RUINED! (An erotic historical romance) by Andreya Stuart

"What are you thinking?" he asked. "That I should have thought kinder things about you," Elizabeth responded. The darkness and close confines of the carriage created a sense of intimacy. He laughed out loud. "Cross that I didn’t pay attention to you? Jealous of your cousin?" he asked. "I never would have guessed such a thing." "Hardly," she replied. "I think you are a fool for marrying her. I would never marry someone I didn’t love." The words were out before she could stop them. "So I should marry you perhaps," he said. "A young girl without a family, a title or a dowry-" "A girl with nothing," she replied. "I am not offering myself by any means. I just can’t imagine being . . . chained to someone I didn’t love." "Love makes its own chains," he replied. His manner had changed suddenly. "Love is a trap for the week minded. There's no place for it between a man and a woman, in marriage or out of it." She shook her head in the darkness, unwilling to argue the matter. "My estate in Bodmin is comfortable, if isolated. You’ll have free use of the house and grounds, and even the stable if you like. I shall see if I can’t arrange a match for you after we are married. That would be appropriate I suppose, given the circumstances -" "Please," said Elizabeth. "I’m not sure-" "What alternative do you have?" he asked. "Sooner or later you must marry. Since your uncle is . . . unfit. It seems I must make the arrangements or have you mooning about for years to come." Elizabeth said nothing, shocked that he should take such a thing upon himself. And yet, if her father were alive, would this not be the way of things. Was this not the way in which a woman found herself married? He was treating her like a daugher or a sister, not a servant. What more could she ask? You can read several free chapters of this book online at http://www.historical-romance.com.

In the Garden of Dark Delight (A dark erotic romance) by Andreya Stuart

From then on, I'd started training her, shaping her behavior, even before she had fully accepted me as her master or had known that she wanted one. I knew, I understood, what she needed, which was a refuge where she could stop thinking, stop planning, stop arguing, mediating and defending. She needed some time to herself, a way to live in the here and now, instead of in a paper palace of court dates and legal briefs. I gave her that refuge. For two years, she’d had a home where her only concern was pleasing me, and by extension herself. I chastised her severely for any attempt to bring her work into my house. She had partners, she had assistants, she had money and could buy absolutely anything it took to be home when I wanted her there. If she had to blow judges or not good DA's in order to be home on time, so be it. She was Morgan somebody from six in the morning until six at night, and my Jessica the rest of the time. I also had her for all weekends, all holidays and for her three weeks of vacation each year. During that time, she had herself. And, in order to enforce all this, I had to be home. So I cut one of the research projects, ended the on call, and moved heaven and earth to stuff my life as the uber-oncologist into the daylight hours as well. On her own, Jess lost weight, began training four days a week, went to the dentist to get her teeth straightened, learned to cook. She acquired, grace, and poise, and peace and became herself. My perfect, perfect Jess, every man's picture of the perfect woman. I thought she was happy. I knew she was happy. And then . . . I bought her a house, asked her to marry me, told her I wanted children. You know the rest. We fought for weeks before she finally took off my collar and disappeared from my life. But now she was back. Only she was this Morgan Reilly thing. I know you will think that I wanted my Jess back because I wanted a slave who cooked me healthy meals, fucked me several times a day, and kept me company in the weight room. But the truth is I wasn't sure I could make this Morgan person happy. I certainly couldn't force her to have my children. And I could not bear to give them up. I'm a freak of nature I suppose, but I'm one of the two guys on the planet who can't figure out the point of a life without children. I could talk about Darwin or mention evolution, but . . . I just love kids. I love holding them, and talking to them, and smelling their hair. I want to show them things and teach them things and help them become wonderful, happy people. Maybe it’s a Dom thing. Maybe it’s a human thing. A father thing. I was somebody's dad, but they just weren't here yet. Go to http://www.erotic-romance.com to read the first chapter of this book and to purchase it.

A WOMAN'S HONOR (An illustrated medieval romance) by Andreya Stuart

The Duke, in fresh clothes, stood at the end of the wagon. He had a lamp with him, and its light illuminated the fresh blood pouring from her hands onto her shift. "I have been watching you for half an hour, hoping you would find a way to slit your own wrists." She remained silent, pressing her hands together to try and stop the bleeding. It hurt beyond belief, and she wondered if he could see her panic. She thought she was likely to bleed to death if he didn't help her, but she would rather die than ask him for aid. With an oath, he stepped into the open-ended cart. He drew his dagger and cut the ropes on her hands and feet. The cold steel burned her skin where it touched. "I suppose a hundred well armed soldiers are a match for you even with your hands free." He watched her struggling to rise, then cursed again. He grabbed her by an arm and jerked her onto her feet and out of the wagon. There he let her collapse, watched her tear her already tattered shift to make a bandage for her hand. "They breed them hard in your family," he said standing over her. She looked up. His back was to the moon and it blinded her. She couldn't find his eyes in the darkness that was his face. "So easy to strike you down now-" he said, as if to himself. "I am not afraid of you," she said in a curt voice. She stood up, putting her good hand against the wagon. "You should kill me now, for I vow you will never have a moment's peace while I live." He laughed, the sound filling the night. "Good! I need someone to help me exercise my demons. I shall lie awake thinking of ways to make you pay for all we've lost-" "You have lost?" She flew at him. She snatched at the dagger he had returned to his belt, and, to her surprise, she found it in her hand. He stepped back as she raised it over her head. She held it there, frozen by uncertainty. Should she kill him? Herself? Who did she hate more? How could she punish him if she were dead? How could he punish her if she was? Indecision held her immobile. He stepped forward to retrieve the weapon. "Perhaps, not so hard after all," He looked at her sheathed the blade, then waited as if he expected her to say something. When she didn't he took another step away. "I still hate you," he said after a moment. "But I want to see you in warm clothing. Hating you as you are now is like hating a beaten dog." You can read this book online for free at http://www.historical-romance.com

A Pirate's Fierce Passion (A Dark Historical Romance) by Andreya Stuart

Darkness was at hand when Corwyn realized that she was alone in the flat. Where the servant had gone she couldn't imagine, but it had been fairly two hours since she last saw him. Perhaps he lived elsewhere and had departed to let her wait for his master alone. Leaving her chair, Corwyn took the long steps required to look out the window into the flooded streets. Now, truly a mire, they seemed impassable. She would have to leave soon if she wanted to reach home before midnight. Ben and Christina were probably frantic with worry. The sound of a door slamming brought Corwyn's head up as she stood near the fire retrieving her cloak and slippers. A clatter of boots on the stairs and the sudden opening of the door to the parlor where she had waited for so long revealed a fierce Lord Black, obviously irritated at the disappearance of his servant. How she had haunted him! The little waif with coal black hair and sooty eyelashes. He felt the familiar tension across his back, coiling down his arms, his hands flexed looking for the weight of his blade. Blood lust? For a girl? Or did he simply feel power curling around him. He was the predator, she was the prey. "You are a fool," he said as he removed his cloak and dropped it into a chair. He had just spent several hours on the turbulent Thames making preparations for his immediate departure, and now the girl had appeared. He had almost decided to let her wait for his return. His revenge would be all the sweeter for the delay he had decided. Yet, here she stood. "Norfolk is going to have you arrested," said Corwyn. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. Why didn’t he seem real? Midnight eyes, ebony hair catching the light of the fire, broad shoulders encased in a damp ivory shirt, he took her breath away. He was like the heros in those silly stories of knights in shining armor, a black prince wrapped in dark armor dispensing death to his enemies. She had forgotten how words caught in her throat when she saw him, how aware she was of his every move. Black nodded, moving to the sideboard. He poured himself a drink and waited for her to speak again. "I wanted to warn you," she whispered. "You want me to kill him for you," Black replied, his eyes midnight black, honest and cold. "I -" Corwyn broke off, wishing for all the world that she might have imagined some other way to end this nightmare. She could feel the hate behind that stern facade. She shook her head to clear away her lethargy. It was a mistake to come here. She started to pull on her cloak. She had been mad to consider such a plan. "I should never have come. I will find someone else-," she said, making for the door. "I think not," said Black, taking her arm she moved past. He pulled her to him, ignoring her resistance. Without preamble, he brought his lips to hers, his hand biting into the flesh of her upper arm. Corwyn didn't fight him. Some part of her wondered if this had been her intention all along. As he filled her senses, she recalled her words to Norfolk yesterday. Had she lied? Did she care for Lord Black? Did she love him? Was this heady desire to surrender to him called passion? She never wanted him to stop touching her. You can read the prologue and first chapter free at http://www.historical-romance.com

Hysteria (An erotic Victorian romance) by Andreya Stuart

Fostick met her eyes, then spoke. "I almost never explain my therapeutic reasoning for a wide variety of reasons. I will make an exception in this case. The women I treat very frequently have . . . overwhelmingly negative emotions associated with their own bodies and with nudity in general. Those associations are part of a pattern that must be broken in order for treatment to be effective. The only people who reside in this house at the moment are myself, three nurses and three female patients. There is no reason for patients not to remain naked while they are indoors and only lightly clothed when they are outdoors." "That is . . . obscene." Helen could not believe her ears. "Nevertheless, it is an absolute requirement if you are to remain here and I am to treat you." "If there is nothing wrong with the human body, then why is not everyone made to go about nude," Helen demanded. What a perverse man he was, proclaiming himself to be a doctor while he fed his own base interests. "We are not patients," he said. "It would be inappropriate for us to be nude. We did not come to you for help. You came to us. Therefore treatment has been designed to meet your needs. Your needs are not served by having naked doctors or nurses. Your interests are served by becoming very comfortable in your own skin, so comfortable that you do not care who sees you in it." "I cannot believe-" "I take it your parents had very strict rules about clothing," said Fostick. "You aren't blaming them." "I am not blaming anyone. I always say exactly what I mean. I am saying that I suspect your parents had strict rules about clothing." "We'll we didn't parade around the house naked." "In fact, you never saw anyone in your family, not even your own mother, unclothed. Am I right?" "I . . . I don't recall. She died when I was eight." "Your father then." "Of course not!" "Sisters, brothers?" "No!" "Well, that is highly unusual." "Decent people do not parade around naked!" "They do here. Being naked should change nothing about how you are treated or how you feel about yourself. You are the same person clothed or unclothed. If you cannot trust myself and my staff when you are naked, you cannot trust us when you are fully dressed. Do you want me to return your clothing and summon your husband?" Dr. Fostick looked rather bored, as if he had repeated these assertions a hundred times. You can read a free chapter at http://www.historical-romance.com.