WaltzofSeduction

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.

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 gentle 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.