Read an Excerpt
Chapter 1
Lady Diana was becoming slowly aroused. Though the hour was shockingly early, she had once again been lured between the sheets to indulge in her favorite pastime. Her behavior had recently undergone a drastic change and she had begun to kick over the traces.
A delicious gasp escaped her lips as the man’s sexual intent became clear. He would not take no for an answer, and a sensual thrill ran through Diana because he would not be denied. He was dark and dominant and dangerous, exactly the way a man should be, and she felt her very bones melting from his bold advances.
Diana’s nipples tightened and began to ache. Her woman’s center began to tingle in a most pleasurable way. The hand beneath her nightgown cupped her tender young breast so that her breathing quickened. Though Diana felt very wicked at that moment, she pushed away the tiny pang of guilt, curled on her side, and arched her mons at the pure titillation he aroused in her.
A curse escaped her lips as the candle suddenly went out. Damn, she was right in the middle of the best part of the chapter. She removed her hand from her aching breast and snapped closed the book she had been reading about the intimate sex life of King Charles II.
Diana relit the candle, finished the chapter, then sighed with longing. She would have preferred living in any other period of history to Georgian times. In this day and age all the men were fops, sporting ridiculous powdered wigs, fans, and lip rouge. Why couldn’t she have been born in medieval times when brawny knights stormed castles and abducted the women within, or Elizabethan times when the queen’s bold seafarers pirated women along with treasure? During the Restoration, swaggering cavaliers emulated King Charles’s devilish way with women, so that life for a young lady of seventeen was exhilarating, exciting, and exceedingly worth the living!
Now the dandies emulated Prince George, or Prinny as he was nicknamed. What the hell sort of a name was Prinny? Actually, the name said it all … soft, silly, and stoopid with two o’s!
As Diana leaned over to blow out the candle, she caught a glimpse of herself in the cheval glass. She was fair as an English rose ready to bloom. Her pale gold hair fell to her hips in silken curls, her violet eyes were brilliant with expectancy, her body was graceful with long legs and high, thrusting breasts, yet all she saw when she looked in the mirror was the voluminous nightgown she wore. Diana pulled a face, not because the nightdress was hideous, but because it was such a respectable garment.
Lord above, how she had begun to loathe anything and everything respectable! Respectability was the force that ruled her Aunt Prudence and the measuring stick she used for everything connected with Diana’s life.
Two years ago when Sir Thomas Davenport died, he left his daughter, Diana, his fortune, his magnificent library, and his house in Grosvenor Square. It was in trust until she turned eighteen, of course, and her guardians were her father’s younger brother, Richard, and his wife, Prudence, who immediately moved into Grosvenor Square to care for her. At fifteen Diana had been a biddable child who never had her nose out of a book. But by the time she turned seventeen, a wide streak of wilfulness had developed which clearly alarmed Diana’s prudish guardian.
Diana sighed, blew out the candle, and curled under her blankets, hoping that sleep would bring her dreams of the more lustful days of King George.
Aunt Prudence was readying herself for bed and bending her husband’s ear at the same time. Her frilled night rail was tied beneath her third chin while her starched nightcap sat just above her eyebrows. Which was just as well, thought Richard, repressing a shudder at the thought of her ever exposing her opulent flesh all at once.
“Far be it from me to criticize our ward, Richard, but once again Diana has passed up an invitation from Lady Sefton only to carry one of those infernal books to bed. All this reading cannot be good for a young girl. Heaven only knows what could be in some of those tomes. Reading could give her unsavory … notions.”
Richard decided it was no bad thing that Prudence was averse to intimacy and that sins of the flesh stood at the top of her list of taboos. As he eyed the ocean of white cotton enveloping his wife, he thought wryly, It’s a wonder she doesn’t wear white gloves to bed, in case she has to handle the beastly thing! His mind came back to the topic being discussed. “My brother’s collection is worth a fortune. I agree the books are a bad influence. I’m trying to find a buyer for the entire library.”
Sir Thomas Davenport had been a chief judge and baron of the exchequer, who was a learned scholar, knighted by the king. Richard knew that Diana had been well educated in the classics and tutored by her father in French, Italian, and Latin.
“My dear Richard, that is brilliant! Books will not help her catch the right sort of husband. If rumors get about that she is a bluestocking, she will sit on the shelf forever. I shall impress upon her again that she must hide her intelligence at all costs. I don’t know what your brother was about, educating a girl beyond what is proper. It’s just not respectable!”
At the mention of his brother, Richard’s mouth tightened. Life was so bloody unfair. How had Thomas risen so high, while he, Richard, remained a struggling solicitor? And why had he left everything to Diana and nothing to his only brother? Not one bloody sausage! He’d thought of a hundred schemes to separate Diana from some of her money, but the girl was so clever he’d have to come up with a plan subtle enough to prevent her suspicions from being aroused.
Prudence sailed toward the bed to turn back the covers. Richard undid his cravat. She eyed him with alarm. “You’re not coming to bed, are you?”
“No, no, m’dear. Just changing my neckcloth. I have to entertain a client tonight.”
Prudence let out a sigh of relief. Richard knew his wife was perfectly aware of just who would be the client and what sort of entertainment it would be and he also knew she was devoutly thankful he sought release elsewhere. She ought to be, and was, thankful that he was such a considerate husband.
