Ripe for Pleasure Read Online Free PDF

Penelope Ligonier was well known for the fact
     that she thought infidelity the best thing she’d ever done, the freedom she found there beyond price. Yes, Penelope would
     have dragged Lord Leonidas down onto the carpet and had her way with him with nary a qualm or a thought.
    “I haven’t said no.” Viola wasn’t at all sure she could. “I haven’t made any reply at all. And he’s so confoundedly arrogant
     that I don’t think he’d accept my refusal if I dared.”
    “Well, he is a Vaughn.” Lady Grosvenor scratched her pug, sending the creature into a shivering state of delight.
    “He sent a note yesterday inviting me to the theatre. I’ve half a mind to leave him kicking his heels on my doorstep—”
    “And an entire body telling you not to,” Mrs. Newton interjected. “Don’t be a fool, Vi, really. Just think of it:
Lord Leonidas.
You’d be a legend. The only Cyprian to ever lay claim to a Vaughn, younger son or no. And think of the teeth gnashing among
     the widows of the
ton
? Their consternation alone would make it all worth it.”
    “And you’d have Vaughn in your bed in the interim,” Lady Worsley said with a suggestive waggle of her brows. “I can’t think
     of a more delightful way to spend the Season.”
    “Perhaps you’re right…”
    “If you let Vaughn slip through your fingers”—Lady Harrington eyed her indignantly—“I wash my hands of you.”
    Laughter bubbled out of Viola. The countess was every bit as decisive as Lord Leonidas. There was no questioning where you
     stood with her, and she never quibbled when it came to telling them all exactly how they should go on, almost as though they
     were her daughters.
    “Yes, my lady. I shall do just as you say.”
    “Good girl. Now push that plate of macaroons closer to me, my dear. Thank you.”
    Leo leaned back against the squabs and studied Mrs. Whedon in the light thrown by the small lantern affixed to the carriage
     wall. With every bounce and jolt, brilliantmotes slid across her, drawing his attention from the sweep of her clavicle to the swell of her breasts to the hollow of her
     throat… each beautifully sculptured spot calling out for a long, open-mouthed kiss. To be worshipped as it deserved.
    Whore or not, she was magnificent. It was simply a fact.
    Leo shifted in his seat, resisting the urge to climb across the small space and pull her onto his lap. To unhook her bodice
     and lift her breasts from their confinement behind layers of silk and whalebone. But that wasn’t the bargain they’d made,
     and he had every intention of making her seduction a triumph. Tumbling her in the coach, delightful as it might be in the
     moment, wouldn’t serve his purpose.
    Mrs. Whedon sighed and sank a little farther into her seat, long, fine hands quiet in her lap; restive, as she had been that
     first morning in her boudoir. He moved one foot, slipping it beneath her petticoats, careful not to so much as brush her ankle.
     Her eyes widened, a pale blue sea a man could drown in. The black silk beauty mark on her cheek appeared to quiver. She was
     perfectly still, save for the steady rise and fall of her breasts. One hand clenched around her fan, the small sound of the
     ivory sticks grating against one another was clearly audible in the confined space.
    Leo held back a grin and set his foot against the seat, bracing himself, waiting for her to relax. The last thing he wanted
     was for her to look like a frightened mare when they arrived at the theatre. That wouldn’t do at all. But somehow he couldn’t
     resist teasing her with small threats of intimacy. Her shiver of anticipation was irresistible.
    The hubbub of their fellow attendees washed over the carriage: shouts, laughter, the clang of steel-shod hooves and iron-rimmed
     coach wheels becoming a din of near epic proportions. Mrs. Whedon straightened, breasts swelling, threatening to spill from
     the absurdly low neckline of her gown. The tall feathers in her hair brushed