A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

  She threw a glance at the divan, her favourite spot in this whole house. The image his words conjured—her, lying naked on the crimson velvet, open for his perusal—burnt into her brain. Her inner muscles contracted several times—hard. The folds between her legs swelled and grew slicker.

  Of course, despite her wayward dreams, she didn’t really want to do something like that.

  Couldn’t possibly.

  She barely knew Ruel. Yet there was that innate sense that she could trust him. That she could give in to his whims and it would be safe. A secret shared between them. Temptation tingled through her, increasing with every beat of her heart.

  Reckless.

  She had never been reckless in her life. A trembling began in her legs.

  She turned back to him. His features were tight with desire, his stare commanding and compelling. She wanted to be reckless with this man.

  “The door is locked. The others aren’t going to come in here—the gentlemen are all occupied with fencing and the ladies are busy with their watercolours.”

  She’d never allow herself the luxury of surrendering to this. For this was pure emotion and it would be giving him too much of herself.

  “I won’t do it.” She had intended to make her tone resolute. That thready, pleading voice couldn’t possibly be hers.

  “It would please me.” His firm tone sent a new wave of lassitude through her limbs.

  Need twisted in her lower stomach and a fresh cascade of wetness slicked her intimate folds. It slid down her inner thighs.

  Wait—How had they come to this moment? Where the devil was the reserve and sexual coolness that had driven William into other arms? This virtual stranger held some kind of special power over her. God. It was unthinkable. It was terrifying.

  “No.” Her strident denial echoed jarringly in her ears.

  He released her wrists.

  She pulled the gown up high and clutched it tight. She wanted to run. She should run. But his large, strong body still stood between her and the exit. Would he really attempt to stop her if she tried to flee? Her heart pounded at the thought. Because she knew that if he put his hands on her and stopped her, especially if he did it as forcefully and firmly as he’d behaved thus far, she’d melt for him.

  What a revelation! She’d never suspected such a creature existed in her secret heart, waiting for someone to come along and draw her out.

  “You’d better leave now.” She pushed the words past her shaking lips.

  Chapter Two

  Long moments passed. Anne couldn’t look at Ruel. Right now her will was so weak that if she did, she’d be lost.

  He grasped her shoulders.

  No—he couldn’t kiss her again. She couldn’t allow it.

  He exhaled sharply.

  She looked up. Staring into his eyes was like staring up into the wide, wide heavens. Her breath caught. All her thoughts fled.

  He compressed his lips and tightened his grip. She was trembling on the inside. Not from fear but from hunger. Oh, to feel his hard yet supple mouth upon her own again…

  He turned her to face the bookshelf so quickly that her vision spun. Her stomach lifted then fell, a floaty sensation. Oh God, what was he going to do now?

  He put his hands on her back, roughly. Gooseflesh rose all over her, making her nipples pull into harder points. She hardly dared to breathe. Oh God, what was he going to—

  With several quick, jerking movements, he re-laced her gown.

  “Lady Cranfield, what did you expect?” His voice cut her.

  Anne whirled back to face Ruel.

  His mouth quirked up at the corner.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her shoulders. “Pardon me?”

  “You have been making a spectacle of yourself over me with all your come-hither glances and inquiries about me. No gentleman could ignore such a charming plea for his attentions.”

  Heat flamed her cheeks. How dare he even mention such a thing? No gentleman would. But logic wouldn’t allow her to accept her own anger. The evidence of her fascination was too damning.

  She mounted an immediate defence. “I—I only asked about you because I wanted to know what kind of man rides such a formidable warhorse.”

  He gaped at her for a moment. Then humour lit his eyes. “So this is an intellectual curiosity?”

  What a silly chit he must think her. He’d served in the dragoons when she’d been a schoolroom miss. Had fought Napoleon on the Peninsula when she’d been floundering through her Mayfair seasons. She took a deep breath. “You’ve been making sport of me this whole time, haven’t you?”

  He grinned, showing white, even teeth, and his eyes glittered with playfulness. “I am mocking my own vanity in thinking your interest signalled an invitation to an affaire.”

  His change of mood disarmed her. Warmed her. And that warming made her wary. What did she want from him now? She wasn’t sure. What should she say or do? She didn’t know. She felt so lost. Confused. She wanted only to run, hard and fast, up to her chamber and let her roiling emotions settle. However, he still blocked her way.

  She donned a frosty exterior. “I assure you it didn’t. I don’t want an affaire with you.”

  His grin softened to a smile. “You don’t?”

  “No.” What a lie. That creature lurking in her secret heart wanted nothing than to fling herself into his arms and press against his hard body. Her heart beat triple its normal cadence with fear. Fear both of him and of the stranger within herself.

  His expression turned thoughtful. “What do you want from me, Lady Cranfield?”

  “I’d like to know you, that’s all.”

  “Well, darling.” He traced a fingertip over the silver locket resting against the hollow of her collarbone. William’s locket. “I’d like to know you, too.”

  His sensual inflection, his heated look, flushed her cheeks and sent a fresh flood of wetness between her legs. Her slick, swollen folds tingled. She was hollow inside; aching. If she were alone, she would take care of it in the most efficient way possible, so she wouldn’t have to feel these feelings that confused her. But here, with him, she was forced to stand there with fire raging in her blood, clouding her thoughts, weakening her resolve… God, no man had ever done this to her.

  Aside from her fear of horses and carriages, she didn’t suffer with her feelings. Nothing could touch her. Nothing could hurt her. She made logical assessments of her emotions, then dismissed them.

  What was she becoming? First the mindless fear, now this mindless passion? She was losing all her self-control—the self-control that protected her against the world.

  Flustered, she had to look away. “I don’t mean ‘get to know you’ in the way you do, my lord. I want to understand how your mind works.”

  He laughed, sensual and deep. “So you want to pin me to a board and examine me under a magnifying glass? Egad, that’s not very flattering to a man’s vanity.”

  “Please don’t laugh at me, it is very important to me. I—I believe you know something that I do not. That there is something I can learn from you.”

  “And what is that, sweeting?”

  “I want to learn how someone like you can be so fearless.” Oh God, why had she told him that so bluntly? It sounded ridiculous when said aloud.

  “What do you fear?” His tone held curiosity.

  Her breath became very quick, very shallow. No one but Nellie knew. There had been no way to hide it from her own abigail, but even then they had never spoken of it openly. She’d worked hard to conceal it from everyone else and people tended to put her isolationist ways down to her grief. But she was ashamed at not having been able to overcome her fear in all these months since the accident that had taken William’s life. She longed to confess this deepest fear to Ruel. To him and him alone. He was so strong, so fearless, so dominant. Yet his eyes, at times—like right now—could convey such compassion. She just knew that if anyone could understand, he could.

  She tu
rned back to him. “You must give me your word—your absolute word as a gentleman—that you will never speak of it to another soul. Never, ever.”

  Her voice sounded strained, desperate. Just like the voice of a heroine in one of those dreadful plays William had favoured. At least she wasn’t clutching Ruel’s arm.

  He smiled, but now there wasn’t any laughter in his eyes. Instead, his gaze shone with something very like sympathy. “I should rather have my heart cut out than betray your confidence.”

  Maybe he was acting. Maybe he was laughing at her inside and would share this story with Francesca and her friends. Anne would just have to take that risk. Because she’d tried everything she knew of and had made no progress. She needed someone’s help. She was forced to trust someone, to reach out to someone. God, she hated to need anything, from anyone—but she had no other options. And she couldn’t shake this notion that he could help her. She had never listened to that sort of a fancy; an intuition. Yet this time she couldn’t silence the little voice. It nagged her day and night. Her time was running out. He would be leaving soon—very soon—and she would lose the possibility that he might be able to teach her something priceless.

  Be brave. Take a chance.

  She took a deep breath and plunged into it. “Horses. I am terrified of horses and carriages.”

  * * * *

  Jon studied Lady Cranfield’s large, dark sapphire eyes. The sad shadows there spoke volumes.

  “You were with him in the accident, weren’t you?”

  Her rich, honeyed skin went at least three shades paler. “Yes.” Her soft, soprano voice broke, went all crackling. “I held him as he…”

  Died. Christ.

  “We were waiting for our entourage to catch up. William insisted that we leave before they were ready.” She pressed her lips together. White showed around the edges and she looked down at the floor.

  Jon knew the next chapter. One of the horses had kicked had through the thin carriage wall and struck Cranfield, cracking his skull open.

  Death was such a capricious bitch.

  “It was hard to accept. I was ill for a long time afterwards.” Her words were simple, yet they resonated with pain. “Now I am better—physically, at least—yet I cannot bring myself to even approach a carriage, or take an apple to Neroli, my mare.”

  He touched the silver locket that lay against her collarbone. Silver was far too cold a metal for her. With her ebony hair and skin like warm honey—and, damn, that lush, burgundy wine mouth—she was as stunningly sultry as the deepest, darkest tropical summer’s night. “He gave you this?”

  “Yes, it was a birthday present.”

  Then he let his gaze roam over her large, lush breasts, softly curved hips. And the image of her proper woman’s arse, broad and round, was likely burned forever into his mind. He lifted the locket in his fingers, considering the delicate chain and dainty pendant. A Persephone-like trinket made a poor adornment on the neck of an Aphrodite. He tightened his hand on the locket.

  The slightest pressure would break the fragile links—

  Catching himself, he loosened his hand and focused on what was glaringly apparent. William Bourchier had never seen his own wife.

  Yet she wore this unflattering pendant even after his death. It spoke, more than words, of her need to belong to someone.

  He should walk away. Leave right this moment. The last thing he wanted was to be needed—by anyone. But her large, dark blue eyes, with their long, lush lashes, clung to his. She looked so…lost.

  Damn.

  He released the locket. “You’re running away.”

  Her eyes widened and she flinched a little but then her expression closed off. She rolled one shoulder up, then dropped it. “Yes, I see how you would think that but you cannot understand. I loved horses. I spent most of my time growing up on the duke’s breeding farm.”

  The duke? Wait, she was Saxby’s chit. The Duke. God, the way she’d said the word. As if her father were someone totally disconnected from her. Maybe even supernatural. The echo of her words produced a dangerous tugging on his sympathies.

  Leave. Pat her on the head, offer some platitudes and leave. This isn’t your responsibility.

  But he liked her. Over the past days, he’d learnt so much about her, just from watching her and the limited conversations her reserve around others had permitted. She was intelligent, bookish…far too bookish. Yet she was not a bluestocking bent on meddling in politics. She appeared to have a true love for the philosophers and history she studied. Certainly more love than she had for the company of other people. Such cool reserve, such cerebral focus, contrasted with her sensual appearance, and the fire that smouldered in her dark blue eyes, fascinated him.

  And his life lately had been so deadly dull. He’d looked forward to the distraction of seducing her. But to risk this kind of complication, this kind of evoking of his emotions…? No, the distraction was definitely not worth that.

  She spoke again. “Riding used to be one of my treasured joys. It is such a rare, solitary pleasure. It seems I should be able to overcome such a fear on my own…but so far I can’t.”

  Beneath her soft tones, her desperation sounded like a sharp edge. It brought to mind memories of soldiers broken down by the horrors of battle. Men who had once been strong and had lost their faith in life and in themselves. The same had happened to her. His throat burnt. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, not with lust but with reassurance and comfort. This was fast becoming too deep, too murky.

  Leave. This is your last chance. She needs someone too much.

  Women of his class could prove more bother than they were worth in the end. Did he really want to open himself up to that kind of turmoil again? No, he did not.

  Yet he couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t just leave the damn thing alone. He opened his mouth and damned himself. “You can’t overcome your fears because you are not in control of yourself. Not on the inside, where it matters.”

  Her lush, wine-red mouth fell open and her eyes sparked with indignation. “That’s a terribly presumptuous thing for you to say.”

  “Maybe if I’d made the observation without any evidence.”

  Her black brows drew together tightly, creating a vertical line above the bridge of her small, straight nose. “What do you mean?”

  “Earlier, alone here with me, a self-controlled woman would’ve either slapped my face and left—I would never have detained you—or she would have taken responsibility for what she wanted and submitted. But you couldn’t make a decision one way or the other because you were at war with yourself.”

  Her gaze hardened to ice. He could have sworn the temperature in the chamber had dropped several degrees.

  “Are you quite done?” Underneath her frosty tones, her voice shook.

  Damnation, he wished he could be done. He’d find a card game or get half-dead drunk or find a less complex woman. Anything to pass the evening hours in a mind-numbed state. However, something about the sad shadows beneath her defiant sloe eyes demanded that he press on and face her with the truth.

  “No, I am not done.” He gave her a steady stare, waiting until she dropped her eyes and bit her lip. “I should like to warn you not to toy with men in the future—at least not until you understand what you want from the encounter.”

  Because some other bastard would have pressed the issue. Perhaps even have forced her.

  She jerked her gaze back to his. “Now, wait just a moment…” She crossed her arms over her generous breasts, held herself rigid. “You followed me here, not the other way around.”

  Her defiance seemed to crackle in the air between them. Why must his cock react by going hard as iron? He didn’t want this type of complex association in his life. He would tell the girl the truth—for her own good—then he would put her out of his mind. Out of his life.

  “That’s your primary problem,” he said coolly. “You aren’t honest with yourself. You don’t understand yourself. And you don�
�t understand what you want from a man.”

  Her whole body seemed to go straight and painfully stiff. Her jaw tensed. She held her hand up between them. “I don’t have to listen to this…this tripe. From a stranger, no less.”

  She made to walk past him, her breast brushing his arm, soft and warm.

  A muscle tightened in his jaw. No, she had opened this up. She’d listen to the end. He blocked her exit and grasped her firmly by the shoulders. She raised an open mouthed expression to him but her eyes went smoky and dark.

  Dark with desire.

  A sense of power surged through him. He craved to pull her closer, to crush her soft body against his until she pleaded for him never to release her.

  “Please…let me go.” Her voice resonated with confusion, outrage and yearning all at once and her full bottom lip, lush and burgundy, quivered. Only by exercising the full extent of his self-control did he resist bending to taste her mouth again.

  “No, you will listen. To be brave, you need inner strength. In order to have inner strength, you must understand yourself. The first thing you must understand is that, for a woman like you, there can be strength in submission. The strength you need to overcome your fears.”

  She flashed him a sidelong look—the very kind that had first made him pause and take a second glance at the quiet, somewhat awkward widow. The very kind she had tormented him with ever since. Deep and direct, it gave a tantalising glimpse of her mysteries. It had been his first warning that she would be trouble. But the mystery of her had been too damned beguiling to resist.

  Not to mention that broad, rounded arse…

  “To submit is to be weak. Everyone knows that,” she said, her voice calmer now.

  He loosened his hold, letting his fingertips caress her shoulders and watching the responsive shudder pass through her body. She was his to command—he had only to press his advantage. The knowing burnt through him like fire. His cock went so hard that it hurt. But he didn’t want the complications she would bring.