Lady Amelia Blackwell embarks upon her first London season where she is presented to the Queen and the rest of proper society. Everyone, including Amelia herself, expects that she will find a husband amongst the new, eligible gentlemen that she meets during the whirl of social activities.
Lord Morgan Barrington has known Amelia her entire life. No longer the high spirited little girl whom he had to rescue from various scrapes, Amelia is now the beautiful, enchanting woman he has waited for her to become.
Will Amelia be willing to give up her freedom for the strict rules and expectations of Lord Barrington? Will he be able to convince her that true freedom comes from submission?
Excerpt:
“Bloody hell!” exclaimed a familiar voice.
Hooves thundered past Amelia and she felt the wind of the great beast and rider as they
skirted by, barely missing her. Fright and disbelief as to what had just happened, or nearly happened, stilled Amelia for a few more moments and then she felt her ire rise, with accompanying heat infusing her face.
“What are you doing galloping through the formal frontage where people walk?”
Amelia began as she turned to where she knew the rider to be. She was stopped from further tirade when she looked up into the smoky gray eyes of Lord Barrington, now dark and full of tumultuous emotion.
Barrington, just as angry for the sudden shock to his mount, began to repeat his expletive, “Bloody h—Amelia! What are you doing out here?”
Then, immediately his tone changed, and he was off his horse and to Amelia’s side
quickly. “Are you hurt? Let me see you.”
Barrington began to gently caress her arms and body, reaching for her face and then
pulling her to him for a tight hug of relief when he found nothing broken. Then, just as quickly, he pushed her away and began yelling again.
“I could have killed you!”
He immediately turned her away from him and tossed up her dress, leaned her forward on his left arm, and began to pound her rounded bottom without thought or restraint.
“My lord, please, you are hurting me. Please stop, Barrington, please, stop.”
“I will stop.” Swat. “When I am ready to stop.” Swat. Swat. Swat. “You frightened me,”
Swat, Swat, “and do not have regard,” Swat, Swat, “for your own safety.” Swat. Swat. Swat.
“Lord Barrington, I am sorry. You are right. I am sorry. Please stop.”
Amelia eyes were aching with the tears about to break forth as Barrington continued to
punish her bottom and she did not want to cry in front of him. Her face, as well as her now throbbing derriere, radiated quite a noticeable amount of heat. Amelia knew they were both gaining an unbecoming shade of red. This was the Barrington she had adored the whole of her life without exception. He was the one who took her in hand when no one else would. He showed her how to behave, enforcing his demands quite physically if he were inclined. He was her comfort and her security. Now, in a short period of time, all of that would be taken away. All that she knew would be gone. It was that reality that hurt more than any whipping he would ever give her.
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