Miranda's Dilemma (19 page)

Adrian’s heart all but stopped, and then the worst kind of disillusion settled over him. The knowing that this man couldn’t be brought to full justice, not without harming Miranda.

Disgust filled every corner of his being, a distaste for this world and its injustices that he didn’t know if he could tolerate feeling it another moment. He hardened his expression and narrowed his stare. “No, the United States is not far enough. Go lose yourself in Australia or India, or find some tropical island to call your own. You’ve got two weeks to remove yourself from not only England but this side of the world.”

Chapter Eighteen

Adrian’s valet woke him late that night.

“There’s a Miss Miranda Jones here to see you, my lord.”

Adrian came fully awake and he stopped only to draw his banyan over his nakedness. He rushed down to his withdrawing chamber.

Miranda stood there, looking uncertain. She was dressed in one of her glittering evening gowns.

God, she looked so absolutely lovely.

She was a little pale with dark purple shadows under her eyes.

“Miranda.” He sat beside her on the settee.

“I have ruined myself,” she said. “I have let my mother down.”

He took her hands. They were cold as ice. The knowing of her suffering ate into him. His heart contracted. “Hush,” he said.

“No, I shall never be able to live with myself now. Mama will have a complete breakdown and it will be all my fault.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh God, Adrian. I did not know.”

He leaned closer to her and drew her into his embrace. “Please, love, don’t take on like this. It is not as bad as you think.”

“Oh yes, it is.” She gulped back a sob. “Froster took me back. He even said that he would never require me to do anything in bed that I didn’t wish to. God, he was so sincere.” He could see her throat working as she swallowed. “But I couldn’t. I could let him touch me. All I could think of was you and how much I want to be yours.” She made a choking sob. “If I let him touch me. If I had let him take me, I would never be yours again.” She began to cry.

He cradled her against his shoulder. ‘Oh my love, oh my darling.”

“it is all over now.” She gulped back a sob. “How could you ever love a woman  who betrayed the mother who needed her. If I could not love her properly and be what she needed, how could you ever trust in me?”

“Hush, hush, hush!” he said. “It is all right now. I told you I would fix everything.”

“How? How did you fix things?”

“I went to your father. I threatened to reveal certain matters from his past. I told him he must sell the land to me for the same price as he bought it.” He wouldn’t give her any of the other ugly details. He would shield her against the pain of knowing any of that. It was only necessary that she know her mother’s interests were protected.

“You what?!”

“I have purchased the deed to the land, the estate house and your mother’s cottage. She is secure now. You needn’t ever worry again about where she will live.”

“Oh my God!” She pulled away and gaped at him. Her eyes were red, swollen. “Oh my God, I cannot believe it!”

She had never looked more lovely to him.

“I will sign it over to you, just as soon it can be arranged.”

“But you spent your sons’ inheritance for me?”

“I can earn the money back.”

“But you said—”

“I was over cautious. I told you to have faith in me. Well, I must have faith in my love for you.”

“Your what?”

“My love for you. I love you so much and I need to make you happy. I need to protect you.” He took her hands. “Let me purchase you a house of your own. Let me give you a coach and four and living expenses each month. Be mine, Miranda. Please be my mistress, mine and mine alone.”

“Oh yes, oh dear God. I have loved you and been too afraid to admit it. Even to myself.” She leaned up and put her lips on his.

It was the sweetest kiss. The kiss he had wanted from her all along for he could taste her pledge in it. A pledge of her whole self to him and only him. The real Miranda Jones, not the fantasy.

Want to read more of Miranda and Adrian’s story? Please look for the sequel to their story, coming January 2016. This novel will be available for .99 on limited time Pre-Order price at Amazon.

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Would you like to check out some of my other stories right now?

Please keep reading. I have included some excerpts from my other works.

A Measured Risk by Natasha Blackthorne

A MEASURED RISK features a shy, intellectual, strong-willed widow with real life curves (Rubenesque/BBW) and a protective, possessive Dominant, alpha male hero. This is a story of Dominance and submission with light BDSM, emotional healing, trust and love.

He is her most dangerous temptation and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?

Book one in the Regency Risks Series

Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took her husband's life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. She longed to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel. She sensed intuitively that he could teach her how to overcome the terrors that held her in bondage.

And now she's willing to risk almost anything-her reputation, even her virtue-to find out. But what he proposes startles her.

When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approached him, Ruel instantly sensed she would be the sweetest, most submissive experience of a lifetime-if only he can gain her total and complete trust. He makes her a non-negotiable offer. His help in return for her submission and obedience.

But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming husband. She's learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one but herself.

How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through her self-protective defenses and show her how to love when he has spent his lifetime avoiding that tender trap?

Reader Advisory: This is a BDSM romance. This book contains anal sex, spanking, light bondage, D/s themes and brief F/F touching.

This is a work of historical fiction, it is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of or guide to how people recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. As a work of historical erotic romance, it is also not intended to portray modern BDSM or D/s lifestyles.

A Measured Risk
is published in British English and uses British Spelling.

Excerpt from A MEASURED RISK

Copyright © Natasha Blackthorne, 2012, 2013

“Why did you run away?” His deep voice settled in her belly, rich and warm, like
crème brûlée
on a cold winter’s night.

“Because I wanted you to follow.” She tried to sound sophisticated and seductive, but her voice choked off on the last word.

Ruel placed his hand on the shelf above her head and blocked her path to the door. His tall, solidly muscled body leaned over her, surrounding her with the sumptuous, sinful scents of tobacco, Scotch whisky and something masculine and undeniably dangerous. A slow, sensual smile stretched his hard mouth.

He appeared different. Softer. More approachable.

At the change, her insides seemed to flip over.

“Well, sweeting, getting us off alone was a very inspired idea.” He touched one of her fallen ringlets. “I am bored to distraction with endless hunting and fencing.”

As he slowly wrapped the curl around two fingers, he brushed her collarbone. Fiery sparks tingled down her spine, so intense that she shivered and her nipples beaded, pressing against her stays. By some instinct she hadn’t even known she possessed, she arched her back, presenting herself for his assessment.

His eyes shone so vividly blue against his bronzed face that they resembled cornflowers. She swallowed tightly and wished for a long drink of claret. This more personal side of him suddenly seemed far more hazardous than his usually fierce exterior.

Well, no matter. There was nothing to fear. She would allow only as much contact as need be to get to know him a little. Since being torn from her lonely yet secure life in Ireland and thrust into society at age sixteen, she’d spent her time allowing people only as near as was comfortable. She was an expert at emotional evasion.

It should be easy to regain her control.

But now, as late afternoon sun rays played over his pale hair, turning it to the colour of winter wheat, all her carefully rehearsed words flew away.

Say something—anything—else he will think you’re a bird-wit.

An intimate smile, one that invited her to play, tugged at his mouth.

“In a situation like this, alone with a gentleman, it’s perfectly normal for a lady to feel some apprehension.” His hushed voice, barely audible above the piano and boisterous singing from down the corridor, accentuated their isolation. His gaze became so piercing that she had to lower her eyes.

He brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “She will invariably ask herself if he will try to kiss her.”

She jerked her eyes back to his face. God, he couldn’t mean to—Not yet, surely… Peculiar, heated chills swept over her. She tried to take a step back, but found her arse flush against the bookshelf.

He leaned closer; so close that his Scotch-scented breath tickled her face. “And just in case you are wondering, Lady Cranfield—the answer is most assuredly yes.”

She should demand that he put his arm down so she could pass by and leave. She really should. But she couldn’t stop looking at his hard mouth and wondering what it would feel like upon hers. He was so close to her that his breath blew on her lips. If she moved but a fraction, she’d be kissing him.

Kissing him.

Dear God. Her breath began to come very fast and short. Her throat went tight with a suppressed moan.

His eyes burnt as brightly as aquamarines. He looked so fierce. If he kissed her, if he dared… Oh God, it would be so harsh. That cruel-looking mouth could express itself no other way.

Excitement rushed through her, sending tingles to every point of her body, even her toes.

But no, he wouldn’t. Not yet.

He kept leaning closer. He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he seemed to focus all the harder upon her.

Heart pounding and unable to move away, she braced herself for his assault.

His lips brushed hers, barely. A gossamer caress.

He lifted his head.

It was done.

Ended.

And it hadn’t even begun.

He held her chin, appearing so cool, so unaffected. His kiss had seemed to sear her. An urge to put her fingers to her lips arose in her. She resisted it, for it would give away too much of how she was affected.

Never show your feelings.

He traced his thumb along her lower lip, slowly, deliberately, as he studied her with eyes that now glittered with something powerful and predatory. Heat pooled in her pelvis, low and spreading even lower.

She went weak all over, as if she’d lain in a sunny window seat for too long. Her knees almost buckled. She forced them to lock. To be strong.

It should not have affected her so profoundly. It had just been a peck—not a true kiss at all. William had poured out all of his skill upon her and hadn’t garnered even a tenth of the reaction in her that this man’s peck had.