Free The Demure Debutante - a Regency Novella by Caylen McQueen Page A

my breath away.”
    Willow longed to have him touch her, to have his lips on every inch of her body, but she could sense his need for guidance. She seized Edward's hand and slipped it between her legs. As soon as his hand made contact with her womanhood, he moaned, so she silenced him with a kiss. With her hand on his, Willow guided his finger to the appropriate spot. In no time at all, she was the one who was moaning. She ground against his hand as he dipped a finger inside her.
    Her body rocked and trembled so violently, Edward didn't quite know what to make of it. As he withdrew his hand, he whispered, “Are you alright?”
    “ More than alright,” she assured him, then she reached around to pinch his naked bottom. “And that is for your recent stutters!”
    “I can't help myself.” Edward cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “You make me nervous.”
    “There's no reason to be nervous.” Willow took his arm and cradled it to her chest, as tightly as she could. “It will be perfect, I promise.”
    All of a sudden, Willow sat up and mounted him. As she straddled his body, she ran her hands along his chest. Her eyelashes fluttered as she hovered above his manhood. This is it, her mind whispered. The love of my life will be inside me. This very moment is the best moment of my life.
    When he entered her, Willow moaned. She rocked against him, slowly at first, then savagely. As their bodies merged, Willow leaned down and covered his face with kisses. She clutched his hair, he suckled her neck, and she exploded with a wail of pure pleasure.
    Willow had been right about one thing.
    It was perfect.

Chapter Eleven

    Each time she replayed them in her head, Arthur's words had a torturous effect on her.
    There is no one worth marrying.
    There is no one worth marrying, I can assure you.
    Ever since the wedding, Emilia had locked herself in her bedchamber. She didn't care to see anyone, especially not Arthur. It was supposed to be a felicitous day, and yet her pillow was saturated with tears. She was happy for her brother, to be sure, but her own heart was surging with pain. The more she cried, the more she was aware of her life's obvious and agonizing truths.
    She was falling in love with Arthur.
    But she would never be with him.
    Emilia wished she had never met him. She wished he would disappear from her life, that she would never have to see his face again. Soon enough, she would have her wish—she and her mother were leaving Sanborne Hall in two days. If she returned to London, Emilia was sure her heart would be free again. She tried to convince herself she wouldn't miss his puppy dog eyes, his warm smiles, his bountiful charm. He wasn't worth the thoughts she was sparing on him!
    “I hate him!” she bellowed into her pillow, but saying the words did not make them true. “I just want him to... to... go away!”
    Mr. Fibbles must have sensed her sorrow, because he leapt on the bed and settled his furry body on her chest. However, the cat's presence seemed to magnify her sadness. As she stroked the tabby's tawny fur, tears spilled down her cheeks. “Why did he have to be so perfect? Why couldn't he have one flaw I could harp on?!” Arthur's forehead scar came to mind, but it could hardly be considered a flaw when it only enhanced his appearance. “Why did he have to make me want him?!”
    All of a sudden, she heard a tap on her window. It surprised her as much as Mr. Fibbles, who raised his tail and unleashed a terrible yowl. When Emilia saw Brittley's face in the window, the hairs on her nape went rigid.
    “Mr. Christian?!”
    “ Let me in !” she could hear him calling on the other side of the window. “Emilia, please!”
    Emilia's gaze went to her desk, where she kept Brittley's letter in a drawer. The scandalous missive had been on her mind ever since she had received it, and while she knew it was a terrible idea to let him enter her bedroom, her current mood