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Authors: Emma Wildes

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BOOK: Lessons From a Scarlet Lady
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Everything faded. The clattering of the wheels of the vehicle as it rolled along the cobbled street, the warm evening . . . everything except the hard throbbing of his cock. He could hear her erratic breathing when he finally broke the kiss and slid his mouth down the graceful length of her neck, his lips lingering for a moment at the point where her pulse beat fast and light. Brianna made a small sound as his thumb circled the luscious crest of her pink nipple, her head falling back against his shoulder. “Colton . . . oh, yes.”
Her skin was soft, smooth, and infinitely female. His fingers deftly found the fastenings at the back of her gown, and it was around her waist in moments. Licking the enticing valley between her breasts, kissing her mounded flesh, sucking on her nipples until they were erect and tight, he could feel his lovely wife’s arousal in the way she clung to him and whispered his name.
The ducal carriage had nice wide seats, something he hadn’t particularly appreciated before. “I cannot believe I am doing this but God help me, Brianna, I have to have you,” he said raggedly, laying her down on the seat.
“I want you, too.” Her hair had loosened, and it framed her face in a silken tumble, her shoulders ivory in the dim light, her naked breasts tight and quivering with the motion of the vehicle. He thought he would cease to breathe when she reached down to pull her skirts up above her waist, baring long, lovely legs in their silk stockings and garters. Her pubic hair was a small golden triangle between her white thighs, and as he discarded his coat, she parted her legs in erotic invitation.
So hot with urgent need he felt like he might combust at any moment, Colton accepted gladly, still jerking at the fastenings on his breeches. Freeing his pulsing erection, he lowered himself over his wife’s sprawled, half-dressed body, adjusting himself between her open thighs. One hand braced on the upholstered seat, he guided his rigid cock to her entrance, finding her wet and accommodating to his penetration. Brianna clutched his shoulders as he thrust inside her body, a low moan coming from her throat.
It was so good, he thought in feverish pleasure, not even bothering to caution her to be quiet. The idea of his driver overhearing them make love would normally have appalled him, but at that moment, he just didn’t care. Withdrawing, he pushed back inside her tight passage with long strokes, the pumping of his lower body matching the swaying motion of the carriage.
Brianna arched to meet him, her hips lifting for each penetration, her eyes shut, long lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. The sharp bite of her fingernails through the fine lawn of his shirt increased as the rhythm escalated, and Colton was startled to realize she was going to climax so quickly without any other stimulation. A muffled scream rang out as she arched frantically and her inner muscles began to ripple and tighten.
It sent him right over the edge. Pushing deep, he erupted with such intensity his body shook as he held himself still, the rapture taking him prisoner, holding him as he flooded her with his seed and groaned her name.
When he could finally breathe again, he registered two things. The first was that his gorgeous wife smiled up at him in a way that could only be described as triumphant.
The second was that the vehicle they occupied in a state of scandalous near undress was coming to a halt.
“Damnation,” Colton muttered in disbelief. Had he actually just ravished his wife in a moving carriage like some randy adolescent?
Chapter One
Men want to understand us, but only in the most abstract of ways. They believe that our volatile emotions make us creatures too complicated to fully comprehend. To a certain extent, I have come to agree. Males deal with life in a very straightforward fashion. It will work in your favor to remember this. Women, on the other hand, understand each other very well.
From the chapter titled: “Their Reality Versus Our
Illusions”
 
T
he afternoon sun slanted in through the tall windows, laying blocks on the rich patterned rug. French doors were open to the gardens and the scent of blooming roses filled the air. Across from Brianna, Rebecca Marston raised one eyebrow and said suspiciously, “You look strange, Bri. Are you even listening to the conversation?”
“I agree,” Arabella Smythe, the Countess of Bonham, chimed in. Pretty and petite, she perched on the edge of a delicately embroidered chair, her ebony hair coiled demurely at her nape, her lovely dark eyes holding the same hint of question. “You seem very distracted.”
“I do?” Feigning innocence was impossible and Brianna laughed. As they sat in Arabella’s informal parlor, sipping tea and chatting, her friends were quite right; she’d lost track of the chitchat on the latest fashions quite some time ago. The evening before had been a . . . triumph. She might even dub it a revelation. How on earth was it possible to think of it and not smile?
Well, it
wasn’t
possible.
“Yes. A cat-who-got-into-the-cream kind of strange.” Rebecca sat up a little straighter on the brocade settee. She was a tall, willowy brunette with feminine features and an enviable figure. It was very fashionable for gentlemen to fancy themselves in love with her, but she hadn’t yet found one to suit her despite her father’s insistence she marry soon. As this was her second season, she now represented a challenge to the young men of the
haut ton
. She demanded, “What has happened?”
The three of them had been fast friends since childhood, and though Brianna tried to look bland, she couldn’t succeed. “What makes you think anything has happened?”
The two of them exchanged glances and then looked back at her. Arabella said dryly, “Call it an educated guess. We
know
you. I recognize that expression. It reminds me of the time we explored the abbey ruins at midnight, hoping to see a ghost or two, and when we got caught coming back in, you spun a very improbable tale for my governess that somehow she believed.” She added, “We, however, knew the truth, since we were guilty of breaking the rules.”
Reaching for her cup of tea, Brianna murmured in amused recollection, “Yes, I did spare us punishment, didn’t I?”
“You were very glib,” Rebecca commented. “But don’t try that technique on us. Now then, what has you staring out the window with that singularly self-satisfied smile?”
Brianna wasn’t at all sure she should tell them the truth. It was an awfully scandalous secret. However, she trusted her two friends more than anybody else in the whole world.
Rebecca said, “Bri?”
“I went back and purchased it,” she confessed.
Both of them looked puzzled, their teacups suspended in their hands.
She elaborated. “I went back to that tiny little bookshop and bought
Lady Rothburg’s Advice
.”
Arabella’s mouth parted in shock and Rebecca made a choked sound.
Brianna lifted her hand palm upward in supplication. “Before you say anything, just let me tell you that it
worked
. Her advice in the book is invaluable. I read the first chapter and it was very enlightening. You should have seen Colton. I think he gave up on watching the stage halfway through the opera last night and simply stared at me. Well, at a certain part of me anyway.”
“What part? Good heavens, Bri, what on earth are you doing?” Arabella came dangerously close to sloshing the rest of her tea out of the cup, she was paying so little attention to it. “Do you have any idea how outraged
my
husband would be if I were in possession of that book? And my apologies for the observation, but I think Andrew is more forgiving than Rolthven.”
Her friend’s easygoing husband probably
was
more tolerant, but Brianna couldn’t help but recall Colton’s impetuous passion in the carriage. He couldn’t seem to help himself—and that was exactly the effect she wanted.
“He was very startled at first, but then seemed to . . . adjust.”
“Adjust to what?” Rebecca demanded, her blue-green eyes glimmering. “Stop being so dratted mysterious and just tell us.”
Brianna demurely rearranged her skirts. “Well, in the first chapter, it does suggest that if you want to dress to attend church services or a great aunt’s social gathering, modest apparel is fine and good, but if you wish to dress to catch the eye of your husband, one should be a bit bolder.”
“How bold?” Arabella asked.
“Quite bold.” Brianna could feel her blush. “My décolletage was daring, I own it, but while Colton was furious over my scandalous attire, I could tell he was also intrigued, and that was borne out by what happened later. He was outraged at first, but it was too late to drag me home; everyone would have whispered over it, and you know how he hates that sort of thing. I must say, though . . . he rather warmed up to the idea of a garment that afforded such easy
accessibility
.”
“You must be joking. The Duke is always so proper and controlled. When people speak of Rolthven—and they do often enough, because we all know your husband is an important man—it is always with the utmost respect for his consequence.”
“Well, for once he abandoned it last night.” Lowering her voice a notch, Brianna added, “In the carriage on the way home, I was ravished most thoroughly and loved every minute of it. Though I have to say it was a little embarrassing to alight so obviously disheveled.” Recalling how her husband barely had time to fasten his trousers and help her jerk her dress back up before one of the footmen opened the door made the heat in her cheeks intensify. Her hair had been loose and his coat still tossed on the floor, so there could have been no doubt about what they’d been doing.
Arabella’s cup rattled, she placed it in the saucer so abruptly. Her eyes were wide. “In the carriage? The Duke? Oh, my.”
“It was wonderful.” Brianna said truthfully. “He comes across stodgy and dignified, but that isn’t his true personality. I think Colton thought I would be shocked if he openly exhibited his passionate nature. Furthermore, I know he was raised in the knowledge that he would become a duke and should have a decorum that befits his exalted station. When he courted me, he barely did more than steal a few chaste kisses, though I know he wanted much, much more.” Lowering her lashes slightly, she continued. “There are some things a man cannot hide in today’s fashion of fitted breeches.”
Arabella sighed, sitting back in her chair, adjusting the sleeve of her light blue day gown. “Andrew would never do such a thing as make love to me in our carriage.”
“Neither would Colton unless goaded into it, believe me.” Brianna leaned forward. “But it is nice to know he
can
be goaded. I’m finding Lady Rothburg’s book quite correct. What women feel is romantic and how men define that same term are truly two different things. Colton is very dutiful in his gifts of jewelry and flowers and the like, but I am sure he would be astounded to know I would appreciate a warm smile or a tender kiss more than some diamond bauble. He simply does not think that way.”
“As the unmarried one, I am finding this fascinating. You are going to educate him, I take it?” Rebecca arched a brow. “I don’t yet have a husband, but I am beginning to understand how this all works. We are foes living in the same armed camp who are also forced to be allies.”
“Close,” Brianna confirmed with a light laugh. “Let’s just say there is some common ground and I am going to work so Colton and I discover it. If men, like the book says, define romance as sexual interaction, then I’m going to make sure he finds me very romantic. I refuse to let my husband look elsewhere because he finds me dull in bed.”
“You are hopelessly idealistic. Men like Rolthven do not fall on their knees and declare themselves madly in love.” Arabella shook her head. “They don’t have to, Bri.”
Her husband’s privileged background did present somewhat of a problem, she had found. Hence her covert purchase.
“My sister and her husband are so happily married,” Brianna said, hoping she didn’t sound wistful. “You should see them together. Sometimes they do little more than exchange a smile, but the affection is obvious. Henry adores her, and Lea married him despite the fact he is nothing more than a solicitor. My parents disapproved to the point where they threatened to disown her over the match, but my sister was in love, and they came around in the end. Quite frankly, their modest home is one of my favorite places to visit. I’d like my house to have the same warmth.”
It was rather a stretch to call the London mansion Colton owned a house. A palatial residence perhaps, but a house . . . well, no. Rolthven, the estate in the country, was even larger.
Maybe she
was
idealistic.
“What else does Lady Rothburg say?” Rebecca looked more than a little interested.
“Nothing any of us should probably read, much less repeat. That book,” Arabella asserted, eloquently pointing her spoon at Brianna, “is something I doubt your very handsome—but very respectable—husband would want you to have in your possession. I still cannot believe you found it in that dingy little shop, much less bought it.”
It was true. Lady Rothburg’s work had been publicly banned over a decade before, when it was first published. The worn volume had intrigued Brianna, and once she opened it, she’d known the secret purchase had been a good decision.

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