The Lady Confesses. Carole Mortimer

       Nathaniel viewed Betsy Thompson through narrowed lids. ‘You have not been a paid employee for very long, have you?’

      A delicate blush coloured those ivory cheeks. ‘What makes you say that, my lord?’

      The mere fact that she was daring to question him like this was reason enough! ‘You do not appear to know your place.’

      Those blue eyes sparkled with what he knew without doubt to be a fierce temper. ‘My place, my lord?’

      Had he ever had another conversation like this one? Nathaniel mused ruefully. Somehow he doubted it. ‘I believe it is the usual practice to show a little more respect when addressing one’s elders and betters,’ he drawled with deliberate provocation; after all, the blue of her eyes did look particularly fine when she was in a temper!

      Elizabeth fumed silently. As she was really Lady Elizabeth Copeland, the daughter of an earl, he certainly was not her ‘better’. Except she was not Lady Elizabeth Copeland at this moment, was she? And she had no idea if she ever would be again …

       The Lady Confesses

       Carole Mortimer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      About the Author

      CAROLE MORTIMER was born in England, the youngest of three children. She began writing in 1978, and has now written over one hundred and fifty books for Harlequin Mills & Boon®. Carole has six sons: Matthew, Joshua, Timothy, Michael, David and Peter. She says, ‘I’m happily married to Peter senior; we’re best friends as well as lovers, which is probably the best recipe for a successful relationship. We live in a lovely part of England.’

       Previous novels by the same author:

       In Mills & Boon® Historical Romance:

      THE DUKE’S CINDERELLA BRIDE*

      THE RAKE’S INDECENT PROPOSAL*

      THE ROGUE’S DISGRACED LADY*

      LADY ARABELLA’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE*

      THE LADY GAMBLES**

      THE LADY FORFEITS**

      *The Notorious St Claires **The Copeland Sisters

      You’ve read about The Notorious St Claires in Regency times. Now you can read about the new generation in Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance:

      The Scandalous St Claires: Three arrogant aristocrats—ready to be tamed! JORDAN ST CLAIRE: DARK AND DANGEROUS THE RELUCTANT DUKE TAMING THE LAST ST CLAIRE

      Carole Mortimer has written a further 150 novels for Modern™ Romance, and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

      AT THE DUKE’S SERVICE

      CONVENIENT WIFE, PLEASURED LADY

       Did you know that these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To my wonderful parents, with much love.

       Chapter One

       May, 1817—Hepworth Manor, Devon

      ‘How dare you? Lord Thorne, I insist you release me at once!’

      Lord Nathaniel Thorne, Earl of Osbourne, laughed huskily, his lips moving to the ebony-haired beauty’s throat. She avoided his kiss by struggling in the confines of his arms, the squirming of those slender curves as she lay across him only succeeding in increasing Nathaniel’s pleasure. ‘You know you do not mean that, my dear Betsy …’

      ‘I most certainly do mean it!’ She raised her head to glare down at him with eyes of an indignant and deep blue surrounded by long dark lashes, her dark curls smelling of lemon and jasmine.

      Nathaniel smiled confidently. ‘A kiss, Betsy, that is all I ask.’

      Her mouth tightened determinedly. ‘Very well—you asked for this!’

      Nathaniel drew in a swift hissing breath as the woman in his arms deliberately pushed against his chest in an attempt to wrench herself free, a painful reminder that he had broken several of his ribs only nine days previously, which had resulted in his being confined to this bed or another ever since.

      A fact this little minx was well aware of!

      ‘And you have been asking for this for days!’ Nathaniel’s arms tightened instead of releasing her as his teeth nibbled at one delicately scented earlobe.

      Her struggles ceased, her expression one of blank bewilderment as she looked down at him. ‘I have?’

      Well … perhaps he exaggerated the situation slightly. But after four days spent in London being confined to his bed and fussed over by his closest relative—his widowed and childless Aunt Gertrude—followed by another four days of discomfort inside his coach as they’d travelled to his aunt’s home on the rugged Devonshire coast, Nathaniel had felt in need of some feminine diversion.

      Waking from an afternoon nap to find this delicious morsel tidying his bedchamber, also aware that no matter how painful his injuries were they had also allowed him to escape the tedium of a London Season and his aunt’s intention of finding him a wife, Nathaniel had decided to reward himself for that lucky escape by indulging in a little sport with his aunt’s young companion.

      He grinned up at her unabashedly now. ‘You have been fussing about my bedchamber, and latterly myself, for this past half an hour: tidying the room, straightening my bedclothes, plumping my pillows.’ During which time he had been gifted with a tempting view of the fullness of her breasts as she leant across him and a tantalising glimpse of the plump, rosy-hued nipples that tipped those delicious breasts!

      ‘It was on your aunt’s instruction that I sat with you this afternoon.’ The ebony-haired beauty looked down the length of her little nose at him.

      ‘And where is my dear aunt this afternoon?’ he enquired.

      ‘She felt rested enough from the journey here to be able to go out in the carriage to reacquaint herself with friends in the area—You are deliberately changing the subject, my lord!’ She glared her indignation at him once again.

      ‘Am I?’ Nathaniel drawled in amusement.

      ‘Yes,’ she maintained firmly. ‘And I fail to see any encouragement on my part of this—this attack upon my person, in the mundane actions you have just described.’

      Which was not to say that Elizabeth had found those attentions completely disagreeable, if she was being totally honest with herself.

      Her last kiss—in fact, her only kiss—had been taken—stolen—from her several months ago by the local vicar’s precocious fifteen-year-old son, who unfortunately had a propensity for sweetmeats, cakes, spots and an unbecoming plumpness.

      It had only been that expression of lazy satisfaction upon Lord Nathaniel Thorne’s handsome face, as he’d pulled her effortlessly into his arms, which had prevented Elizabeth from enjoying the sensation of allowing those sensually sculptured—and no doubt much more experienced—lips to possess her own.

      The same satisfaction the earl displayed now as he looked down at the plump swell of her breasts made visible by the low neckline of her blue gown. ‘A man can only stand so much temptation, my dear Betsy.’

      Elizabeth gave an inner wince at Lord Thorne’s continued use of the