Scandalous Miss Brightwells [Book 1-4]

Delighted, she moaned, arching against him, prickles of excitement shooting from her breast to her lower belly, the apex of her legs now a mass of quivering sensation. When he cupped her mound she cried out with frustration at the intrusion of her clothing against heated skin, an unnecessary layer that kept them apart. For they were destined to be one— she felt it in the basest regions of her mind, body and soul.

“Oh, God!” she gasped as the laving of his tongue heated the tip of her nipple beyond endurance. In an agony of ecstasy she rained kisses upon his crisp, dark curls, unsure whether to push him away or hold him closer.

She thought she had reached the summit of her pleasure, but it was just the beginning, she realised, as he insinuated his hand beneath the hem of her gown. She held her breath, poised on the edge of she knew not what as he trailed gentle, probing fingertips up her leg. He massaged the heated, highly sensitised skin of her inner thigh with agonising slowness.

“You like it?” His voice was hoarse as he stroked the contours of her body with a tenderness at odds with the hard masculine strength of his own. It seemed he had barely the strength needed to groan, “Just say the word, and I’ll do whatever pleases you, my love.” The tension and effort it clearly cost him to remain gentle only intensified the thrill. He was hers to command and she was enthralled.

Gasping as he continued his extraordinary, sensual journey, she felt as if her soul were on a string he was pulling ever tighter. And tighter. The rhythmic motion was creating needs she had never known she had. She held her breath, digging her fingers into his back and shoulders as he pleasured her, the tension within building to almost unbearable limits.

His breath, husky with need, tickled her ear. “I want you like I’ve never wanted any woman.” Briefly, she closed her eyes as her mind swam into a realm where her life existed on another plane and her body was a temple to this man whose touch unleashed such dangerous, forbidden impulses.

Clenching her jaw in sudden determination that overrode every sensible notion her mother had ever instilled in her, she weighed up her future.

Lord Slyther was a sure bet. She’d marry him tomorrow and perhaps be a widow within the year. Or ten. Meanwhile Fenton would wed another. Fenton, the man she wanted like no other.

She couldn’t let it happen…wouldn’t let it, whatever the sacrifices she must make. Fanny had never truly desired anything with complete and utter conviction as she desired Fenton as her legal wedded husband in that moment.

Whatever it took, she would…

With shock she realised all that was at stake. It was too much of a risk. She must retreat.

If he were to continue wanting her as much as she wanted him, the key to her happiness lay in sustaining his fascination with her. She couldn’t succumb like some common doxy.

She could hear her mother’s voice in her head telling her that a graceful retreat would leave him dangling for more. The faint voice of her own sensible self said the same.

So that’s what she must do.

&nb

sp; But another voice intruded; reminding her that she didn’t have time to take risks.

And letting him go with nothing more than a kiss to bind them was too great a risk.

Or was it that her pleasure was mindless and she’d never felt so secure in her powers of attraction?

He hadn’t stopped kissing her and now it was starting all over again as his clever fingers played her like a harp and her good intentions were swept away by the intense sensation that started with the throbbing between her legs and built up in every fibre of her body, pulling on her heart strings until they threatened to snap. She was gasping her desire for—what? She could not know and when, with a groan, he dragged his mouth from hers to say, raggedly, he was honour-bound to release her, the idea was suddenly like an end to her world.

“No!” she cried, her hands fumbling for the buttons of his breeches. Rake’s Honour. He wanted her, and if he took her now she’d be his forever. The powers she exercised tonight would be nothing to those she’d exert to ensure he never regretted it.

His look of shocked delight caused her to drop her hands. Foolish girl! This could be the end of everything. She tried to wriggle out of his embrace but it seemed her brief forwardness had redoubled his enthusiasm.

“You are magnificent, Miss Brightwell,” he murmured against her lips as he scooped her up and then lay her on the ground, caging her body with hers. “Say you’ll be mine.”

Say you’ll be mine.

It was too enigmatic to take as a promise of fidelity or honour but Fanny was too overcome by want and need to take heed of the cautions that echoed in her mind. For once her own desires were riding roughshod over the careful teachings of a lifetime.

She felt as if at last she was breaking free, obeying the impulses of her body rather than her mind. It was a glorious and liberating feeling to live in the moment rather than for an uncertain future.

The next few moments passed in a whirlpool of ecstatic sensation. She did not know how he’d managed it, but her legs were wrapped around his waist as he plundered her mouth like an oasis in a desert. His deft, clever hands swept over her bottom, turning the swollen bud at her very core once more into a quivering mass of sensation. When, groaning, he thrust himself into her, the surprising second of searing pain was immediately swept away by an encore of the first act—wave after wave of blissful, wicked, intense pleasure.

Chapter 5

In a daze, Fanny gave herself up to the rocking motion of the carriage as she sat quietly between Lady Harwood and her sister. Antoinette’s chatter was a welcome diversion. Clearly, the girl felt no shame or remorse about her conduct with Bramley.

But what of Fanny’s own behaviour?

Sinking into her cloak and closing her eyes, she relived the heady passion followed by its sweet aftermath.