Maggie Carpenter is back this week with her book, The Wanton Widow. If you know Maggie’s thrilling style, you won’t want to miss this book!
Mysterious strangers. Murder and Vengeance. Blazing Passion.
Crackling lightening and booming thunder roar through the night, almost shaking the mansion. Lady Verity James, a widow who shuns society’s rules, is in her lavish boudoir with a secret lover when her austere butler knocks on her door. A foreign stranger, soaked through, is in the foyer.
His name is Dantae Fellini, and he claims to be the secretary to an Italian Count. Their carriage crashed, and Dantae has been sent to seek help.
She offers shelter, but quickly discovers their accident was sabotage. What secrets do the men hold? Is danger now lurking in her home? And why does Count Cavaletti appear ill-at-ease, while his secretary, with his long dark hair and blazing blue eyes, make her pulse race and her face redden.
Suddenly her life is turned upside down. Surrounded by drama and intrigue, she is swept away in an unstoppable romance, finding herself subject to discipline and unspeakably wicked pleasures.
Please note: The Wanton Widow is an adults-only book depicting a fantasy that includes spanking an adult woman, graphic sex, bondage, and sensory deprivation. Strong stuff but worth it. It these subjects offend you, please do not read this book.
“Forgive me, Verity, but you are astoundingly immodest for an English woman. Most I’ve met, in fact, all the English ladies I have met, would have been mortified to be standing in their drawing room in the middle of the night with a complete stranger dressed in their nighttime garments.”
“I can assure you, I am not your average English Lady, either in my title or as a woman.”
“This I can see,” he nodded with a wry grin, “you are quite unique.”
“As are you,” she quipped, “and I suspect you are making these inappropriate comments in an attempt to change the subject. Who is it that you fear? Who are you watching for so diligently?”
“How can you be sure Cyrus was right?” he asked casually as he splashed some brandy into a glass. “Perhaps he is mistaken. Perhaps the way the wheel broke makes it appear to be have been meddled with when it wasn’t,” he said patiently, handing her the glass. “Perhaps it really was an accident and all perfectly innocent.”
“And perhaps you’re standing down here staring out the window because you enjoy watching the rain pour on to the front lawn, rather than the back lawn,” she said sarcastically. “Please, Mr. Fellini, do not take me for a light-headed female whose only interest is gossip and fashion.”
“My goodness, so quick to temper,” he said, an almost scolding tone to his voice, then softening his tone, he added, “forgive me, I do not wish to offend or insult you.”
“Then, please, tell me, why did you wish to hide the coach after the accident?”
“Shall we sit down?”
“Don’t you need to keep watch?”
“I might be somewhat over zealous. It is, as you said earlier, a dreadful night. I can’t imagine anyone wandering through the storm searching for me, or the count, but I worry. Worrying is what I do. Some people must plan, some people can sleep through anything, some-“
“Some people have a need to know,” she said sharply, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“And that is you?”
“And that is me,” she said stridently, “and now you admit that someone might be looking for you.”
“Someone might,” he replied. “That I am willing to share.”
“Perhaps you could bring some life back to the fire,” she suggested. “It’s cold down here. Just enough to warm us for the few minutes we’ll be here.”
“Of course,” he said cordially, and placing his tumbler on the coffee table, taking the long steel rod from the frame in which it stood, he poked at the softly glowing embers.
But Verity wasn’t particularly cold; she was unnerved. Having him pay attention to the fire, rather than her, would give her a moment to collect her thoughts, something she desperately wanted to do. He was having that strange affect on her again. The sparks were flying between them just as much as they were shooting from the log he was spurring, and she didn’t understand why, or what to do about it.
“There, is that better?” he asked, returning the poker to its holder and sitting back down opposite her.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Tell me, Verity, what is it you want to know?”
“Everything, of course.”
“Everything? That’s quite a bit,” he said with a faint smile.
“Who is it that pursues you, and why?”
“Who? I’m not entirely sure.”
“How can you not be sure?”
“It could be one of several people.”
“You have several people wanting you harmed? Why? How long have these people been after you? Is the count really a count? Quite frankly, you appear to be more a count than he does. Are you both whom you claim? I insist on answers, and I insist on them right now.”
Verity knew her voice was loud and rising in pitch, and she also knew why. It wasn’t her unanswered questions, it wasn’t her insatiable curiosity, it wasn’t even that he and the count were mysterious strangers. It had nothing to do any of that. It was the rising erotic fever in her body.
Sitting across from him in front of the gently flaming fire, seeing the glow reflected in his extraordinarily blue eyes and feeling his magnetic pull, was more than she could bear. She wanted to taste the brandy still wet on his lips, she wanted to open her robe, lift her nightgown, and settle herself on the ramrod she knew was hiding in his trousers.
Maggie Carpenter in her own words:
Male dominance/ female submission. My passion. It is that which I write about, and my alpha-males range from down-home, hunky, spanking cowboys, to fantasy, sword-wielding, warriors, and of course, artful romantic Dominants who don't need dollars to melt their sweet subs, (even if a few of them have mega-bucks).
There's a little bit of me in all the stories, and The British Bachelor trilogy is based on a long-distance relationship I had with a British Dominant, James Collier. When he agreed to work with me on I AM A DOMINANT, I was absolutely thrilled. This book is a first-hand account of some of his more interesting experiences, including the amusing, and intriguing story of the first time he had a woman over his lap.
I am an old-fashioned romantic, complete with my own white knight fantasies, so a red rose and heart-felt sentiment is alive and well on the pages of all my novels. If you like to sigh, please, come on in.
Last but not least, I am blessed to share my life with a precious pup, and a gorgeous mare. All creatures great and small also live close to my heart.
BEST OF 2015: SPANKING ROMANCE REVIEWS (click on the titles to see the books)
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