Kisses, She Wrote by Katharine Ashe

Author:Katharine Ashe [Ashe, Katharine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Historical romance, Regency
ISBN: 9780062229892
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-12-02T22:00:00+00:00

Cam paced his study, boots and hair still damp from his morning’s ride that had been interrupted by the appearance of the Princess of Sensaire.

Dammit, but he should have trusted in his instincts and not gone to meet her when he caught that glimpse of her across the park. Yesterday the diary entry he’d read had flattened him, and he hadn’t yet quite recovered.

To his knowledge, he had never before taken a woman’s virginity. Now, apparently, he had. At least in fiction.

Moreover, he had enjoyed every moment of it. In reality.

After that, at the ball it had been torture to greet her lightly, to look into her lovely eyes and not confess all. He should never have allowed this to continue. From that first day at the chateau he should have forgotten the diary and remained pleasantly aloof with her. He should never have continued reading and, above all, he should have never become friends with her.

But he’d been weak, and somewhat vain, and in need of distraction from the course his actual life was taking. And he liked her. It was as simple as that.

But after the acute discomfort of the ball—where he had been obliged to partner his great-aunt’s choice when he wished instead to be dancing with his not-so-innocent friend, to be discovering whether holding her in reality was as shattering as it was in the pages of her diary—after that he had vowed to himself that he would no longer seek out her company. Not under any circumstances. Then in the park, with a sleepless night muddling his head, he should have turned around, finished Saladin’s exercise, and gone about his business for the remainder of the day, blissfully unaware of what he knew now.

She knew about Lady Amelia. Apparently everyone knew. Friends at the ball had confirmed that. Not liking his hesitation, Lady Rowdon had spread the gossip to try to force his hand.

But that was not what now had him digging his heels into the thick rug on the floor of his study and raking his hands through his hair. Every word of her latest diary entry was emblazoned on his memory like they had been burned there with fire.

He enters the chamber and the candlelight makes his skin golden like his hair as he draws off his dressing gown. I am on my bed, on my stomach with my head turned aside on the pillow, watching him approach. The mattress is soft beneath my thighs; the tips of my breasts brushing the bed linen are taut in anticipation.

Then he is behind me. I stare out the window at the moon that bathes me in light.

He removes his clothing but leaves mine, only drawing the skirt up my calves and thighs, and I sigh at the caress of silk slipping along my skin. He does not touch me. He bares my buttocks. The chamber is cold, but he is near and I am lit from within. When he finally touches me, the slightest caress on the insides of my knees, that fire within heats me so that I do his bidding.

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