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Authors: The Surrender of Lady Jane

Marissa Day

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Table of Contents
 
 
 
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc. )
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Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
 
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
 
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
 
Copyright © 2011 by Sarah Zettel.
Excerpt from
The Fascination of Lord Carstairs
by Marissa Day copyright © by Sarah Zettel.
 
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
 
PRINTING HISTORY
Heat trade paperback edition / July 2011
 
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Day, Marissa.
The surrender of Lady Jane / Marissa Day.—Heat trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
ISBN : 978-1-101-51684-3
1. Magic—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3576.E77S87 2011
813’.6—dc22 2010039272
 
 

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One
I
’m here, Jane
. The urgent male voice sent a hot shiver of longing down Lady Jane’s spine.
I’m waiting.
Jane was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, and in the dream she opened her eyes.
As she had every night for the past three weeks, Jane found herself standing in a dark corridor carpeted with deep plush. Some nights she had been clad in only a white silk robe. Some nights she was dressed in a fantastic concoction of velvet like a medieval lady. Tonight, she was dressed for dancing in pale blue silk with three tiers of silver lace and rosettes. She felt the weight of plumes decorating her hair. But what truly mattered was the voice. Calling to her. Longing for her.
I’m here, Jane.
Jane began to run.
Doors flashed past her shoulders. Hints of movement caught at the corners of her eyes, but she did not stop.
He
was waiting, and she must find him.
Breathless and flushed, she stopped before one of the identical closed doors, knowing, in the way of dreams, that it was the right one. She laid her gloved hand upon the surface, anticipation quickening her pulse. This was where the dream would change and become new. The only thing that would be the same after this was the waiting man, and the feelings he aroused in her.
Jane opened the door.
Warm candlelight filled a chamber as spacious as any royal apartment. The room was an oriental fantasy furnished with all manner of velvet couches and lounges, some big enough to accommodate four or five people at once. Silken hangings adorned the walls and green velvet draperies hid the windows.
A man stood in the center of the room. Like her, he was dressed for dancing. Tight, white knee breeches encased his muscled legs and he wore a gray silk waistcoat embroidered with silver over a spotless white linen shirt. His coat was a shimmering emerald green with more silver at the cuffs and throat.
But the beauty of his attire was nothing when compared with the beauty of the man. He was not too tall, only topping Jane by six inches or so. He wore his blond hair long and tied back in a sailor’s queue. Neither was he too broad, but built in good proportion. Everything about his form spoke of active living. His face was magnificent, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Jane’s breath caught in her throat as she met his bright green eyes. They slanted dramatically but were saved from being too feminine by his heavy brows.
“Sweet Jane.” He opened his arms. “You are very welcome here.”
Jane ran at once into her dream lover’s embrace. His mouth fastened on hers in a strong kiss. His tongue pressed against her lips and she opened eagerly, ready for the strange, sweet sensation of his tongue stroking hers while his hands caressed her shoulders and her back, gliding down to the curve of her derriere
,
around her hips and up again to brush the sides of her breasts. Jane shivered and felt him smile against her mouth.
“Are you glad to be here, Jane?” he whispered as he drew his lips along the curve of her jaw.
“Very.” She sighed. His mouth brushed her throat, as if seeking to learn its every line while his strong, capable hands caressed her waist and the curve of her belly through the layers of silk and muslin that clad her. For all he was a compactly formed man, he enfolded her completely in his embrace in a way her late husband never had. She liked that. She was no petite miss and had no wish to be treated as if she might break. Her mother had more than once despaired over Jane’s curves, which were of the sort much more suited to pannier skirts and cinched waists than this time of high-waisted gowns and minimal foundation garments. But her dream lover appreciated the whole of her body. As he claimed her mouth again, he took her derriere in both hands.
“Such a beautiful ass,” he murmured as he squeezed and kneaded, clearly relishing the softness of her flesh. He pressed her even closer to him, until her breasts rubbed his chest and her belly circled the ridge of his erection. Jane groaned with pleasure and tilted her hips against him. He smiled and took her hand, kissing the palm.
“Do you feel that?” He laid her hand against the outline of his cock, drawing her palm up and down its length. “This is yours. This is what you do to me.”
“I want you,” she whispered hoarsely. “I want to give myself to you.”
“Do you?” He smiled mischievously and leaned in to graze her lower lip with his teeth. “How would you give yourself to me?” He released her hand, turning her as he spoke, until he stood behind her, one strong arm wrapped around her waist to pin her against his hips. His cock was so hard and so strong that she could feel it pressing between the halves of her ass, despite the layers of her skirts and petticoats. His other hand closed possessively over her breast, making her gasp. “What would you do when you give yourself to me?”
She meant to answer, but he began to plump and pet her breast, and Jane found she could do nothing but groan. His fingers found her pebbled nipple and rolled it. It felt delicious and wicked, and all she could think was how much better these caresses would be without the barrier of their clothing between them.
“Tell me what you would do, Jane.” His breath was hot against her ear, his body a wall behind her. She had no strength. He supported her entirely.
“I would lay myself bare for you. I would open my thighs . . .”
“These thighs?” Without ceasing to play with her breast, he ran his other hand down her hip, his fingers knotting into the fabric of her skirt. “These luscious, smooth thighs?” He drew her skirt up as he lovingly spoke each word. Cold air touched the heated skin of her legs, sending fresh shivers rippling through her.
“Yes,” she said. “The whole of my body would be yours.”
“Would you touch yourself for me?” Now his hand traveled up the soft skin of her thigh, caressing her, slowly, possessively, almost reaching her straining center, but not quite. “Would you let me see how beautiful you are when you play with your breasts and this sweet pussy?” He cupped his hot palm over her damp curls and she sighed with relief and pleasure. “Would you do that for me?”
“Whatever you would want.”
“And if I should want to play games of desire?” His mouth was on her shoulder now, kissing soft, sensual trails down her bared skin. “If I should wish to hold you helpless to our pleasure while I worked my will upon you?” Skilled and infinitely wicked, his fingers played with her folds, sending flashes of desire through her body.
BOOK: Marissa Day
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