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eBook Category: Erotica/Romance
eBook Description: In Georgian London anything goes, and Gavin Reynolds, Viscount Grayson makes certain he experiences everything life amongst the ton affords him. Lady Jane Westbury is an unassuming wallflower who harbors a secret desire for the rakish and masterful viscount. Yearning to be the type of the woman to attract male attention, Jane bravely enlists the viscount's assistance. Together they embark upon an agreement to turn the unremarkable caterpillar into a glittering butterfly. But as Jane emerges from their lessons, confident and garnering the attentions of some very notorious men, Gavin realizes that his lessons may have cost him the affections of the one woman who can make his jaded heart beat once again. Rating: Contains graphic sex and explicit language.

eBook Publisher: New Concepts Publishing, Published: 2005
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2005

276 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [677 KB], eReader (PDB) [134 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [115 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [102 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [128 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [161 KB], hiebook (KML) [313 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [170 KB], iSilo (PDB) [94 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [118 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [160 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [152 KB]
Words: 36864
Reading time: 105-147 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
ISBN: 1586083732

London, 1780

The cracking of a log in the hearth sounded over the crinkling rustle of French silk. In the distance, the muffled rhythm of the minuet could be heard beyond the paneled door of Lord Lennox's study. Senses attuned to any sound that might lead to someone discovering him and ultimately an inconvenient dawn appointment, Gavin Reynolds, Viscount Grayson, spread his arms wide on the back of the brocade settee, watching as his latest conquest--Lady Lennox--worked to unfasten the jade buttons of his waistcoat.

Surely the languid warmth of the fire and the view of Lady Lennox's breasts, which he'd recently freed from her bodice, were the reasons his senses were slow to process the fact that they had a visitor, and a decidedly female one at that.

From his peripheral vision he saw the door inch open, revealing a sliver of a heavily embroidered eschelle corset, above which sat the creamiest bosom he'd ever seen--and he'd seen plenty.

"Oooh," his conquest purred as she parted the lace ruffle of his shirt. "I've wondered what your dark skin looks like. Sarah was right; it does resemble coffee with cream."

He stiffened, unable to stem or hide the impulse. For some damnable reason his eyes automatically searched the opening in the door, checking to see if the female ensconced behind it had heard Helena's words. He didn't give a bloody farthing what Lady Lennox thought of him, he knew what all the women of the ton called him. But for some elusive reason, he did not want the voyeur behind the door to hear the comment and thinly veiled reminder that he was nothing but a filthy half-breed.

He knew who watched him, knew and sensed as he always did whenever she strolled into a ballroom or happened to glance his way. His body always reacted to Lady Jane Westbury in such a curious way.

The woman was not the type he normally cavorted with. It was said that she was rather plump and unremarkable. Plain, he'd heard countless men describe her. Yet he, a self-confessed connoisseur of female flesh found her utterly intriguing. He supposed she was plain when compared to some of the beauties of the ton. But there was something about her that captured his attention in a far deeper and more meaningful way than the buxom lovelies he spent his evenings with.

Lady Jane was buxom, of that he was certain. But it wasn't only the sight of full breasts and lushly rounded hips that drew his eye. No, it was a quality he had never experienced in his legions of paramours. Lady Jane was a true lady. A paragon of womanly virtue. A woman of taste, refinement and kindness.

That she should be here now, watching as Helena Lennox tore open the flap of his silk breeches while he reclined on her husband's settee, was impossible. Impossible and highly arousing. His reputation as the whoring India Rat would be firmly implanted in Jane's mind. He didn't know quite what to make of that.

"My lord," Helena, cooed, her lips a scant inch from his cock. "My work seems to be cut out for me this evening."

Gavin glanced down to see his limp member in Helena's be-ringed hand. She looked up at him imploringly through painted eyes. Her face was powdered white with the exception of two rouged circles on her cheeks. At the corner of her right eye sat a black beauty patch in the shape of a crescent moon. She was the height of fashion. Every man in London thought her beautiful, and yet he couldn't get up the desire--literally--to take her.

He blinked, trying to clear the vision of Helena's head with its gray curling wig covered in pearls and a ridiculously large blue plume lowering to his lap. A fleeting vision of a fresh, country faced countess flashed before him and he groaned. His mind supplied the visual of firm, large breasts and plump thighs, not to mention his dark hands covering every inch of her milk-white skin. Even now he could imagine the feel of her body, could conceive of the way his fingers would trace the curves of her figure. She would be ripe and full beneath that rose-colored gown and he knew, as sure as he knew his name that she would be possessed of a derriere he could cup and knead while she lay atop him.

"Ah," Helena murmured between flicks of her tongue. "This is what you're in need of."

"Perhaps." His answer was vague and noncommittal as he rested his head back against the settee, letting his body go limp as he tried to push the sound of his uninvited guest's hushed intake of air out of his mind. He'd shocked her, no doubt. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be witnessing the extent of his wickedness. And she should damn well not be privy to him allowing a married woman such as Helena to take his cock greedily into her mouth.

"My lord," Sarah Manchester said huskily as she strolled from where her gown and petticoats lay in a heap on the floor. "Are you ready to play?"

That damnable sound of hushed shock again resonated through his brain. He instantly regretted agreeing to meet with the two friends who apparently enjoyed sharing everything. Thankfully his body was now working on instinct alone and would not disgrace him.

It had never been a trial for him to perform the sex act while thinking a myriad of thoughts--hell, as he'd been tupping Sarah last night he'd pondered what his cook would be making him for breakfast.

But he couldn't seem to get these thoughts--thoughts of Lady Jane out of his mind. He imagined her working his cock with her pink mouth, visualized her naked on her knees before him looking up from a cloud of honey brown hair. On a whim he conjured up the feel of her breasts, full and heavy, the nipples erect and searching as his lips fastened onto them, suckling her, making her moan and pant beneath him.

"Mmmm," Sarah purred, standing behind the settee and lowering her breasts to his mouth. He leaned his head further back to take one erect nipple between his teeth, pretending the husky desire he heard belonged to Lady Jane, not Sarah, the man-eating Duchess of Manchester.

Already tired of Sarah, he pulled away, fixing his gaze on the door. She was still there, watching, her bosom rising and falling rapidly above her tight corset. He could smell her, the scent of sweet country flowers. And he could still see her as she glided into the ballroom not more than two hours ago and smiled at him. It had not been a smile of invitation for an illicit rut in a study, nor a mocking grin because she had heard the gossip that his mother had been nothing more than a Bombay whore, but a smile of genuine kindness and warmth. A smile that had unexpectedly and confusingly, invaded his dreams.

She was a lady, true as well as bred. He was the son of a scandalous liaison and marriage between a half Indian, half English concubine and her lover. A lover who had, unexpectedly, inherited a viscountcy.

His parents' torrid love affair, and the fact that his proper English father had not only married, but procreated with a courtesan who was at one time in the keeping of a Sultan, was the bane of Gavin's existence. He'd lived his whole life fighting the stigma of his mother's heritage and her illegitimacy, while enduring the cruel taunts of the children at school. The sly comments had not ceased at Eton, but continued on in the form of the callous remarks of men and women who were no more moral or pious than himself.

But she had never looked at him in such a way. He had always fancied that the intelligent and somewhat plain Lady Jane had seen more to him than his legendary sexual propensity and colorful breeding.

"Grayson," Sarah scolded, brushing her nipples against his lips, coaxing him to suckle her. "Your reputation is tarnishing by the second. I enjoyed this much better last night. You were much more exuberant."

Damn her, he thought, suddenly feeling sick. He meant nothing to them; he was just a prick to play with. He would only ever be the half-breed with a large cock, hard body, and strange, dark skin that every woman of breeding fancied a go with. In the light of day he would forever be the dirty half-breed whose only claim to fame was that he'd fucked half of the ladies in the adjacent ballroom.

Clearing his throat, he sat forward, removing Helena's hand from his rigid length, a rigidity caused not by Helena, but by the woman who was hidden behind the door. "I grow bored, ladies. Excuse me."

Ignoring Sarah and Helena's shocked expressions and pleas that he stay, he refastened his breeches and shirt before knotting his cravat. Without a glance, he donned his waistcoat, buttoned the jade closures that everyone said so resembled his eyes and shrugged into his frock coat. With a curt bow he turned and stalked to the door, grinning as the sliver of bodice instantly disappeared. It had been one of his best conquests--to have the very proper Lady Jane Westbury's full attention. Now it was just a matter of finding the enigmatic countess amongst the guests and discovering just what made her seek him out, as he knew she had. He'd felt those chocolate brown eyes following him throughout the night. Perhaps, he thought, as he reached for the door latch, she wished to experience the delights of his bed. The very idea made him pleasurably aroused.

"Filthy Indian," Sarah cried, as he stepped into the shadowed hall. "You'll never be anything more than an oddity to take to bed."

"But not your bed," he quipped without looking back. No, the only bed he envisioned himself falling into in the foreseeable future was Jane Westbury's. A daunting, but thoroughly arousing thought.