Sacrifice (Fashionably Impure Book 3)

Sacrifice

©Copyright Natasha Blackthorne 2016

Edited by Emily Heill

Kindle Edition

Cover Art and photo by The Killion Group, Inc.
2016 

All
characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real
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DISCLAIMER:
Natasha Blackthorne writes romantic fiction for entertainment purposes only.
Please do not attempt to use this book as a “how-to” book for any topic. Her
works are not meant to be guides or representations of modern BDSM practices or
lifestyles. Please seek the guidance of an experienced practitioner and/or your
personal physician before trying any new sexual practice. The author, Natasha
Blackthorne, will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death
resulting from use of the information contained in any of her titles.

Sacrifice

By

Natasha Blackthorne

The Fashionably Impure Series, Book Three

Chapter One

The knocking
seemed to sound within Adrian’s head. Instantly aware of the warm, lush body
against his, he tightened his arm around the curvy waist.

Miranda.

He
pressed his half-erect cock against the softness of her buttocks. The heaviness
of fatigue in his limbs pulled him back into slumber…

The
knocking sounded again. Louder this time.

Groggily,
he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the spill of dark red hair over
the white pillow.

The
ivory curve of her neck.

He
couldn’t help but bend and put his lips to her nape.

“The
servants,” she said, in a voice hoarse with sleepiness. “Have they gone mad?”

“I’ll go
see…” But he found himself taking hold of her hips and pressing his fast
growing erection to her rounded bottom.

His
beloved mistress.

Soon to
be his wife.

He had
proposed to her in between their lovemaking last night.

Lovemaking.
Was that an adequate term for it? He had been mad for her and she had indulged
him, met him passion for passion.

God, but
he couldn’t get enough of her. He gripped her hips more firmly as he rocked his
pelvis, enjoying the slight friction, enjoying the steady hardening of his
shaft.

She
turned, her eyes hooded. “Adrian…”

Her
voice was full of affection.

Her
mouth, deep red and swollen from too many kisses, fascinated him.

Would one
more kiss make that much difference? He put his lips to hers and took her mouth
hungrily. He reached around and cupped her mons. Warm wetness slicked his
fingers as he sought and found her nub, already sweetly firm. He deepened the
kiss, his tongue caressing hers in strong strokes even as he stimulated her
below with a feathery touch.

She
moaned—the sound muffled.

The
knock sounded again. “Miss Jones.”

Miranda’s
housekeeper called, with a note of urgency.

On a
groan, Adrian tore his mouth from Miranda’s and he removed his hand from her
warm, wet, throbbing flesh.

She made
to arise. He touched her shoulders. “Stay, I’ll go,” he said, rolling from the
bed before the hunger pulsing in his body overwhelmed him. He turned back and
ran a hand over her buttocks. “Sleep.”

“Miss
Jones,” the housekeeper called again.

With
resignation strengthening his resolve, Adrian donned his banyan and strode over
to answer the door.

The
housekeeper’s face was taut with her concern. “My lord, Baron Drake is here to
see you.”

All
traces of sleep and the pleasurable ache of unrequited lust were wiped from
him. He stood there sober faced and with a curl of dread winding its way about
his innards.

He
jerked the knot on his belt tighter and rushed out to the railing to look down
at the vestibule.

Sure
enough, he saw Drake’s dark head.

Adrian’s
gut twisted with even greater foreboding and he rubbed his chin.

Damn,
how dare the baron visit Miranda’s house like this. Uninvited and without
warning. What if Adrian had not been here?

Davey.

His son
was here, sleeping.

There’s
something unholy about Drake.

I
will not tolerate him anywhere near my countess or my children.

Adrian’s
cousin, the Earl of Ruel’s words echoed in his mind.

 
A soft touch on his back made him go rigid.
He turned to see Miranda, standing there in her wrapper.

With
that viper in the vestibule.

“Baron
Drake?” she whispered, her voice still husky with lingering arousal.” What
manner of man would call at this hour?

“It’s
all right, he’s here for me. I shall—” he began.

A blur
of white in the corner of his eye, she darted to the rail for look.

At that
moment, Drake raised his eyes to the stairwell, seeing Miranda in her
French-style lace trimmed wrapper with her still hooded eyes and bee-stung
mouth. The picture of a well-fucked woman.

Raw,
primal protectiveness ignited within Adrian.

He
grasped Miranda by the shoulders and jerked her back from the railing. With
uncharacteristic roughness, he propelled her towards her bedchamber. “I shall
deal with this visitor. Do not leave your chamber until I send for you.”

Her eyes
flashed fire. “See here, just wait a—”

“Not
now, love,” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. Once she was
safely across the threshold of her chamber, he enfolded her gently into his
arms.

She
froze, her eyes holding his, full of confusion. “But—”

He
pressed a hard, quick kiss on her mouth to quiet her. “Hush.”

“See to
Davey. Don’t allow him to come downstairs until I call for you. I’ll have your
breakfast sent up here.”

“Heavens,
Adrian, who is that man that you would behave this way?”

“I’ll
explain later.”

Maybe.
Probably not. But he had to quiet her now. He disentangled her arms from his
shoulders then dashed down the stairs.

****

“Did you
explain the need for haste to Miss Jones?” Drake asked as they sat in the
withdrawing chamber.

With
uneasiness crackling through him, Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. “I let
her believe that I’d had a sudden romantic revelation.”

And he
had had such a revelation.

“The
ladies always like that.”

“I think
I managed to convince her that it is a completely happy revelation.” Miranda
deserved happiness, all the happy moments that Adrian could give her.

“You
don’t think she deserves to know the danger facing her?”

Adrian’s
level of uneasiness increased with a vague awareness of sudden nausea. He had
also wanted to enjoy a day or two of happiness with her before facing the
seriousness of the matter.

Surely,
they had a few days?

He
glanced at Drake’s grim expression.

Apparently
not.

“It’s
your business how you handle your countess and your marriage but I would like
to say that I have learned, through bitter and quite personal experience, that
it is never wise to be deceptive to those we love most, even with the best of
motives.”

Drake
reached into his pocket and retrieved a folded paper. He unfurled it and pushed
it at Adrian. “It’s best for Miss Jones that you get this marriage official as
soon as possible.”

Adrian
stared at the document then he glanced up at Drake. “This looks like a Special
License.”

Drake
nodded. “It is.”

“It is
legal?”

“Of
course.”

“But I
was going to the Doctors’ Commons today.” He pushed the paper back at Drake.
“This cannot be real. No one, not even an earl or a duke could procure a
license to wed so quickly.”

“Not an
earl or a duke, that’s true.”

Adrian
chuckled coldly, incredulous. “But a baron can?”

Drake
pushed the paper back towards him. “My lord, you worry over unimportant matters
while your lady’s safety is at stake.”

“It
cannot be real.” Ire rose within Adrian. “I cannot foist a false marriage on
her.”

“Are you
trying to justify your own cold feet, my lord?”

“Send
for your cousins, the Earl of Ruel and Mr. Charlie Sutherland. Ruel will give
the ceremony validity…” Drake smiled, slightly.” And Charlie Sutherland will
gossip.”

“Why
keep the wedding secret then invite someone you think will gossip?”

“Firstly,
because it will give people a measure of gratification to think they know
something that you did not wish them to know. This will give them the smug
pleasure of feeling clever. They will forever more associate the scandal of
your wedding with this pleasure. But it will also add spice and fuel to
scandal. It will assure that it spreads far and wide.” Drake’s look turned
grim. “Winterton will hear of it.”

“Then he
will know that his daughter is the wife of a peer, my countess.”

Drake
nodded. “He will also become angry and destabilized. It will make him easier
prey.”

Drake’s
dark eyes seemed to peer into Adrian’s very soul. Adrian steeled his
expression.

“I hear
he is residing in New York at present.”

“Ah, my
lord, you cannot pretend that you don’t intend to seek him out,” Drake said.

Hot
impatience swept through Adrian’s blood, the tide was so sudden; it took him
unawares.

Every
additional day that the duke breathed was one day too long. Adrian felt that he
must act now.

Now.
 

Resolve
pounded with each heart beat.

Yet, he
had squelched this sensation the night before. He had done so for Miranda.
Every woman deserved a honeymoon, a time of closeness and tenderness from her
intended. Miranda needed it.

He found
himself torn between the need to cherish and please her, to give her everything
that she needed— and the rising, increasing, imperative need to put an end to
her ducal father’s life.
 
To put an end
to any possibility of danger to her from that man’s mad drive to hurt her and
to make her suffer.

Winterton
had intended to kill Adrian.

Such
information had turned his blood to ice, not with fear but with anger that the
duke would dare do anything to place Miranda all alone and vulnerable in the
world.

Miranda
needed Adrian. She needed the protection, his name and title but also the
tangible shield of his strength and his ability to use his mind, his body, his
worldly goods, everything he was and had to keep her safe.

Aware
that the baron was still watching him intently and that he could no longer
fully hide his emotions, Adrian said nothing.

“I would
do the same,” Drake said, his eyes cold as December.

Adrian
remained silent, keeping his expression hard, so hard that his jaw drew rigid
and he could feel a muscle trying to twitch in protest.

“I can
help you, my lord.” With those words, Drake suddenly became not a dark,
potentially threatening presence in Miranda’s house but an ally.

Adrian’s
sense of impatience surged again. His ears burnt with it.

“But
before I commit my aid, I want to be sure of a couple of things.” Drake said.
“Winterton is not the most endearing man. However, he is very wealthy, very
powerful. Politically situated. He has many loyal friends.”

“So, he
does,” Adrian said.