Lord Savage Read Online Free Page A

pedagogue’s precision.”
    “I speak from experience, Mrs. Hart.” His eyes were intent upon me, holding my gaze.
     “I consider myself to be a renegade as well. It is the reason we are drawn to one
     another. The Turks would call it kismet .”
    I shivered, feeling too vulnerable. To blame what I was feeling on kismet, on fate,
     seemed so easy and pat, and yet I had no better explanation myself for why I felt
     so inexorably drawn to him.
    “I am disappointed, my lord,” I said, determined to regain some semblance of control—of
     myself, if not of him. “Only the most callow of ballroom swains invoke fate as a way
     to win a lady’s favor. Americans believe in plain speaking.”
    “Then speak plainly to me, Mrs. Hart,” he said, unaffected by my reproof, “and I shall
     speak plainly to you. Did watching me arouse you? Did your pulse quicken, your breath
     catch? Did your nipples stiffen and ache? Did your cunt tighten and grow wet with
     desire for my cock, Mrs. Hart?”
    I stared into his pale eyes, shocked that he would dare say such words to me in the
     middle of a crowded Belgravia ballroom, the blunt vulgarities all the more potent
     in his aristocratic accent.
    Yet what stunned me more was how my body was responding exactly as he described, now,
     as I danced with him. Beneath the layers of lace and silk petticoats, I felt shamefully
     wet, swollen, and empty.
    My sex wept for his cock. There was no other way to describe it. With each gliding
     step I took, my now-damp thighs rubbed together, then released, a gentle friction
     transformed into an inadvertent caress that was growing increasingly unbearable. My
     breasts felt full and heavy as they pressed against the bones of my corset. As much
     as I was trying to assert myself against his arrogance, my body was shamelessly betraying
     the excitement that same arrogance roused in me.
    “You are silent again, Mrs. Hart,” he said, the most ordinary observation in the world
     under other circumstances. “What has become of your plain speaking now, I wonder?”
    He was watching me closely beneath his dark lashes, seeing far more than I wished
     him to. Resisting the spell that he’d cast over me, I looked away to search for the
     acquaintances who had brought me in their carriage tonight.
    If I parted from him now, the way I had earlier from Mr. Smithson, there would be
     a minor scandal and fuss, but it would be preferable to remaining here to listen to—
    To what? The most devastatingly seductive man I had ever met, saying the exact forbidden
     things to me that I’d always wished a man would say? If his words alone could do this
     to me, what would it be like to feel those hands on my bare flesh and that cock driving
     its way deep into my body?
    “Mrs. Hart?” I thought he sensed my wish to escape, as his hand tightened around my
     slender, corseted waist to hold me fast. “I await your reply, Mrs. Hart.”
    “Yes,” I blurted out abruptly, yes to the truth, yes to everything he’d asked of me and
     other things he hadn’t. I felt dizzy, almost light-headed, with my heartbeat thundering
     in my ears. Suddenly the waltz ended, leaving me wondering if he’d somehow planned
     it this way all along.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Hart,” he said, bowing like every other gentleman. “For the pleasure
     of this … dance.”
    For the first time, he smiled. His eyes lost their wolfish intensity, his expression
     softened, and he looked much younger. He offered me his arm and I took it, clasping
     tightly to his well-muscled arm as he guided me across the floor.
    I supposed I was grateful for his support, considering how my knees wobbled beneath
     me. I could not begin to explain what had just happened between us, and I was conscious
     of how, for the first time all evening, no other gentleman stepped forward to ask
     to dance with me next. Instead they all hung back, watching me with Lord Savage, as
     if he’d made some kind of unspoken, primitive claim