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White Lace and Promises
ISBN #978-0-85715-844-4
©Copyright Natasha Blackthorne 2011
Cover Art by April Martinez ©Copyright December 2011
Edited by Rebecca Hill
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 3.
This story contains 258 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 8 pages.
Carte Blanche
WHITE LACE AND PROMISES
Natasha Blackthorne
New York Merchant Prince Grey Sexton loves the audacious, spirited young temptress who seduced him in a Philadelphia bookseller’s and made passionate love to him in his carriage. Her fiery nature broke through his cold self-protection. But in a time of war and trade disruption, he cannot allow himself to be distracted. He vows to put business above all else in his life, including his bride.
Shocked and hurt by Grey’s distance, Beth wonders whether he truly returns the burning love she feels for him. Beth demands that Grey prove he can truly change once and for all or else she will not start a family with him. But will the dark, sensual secrets she yet keeps repel the arrogant, self-controlled gentleman she has married?
Dedication
To Rebecca Hill, my editor.
Thank you for always encouraging, understanding and helping me.
Prologue
Philadelphia, PA
June 1812
Five hundred dollars. Five hundred fucking dollars. Given straight into the hands of Charlie McConnell. Around and around Grey’s mind those words circled, shoving aside any rational thought.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of mouldering paint and wood. The shock of the foetid odour slowed the swirl of his emotions. He glanced around at the broken-down scraps and sticks of furniture littering the back room of the shop.
This had been her home for almost four years. Four years. God.
The anger inside him churned a bit less intensely. Some semblance of thought returned and with it a hearty dose of remorse.
Yes, he should never have turned his back on her and walked away. Especially without explanation.
But he’d been forced to escape. Anger had struck him quickly, like a blow from some unseen assailant, rocking him to his core. It still quivered in his muscles. God, he’d completely lost his control.
“Grey, please…”
The soft, breathy voice with its slight halting note made him turn.
Beth stood before him, her lashes veiling her eyes as she focused on some point upon his cravat. He studied this girl, who held the power to drive all rationality out of his mind. The power to knock him from his foundations. The power to force him to change his whole life. Her head barely reached his shoulder. Christ, how petite and small-boned she really was. It still shocked him. It brought out his protectiveness, made him less wary.
But some of the most dangerous things in life came in small packages.
He let his eyes linger over her delicately etched features and her gently curling, silver- gold hair. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and time only seemed to increase that impression. Anger, resentment, sympathy, protectiveness—which did he feel? He didn’t know and he didn’t trust himself to speak. Damn it anyway. If only she hadn’t followed him here. If only she’d give him a chance to collect his thoughts so he could respond to her properly.
In his business dealings he was used to making decisions quickly. He was used to reading people’s reactions and responding in the most diplomatic way possible. But here, in the world of passionate emotions, he was wholly lost.
She touched his arm, a tentative feathering of her fingers over his jacket sleeve. Despite the protection of the fabric, sparks chased along his flesh. She glanced up through thick, silver-gilt lashes. His heart rate sped. Desire shot into his balls, his cock, further clouding his perspective. Ah, but she was very good at flirtation. Her sensual skills were deadly. He’d better never forget it.
Her sky-blue eyes implored him. “Don’t be angry. My brother will repay you.”
He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, as if that could protect him from her effect on his senses. “It’s not the money, Beth, it’s the disloyalty.”
Her mouth—her soft, pink, delectable mouth—dropped open slightly. “Disloyalty?”
“Yes, disloyalty to my wishes.”
“But you said I could spend the money as I chose.”
“No. I told you, expressly, that the money I gave to you was solely for your own use. I don’t care what you spend it on, so long as you spend it on your needs and wants alone.”
“I wanted to help my brother. He got himself into some trouble with a moneylender.”
His patience snapped. “I have already given your brother funds, enabled him to better his position—generously.”
“He doesn’t know how to handle money. He—”
“But you broke faith with me, Beth.”
The sharp sound of a handclap cut the air. Beth’s image and that of the shabby backroom shattered like someone had thrown a rock into a mirror. Shock washed over him as his wharf-side office came into focus. He jerked his head up.
Over the desk, a tall, redheaded scarecrow grinned at him like a moron.
Thomas Watson, his oldest friend. Good God. What the devil was Watson doing here? Who’d let him in? The front entrance was kept locked on Sundays. Couldn’t a man spend an afternoon in peace in his own office?
Watson’s amber eyes fixed on him and narrowed as if deep in speculation.
Grey shifted uneasily, feeling as though Watson could see right down into his tempestuous thoughts, and turned his attention back to the column of numbers on the page.
“Have you lost weight?” Watson’s mother hen tone grated on him. Grey’s quill tore through the paper.
He tossed his quill onto the desktop and swung back in his chair. “What?”
Watson’s bushy, red-gold brows lifted. “That’s some greeting. I came to Philadelphia to find out what’s been holding you here.”
“Why? Have you suddenly appointed yourself my keeper?”
Watson shrugged. “Someone needs to be. You work yourself a hundred times harder than any other man in your position would. I’d wager all I own some niggling matter has dominated your attention.”
“Oh, it’s something very important, I assure you…” Grey’s voice trailed off at the end. Five hundred dollars. Christ. He wouldn’t even have found out if a drunken McConnell hadn’t grasped his hand and thanked hi
m profusely for getting him out of trouble with an aggressive moneylender.
She’d disregarded his wishes—wilfully so—yet when faced with it, she’d crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes, glossy and hurt, had stabbed into him a moment before she’d turned away. “You don’t understand my position with my family.”
Even now, just remembering her haltingly spoken words, his stomach twisted. He took a deep breath and tapped his fingers on the desktop.
Oh, he understood her position. Too well. It was that same soft heart, that same blind loyalty that so beguiled him, that got her into trouble. Her half-siblings were vipers who sought to gain what they could from her new association with him and she was a fool to be taken in by them.
He’d taken her by the shoulders and spun her back to face him.
“Beth, if you are to be my wife, you ought to start by respecting my wishes. You ought to give me some of this mindless loyalty you bestow on your family.”
She stepped back. “I am sorry, Grey. I didn’t realise…”
Her soft pink mouth trembled. God. He’d lost himself then. Utterly lost himself. He reached for her, brought his mouth down on hers, crushed her to his chest and tasted his fill of those lips.
Sweet, unbearably sweet sensation wiped everything else out of his mind.
Yet upon waking this morning his sense of confusion had been so great that he’d decided not to visit Southwark today. Just as well—he had a lot of business to get caught up on.
“Where the hell were you today?” Watson’s question startled him.
Grey scowled. “What does it look like? I’ve been here, working.”
Damn, he’d been sitting here eating his heart out over his discordance with Beth like a jackass. Again. So much, he’d wholly forgotten Thomas. And this after he had vowed to put the matter from him and concentrate on audits. Instead, he’d thought of nothing else all day. He was losing all control over his emotions.
“I expected to see you at the Exchange.”
Grey’s scowl deepened. “There’s no Exchange on Sundays.”
Watson rolled his eyes. “It’s Monday, Sexton.”
“The devil you say!”
But if it was Monday he’d missed an appointment with Mr Post, a merchant banker who had expressed an interest in investing in his privateering voyages. Impossible. Grey would never have allowed himself to miss such an important meeting.
Wait. His valet, Will, had mentioned the meeting that morning, asking him if he wanted his diamond cravat pin. Grey reached up and felt the pin’s distinctive shape at his throat. He glanced down and saw his second best cutaway coat and pantaloons, the new, pale grey satin waistcoat and his best hessian boots. By damn, he did seem to be dressed for an important meeting.
Christ, it was Monday.
Watson fixed his gold-brown eyes on him. “What is the matter with you, Sexton? It is not like you to miss the Exchange or be forgetful.”
“I must be getting the fever that is going around.”
Watson frowned. “I have heard nothing about a fever.”
“Sure about that? I tell you I am turning sick with something.” It seemed as plausible an excuse as any for his lapse in personal discipline. Anything but the truth.
“Will you join Jenna and myself for supper tonight?” Thomas asked. ”We’re staying with my great aunt and you know how well her cook prepares duck.”
“No, I can’t.” Grey swept his hand over the papers and ledgers strewn over his desk. “I am so behind on all of these audits.”
He’d never neglected business like this before—a glaring sign of how much he’d allowed his control to slip.
Watson glanced at the desktop. “Audits, huh? I don’t know why you bother with employing clerks or office managers at all. You don’t trust them to do their jobs without constant supervision. Well, Jenna will be disappointed.”
“I am sorry, but business takes priority.”
“I shall leave you to it, then.” Watson turned away.
As Grey watched him walk to the door, his gut twisted. He should tell his oldest and dearest friend he’d become engaged to marry Beth. But he didn’t want to deal with Watson’s disappointment right at that moment. Watson wanted Grey to marry Jenna, his nineteen-year-old daughter, and took every opportunity to push her at him.
Until recently, Grey had had no intention of ever marrying again. Moreover, he had nothing in common with Jenna. The girl was pretty enough and biddable, a model of deportment and grace. She’d make a man in his position an excellent wife. Yet she cared for nothing but clothes shopping and society gossip. Besides, for Christ’s sake, he’d once held her leading strings.
Watson paused at the door and turned. “Shall I see you tomorrow at the Exchange?”
“You may count on it.” Grey forced his lips into a semblance of a smile.
As the door closed, Grey returned to his desk and collapsed into his chair. That meeting with the investment banker had been an important matter. It’d be the ultimate humiliation if any of his business associates should guess how he was losing control.
And, God—Beth’s silver-blonde beauty was so extraordinary, wouldn’t it just be apparent to everyone, once his engagement was announced, exactly what had happened? That he’d been compelled to ask for her hand just to get her into his bed.
Except that wasn’t how it had happened at all.
She’d thrown herself into his path and allowed him—correction, she’d all but begged him—to bed her. Actually, they hadn’t even made it to a bed. He’d thoroughly fucked her in his carriage, almost before he knew her name—the kind of experience an adolescent boy dreamt of in his virgin bed but that never, ever happened in reality. However, it had happened, and no man with any fire in his blood could have resisted her. However, for Grey it had been more complex than that. He’d looked into her sad, sky-blue eyes and been blindsided by a tidal wave of sexual possessiveness tempered only by a tender sympathy he’d had no ability to defend himself against.
Then she’d run away from him, repeatedly, until he’d been driven near insane with the need to claim her for his own. But she’d thrown his carte blanche back in his face and made it clear she would accept nothing less than marriage. It’d been a damned uncomfortable position, as if she’d held his feet over a fire.
He’d returned to a well-ordered life in New York City that had meant nothing without her. What else could he have done?
He’d pledged himself.
And now she was his but he hadn’t found any peace. She dominated his waking thoughts and pulled his mind away from business matters. A prickling sensation arose at the base of his skull, an uncanny feeling that his father was watching him. Perhaps, even now, old Asahel Prosperity Sexton was seeing his oft-voiced prophecy coming true—a prophecy that his daydreaming son did not possess the strength and focus needed to hold on to the family business.
Well, Grey would be damned before he’d give his father the satisfaction. Anything related to his business must take first priority in his life. It always had before. It had been the very focal point of his life.
He rubbed the back of his neck. Christ, he needed to take control of the situation. But what were the first steps?
Mr Post was going back to Baltimore tonight. Grey would go and ask for a second chance to see him there and beg his pardon for the missed meeting today. A week away from Beth would clear his head, and set his priorities where they needed to be.
He picked up his quill and hastily penned a note to her.
Chapter One
“You’re going to have to behave.”
His cool tone, with its undercurrent of tolerant amusement, made her bristle. She forced herself to relax and smile at him. Seductively. Dazzlingly.
Grey Sexton remained unmoved, his silver eyes distant, the skin over his angular cheekbones taut, his strong jaw jutting with as much arrogance as ever. Tension poured off him, making her own neck muscles tighten. She’d known him in many moods but never so comple
tely unresponsive.
Silence fell between them. As the carriage clattered towards Third Street along the pebble stones, her stomach fluttered. What had happened to the uncontrollable passion that had always flared between them? For weeks he’d been so warm, so attentive, so affectionate, the way she’d only suspected he could be. That warm affection had melted the very last of her defences and made her fall utterly in love with him.
Now, his handsome, hard-boned features remained closed, controlled.
Like ice.
Like a stranger.
Maybe the attentive lover had been a façade on his part, designed to gain her trust and secure her commitment? Or maybe it was a dream she had conjured from her own imagination.
Maybe the man she had fallen in love with had disappeared forever. No, she couldn’t accept that. She simply had to try to break through his icy exterior to the warmth beneath. Warmth she needed. She put her hand on his leg, whence he had so recently removed it, and traced her fingers over the fine, soft wool of his pantaloons. His powerful thigh muscles tensed. She glanced up.
His gaze was fixed on her moving hand, his pupils dilated and the skin taut over his cheekbones. How well she knew that expression. She smiled and laughed softly. What a ninny she was to worry. Nothing had changed. He would not be able to resist twice.
She reached the growing swell at his groin. Dear God, he was so huge and hard—as he was always. Heat flooded her veins and a tingling ache spread into her loins. She pressed her thighs tightly together.
His hand swept down and clamped hers. She caught her breath and a shiver raced through her, making her nipples pebble and her breasts swell. His hands were so large and strong, his skin so deeply tanned against hers. She couldn’t glance at his hands without recalling how they felt, so sure and skilled on her body. Wetness flowed from her core. She crossed her legs more tightly, turned and leaned closer to him.
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