Here's a bit from my new release, WICKED INTENTIONS a romance set in mid Georgian England. I do hope you enjoy it!
This is what the book is about:
Ruth Urswick’s father is insane. The only place she can find sanctuary from him is a Covent Garden brothel, and the only person who can help her is a dangerously attractive stranger. Ruth learns much more than any virgin should rightfully know at Mother Brown’s, but is that really a bad thing?
Oliver Bridgman, Earl of Iveleigh, is haunted by the tragedy that cut short his military career and nearly killed him. When he meets Ruth, he finds the bravery and beauty he’s been searching for all his life, but she needs his help.Desperately.If Oliver wants to win Ruth, he has to defeat a crazy man and take her as she is, penniless and friendless.Georgian England provides the rich and colorful setting for this sexy, romantic adventure. How can you resist?
Oliver and Ruth certainly can’t!
"Do you understand why I let you?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“I’m glad. I’m not usually so–so—”
“Wanton?” he finished for her, a gleam in his eye.
Her cheeks pinked. “I suppose so. I’m sorry for all this. I didn’t know you see, I just thought I did.”
He smiled. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked suddenly.
“Sir!” Her first reaction was indignation, but in all fairness she couldn’t keep it up for long. She couldn’t look at him when she confessed, “I–I suppose I did.”
“I thought you did. I certainly did. And would you have enjoyed it with anyone else? Another gentleman?”
“No.” She said it without thinking, then was sorry. She’d let out too much. “I mean—”
“I’d love it if you’d agree to marry me, Ruth.”
She stared at him. She’d expected a proposal, Edmund had led her to expect it, but not like this. What a gentleman he was, how kind he was to put it this way! “I–I “ she began and stopped. He gave her the time to compose herself, leaning back, but retaining one hand once more. Ruth swallowed and tried to explain what she felt . This was no time to lose her reason. This conversation could affect the rest of her life.
The trouble was, she wanted him. She yearned to feel him again and in the past few days she feared she’d learned to love him. He wouldn’t be an easy partner, but he was the one she wanted. She loved his concern, his kindness and conversely, his passion, shown her only the one time and thereafter so carefully masked. He didn’t need to tell her he wanted her. She had caught him looking at her once or twice with naked desire, the look he had given her openly at Mother Brown’s. It both warmed her and frightened her, but she couldn’t take him on that alone.
“Is there anyone else?” She had to make sure he wasn’t looking elsewhere.
“No one else.”
“Forgive me, this might seem a stupid question, but–but I would like to know.” His understanding expression gave her the courage to go on. “Do you–could you–love me? I’m not talking about grand passion, Francesca and Paolo, that kind of thing, but well, ordinary, everyday love.”
“I thought you knew,” he said, his face grave with sincerity. “Of course I love you, Ruth. Grand passion and all.”
She stared at him, her mouth slightly open before she recovered herself to say, “No! You must be mistaken!” then, realizing what she had said she added, “I didn’t mean to imply you didn’t know your own mind, or anything like that. I just–I find it hard to believe.”
“Oh for any number of reasons! It seems so, so convenient, so right! And you hardly know me–how can you tell?”
“Oh for goodness’ sake!” he said, showing the first signs of impatience that day and he pulled on her hand until she came closer. He released it only to clasp her tightly in his arms and when she lifted her head to look at him, kiss her on the mouth.
Softly, his lips played on hers and Ruth let herself sink into the sensation, deliberately pushing all her doubts aside. His lips left hers only so he could murmur, “Open your mouth for me, my love. Please.” She complied, very slightly parting her lips so when he returned to feast, he slipped his tongue between them and opened her up.
She relaxed into his arms, feeling safe, but with her skin tingling to his touch. At that moment she was his, to do whatever he liked with.
Gently at first and then with more assurance he explored her mouth, let her explore his, which she did, after a little encouragement. She found it wondrous, miraculous even that such intimate contact was what she had really needed from him. He moved his hands softly over her back, caressing and comforting until there was a responsive movement from her.
When he slid his hand around and touched her breast, she felt something inside her thaw. Her heart, held independent and behind carefully guarded fences for six years, afraid to love anyone, opened for him. She had to believe him. If she didn’t, she was lost. He ended the kiss only to drop light kisses along her jaw, down her throat, then returned to her willing mouth to ravish her senses again.
Eventually they had to stop, if only to get their breath back. Leaning against his shoulder, her breast still cradled in one strong, possessive male hand, she said, “I’ll never wear paint again.”
Lynne Connolly, Urban Gothic: Romance with a Dark Edge
Also writing as Lynne Martin, Author of breathtaking historical romance
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