Free WaltzofSeduction by Natasha Blackthorne Page A

the ballroom, Colin watched his wife. Sara was
hiding in the shadows, talking with an older turbaned woman. As usual. Why must
she always hide like a frightened mouse?
    His eyes trailed down to her low-cut bodice, her peach-sized
breasts displayed to perfection. His jaw tightening almost painfully. Against
that damned red gown, her skin glowed like porcelain and her hair shimmered
like honey. His cock had been hard enough to hammer nails, the whole carriage
ride. Keeping his hands off her hadn’t been easy. And just as he’d feared, upon
their arrival she’d captivated every male eye.
    He knew his wife was beautiful in her own special and
delicate way. But he wasn’t used to having other men notice this.
    The strains of a waltz echoed through the ballroom and
resentment twisted through his stomach. For his wife did not waltz. He
understood her reasons. Logically. But emotionally, he did not. He supposed he
should just be happy no other man would waltz with her either. He turned and
stalked back to the card room.
    * * * * *
    “Colin, are you angry with me?”
    They were standing in the sitting room that connected their
bedchambers. He was having a difficult time ignoring the ache in his groin. But
he had already bothered Sara this week. Last night, in fact. To do so
again, so soon, would be piggish. A gentleman shouldn’t treat his wife like
some whore waiting on his needs. Ladies had delicate natures. Sexuality and
arousal could prove too unsettling to their nerves. Medical science was
starting to discover this but he knew it from a very personal experience.
    “Colin?” Her voice held that gentle insistence that was like
leading strings on his heart.
    And her large gray eyes were luminous with what he suspected
were soon-to-be-shed tears. He was in no mood to comfort her. If he got
anywhere near her, he’d be on her and shortly thereafter, in her, balls deep
and thrusting.
    “It’s late. Go to bed, Sara,” he said, covering his angst
with a bored tone.
    “It is the gown, isn’t it?” Her voice quavered.
    He struggled for the right words. “I just think red is a
little bold.”
    Her lower lip trembled. That velvety pink lower lip. “I am
sorry to have offended you, Colin.”
    Inwardly he sighed. “You did not offend me. I am just thinking
of your good name.”
    What a miserable lie to cover his jealousness. And shameful
to mislead her when he longed to draw her into his arms and tell her how
utterly lovely she looked in the gown. But he didn’t want to encourage her to
display herself like this.
    “Come here,” he said, holding his arms out. She came to him,
her eyes large and glossy with unshed tears. He took her hands and gave her a
quick, chaste kiss. “It’s no matter now. Forget it.”
    She nodded.
    “Now to bed,” he said firmly.
    He watched her depart, his eyes trained on the way the
shimmering red silk clung to her tight little bottom. She slipped into her
chamber, the soft click of the door speaking more profoundly than any
satisfying slam. He knew a sense of both relief and loss. Sweating and shaking,
he sank into his chair and hooked a finger into his cravat, loosening it.
    Dear God, he was not cut out for marriage. Shy, sweet Sara.
He mustn’t frighten her with his animal lust. Nine months of marriage had
proven to be blue balls hell. There were other women with greater fortunes he
might have married. His father had been pushing the daughter of an obscenely
wealthy Italian merchant. A charming brunette with dark, flashing eyes and lush
breasts.
    So why had Colin picked Sara? Honestly? Because of the way
her eyes lit up with genuine pleasure and her face blushed at his least
attention. In a town of bored, spoiled coquettes, her open adoration had been
terribly flattering. And she was sincere and intelligent. The type of woman he
could imagine mothering his children. He quickly became infatuated with her
delicate features, her quiet warmth.
    And naturally he had assumed he would keep