Firmly on the shelf with no desire to ever marry, Lady Eleanor Penhurst won’t let her unwed status prevent her from discovering what she has only discussed at the risqué salon she attends – desire and passion. Taking a temporary lover is a daunting prospect, and she has no idea how to attract the lord she has chosen. She never expects, however, for Lord Benedict Stapleton, her oldest and dearest friend, to offer to be her tutor. Suddenly she’s noticing how sinfully handsome he is, how devilish his blue eyes, how decadent his mouth…and how much she doesn’t want the lord she has chosen. But she can’t have Benedict as her lover… can she?

Benedict has never examined too closely his reasons for avoiding a bride. When his brother, the Earl of Colgrove, demands he marry by season’s end, he vaguely considers complying but the moment Eleanor reveals her plan to take a lover, Benedict cannot allow anyone but he to be her tutor. Refusing to examine why the thought of Eleanor with another man infuriates him, he revels in teaching her of seductive glances and clandestine touches, sultry kisses and daring embrace.

It’s the ideal bargain between friends, but neither are prepared for the ferocious need that explodes between them. Lessons turn into a passionate affair, and Lady Eleanor finds her lover in her dearest friend. However, once Benedict has had Eleanor in his bed, he realises there is nothing temporary about how he feels. Haunted by terrors of the past, Eleanor refuses to marry, even when a slip almost leads to scandal. Can Benedict convince Eleanor her heart is safe in his hands and that nothing less than forever will do?

Genre: Early Victorian England
Heat level: Scorching Hot!
Tropes: friends to lovers, he falls first, love lessons, steamy scenes,

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“I shall kiss you,” El announced.

The buzz in Benedict’s ears became a roar. Blood rushed south, and he was suddenly overwhelmingly, painfully, hard. Bloody hell. This was a million times worse. His feelings for El were already confused enough, he didn’t need to complicate them further by knowing exactly how she tasted. “Your first kiss should be special,” he managed.

She crossed her arms. He tried very hard not to notice how her breasts plumped with the move. “Was yours?”

Christ, he could not think straight, but the memory of his first kiss bled through. It had not been particularly special. He’d been too eager, the girl had been mostly disinterested, and it had been sloppy and wet and extremely awkward. Strangely, he had thought of El immediately after and a kind of guilt had eaten at him. However, they weren’t talking about him. “That is neither here nor there.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is only I should also like my first kiss to be with someone other than Lord Malvern.”

“Yes, but—”

“It is only a kiss, Benedict,” she interrupted. “People give them all the time. Besides, how shall I know if I am any good at it if you don’t tell me? You are the only person I trust to help me with this.”

How could he argue with that? It was a privilege and an honour she trusted him. Still, he felt compelled to protest, “This is a bad idea.”

“Nonsense.” Taking his hands, she led him to the chaise. Instead of seating him upon it, however, she led him to lean against its back. Standing back, she studied his pose critically.

Leaning against the chaise, he was only a little taller than her, their eyes almost level. Raising a brow, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you are the right height.” Nodding to herself, she stepped forward and, reflexively, he shifted his legs so she was between them. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she said, “Now stay still.”

He tensed as El leant toward him, her gaze locked on his mouth. Less than a breath from him, she hesitated.

Recognising nerves had her wavering, he said quietly, “El, we do not have to do this.”

Her eyes flicked to his. Uncertainty lurked in their depths a moment, but then they shuttered. Scowling, she said imperiously, “Close your eyes.”

He did as she asked. Her scent wound around him, light and sweet, and he could feel her breath against his mouth, just as light and just as sweet. His hands balled to fists.

Soft lips touched his, as delicate as gossamer. His breath caught in his throat. Her fingers remained on his shoulders as she brushed her mouth over his, and he dug his fists into his thighs to stop himself from touching her. This was her kiss. He would not take over. He would not—

She made a small sound, breathy and needing, and the world disappeared.

Coming soon…

What’s in a name?

The Story Behind the Story

Bonus Epilogue