March Into Romance: New Releases to Fall in Love With!
"From a kiss to A KISS! A unique and passionate battle of wits and hearts!"
Reviewed by Audrey Lawrence
Romance Historical
Tess was in the mood for love or at least a kiss with some
passion! After her beloved Richard, her fiancé, was killed
at Waterloo in 1815, Tess Blanchard had mourned him for two
years and now was ready to find the love that she never
really had the chance to experience before he was gone.
With these constraints, Tess immerses herself in organizing
charities and related social events as a safe outlet for
her compassionate, energy, and high spirits.
Now, finding herself alone behind a stage curtain with
Patrick Hennessy, the writer of the play she is putting on,
Tess seeks a little experiential passion. But, horror upon
horror, not only did she find the kiss sadly lacking, but
she is stupidly caught in the act by none other that the
Duke of Rotham, Ian Sutherland! A man Tess regards as being
not only arrogant with an abominable reputation, but to
blame for Richard's situation.
While their verbal battles and barbs are legendary, the
Duke had long carried a flame for Tess that he had keep
carefully banked and shielded behind his caustic and
sarcastic exterior. Provoked by seeing Tess in the arms of
a man he paid to protect her, Ian decides to show Tess a
little of the passion she was missing and recklessly misses
the approach of none other than Tess' Godmother, Lady
Wingate, and her guests.
With a choice between marriage or ruin, Tess is determined
her choice will be on her terms. Calling on the knowledge
of her risqué friend, Fanny Irwin, she plans a strategy to
travel to remote Cornwall to keep Ian at bay while helping
Fanny find her own happiness. But, will it work? For his
part, Ian only wants to put the past behind him, but can he
put aside his arrogant approach so Tess' heart can be open
to him?
Renowned writer Nicole Jordan sets the perfect stage for
fiery battles of wit in this engrossing concluding book
to The Courtship Wars series. With a strong plot, blazing
hot love scenes, unusual hauntings and surprising twists,
Jordan deftly pulls together a unique and compelling
regency romance with all the classic elements true romance
fans love. The characters are strongly developed and well
matched. As for me, Ian is a quintessential hero - a little
rakish, with hidden depths and a compassionate and
protective nature. A delightful treat with lots of
hilarious moments, especially when the Duke begs for help
from a surprising source! Don't miss it!
SUMMARY
The beloved Courtship War series continues - this will be
Book Six in the series! New York Times bestselling author
Nicole Jordan delivers another sexy Regency-set historical
romance.
New York Times bestselling author Nicole Jordan writes her
compelling sixth novel in the Courtship War Regency-set
series bringing back Miss Tess Blanchard from Book 1-3.
Just as Tess is coming out of mourning for her late
fiance, a genteel beauty is caught in a compromising
positino and compelled to wed her beloved betrothed's
older cousin - a vexingly arrogant duke. A duke for whom
Tess has strong feelings and who stirs in her a passion
she never knew that she was capable of.
Excerpt EXCERPT – CHAPTER ONE
Although I have been off the Marriage Mart a good while
now, I am quickly relearning an
indisputable rule of engagement with the opposite sex:
When you play with fire, you are
likely to be burned... and is the hottest sort of fire.
—Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard
Richmond, England; October 1817
The kiss was amazingly insipid.
Disappointment surged through Tess Blanchard as Mr.
Hennessy drew her more fully into his embrace. She had
expected so much more when she acquiesced to his impulsive
gesture.
More excitement, more pleasure, more feeling. In short,
she had secretly longed to be
swept away by romantic passion.
Instead she found herself logically analyzing the
construction of his lovemaking. The
precise pressure of his lips. The exact angle of his head.
The unarousing feel of his arms around her.
There was no spark, no fire between them at all, Tess
realized sorrowfully. The entire
business left her remarkably cold.
Oh, Patrick Hennessy certainly seemed skilled in the art
of kissing, she mused as his
mouth plied hers with increased ardor. But surely a man
who counted himself such an
expert lover should have elicited a stronger response from
her?
Not that she had much basis for comparison. This was only
the second man she had ever romantically embraced in her
three-and-twenty years.
It had happened purely on a whim. One moment they were
laughing together over a line in the comic play Hennessy
had written. The next, an arrested expression claimed his
features as he gazed down at her. When he stepped closer
and bent his head to capture her lips, Tess had no thought
of stopping him. For too long she had let herself languish
on the shelf in the game of love, refusing to open herself
up to renewed heartbreak. But it was past time to reenter
the lists.
Admittedly, in Mr. Hennessy she was drawn by both
curiosity and the lure of the forbidden.
She knew better, of course. A proper lady did not indulge
in scandalous experiments with libertine actors behind the
stage curtains. Hennessy was known as something of a
Lothario among the London theater crowd, although in
addition to being a brilliant
performer, he was also a successful manager of his own
troupe, a budding playwright, and the talented director of
Tess's two recent benefit concerts, which had raised vast
sums for her charities.
Then again, perhaps she was not giving him a fair chance.
Closing her eyes more tightly, Tess made a stronger effort
to enter into the spirit of the
kiss. In response, Hennessy's hand stole lower down her
back, over her derriere, to pull
her closer. Despite her own lack of enthusiasm, she had
evidently affected him, judging by the swelling hardness
she felt pressing against her lower abdomen—
"Well, well, are you practicing to play the part of lovers
in your production, Miss
Blanchard?"
At the sharp-edged drawl, a startled Tess tore her mouth
away from Hennessy's — and
froze in mortification upon recognizing that sardonic male
voice. Obviously she had failed to hear anyone enter the
ballroom where their makeshift stage was erected.
Good Lord, what utterly dreadful timing, to have her
transgression discovered by the
arrogant, infuriating Duke of Rotham, elder cousin of her
late betrothed. Rotham had
stepped behind the stage curtains to find her locked in a
clandestine embrace with the man she had hired to produce
her amateur theatrical.
Scalding heat flooded Tess's cheeks as she pulled away
from her partner in crime.
Hennessy had also reacted to the duke's unexpected
appearance by releasing her
instantly. Yet the actor looked not only guilty but
somewhat alarmed, as if he'd been
caught in a hanging offense.
Squaring her shoulders, Tess turned to face Ian
Sutherland, the tall, lithe Duke of Rotham.
His handsome face was an enigmatic mask in the muted
daylight seeping over the stage curtains from the ballroom
windows, but his mouth held a tightness that signified
displeasure, perhaps even anger.
He had no right to judge her, she told herself defiantly.
"You are mistaken, your grace," Tess murmured, striving to
keep her voice calm as she
responded to his mocking tone. "There are no lovers in Mr.
Hennessy's play. It is merely a comedy of manners about a
mischievous ghost."
"You were testing out a new role, then?"
"What may I do for you, Rotham?" Tess asked, ignoring his
jibe. "We have only just
concluded the dress rehearsal and still have a great deal
to accomplish before this
evening's performance."
They had constructed a stage at one end of the ballroom of
her godmother's country
mansion for the theatrical -- the crowning entertainment
of the charitable benefit Tess had organized. Tess had
engaged Hennessy and his troupe to put on the one-act play
and direct the houseguests in their respective acting
roles.
"I doubt your preparations entail kissing the hired help,"
Rotham drawled in that annoyingly cynical tone of his.
Tess stiffened. "It is hardly any of your business whom I
kiss, your grace."
"I beg to differ."
Renewed ire rose in Tess. She would not allow him to
dictate to her, as he was regularly fond of doing. Indeed,
they had had similar arguments before. The Duke of Rotham
was head of the family she would have married into had her
betrothed not tragically perished two years ago at the
Battle of Waterloo. But they had no real blood ties, and
Rotham was mistaken in thinking that he had any say over
her affairs. Particularly her amorous affairs.
Shifting his attention, Rotham turned his piercing gaze on
Mr. Hennessy, who still seemed wary and on edge. "I
expected better of you, Hennessy. You were supposed to be
protecting her, not assaulting her. Is this how you
fulfill your duties?"
The actor shot the duke a chagrined look of apology. "I
beg your forgiveness, your grace.
I fell down in my duties disgracefully." Rather
sheepishly, he turned to Tess. "A thousand pardons, Miss
Blanchard. I was vastly out of line."
Tess started to respond but Rotham interrupted her. "I'll
thank you to leave us, Hennessy.
I shall deal with you later."
Her jaw dropped at Rotham's arrogant dismissal, but before
she could voice her objection aloud, Hennessy gave her a
brief bow, then pivoted with alacrity and disappeared
through a part in the curtains.
She remained speechless as she listened to him bound down
the stage steps and hurry
away across the ballroom. It was hardly chivalrous of him
to abandon her to the mercies of the duke, Tess thought
resentfully. No doubt he preferred not to challenge a
nobleman of Rotham's station and far-reaching influence.
However, when she at last gathered her wits enough to
protest, Rotham held up an
imperious hand, forestalling her. "You should know better
than to indulge in trysts with
libertines such as Hennessy."
Prickling with indignation, Tess returned a mutinous look.
The nerve of him, scolding her
for a sin she had not even committed. "I was not indulging
in any tryst, your grace. It was just a simple kiss."
The corner of Rotham's mouth curled. "It did not look at
all simple to me. You were
participating fully."
He sounded almost angry, although why he would be angry
with her for returning the
actor's kiss, she couldn't fathom.
"What if I was participating? It is no crime—"
Realizing how high-pitched and flustered her own voice
sounded, Tess took a calming
breath and forced a cool smile. "I truly cannot believe
your gall, Rotham. How someone of your wicked character
can deride another man for rakish behavior — or criticize
me for something so innocent as a mere kiss — is the
height of irony. Do you even recognize your hypocrisy?"
A hint of satirical amusement tugged at his lips. "I
acknowledge your point, Miss
Blanchard. But I am not the only one concerned about your
relationship with Hennessy.
Lady Wingate is worried that you have become overly
attached to him. In fact, she sent
me to find you."
That gave Tess pause, as doubtless Rotham knew it would.
Baroness Wingate was not
just Tess's godmother but chief patron for her various
charities. She could not afford to
offend the noblewoman whose generosity impacted so many
lives for the better.
"I have not become attached to Hennessy in the least,"
Tess finally replied. "He is a
valued employee, nothing more."
"Do you make a habit of kissing all your employees?"
Rotham taunted. Before she could
reply, he shook his head in reproach. "Lady Wingate will
be severely disappointed in you.
She arranged a lavish house party solely for your sake, so
you could dun her guests for
your assorted charities. And this is how you repay her?"
Unable to refute the charge, Tess regarded Rotham in
frustration. Her godmother had long disapproved of her
endeavors to promote her charitable organizations and had
only recently relented and invited some four dozen wealthy
guests to a weeklong house party, thereby providing Tess
with a captive audience. She'd spent the past week
attempting to persuade each one of them to contribute to
her causes.
"Do you mean to tattle to her?" she asked Rotham.
His answer, rife with mocking humor, disturbed her. "That
depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not you intend to continue your liaison
with Hennessy."
"I tell you, I am not having a liaison with him! You have
completely misconstrued the
matter."
"Who initiated the kiss?"
"What does that matter?"
"If Hennessy took advantage of you, I will have to call
him out."
"You cannot be serious!" Tess stared at him, appalled to
think he might not be jesting.
The last Duke of Rotham, Laurence Sutherland, had ended
his licentious career when he was killed in a duel over a
married woman by her jealous husband. His son Ian had
followed a similar reckless path all through his youth,
generating wild tales of gambling and womanizing. Ian
Sutherland's scandalous endeavors had earned him the
nickname "the Devil Duke" when he came into the title
eight years ago. But surely he would not actually shoot
Hennessy for the mere act of kissing her.
"You know very well that dueling is illegal," Tess
objected, "in addition to being dangerous and possibly
even lethal."
Rotham's mouth tightened again, as if he too had recalled
his sire's ignominious end.
"Indeed."
When he said nothing further, Tess suddenly recalled the
confusing remark he'd made
before ordering the actor from the ballroom. "What did you
mean when you said Mr.
Hennessy should have been 'protecting' me?"
Rotham waved a careless hand in dismissal. "It is of no
import."
"I should like to know." Tess fixed him with a stubborn
gaze, determined not to back down.
He must have sensed her resolve, for he gave a shrug of
his broad shoulders. "When you began spending so much time
at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden in preparation for
your last charity event, I charged Hennessy with keeping
an eye on you.
The theater district is a dangerous area, especially for
an unescorted young lady."
Her eyebrows lifted in puzzlement. "So you asked him to
look after me?"
"Yes. I paid him a significant sum, in fact."
So that explained why Hennessy always insisted on
escorting her to and from her carriage, Tess realized, and
why he had hovered around her whenever she attended
rehearsals.
She had thought it was because the actor was growing
enamored of her company.
Irrationally, she couldn't help feeling a prick to her
self-esteem.
"My companion usually accompanies me to the theater," she
pointed out to Rotham.
"Your companion is an aging spinster with all the
substance of a butterfly. She would be
no help whatsoever if you were confronted by trouble."
That much was true, Tess conceded. Mrs. Dorothy Croft was
tiny and gentle and softspoken, in addition to being a bit
scatterbrained. The impoverished friend of Tess's late
mother, Dorothy had needed somewhere to live after being
widowed, so Tess had opened her home in Chiswick to her.
The relationship had also benefited Tess. With a genteel,
elderly lady to lend her single state respectability, she
had much more freedom to conduct her charitable endeavors.
"I have a sturdy coachman and footmen to provide me
protection should I require it," Tess argued.
Rotham's vivid gray gaze never faltered. "Even so, I
thought it wise to ensure your safety.
And you would not readily have accepted any edicts from
me."
That was also certainly true. They had long been at odds —
which is what made Rotham's current interest in her safety
so startling. That he might be seriously concerned for her
welfare had never crossed her mind.
"Well, you needn't worry about me, your grace. I am
capable of providing for my own
protection."
"Then you should refrain from kissing the likes of
Hennessy. And he had best keep away from you. If he dares
to touch you again, he will answer to me."
At the edge of possessiveness in the duke's tone, Tess's
eyebrows narrowed in disbelief.
He could not possibly be jealous. No doubt he was merely
angry at Hennessy for
disobeying a direct order, and at her for daring to
contradict him.
"Your transgressions are a thousand times worse, Rotham."
"But I am not an unmarried young lady, as you are."
"I am not so young any more," Tess rejoined.
Instead of replying, Rotham hesitated, as if suddenly
aware how sharp his tone had
become. Shaking his head, he seemed visibly to repress his
emotions, as if distancing
himself from their argument.
His succeeding laugh was soft and laced with real
amusement. "You are hardly ancient,
Miss Blanchard. You only just turned twenty-three today."
Tess eyed him with suspicion. "How did you know it was my
birthday?"
"As head of the family, it is my business to know."
"You are not head of my family."
"For all practical purposes, I am."
There it was again, that ironic drawl that convinced her
he was deliberately attempting to provoke her.
It was infuriating, how Rotham always seemed to get under
her skin, Tess reflected.
Particularly when she was normally serene and even-
tempered.
She had always thought him vexing — and deplorably
fascinating. Rotham not only had a wicked reputation, he
even looked wicked. He had striking gray eyes fringed by
dark
lashes, with lean, aristocratic features that were
handsome as sin. His hair was a rich
brown shot with gold threads, several shades lighter than
her own sable hue, and held a
slight curl. He possessed the muscular build of a
sportsman, but with a lethal elegance
that proclaimed his nobility.
Yet it was Rotham's powerful personality that made him
utterly unforgettable.
At the moment his features were mainly in shadow, since it
was barely noon on a dreary, rainy autumn day and they
were shrouded by stage curtains. Yet he still had the
strange ability to affect her, Tess acknowledged.
She'd felt that same magnetic allure the first moment of
meeting Rotham during her
comeout four Seasons ago, when he'd deigned to dance with
her. But shortly afterward,
she'd fallen in love with his younger cousin Richard.
Ever since, she had felt guilty for her forbidden
attraction to the Duke of Rotham. He was every inch the
fallen angel. And lamentably even now, she felt his
hypnotic pull as his gray gaze bored into her....
In an effort to break the spell, Tess abruptly changed the
subject. "What are you even
doing here, Rotham? You never attend my functions, even
when you are invited."
"Lady Wingate requested my presence for your birthday
celebration this evening."
"So that is how you knew my age. She told you."
"No. I've known for some time. Richard was third in line
to become my heir after two of
our uncles. When you became betrothed to him, I made it a
point to learn a great deal
about you."
It made Tess profoundly uncomfortable to think that Rotham
had such detailed personal
knowledge of her, or that he was privy to any of her
secrets. But his next statement
disturbed her even more.
"Given your history with my cousin, Miss Blanchard, it is
only reasonable that I feel a
certain responsibility toward you."
Her tone was sweetly spirited when she replied. "I told
you, you needn't concern yourself with me."
"But Lady Wingate has every right. She fears you have been
spending more time with
Hennessy than is wise. It appears she has ample
justification. What the devil were you
thinking, kissing him?"
Tess's vexation returned full force. "I was experimenting,
if you must know," she retorted
defensively. "I have grown another year older without any
prospects of romance or
passion, and I wanted to see if I could change my fate.
The sad truth is, I had forgotten
entirely what it feels like to be kissed, and I thought
Hennessy could remind me. Is that so wrong, your grace?"
A strange look settled over Rotham's face. She was
surprised that he didn't return a
mocking rejoinder. In addition to being impossibly
arrogant, he possessed a cutting wit that could slice an
opponent to ribbons. She'd seen victims of his acerbic
tongue quail from him in tears. And more than once she
herself had been on the losing end of their verbal
battles. Normally it was all she could do to hold her own
with him.
"I lead a very tame existence," Tess added
grudgingly. "All very proper. My charities are
extremely rewarding, but on the whole, my life is not
particularly fulfilling."
When still he made no reply, and Tess bit her lower lip.
How could she explain to a man
like Rotham the restless yearning inside her? He had never
been hemmed in by stifling
rules of conduct, forced to subjugate his very nature to
propriety. Even her charitable
endeavors were subject to censure. Because she was a
woman — and a lady, at that —
even her dear godmother objected to her efforts. All she
wanted was to make a difference in people's lives, but she
had to fight for every single success.
Yet the chief source of her dissatisfaction went far
deeper. For the past two years, her life had been barren
of passion and joy. It was primarily her own fault, of
course. She not only had gone into mourning for Richard,
she'd practically buried herself with her late betrothed.
But now she was determined to return to the world of the
living.
The fact that this particular day was her birthday only
made her more defiant than usual.
"In all honesty," Tess resumed her confession more
quietly, "I suppose I was indulging in a touch of
melancholy. I am practically a spinster, languishing on
the shelf while life passes me by — a rather lonely way to
live."
For a moment, Rotham's sensual features seemed to soften
further... but only for a
moment. "So you were feeling sorry for yourself?"
Tess gritted her teeth. "Yes, I was," she snapped.
Rotham looked strangely gratified by her acrimony, as if
he preferred sparring with her to hearing her admit
feeling any weak emotions such as sadness or loneliness.
"And what was your verdict?" he asked unexpectedly after a
brief silence.
"Verdict? About what?"
"Did you enjoy kissing Hennessy?"
Color rose to bloom in Tess's cheeks. "Not particularly —
not that it is any concern of
yours."
She'd been extremely disenchanted with the actor's
efforts. As kisses went, his were
exceedingly dull. Although sadly, Richard's kisses had not
been particularly thrilling
either—
Tess winced inwardly. It was a betrayal to Richard's
memory to voice such disloyal
thoughts. Her self-reproach was distracting enough that
she almost missed Rotham's
casual statement: "You should have come to me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"If you wanted to know about passion, you should have
applied to me. I can show you all you need to know about
kissing."
She stared at Rotham, her jaw slack. Once again he had
startled her into speechlessness.
But perhaps he was simply mocking her.
"You think you could do better than Hennessy?" Tess asked
archly.
A gleam of humor entered his eyes at her challenging
tone. "Certainly I can."
She shook her head in bemusement. "If I were to kiss you,
my reputation would end up in shreds," she remarked
absently.
A wry half smile curved Rotham's mouth. "I am not quite
that sullied."
"Yes, you are."
When he merely continued to smile that infuriatingly
knowing smile, Tess finally grasped
that he was serious.
Rotham is actually offering to kiss you, to show you
passion himself.
Nervousness suddenly swamped Tess. She ought to tell him
to go to the devil, so why
was she even hesitating? And why was a rush of excitement
sweeping her senses at the possibility of kissing him?
She knew better than to accept his offer. Rotham was
infinitely dangerous. More
hazardous than any man she had ever encountered in her
life. And her long-standing
sexual attraction to him was shameful. She'd spent the
past four years trying to deny her fascination with him.
Even worse, he was fully aware of his spellbinding effect
on women — including herself.
On the other hand... the thought of kissing him was
sinfully intriguing. This was her chance to learn from an
acknowledged expert, urged a scandalous voice inside Tess.
He could indeed show her everything she longed to know
about passion — and probably much more.
Swallowing past the dryness of her throat, Tess glanced
around her. The stage was set to resemble a Green Room at
Drury Lane Theatre, since Hennessy's play centered on the
legendary spirits who haunted that renowned theater,
benevolent ghosts who appeared before performances to
bless and encourage the actors. Behind her was a dressing
table laden with cosmetics for applying stage makeup. Next
to that stood a floor-length looking glass. And on the far
end of the stage sat a chaise longue and several chairs
for entertaining patrons and admirers.
Still debating, she turned back to face Rotham. When he
took a step closer, decreasing
the distance between them, fresh awareness assaulted Tess
at the realization that they
were wholly alone together.
She gazed mutely up at Rotham, searching his face. He had
intense eyes. Vivid, darethe- world eyes. Just now she
felt as if she could drown in those vibrant gray depths.
His high cheekbones and chiseled jawline, too, held a
stark beauty that entranced her.
He was far too masculine and desirable, devil take him.
She knew she should turn and
run, yet she couldn't move.
And then he took the decision from her. Raising his hands,
he slowly slid his fingers along either side of her jaw.
As he lowered his head, her heart pounded so hard, her
chest hurt.
When his mouth covered hers, a shock of surprise speared
through Tess. She completely forgot to breathe. She could
only remain rooted there, perfectly motionless, absorbing
the jolting delight of Rotham's probing kiss against her
lips.
Then he made her open for him. The scent of him filled her
senses, the taste of him stole her reason. His mouth had
the texture of heated silk, his exploring tongue a
scalding wildness.
What a wicked, marvelous sensation. Emotions whirled and
clashed within Tess, leaving her giddy. Her head swam with
drugged pleasure, her body trembled. At her unconscious
reaction, he thrust his tongue even deeper, inciting that
delicious, melting weakness throughout her entire body.
He kissed like a possessive lover — or what she imagined a
possessive lover to be. A
whisper of a sigh escaped Tess. She had suspected that
kissing Rotham would be
remarkable, but she'd vastly underestimated how wonderful,
how intensely glorious, it
would be. The impact left her too flustered to think, too
dazed to stand on her own.
Reaching up, Tess weakly clutched at his shoulders.
Rotham only drew her closer.
The sinful thrill of being captured against that hard male
body sent another hot ripple of
weakness surging through her. The beguiling friction of
his chest against her breasts only made her want more.
How was it possible to be so desperately attracted to a
man she disdained? Tess
wondered. No, her feelings went far, far beyond
attraction. This was sheer yearning.
She felt stunned by the fire, by the sparks between them.
She had never before been
struck by such lightning bolts of need. Richard had never
once kissed her like this. His
kisses had been tender and gentle. Not this magical,
overwhelming, enchanting fervor....
Rotham must have felt her shiver of helpless excitement
for he suddenly broke off and
raised his head.
Tess felt slightly stunned by what she glimpsed in his
hooded eyes. Desire shimmered
there, she was certain of it. Unwilling desire.
Rotham stared down at her, as if trying to come to terms
with the passion that had
exploded between them. His gray eyes had darkened to
smoke, and she could see the
struggle on his face. His fierce resistance matched her
own, she knew.
Yet he must have been affected by the same weakness, for
he abruptly gave in with a
curse.
His wonderful mouth possessed hers again. To her delight,
his kiss turned even more
fiery, seizing, claiming, demanding, making her very blood
sizzle.
Tess whimpered when she felt him start to pull away again,
but thankfully his lips never left hers as he swept her up
in his arms and carried her across the stage to the chaise
longue.
Still holding her, he turned and sank down so that she was
cradled in his lap, one strong
arm supporting her back, the other hand keeping her face
immobile for the attentions of his marvelous mouth. Her
mind reeling, Tess was utterly powerless to protest, nor
did she even wish to. Instead, she wrapped both her arms
around his neck and returned his kiss measure for measure.
Her nerves drank in sensations while exhilaration sang in
her blood. She was pressed
against a body that was rock hard and lean as he
ruthlessly explored her mouth. His
tongue teased her relentlessly... thrusting, retreating,
returning. At the same time, his hand began to roam the
bodice of her blue merino gown.
When he cupped her breast, Tess drew in a shuddering gasp.
She ought to stop him, she knew, but heat scorched her,
incinerating any remaining fragments of common sense she
possessed. Thus, rather than push him away, she curled her
fingers in Rotham's thick dark hair, clinging with her
remaining strength.
At her obvious eagerness, he shifted his wicked mouth from
her lips to graze over her
cheekbone, then lower, beneath her jaw and along her bare
throat, leaving a trail of fever on her skin. Enraptured
by his caresses, Tess bent her head backward to give him
better access.
"I can't catch my breath..." she fretted in a rasping
voice.
"You don't need to breathe, angel. Just feel."
His husky half-whisper was as seductive as it was
dangerous, but she obeyed his beguiling command, straining
against his arousing palm as he caressed the swelling
mounds of her breasts beneath the fine wool fabric. Within
the constricting confines of her corset, she could feel
her nipples peak to a tingling ache -- a result he seemed
determined to encourage.
When his hand continued molding the contours of her
breasts, Tess moaned out loud.
Sweet shocks of reaction compressed her chest, while her
bones melted beneath the
sensual onslaught.
"So beautiful," he murmured as he drew back.
Lifting her heavy eyelids a fraction, she glimpsed his
face above her and saw that he was watching her every
response. Her dazed gaze locked with his hypnotic one.
"Bloody hell, how I want you...." His gruff declaration
somehow aroused her even more.
She wanted him, too. She felt as if she'd never lived
until he touched her. The surge of
want, of need inside her, overwhelmed Tess. She shuddered
with the excitement of
yearning as Rotham's hand abandoned her breasts and
reached down to raise her skirts, baring her legs to mid-
thigh. Then his dexterous fingers began to glide upward
along her skin—
"Good God, what is the meaning of this?"
Even through her stupor, Tess recognized her godmother's
outraged voice.
When she jerked her head up, she saw that the stage
curtains had parted and the
baroness stood there, the picture of wrath.
On the stage steps behind Lady Wingate stood several of
her patrician houseguests,
gaping at the sight of Tess sprawled on the Duke of
Rotham's lap, her skirts in total
disarray, his palm fondling her bare inner thigh. Their
scandalized expressions presented a fitting complement to
the baroness's furious one.
Aghast, Tess scrambled to right herself, awkwardly trying
to push off Rotham's lap and
struggle to her feet. She felt his strong hands on her
hips, helping her to stand, then
steady her when she swayed from dizziness.
He rose more slowly to face their horrified audience.
Lady Wingate was practically quivering with rage, her eyes
shooting virtual daggers at
them both. In a similar vein, Sir Alfred Perry and his
high stickler wife, Lady Perry — who were among Tess's
largest contributors — eyed them with supercilious scorn.
Tess felt her cheeks flush scarlet. When she glanced
guiltily up at Rotham, she saw that
an enigmatic look had settled over his features, yet his
sensual mouth held a grimness that
acknowledged the gravity of their social infraction.
In disbelief, Tess raised a hand weakly to her temple. How
could she possibly have failed to hear their approach? No
doubt her moans of pleasure had drowned out the sound of
their footsteps.
Renewed shame flooded Tess. For the second time in half an
hour, she had been
discovered locked in a passionate embrace with a wicked
gentleman.
Yet this time she had the sickening feeling that she'd
sunk herself utterly beyond repair —
and worse, that there would be no escaping the
consequences.
Excerpt from To Desire a Wicked Duke by Nicole Jordan
Copyright © 2010 by Nicole Jordan
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