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wed Lord Tyndall. That is hardly a secret." The words came out on a rasping breath while Blaise inserted another finger into her sex. "Are not all ladies from fine families expected to seek out a proper husband?"
              "I am curious about your family, which you have just described as fine."
              Cassandra's writhing against his lap halted for a moment and she forced her mind to focus on a reply. "I love my family very much."
              "I am sure you do." Colonel Sinclair's thumb, thoroughly lubricated by the cream from her sex, pressed against her bottom hole. "But that does not tell me much about them." He applied more emphasis to the puckered opening.
              "I mean to find out why someone who portrays herself as a proper lady," he stroked back and forth over her opening and she gasped "wears shoes that have been repaired repeatedly." He breeched the entrance while he continued to speak. "Is not wearing the latest in fashionable undergarments for ladies." He probed further, "and does not know the difference between a footman and a Colonel in the army." Cassandra clenched her muscles to bar him further entry. And to stem the quiver building deep within her at his penetration.
              Undeterred, he slapped her upturned bottom. "Relax, Miss Sheridan. It will go easier if you do."
               He pumped his digit in and out of her backside and Cassandra felt the rosebud of her bottom open further. She wanted to fight against him, or at least believed she ought to, but his dominance made her want to cry out for more.
              "Good girl." He thumbed her hole while the fingers of his other hand rubbed the nub of her clitoris.
              Cassandra had never experienced anything so hedonistic. Heat roiled through her nether region. Her hips bucked and her breath came in labored gasps. It was wanton and improper and so deliciously naughty.  Cassandra lost all control of common sense. A wave of emotion and longing swept over her.
              When Blaise removed his thumb she tipped her bottom upward in search of contact. Without the fullness of his digit in her anus, she felt empty. Her moan echoed through the stable when he plunged back into her waiting hole.
              "You are quite the naughty little harlot, are you not, Miss Cassandra Sheridan?"
              She ought to have objected. Slapped his face for calling her a harlot, but given that her hips were pounding back and forth in rhythm with his plunder of her ass while begging him not to stop, the only thing that didn't make her a harlot was the absence of an exchange of money.
              Frankly, it felt so good, if she had any money she'd give it to him just to assure his continued attentions to her throbbing bottom.
              The only sounds in the stable were the rhythm of their hoarse breathing as each focused on sensual pleasure, one giving and one receiving. An unfamiliar wave of molten heat scorched Cassandra's body and just when it reached a crescendo, Blaise made one final thrust into her hole, she shuddered and collapsed over his thighs.
     
    Chapter Four
              Colonel Blaise Sinclair gazed at the woman splayed across his lap, the sweet curve of her cheeks reddened by his discipline and her bottom hole pillaged by his dominance.
              Her bound hands added to the sensuality of the entire vision before him.
              If he'd had any sense, he would have packed his bags and left as soon as he laid eyes on Miss Cassandra Sheridan, but he hadn't and now nothing could tear him away from her.
              The blame for his predicament fell squarely on his shoulders. She had not set out to snare him with her fiery spirit, golden curls and winsome blue eyes. No, he was not the man whose attention she sought. She had made that abundantly clear.
              She stirred across his lap and