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  Waltz of Seduction

  Natasha Blackthorne

  A painful personal experience makes Lord Lockhart believe that a gentleman doesn’t inflict his passionate desires on a wife. The marriage bed is for begetting heirs, not animal lust. No matter how much he desires his wife. But under Lady Lockhart’s shyness is a determination to tempt her handsome husband, to satisfy them both and spend every night together in her bed.

  Innocent waltzing lessons in their chambers soon become indecent, and may lead the newlyweds to overcome their preconceptions and learn to be lovers, as well as man and wife.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Waltz of Seduction

  ISBN 9781419934759

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Waltz of Seduction Copyright © 2011 Natasha Blackthorne

  Edited by Raelene Gorlinsky

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication May 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Waltz of Seduction

  Natasha Blackthorne

  Dedication

  To my husband, who always believed in my writing.

  Chapter One

  She wanted to tempt her husband. She wanted him to desire her madly.

  Lady Sara Lockhart paused at the foot of the stairs, waiting for her husband to notice her beautiful new ball gown. It was shimmering silk with a low-cut neckline, a neat black ribbon beneath her breasts and a narrow skirt that flowed gracefully as water to the floor. She stood the way her friends had her practice. Head held high, back straight, her torso turned ever so slightly and her hand on the stair rail.

  Her lord remained obsessed with some aspect of his watch.

  “Colin?”

  Lord Colin Lockhart looked up, classically handsome with his long, narrow face and high cheekbones. Even a glimpse of him never failed to make her stomach bottom out. She couldn’t help but smile. His dark brows drew together sharply and his beautiful eyes, blue like a clear lake, flashed with irritation. “This watch runs slower every day. I took it apart this morning and see no reason for it.”

  Colin enjoyed tinkering with clocks. Anything with gears really.

  “It’s a new frock,” she explained. He always needed nudging on this type of thing.

  “Oh.” He brushed that wayward lock of onyx hair off his forehead then glanced down. His eyes widened and he dropped the watch back into his pocket. He walked over, his tall, broad-shouldered body elegantly displayed in his well-tailored dark blue coat in a way that always made her breath catch. She could never believe he was really her husband. Not even after all these months.

  He stared down at her, his eyes intent on the gown.

  She fiddled with her string of seed pearls and its ruby pendant. “Well, what do you think?”

  His frown returned. “You’re wearing red now?”

  The hard undertone in his voice made her stomach twitch. He was so often good-natured she forgot how exacting he could be when he decided a matter was important. Her heart fluttered in alarm. “You are displeased? The dressmaker called it claret. Priscilla says it is quite the thing.”

  “Priscilla may be right, but it seems rather a bold color for you.”

  She knew what that meant. It was polite way of saying a plain girl shouldn’t wear such a vivid color. How foolish of her to think she could be pretty or enticing. She made a fool of herself in the attempt.

  But how else was she to win his undying devotion, to get him to visit her chamber more often?

  His eyes dipped to her low-cut bodice, studying the delicate black ribbon trim and sparkling jets, and then his eyes cut away quickly. His mouth twisted in that way it did when the soup was too cold or the fish too salty. Who could blame him? Her breasts were pitifully small. She hunched her shoulders and pulled her wrap up to hide herself. All her earlier excitement drained away.

  By the time they arrived at the ball, her throat was burning. Did he regret marrying her? She often wondered. The youngest son of the Duke of Wakefield, he could have done a lot better than the plain-faced daughter of a merchant prince. But his family’s coffers were nearly empty and her dowry, a near fortune, had made her a very desirable bride. Especially when her father purchased them an estate in Kent as a wedding present.

  Last spring through autumn, Colin had worked on the estate from sunrise to sunset. He had also handled all that messy business with her clay mine, breaking the strike without violence. He had proved himself no idle fortune hunter—just an ambitious fortune hunter.

  The carriage slowed and stopped. Colin opened the door and all but jumped out of the carriage. Then he stood, tapping his foot while he held his hand out. He was always so eager to be done with his duty to her, in bed and out of it, so he could be on with something else. Something more exciting. Like taking a watch apart or gazing at distant planets with his telescope. The truth of that was quite lowering.

  Head held stiffly, Sara placed her hand into his and let him help her out of the carriage.

  * * * * *

  From across the ballroom, Colin watched his wife. Sara was hiding in the shadows, talking with an older turbaned woman. As usual. Why must she always hide like a frightened mouse?

  His eyes trailed down to her low-cut bodice, her peach-sized breasts displayed to perfection. His jaw tightening almost painfully. Against that damned red gown, her skin glowed like porcelain and her hair shimmered like honey. His cock had been hard enough to hammer nails, the whole carriage ride. Keeping his hands off her hadn’t been easy. And just as he’d feared, upon their arrival she’d captivated every male eye.

  He knew his wife was beautiful in her own special and delicate way. But he wasn’t used to having other men notice this.

  The strains of a waltz echoed through the ballroom and resentment twisted through his stomach. For his wife did not waltz. He understood her reasons. Logically. But emotionally, he did not. He supposed he should just be happy no other man would waltz with her either. He turned and stalked back to the card room.

  * * * * *

  “Colin, are you angry with me?”

  They were standing in the sitting room that connected their bedchambers. He was having a difficult time ignoring the ache in his groin. But he had already bothered Sara this week. Last night, in fact. To do so again, so soon, would be piggish. A gentleman shouldn’t treat his wife like some whore waiting on his needs. Ladies had delicate natures. Sexuality and arousal could prove too unsettling to their nerves. Medical science was starting to discover this but he knew it from a very personal experience.

  “Colin?” Her voice held that ge
ntle insistence that was like leading strings on his heart.

  And her large gray eyes were luminous with what he suspected were soon-to-be-shed tears. He was in no mood to comfort her. If he got anywhere near her, he’d be on her and shortly thereafter, in her, balls deep and thrusting.

  “It’s late. Go to bed, Sara,” he said, covering his angst with a bored tone.

  “It is the gown, isn’t it?” Her voice quavered.

  He struggled for the right words. “I just think red is a little bold.”

  Her lower lip trembled. That velvety pink lower lip. “I am sorry to have offended you, Colin.”

  Inwardly he sighed. “You did not offend me. I am just thinking of your good name.”

  What a miserable lie to cover his jealousness. And shameful to mislead her when he longed to draw her into his arms and tell her how utterly lovely she looked in the gown. But he didn’t want to encourage her to display herself like this.

  “Come here,” he said, holding his arms out. She came to him, her eyes large and glossy with unshed tears. He took her hands and gave her a quick, chaste kiss. “It’s no matter now. Forget it.”

  She nodded.

  “Now to bed,” he said firmly.

  He watched her depart, his eyes trained on the way the shimmering red silk clung to her tight little bottom. She slipped into her chamber, the soft click of the door speaking more profoundly than any satisfying slam. He knew a sense of both relief and loss. Sweating and shaking, he sank into his chair and hooked a finger into his cravat, loosening it.

  Dear God, he was not cut out for marriage. Shy, sweet Sara. He mustn’t frighten her with his animal lust. Nine months of marriage had proven to be blue balls hell. There were other women with greater fortunes he might have married. His father had been pushing the daughter of an obscenely wealthy Italian merchant. A charming brunette with dark, flashing eyes and lush breasts.

  So why had Colin picked Sara? Honestly? Because of the way her eyes lit up with genuine pleasure and her face blushed at his least attention. In a town of bored, spoiled coquettes, her open adoration had been terribly flattering. And she was sincere and intelligent. The type of woman he could imagine mothering his children. He quickly became infatuated with her delicate features, her quiet warmth.

  And naturally he had assumed he would keep mistresses as all men of his station did. But a funny thing happened. By the time they married, she had worked her way under his skin. So deeply that he couldn’t even stomach the thought of chasing pretty opera dancers with his friends the night before the wedding.

  Since then, his sexual outlet had been limited to the marriage bed, where he must always hold himself in check and hurry so as to inconvenience his wife as little as possible.

  With a long, ragged sigh, he resigned himself to spend tonight as he seemed to spend most nights lately. Getting a little foxed, palming off and then getting seriously soused. He sat down in the chair, took the decanter from the side table and poured himself a glass of brandy.

  The longer they were married, the more he wanted her.

  Yes, he loved her.

  Who wouldn’t love Sara once they came to know her?

  Which was why he’d wanted to dance with her in public. To show the world how much he cared for and respected her. That their match was more than mere convenience. That he admired her for more than her clay mine and her trust fund. She might be a commoner but she was his lady.

  Three brandies into his binge, he decided the matter was more urgent than he’d first given it credit. He needed to show that she was indisputably his. How were the men of Mayfair to know this if he and Sara spent all of their time in society separated? He in the card room, she hiding in corners. It could make her the target of rakes and would-be-lotharios. Not that he distrusted his wife’s virtue. But just the thought of another man making her indecent proposals turned his stomach.

  He left the sitting room, determined to do something about it.

  Chapter Two

  At the knock on her door, Sara sat up in bed. Her heart leapt with hope. Colin never visited her bedchamber two nights in a row. But there was always the possibility of a first time.

  “Enter,” she said, a little breathless.

  The door opened and he came in, still wearing his evening clothes. His cravat was askew but otherwise he looked every bit as elegant and handsome as he had earlier in the evening. Did he want to share her bed? Her belly tingled at the prospect and her body began to prepare for him, as it always did, wetness seeping into the folds of her cunny.

  But on second glance, she could see his jaw held firm, his eyes burning with something close to anger. Her belly tingled again, this time with apprehension. He was unhappy with her over the gown. She should never have listened to Priscilla. Her dear friend was an earl’s daughter. She could afford to flout the rules. It was different for Sara.

  “Will you come and sit?” Sara patted the place beside her hopefully.

  He shook his head.

  There were depths to her husband that he sometimes allowed to show. Dark and dangerous depths that made her aware of how little she still knew him. She might never truly know him, she realized. His personal, inner face might only someday be shown to some courtesan who managed to catch his eye and win his heart. When that happened, Sara would be forced to smile and turn the other direction. It was just the way with Mayfair gentlemen.

  A sick sadness welled in her stomach.

  “I was somewhat less than truthful when I said I wasn’t angry,” he said.

  “Colin, I am sorry—”

  He held up his hand. “Hush and hear me out.”

  She clamped her jaw closed, drew her knees up and rested her chin on them.

  “I resent that I may not waltz with my own wife at a ball. You are my wife and I want the world to see us together as a couple.”

  “But the very thought makes me ill.” She blurted the words before she thought.

  “The thought of waltzing with me makes you ill?” He raised a brow.

  She hugged her knees tightly, glancing down at the bed. “No, the idea of waltzing in front of all those people.”

  “You’re not a girl anymore. You are a mature, married woman and you must act the part. Two weeks from now, at your birthday ball, you will waltz with me.”

  “Please, Colin, I—”

  “I am determined to have my way in this,” he said.

  He didn’t understand. He had been born to this society world. She was the plain, well-dowered commoner he wed. A social climber, people would say. A pretender. An interloper.

  But still, commoner or not, she was his wife now. She owed him obedience to his wishes.

  “Don’t worry.” His voice softened. “We shall practice and practice until it is second nature. In fact, we shall start tonight. Come.” He held out his hands. “Arise and waltz once with me and then I shall leave you in peace for tonight.”

  “But Colin, it is late and I am so tired.”

  “Indulge me.”

  She rose from the bed.

  “Wait,” he said. He lit the lamps, then returned to her and placed his hand firmly on her waist and took her hand. His large palm eclipsed hers, all warm and strong.

  “Colin, this is just going to humiliate me. I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Just follow my lead.”

  She touched his shoulder, her hand tingling as it closed over the hard bulge of his muscles. He pulled her closer. She sensed his warmth, smelt the clove and citrus scent of his shaving soap. Then she smelled something else. Brandy. Her mouth fell open and she pulled back slightly.

  “You’re foxed, aren’t you?”

  He grinned, flashing strong white teeth against his tanned skin. “Only the slightest bit. I can still dance, never fear.”

  He pulled her closer again. Being this close to him always made her body vibrate and pulse, even in the most secret places. She wished so desperately they could spend each night like this. Close and romantic. What a silly, girli
sh wish. Marriage was for making heirs and love was for lovers. But she didn’t wish for any other lover. Except her husband.

  “Attend to me, Sara,” he said. “You cannot daydream whilst dancing.”

  He led her around the chamber, taking his time. Still, her bare feet landed on his time and time again and he caught her several times, steadying her on her feet. Finally he stopped.

  “Do you see now? It’s hopeless,” she said laughingly.

  “Dancing needs lubrication.” He walked to her sideboard and poured a glass of wine then handed it to her. “At least two of these, that’s my recommendation. Then we try again.”

  They drank in silence. He took a half a glass and she one glass. Afterward, she danced worse than ever.

  “Wait, this is no good.”

  “As I said, it is hopeless,” she said.

  “Don’t be so quick to give up.” He reached up and tugged the knot on his cravat free. Then he slowly unwrapped it. “Here,” he said, catching her wrist and winding the linen strip around it.

  Alarm accelerated her heartbeat and she glanced up at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Trust me.” He moved behind her and took both her hands. She felt him tugging and pulling.

  Then he faced her. “Now we try again.”

  She pulled at her hands. She couldn’t move them. He had bound them together. “Colin?”

  He came back to face her and clasped the sides of her waist, holding her firmly. “I will not let you fall. Do you trust me?”

  “I suppose,” she replied. But she worried about his state of mind. He did seem a little foxed.

  He began to move, slowly. She stared down at her feet.

  “Stop counting the steps.” He pointed at his face. “Look me in the eyes. Feel this in your stomach, not your head. Trust me.”

  Her feet wouldn’t obey.