.” Finality infiltrated her tone and resignation the slope of her shoulders. Anguish tempered by time swept through her body as she dropped to her knees, heedless of the damp grass.

A year had passed—one entire year since the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, since the last time she had kissed his lips, saw his face—one year since Waterloo.

She felt a sick sensation take over when she tried to recall his face, that wondrous, boyishly handsome face, as he stood before her that awful night.

They went, all of them, almost merrily to Waterloo. Even then—with those dreadful drums beating throughout Brussels—even then, they looked as though they were off to a parade.

Jenny remembered the sound of those drums, calling their men to arms. The officers attending the Duchess of Richmond’s ball left hurriedly, some actually going off to battle in their ball attire, and Johnny, her Johnny had been among them.

Exploding cannons—the sound filled the atmosphere, as the Beau Monde breathlessly awaited the outcome. So many of her friends, so many of the English gentry, were there in Brussels that spring.

Napoleon had escaped, gathered his army, and begun to march. The Duke of Wellington, their hero, went off to meet him. The English believed that Wellington would win the encounter with the Frenchman and were there to witness it.

No one had anticipated the amount of blood it would take to fulfill their expectation. Thus it happened on June 18, 1815, that Wellington met Boney at Waterloo, and her John was lost forever.

Jenny thought that she could no longer cry and was surprised at the tear that made its way down her cheek. Mac had been there. He had lived, and while she searched for John, he found her.

Lieutenant William McMillan had taken hold of her shoulders, and when she saw his distorted features she backed up from him, screaming. She wasn’t sure anymore what she had screamed.

“Jen, Johnny’s last words to me were of you. He said he loves you and that you have to move on…”

She closed her eyes now. She had come to their tree to say good-bye, but could she? She didn’t feel ready. “Haunt me, Johnny, come to me as a ghost,” she hugged herself and prayed, “Stay with me forever.”

Her father and aunt had hurried her home to Devon, and even for their sakes it had been so very difficult not to fall into a decline. For weeks all she wanted to do was go to sleep and not wake up.