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84 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 18, 2011
Favorite Quotes:
Quite simply, Conrad fascinated her by virtue of being everything she wasn’t—levelheaded, self-contained, urbane, reserved—and that air of perfect, impenetrable composure seemed both a careful façade and a deliberate challenge. Unsettle me, it dared her. Muss my never-out-of-place hair, put my impeccably knotted cravat askew, overset me with passion and recklessness. She found it impossible to believe he was as imperturbable, as detached as he appeared. Beneath that cool, polished exterior, she believed there lurked a kindred soul, and she ached to set him free from his prison of decorous self-restraint.
As if any male with operational vision could mistake the owner of that slender waist and gloriously rounded arse for a boy. He certainly hadn’t been able to since the summer he’d returned from Cambridge to discover that the tomboyish urchin who’d played with his younger brother was no longer a leggy, boisterous child, but a leggy, boisterous young woman with a figure that would have been right at home in Miss May’s Pleasure Parlor.
And that was how, a few seconds later, Conrad discovered that the Honorable Miss Winifred Langston intended to visit Miss May’s Pleasure Palace just two nights hence. The reason in order to learn “what all the fuss is about.”
Conrad had a mind to show her. In the interest of not being called out for pistols at dawn by Nash Langston, however, he went upstairs and showed his hand instead.
The moment of Conrad’s surrender was one Freddie was sure she would remember—and cherish—for the rest of her life. She hadn’t been sure she could manage it. Even when she was taking off her breeches, preparing to offer herself to him, she’d doubted her ability to breach his reserve and make him throw caution to the wind. Even when he’d slipped his fingers between her thighs and groaned with undisguised delight, she’d wondered if he would finally be able to unleash the truest angels of his nature.
The angels that were devils.
He was a seething mass of contradiction on the matter. He wanted her. Ached for her. To the point that he lay awake at night, stroking himself until he was spent as he replayed every wicked moment of their encounter. He doubted he would ever again find a woman whose craving for submission and surrender seemed so perfectly to mirror his own need for domination and control.