By Elizabeth Moss
Lord Trajan Randall is a rake and a whipster who holds girls in contempt. The weaker intercourse might be all rather well within the bed room or the nursery, yet past that Trajan has little need nor recognize for them. that is why girl Caroline makes a decision to coach him a lesson. A lesson the dashingly good-looking Lord Randall won't ever forget.The Viscount doesn't think within the "Petticoat Club", a mythical gang of girls who take their revenge on rakes and noblemen like him. yet all that's approximately to change.-- road theft, abduction and wanton behaviour abound during this brief horny Regency novella from Elizabeth Moss. This novel is written in usual united kingdom English, now not American English.This is a sequel to 'Poppeia and the Petticoat membership' via Elizabeth Moss.
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Extra resources for A Most Dangerous Lady
But were any of them this desperate to be rid of him? He and his captor had been walking through thick woodland in an uneasy silence for some fifteen minutes before the other man caught up with them again, riding a stocky cob and holding aloft the lantern from Trajan’s carriage. The beam of light bounced eerily from tree to tree, illuminating the dark wood. ‘It’s done,’ this one told the hooded man, keeping his voice low. His gown had disappeared and now he was dressed, like his companion, in dark trousers and shirt, with what looked like an old hunting jacket slung over his shoulders, a generous muffler concealing much of his face.
Her face intent, she listened in a taut silence as Joseph dragged open the door below, his sharp London accent suddenly thickened and countrified. ’ he was asking. ’ Joseph coughed long and noisily before answering the authoritative male voice. ‘Beg pardon, sir. Tenant, sir. ’ ‘My wife is upstairs. ’ There was a hurried, low-voiced conference between the two horsemen, then the leader spoke again. ‘We believe a nobleman may have been attacked out on the main road last night. ’ He paused, clearly trying to urge a reply.
Hungry for something she could not fully understand, Caroline shook with desire. She sighed and moved her hand and body to the rhythm of his jerking hips. Between her thighs the soft flesh grew hot and damp, aching and swelling almost like his own. She rode his lap as though riding a horse, gripping his manhood in one fist, her eyes closed, head thrown back. His chair creaked in the dim glimmer of moonlight, the chair legs scraping repeatedly against the wooden boards. Soon a high-pitched keening sound seemed to be dragged out of her throat direct from her belly, issuing forth like strange birdsong on the stillness of the night.
A Most Dangerous Lady by Elizabeth Moss