Rapture in His Arms Read Online Free PDF

He suffered for it later to prove the point that no one could make him do what he didn’t want to do—but the thought of refusing Priscilla’s command to go to Jillian Cameron’s bed never entered his mind. All afternoon, he’d waited for this moment, mentally picturing how the Cameron woman would look without her plain high-necked gown to cover her nakedness. His manhood had swelled to imagine her opening her arms to him and drawing his head to nestle between her soft breasts. Now that the anticipated moment was finally at hand, he suddenly felt stupid and unsure. What if he didn’t please Jillian Cameron?
    Donovan shook his head to drive away his uncertainty. Jillian Cameron had sent for him to come to her while her husband was away, a sure sign that the woman wasn’t sexually inexperienced—or fulfilled. Donovan decided that he could please her easily. From the look of Edwin Cameron’s pasty complexion and thinness, the man was ill, and most probably he’d been unable to perform his husbandly duty for some time. Donovan had decided long ago that all Englishwomen were whores at heart, and this woman was no different; otherwise, he wouldn’t be there now. Yet he felt some distress to find that she was like all of the others—a woman without virtue.
    Though he guessed she was as promiscuous as Priscilla, Donovan still ached to flame Jillian’s passion, to have her respond to him like a lover and not like an old man’s neglected wife who was starved for physical satisfaction. He wanted to seduce her, to see desire for him light up her aqua eyes. He buried his shame deeply inside of himself for wanting to gain a response from an Englishwoman.
    Since the first time he’d seen Jillian with her elderly husband some weeks ago, he’d been very aware of her. Even from a distance he saw she was beautiful, and when he’d seen her close up, he saw something else in her face, something he’d seen too little of in his life; he saw kindness and was afraid. Her kindness made him want to hate her, to believe the worst of her. The English had mercilessly slaughtered his parents, his family and friends. The English had forced him into a life of slavery, an existence he couldn’t escape, though he’d run away countless times in the past. He’d always been captured, to suffer the brunt of the whip for his disobedience. He’d never forget the horrors he’d witnessed as a child at Drogheda or the awful abuses that he suffered each and every day of his life. But Jillian Cameron, an Englishwoman, had stood up for him when he was beaten.
    No one had ever defended him before, and Donovan didn’t know how to respond, or even how to react, except with stony silence. Never had he been so humiliated in his life as to be dragged before this woman like he was a wild dog. Pain and torment he understood, but not kindness. All he’d known for the last twenty-seven years of his life had been the whip, the cruelty of Mortimer and his succession of brutal overseers. He was used to standing in quiet defiance before his tormenters, knowing that he tormented them by his very silence. But this woman had cried out against the beating of a slave and risked not only Mortimer’s displeasure but also her husband’s. Why? Was the woman crazy? No other Englishwoman had ever demanded an end to brutality, not even Priscilla. And it was the Cameron woman’s kindness that unnerved him and made him uncertain now of how to approach her.
    Should he wake her by shaking her or should he kiss her to wakefulness? Did she wish him to be gentle or rough with her? Should he take the lead in lovemaking or allow her to guide him? Donovan groaned. What difference did it make to him what she wanted? Clearly, the woman wanted him for a moment’s pleasure. He must remember that Jillian Cameron was nothing to him, nothing at all. She was no different from other Englishwomen he’d known. Despite her fancy ways, she was still a whore, and he’d not forget