Free To Please A Lady (The Seduction Series) by Lori Brighton Page B

in her marriage that showing vulnerability made one weak. Hell, James made her weak.
    “Sherry? Wine?”
    “Brandy.”
    From the corner of her eye she saw his smile as he moved to the sideboard, a small table with a marble top covered with shimmering crystalline decanters. He was all ease and elegance as he poured the drink, then started back toward her.
    It was only as she turned to take the offering that she realized he’d rid himself of his waistcoat and wore only his shirtsleeves and trousers. Dear Lord, it was truly happening. Her pulseflickered an unsteady beat. She snatched the drink from his hand and took a gulp. The fiery spirit caught her by surprise, tearing the air from her body and making her cough.
    “Careful,” he said, no mockery, only concern in his eyes.
    The room spun. Perhaps she should have asked for wine. “Th… thank you.”
    He took the glass and set it on the side table. “There is nothing to be nervous about.”
    She nodded. Why were there two of him? “I’m not nervous.” It was a lie and they both knew it. What had happened to her perfectly controlled façade? She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Perhaps she shouldn’t have drunk that sherry Lady Lavender had offered when she’d first arrived.
    “I do what you wish.” He settled his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “I stop when you wish. All you need to do is say so.”
    Sinful.
    She ignored the voice, determined to see this through. “Well then, shall we get started?”
    He smiled softly at her, the sort of smile one would give an innocent who didn’t quite understand something important. Then again she supposed she was an innocent where the bedchamber was concerned. Oh, she’d heard women wax on about the passion one could find in the arms of a practiced man, but she’d assumed they were merely exaggerated stories.
    James reached out and took her hand, his fingers slipping gently through hers. Palm to palm, he led her toward one of the two chairs in front of the fireplace. “Sit, please.”
    The instinct to decline parted her lips. It was a fight deep within her that had been born when she’d married her husband. The only way to protect herself, to keep her dignity, had been to fight back when her husband demanded anything of her. But James was not Lord Beckett. No, James had kind, warm green eyes instead of black.
    And so she settled upon the chair and watched him warily as he picked up a book from the fireplace mantel. She frowned. If he thought to read to her from the Marquis de Sade, she would throw her brandy in his face. She’d unfortunately found a volume by the author amongst other disgusting readings in her husband’s study when they’d been married only a year. The words and drawings had terrified her. He’d laughed at her unease, telling her that all men read the books.
    Horrified, she’d fled to her parents’ home, but her mother had slapped her across the face for leaving and sent her back to her husband. She’d learned her lesson then… the golden girl who had been her parents’ shining star only shone if she did exactly what they expected of her. It wasn’t about what she wanted; it wasn’t about romance or love. It was about what the world expected of her.
    He settled in the chair next to hers. “Shall I read?”
    She didn’t bother to respond.
    Or maybe he’d read Byron, like most of the young bucks she’d met when she’d been a debutante. Although her husband hadn’t read poetry. No, he hadn’t spewed romantic nonsense, he’d been blunt and demanding and she’d thought he was a refreshing change. She’d been so very wrong. Still, she’d thought James above such nonsense.
    “I count the dismal time by months and years,” James started, drawing her attention to him. “Since last I felt the green sward under foot, and the great breath of all things summer-mute met mine upon my lips. Now earth appears as strange to me as dreams of distant spheres or thoughts of