One Unashamed Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

tried to turn from him to find a distance, the sheer necessity of emotional survival paramount.
    ‘What is it? What is wrong?’ A thread of some uncertainty in his voice was the only thing that held her in place. If she had heard condescension or falsity she would have stood, denying his suggestion of more, even knowing that she might never in her whole life be offered anything as remotely tempting.
    Again.
    ‘I should rather honesty, sir.’
    ‘Sir?’ The word ended in a laugh. ‘Surely “sir” is too formal for the position we now find ourselves in?’ He did not take back his compliments and another bark of laughter left her dazed.
    ‘Are you a celibate widow, Mrs Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke?’
    She started to nod and then changed her mind, not sure of exactly what he alluded to.
    ‘Then I suppose there is another question I must ask of you. Are you a woman who would say nay to the chance of sharing more than just warmth together here in the midst of a storm?’
    His voice was silken smooth, a tone in it that she could not quite fathom.
    Her brows knitted together. ‘I don’t understand.’
    He pushed inwards and the hardness of his sex made everything crystal clear.
    A dalliance. A tryst. One stolen and forbidden night. For twelve years she had wondered what it would be like to lie with a man who was not greedy or selfish. A man who might consider her needs as well as his own. Always lovemaking had hurt her; he had hurt her when she had tried to take her pleasure in the act. Frankwell Bassingstoke and his angry punitive hands.
    What would Taris Wellingham’s touch be like, his slender fingers finding places she had only ever dreamed about?
    Lord, but to dare to take the chance of one offered providence and the end of it come morning.
    No strings attached, no empty unfilled promises to lie awake and worry over come the weeks and months that followed. Only these hours, the darkness sheltering anything she did not wish him to see. And then an ending.
    Twenty-eight and finally free. The heady promise of it was as exhilarating as it was unexpected.
    ‘You mean this for just one night only?’
    She needed to understand the parameters of such a request, for if he said he wanted more she would know that he lied and know also that she should not want it.
    ‘Yes.’
    Freedom. Impunity. Self-government and her own reign.
    Words that had been the antithesis of all she had been for the past twelve years and words that she vowed would shape her life for all of those still to come.
    Her husband’s face hovered above her, his heavy frown and sanctimonious nature everything that she had hated. At sixteen she had not been old enough to recognise the faults and flaws of a man who would become her husband, but at twenty-eight she certainly did.
    He had been a bully, an oppressive domineering tyrant and with his bent for religious righteousness she had never quite been able to counter any of it.
    She shook her head hard. Nay, all that was over. Now she would do only as she wanted so long as it did not harm any other.
    ‘Are you married?’
    Her question was blurted out. If he said that he was, she would not touch him.
    ‘No.’
    Permission granted. Placing her hand flat on his chest, her forefinger found his nipple. With deliberation she lent down and wet it with her tongue, blowing on the cold as she caressed it into rigidity.
    When he stretched out and groaned she felt the control of a woman with power. Feminine power, the feeling unlike any she had ever experienced.
    She did not feel guilty as Frankwell had said that she must, she did not feel sullied or soiled or befouled. Nay, she felt the sheer and utter wonder of it, the bewildering rarity of rightness.
    Here. With Taris Wellingham. For this one storm-snowed freezing night.
    ‘Thank you.’ The words slipped out without recognition as to what she had said. A beholden contentment that broke through all that she had believed of herself or all that a husband steeped in