Hello Everyone, Natasha Blackthorne is here with book blitz for A Measured
Risk, Regency Risks Book One.
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A MEASURED RISK
By Natasha Blackthorne
Book one in the Regency Risks Series
He is her most dangerous temptation, the only man she
has ever trusted and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the
Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took
her husband’s life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of
horses and carriages. She longs to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel,
as she senses intuitively that he might be able to teach her how to overcome
the terrors that hold her in bondage.
And now she’s willing to risk almost anything—her
reputation, even her virtue—to find out.
But what Lord Ruel proposes startles her.
When the shy, studious and socially awkward young
widow approaches him, Lord Ruel instantly senses she will be the sweetest, most
submissive experience of his life—but first he must gain her complete trust.
Lord Ruel makes Lady Cranfield a non-negotiable offer: His help in return for
her submission and obedience.
But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal
parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming
husband. She’s learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one
How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through Lady Cranfield’s self-defences and
show her how to love when he himself has spent his life avoiding that tender trap?
Erotica Romance ~ Light BDSM ~ Rubenesque / BBW ~ Regency Historical ~ Shy Heroine ~ Novel Length 86,000 Words
Contains graphic erotic descriptions and frank sexual language. As a work of
historical romance fiction, A Measured Risk is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of
modern BDSM lifestyles.
Excerpt from A Measured Risk
©Copyright Natasha Blackthorne 2012, 2013
For Adults 18+ Only
She backed all the way into the bookcase.
“Why did you run away?” His deep voice settled in her
belly, rich and warm, like crème brûlée on a cold winter’s night.
“Because I wanted you to follow.” She tried to sound
sophisticated and seductive, but her voice choked off on the last word.
Ruel placed his hand on the shelf above her head and blocked her path to the door.
His tall, solidly muscled body leaned over her, surrounding her with the
sumptuous, sinful scents of tobacco, Scotch whisky and something masculine and
undeniably dangerous. A slow, sensual smile stretched his hard mouth.
He appeared different. Softer. More approachable.
At the change, her insides seemed to flip over.
“Well, sweeting, getting us off alone was a very inspired idea.” He touched one of her fallen ringlets. “I am bored to distraction with endless talk of hunting and fencing.”
As he slowly wrapped the curl around two fingers, he brushed her collarbone. Fiery
sparks tingled down her spine, so intense that she shivered and her nipples
beaded, pressing against her stays. By some instinct she hadn’t even known she
possessed, she arched her back, presenting herself for his assessment.
His eyes shone so vividly blue against his bronzed face that they resembled
cornflowers. She swallowed tightly and wished for a long drink of claret. This
more personal side of him suddenly seemed far more hazardous than his usually
Well, no matter. There was nothing to fear. She would allow only as much contact as
need be to get to know him a little. Since being torn from her lonely yet
secure life in Ireland and thrust into Society at age sixteen, she’d spent her
time allowing people only as near as was comfortable. She was an expert at
It should be easy to regain her control.
But now, as rays of the late-afternoon sun played over his pale hair, turning it
the colour of winter wheat, all her carefully rehearsed words flew from her
Say something—anything—else he will think you’re a bird-wit.
An intimate smile, one that invited her to play, tugged at his mouth.
“In a situation like this, alone with a gentleman, it’s
perfectly normal for a lady to feel some apprehension.” His hushed voice,
barely audible above the piano and boisterous singing from down the corridor,
accentuated their isolation. His gaze became so piercing that she had to lower
He brushed his fingertips over her cheek. “She will invariably ask herself if he
will try to kiss her.”
She jerked her eyes back to his face. God, he couldn’t mean to—not yet, surely…
Peculiar, heated chills swept over her. She tried to take a step back, but
found her arse flush against the bookshelf.
He leaned closer; so close that his Scotch-scented breath tickled her face. “And
just in case you are wondering, Lady Cranfield—the answer is most assuredly
She should demand that he put his arm down so she could pass by and leave. She
really should. But she couldn’t stop looking at his hard mouth and wondering
what it would feel like upon hers. He was so close to her that his breath blew
on her lips. If she moved but a fraction, she’d be kissing him.
Dear God. Her breaths began to come very fast and short. Her throat went tight with
a suppressed moan.
His eyes burnt as brightly as aquamarines. He looked so fierce. If he kissed her,
if he dared… Oh God, it would be so harsh. That cruel-looking mouth could
express itself no other way.
Excitement rushed through her, sending tingles to every point of her body, even her toes.
But no, he wouldn’t. Not yet.
He kept leaning closer. He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he seemed to focus all
the harder upon her.
Her heart pounding, unable to move away, she braced herself for his assault.
His lips brushed hers, barely. A gossamer caress.
He lifted his head.
It was done.
And it hadn’t even begun.
He held her chin, appearing so cool, so unaffected. His kiss had seemed to sear
her. An urge to put her fingers to her lips arose in her. She resisted it, for
it would give away too much of how she was affected.
Never show your feelings.
He traced his thumb along her lower lip, slowly, deliberately, as he studied her
with eyes that now glittered with something powerful and predatory. Heat pooled
in her pelvis, low and spreading even lower.
She went weak all over, as if she’d lain in a sunny window seat for too long. Her
knees almost buckled. She forced them to lock. To be strong.
It should not have affected her so profoundly. It had been just a peck—not a true
kiss at all. William had poured out all of his skill upon her and hadn’t
garnered even a tenth of the reaction in her that this man’s peck had.
Ruel traced her jaw line with his fingertips. Unthinkingly, she leaned in to his
“Of course, once he has kissed her, then it’s his turn
to wonder…” His voice sounded unnaturally loud in her ears. “How will she
respond? Will she withdraw, or can he ignite some hidden fire?”
She sensed that he was toying with her. She didn’t understand flirtation—why had
she imagined she could carry off this ruse? Was he making advances in order to
have a laugh with Francesca and her simpering friends later? Hurt blossomed in
her chest. She resented him for that. She ought to feel indignant, superior,
uncaring—anything but hurt.
“Please don’t make sport of me.”
She cringed. Was that quavering, pleading voice really hers?
An infinitesimal pause. “Now, why on earth would I do such a thing?” His voice was
as smooth as velvet.
“To please your vanity,” she replied, trying to regain
“Here.” He placed her hand to his chest. The contours
of his muscles were hard, powerfully developed. Even more so than she’d
expected. His body heat radiated through the satin and, beneath her hand, his
heart’s beat was rapid and strong.
“Is that vanity?” He put a finger under her chin,
giving her no choice but to face him. “Is it?” He gentled his grip.
The warmth in his voice settled over her like luscious hot chocolate. Melting her
insides to quivering burgoo, rendering her speechless, unable to move.
“My dear, lovely Lady Cranfield, I am going kiss you again.”
About Natasha Blackthorne:
Escape into the past with intensely
erotic, emotionally driven love stories. Natasha Blackthorne writes
character-focused historical erotica romance featuring strong internal
conflicts. Her stories are most frequently about the intimate journey of the
characters as they learn to open their hearts to love.
Her heroines are not perfect ladies.
They are wildflowers and wallflowers who enjoy flirting with the forbidden.
Whether they are bold or shy, her heroines’ strong desires and deep emotions
drive the plot and drive their heroes to the point of no return.
Connect with Natasha Blackthorne:
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