Continuing my blog series of Excerpts, for which reasoning and explanation see the first post, with an extended excerpt from my polyamorous Victorian erotic romance, The Westerman Affair. In this excerpt, our hero Charles is seduced by an unknown-to-him woman, who happens to be our heroine–and his eventual muse–Rosamund. Of course, the scene takes place in a library. I like to include sensual scenes in libraries in as many stories as I can.
This excerpt was originally published on the (now defunct) Residence 11 blog in 2021. It is an extended version of the excerpt I included with an interview for Gemma Snow’s blog.
Residence 11 also requested a playlist of songs that inspired the book. I often have theme songs that inspire a story. I noted the original theme song for The Westerman Affair when I announced writing the novel for National Novel Writing Month. For the Residence 11 blog post, I delved deeper and came up with theme songs for the series.
Extended excerpt from The Westerman Affair: Charles meets his muse
The susurration of silk induced Charles to look up from leafing through Creslow’s landscape architecture plans. He couldn’t believe his luck. The woman dressed in robin’s-egg blue and chocolate brown had just walked into the library. She glanced around, then moved to the bookshelves, drawing a finger along the spines, alternately nodding or shaking her head with a wry smile. She walked down the row until she was right next to him, the flounce at her rear eye-level from his position bent over the drawer. He straightened, the action drawing her attention.
She smiled, the expression slowly transforming from a superficial mask to startlement curling her luscious lips and brightening her light-brown eyes. She held out her hand, exuding a natural sensuality that mesmerized Charles until the need to breathe forced him to respond.
He took her hand in his, the warmth from the touch shooting straight to his crotch. He bent his head and hovered, wanting desperately to touch his lips to the tips of her delicate fingers bejeweled with gemstone rings but naked at the end of her sheer lace half gloves.
He released her, too soon really, as she too seemed to want to linger. “Madam, I see you’ve discovered Lord Creslow’s library.”
“As have you, my good sir,” she responded casually. She glanced down at the drawer he had just closed, level with his burgeoning erection. “And might I find you in those drawers, or—“she waved her hand at the bookcases “—on these shelves?”
She was good. She’d guessed him for an artist. He chuckled quietly. “Ah, no, I fear not.”
“But really you should exhibit. For your career.”
Charles returned her gaze. The fine lines on her face revealed she was older, perhaps almost his age. She was an exotic beauty, with a subdued flirtatiousness that was enchantingly attractive. The smoldering spark of lust ignited. “I’m grateful for your concern. But you needn’t worry. I’ll be showing at the Summer Exhibition.”
And that was just a drop in the bucket. He was riding a wave of professional notice. Some Grand Prize winners eventually fell into utter obscurity. However, he had works spread throughout Europe–
He cringed. Peacocking his own accomplishments would get him nowhere with this woman. She was far more sophisticated than his usual fare.
She turned, a move so graceful and sensual he simply stared. “And what will you be showing?”
“Sorry?”
There was that sly smile again, tinged with cool awareness of his physical state. “At the Summer Exhibition.”
“Landscapes.”
“Landscapes?” she said with a modicum of surprise. “In oil?”
“Yes.”
“How colorful.” Her gaze took him in from head to toe, lingering about halfway. “And do you employ an assistant?”
“An assistant?”
“To mix your pigments? Stretch your canvases? Clean your brushes?” Her voice deepened ever so slightly. “Really, there is so much an assistant can do for you.” Her intonation was positively seductive.
She was teasing him. Lusciously teasing him. He leaned in a hair’s breadth. “Madam, let me explain something.” He kept his tone low with just a hint of sultriness. “When a client commissions my services, he expects me to do the work. I am an artist, not a manufacturer.”
She blushed to the roots of her golden-brown hair, the coloring provocative, not demure. “Of course, sir. I did not mean to insult.”
“No insult has been taken.”
The crack of a snort drew their attention away. A balding man with his hands on his copious belly had made use of a leather club chair and footstool as a bed. His overly loud yet peace-inspiring presence had emptied the library and seemed to keep newcomers at bay.
Charles was virtually alone with his newfound object of desire.
Should they introduce themselves? That’s what one did at these sorts of events, wasn’t it? She could be the daughter of a famous art collector, or the wife–Yes, of course. She could be a wife. In that case, if she asked his name, he would offer. But he would follow her lead in the matter.
One should never seduce a wife unless one were absolutely certain she wanted to be seduced. Wives who wanted seduction were often married to men who wanted their wives to be seduced. It made for a happier marriage all around. One did not need to know details such as names.
Well, that was all well and good in theory. He’d never actually been with a married woman. The closest he’d ever gotten was with Annalee during her engagement.
His temptress sauntered away from the bookcase. “And what brings you to Viscount Creslow’s inaugural exhibition?”
He watched but did not follow her. “I have friends here, both on the walls and in the galleries.”
She glanced back, that smile playing upon her lips again, teasing, inviting. “How droll you are.”
He chortled. “Dare I ask you the same question?”
“You mean, am I a denizen of the art world, or merely a flatterer looking to advance my circumstances?”
“Those embedded in the art world are always looking for opportunities to advance their cause.”
She laughed softly. “Spoken like a true cognoscente.”
Charles shook his head in disgust. “You don’t want to know.”
She tilted her chin and pursed her lips as she studied him, providing him the opportunity to study back. Her bone structure gave her face angles and planes that would make her a marvelous model for one inclined to portraiture. She held herself gracefully, as if posing for a full-length figural painting, seemingly knowing exactly which assets a man might find most appealing. Her body could easily tempt him away from dispassionate landscapes in more ways than one.
She couldn’t possibly be a model, though. Her accent and knowledge implied a cultured, educated, aristocratic background.
She held out her left hand. “Maybe I do.”
Desire smoldered in his groin. Before him was an invitation from which he did not want to–no, could not extract himself. Her magnetic draw was too powerful, and he too willing to be pulled right in. Perhaps he was too suggestible, his need for female companionship too easily quashing his reason.
And yet, his reason weighed in, there was something about her that was different from all the others. She understood his mind as well as his body.
He stepped toward her, perhaps too eagerly, taking her hand in his. Her warmth further drew out his utter need. The slow burn inside burst into a conflagration of desire, spiking heat to his cock. He flushed, half in mortification, half in lustfulness.
He skimmed the pads of his fingers over her hand, over the lace and rings, letting the sensuousness of the intimacy feed him. He stopped his explorations at her fourth finger and looked down. A gold band glittered under the delicate lace. He hesitated.
“It appears the fact of my husband is more important to you than it is to me.”
Her eyes held sincerity, her smile held promise. He parted his lips, an excited breath escaping in a rush. Her gaze fell to his mouth, her tongue traveling slowly to wet her lips as if tempted with a treat. She closed the remaining space between them, raised herself on tiptoe, and brushed her lips against his.
The world around him faded as the fire of passion took hold. He grasped her to him, startled by his desperation for her touch. He plunged his tongue into the depths of her willing mouth, tangling, exploring, tasting. He cradled her head, the froth of lace on her hat rough under his palm. He shifted his stance, spreading his legs, his arm wrapped around her waist as he pressed his crotch against her skirts. She clung to him as she fell supple in his arms.
He broke from the kiss, traversing his mouth down her neck, flicking his tongue under the lace of her high collar.
Her breaths puffed quietly. “Sir,” she murmured, “shall we take this conversation somewhere more private?”
He continued his kisses across her shoulder to her bosom tightly bound in exquisite silk brocade. “Where do you suggest?”
“There’s an office behind that bookcase.” She pointed to shelves heavily laden with leather tomes.
“An office?” He barely understood her words.
“The librarian’s office. The bookcase closes out the world.”
That was precisely what he wanted. To shut out the world and have her for himself. “Show me.”
She glanced around before heading to the secret doorway. They were still alone with the snorer, his exertions resonating like a hundred men sawing in unison.
She fussed behind some books, shifting them along a shelf to reveal a latch folded flush with the wood. She lifted the bolt and pulled slightly.
The dim light of the library revealed a small office behind.
He gestured to the doorway. “After you.”
She disappeared into the office. A light flared. A lamp.
He followed.
She closed the door. The inside appeared as a proper door, oak with inset panels and guilloche trim.
Suddenly he was as nervous as a schoolboy in the headmaster’s office.
He glanced up the wall toward the ceiling. Two metal grilles with geometric designs offered air—and possibly a way for someone to overhear what was going on in the librarian’s secret abode.
She followed his gaze. “Don’t worry. I know this house intimately. No one can hear.” She gave him a once-over and raised an eyebrow. “Although perhaps there will be nothing to hear.”
Anxiety had slackened his arousal. “Madam, unfettered lust goads me to do something I’ve not done in far too long.” It had been almost a year since Ekatarina. In Scotland, there had not even been a shepherdess to keep him company.
“I’m not holding you back.” She casually unhooked the draping flounce wrapped around her hips, loosening the tight gown.
“No.” Quite the opposite. She was prodding him forward.
She cupped his crotch. His cock sprang to life under the heat of her palm. She held his gaze as she licked her lips slowly, provocatively, while massaging his erection.
Good God. She was not innocent of fellatio, an Englishman’s most secret desire. Did she suck her husband’s prick? Did the man even deserve such a wife?
He stilled under her ministrations, waiting, hoping she would get down on her knees and unbutton his fly. He grew harder by the second, wanting to close his eyes and just feel her, but the sight of her lust-filled expression was excessively irresistible.
She let out a little mewling moan.
He could stand it no longer.
He turned her around and bent her over the desk. With one hand he tossed up her skirts, tearing at the fly of his trousers and drawers with the other. He threw off his jacket and waistcoat, unbuttoned his braces, and pulled out his too-eager cock.
Before him, arrayed in the finest French silk and lace, were the most marvelous buttocks. He pressed his crotch against her as he smoothed both palms down the curves of the cheeks.
“Magnificent,” he breathed.
“I am delighted my backside pleases.” She wriggled against him.
Her teasing spurred him to swat her gently. “It sets my imagination on fire.” He slid his hand through the slit of her drawers. “What else may please me?” He found her sex, sticky and plump. She wanted him as much as he needed her. He glided his middle finger inside her and was greeted by a clench and a moan. He moved to her clitoris, the bud slippery under his fingers. He stroked the hardened nub as she rolled her hips in encouragement.
This was a fantasy beyond fantasy. “Madam, I do not wish to pull out,” he intoned in a gravelly whisper.
“Sir, I do not want you to,” she said between excited breaths.
So she used some prophylactic. His anxieties eased a little.
He grabbed his cock, the head glistening with arousal, and shoved in.
His senses exploded.
He had forgotten what it felt like to be inside a woman, the welcoming warmth enveloping him, radiating into his stones, the suctioning slickness enticing, nay urging him to continue. And this particular woman rocked her hips in a determined rhythm, commanding him to pleasure her.
The force of her passion undid him.
His knees weakened. He slumped forward to get his bearings, continuing to drive into her not from conscious control toward a glorious culmination, but from a base masculine impulse surging forth in an uncontrollable tumult. He clutched at her hand flat on the desk, the wedding band under her lace glove galling, repelling, reminding him of her undeserving husband, while her French fragrance flared his nostrils, the scent ensnaring him, compelling him to stay the course. Instinct took over, tamping down lingering qualms, pushing him forward to climax.
She came with a powerful contraction. His inexorable release ensued immediately.
He bent over her, utterly spent, his heart pounding up his throat to his head. He sucked in breaths, trying to calm his physical body, while wave after wave of gratification inundated his mind.
She sighed, then squirmed under him with a gentle groan of protest.
He pushed back, breaking contact, grabbing his handkerchief in time to prevent a stain.
Calmly, as if getting fucked over a large oak desk were commonplace, his office paramour righted herself, reattaching the flounce, pushing down then fluffing up her skirts, turning this way and that to survey the state of her dress.
“Madam, your gown is unscathed.” He gazed at her. “And you look delightfully refreshed.”
She beamed. “Thank you.” Her lips twisted into a smirk. “And you, sir, look positively disheveled.”
Damn. He tugged his waistcoat into place, then grabbed his discarded jacket.
As a wife might, she helped his arms through the sleeves, fussed with his collar and tie, then smoothed back his hair. “A touch of gray I hadn’t noticed before. Your blond hair hides such effects of age.” She brushed the lapels of his jacket. “Of course, I am assuming you to be of such an age.” She lifted a brow. “I hope I am not the cause of a sudden shock of silver.”
He chuckled. “I assure you, madam, others hold that honor.”
She smiled broadly. “And now, I shall leave you. Give me a few moments.” She sashayed around him and scurried away in a sensual swoosh of silk skirts.
Charles stared into the emptiness of the office for quite some time, until a snort followed by a vociferous yawn resounded in the library, shaking him from his reverie.
He’d give the lady a few more minutes to move through the galleries while he perused the library shelves. He’d hardly know how to act should he encounter her again.
Good God. What if she were attending the Salon with her husband?
Bonus: Playlist for The Westerman Affair
1. Uninvited by Alanis Morissette (1998)
The song’s themes of unexpected desire and navigating an unfamiliar relationship mirror the liaison between the characters Charles and Rosamund. The haunting melody evokes the tension of their affair.
2. Someone to Lay Down Beside Me by Karla Bonoff (performed by Bonoff, 1977)
3. Prisoner in Disguise (performed by Linda Ronstadt, 1975)
For the Victorian London world of my Art & Discipline series (three more books planned), songs of despair and loneliness seem strangely appropriate. My characters crave connection with others, yet their circumstances seem to prevent them from realizing meaningful attachments.
4. Yearning by Basia (1994)
However, my characters always find love, find belonging in someone’s arms, find their happily-ever-after.
The Westerman Affair (Art & Discipline Book 1)
An acclaimed painter. His provocative muse. Her obliging husband.
The Westerman Affair.
A tale of spanking and polyamory in the Victorian art world.
For blurbs, reviews, and more information, check out The Westerman Affair page!
Purchase ebook: Amazon USA, Amazon UK, Amazon Canada, Amazon Australia
Apple Books * Barnes & Noble/Nook Press * Eden Books * Google Play
Kobo USA, Kobo Canada, Kobo Australia, Kobo New Zealand, Kobo UK, Kobo Ireland, Kobo South Africa * Smashwords * Tolino * Books2Read
Request from your local library & read for free!
Purchase paperback: Amazon USA, Amazon UK, Amazon Canada, Barnes & Noble, Books-A-Million, Bookshop, The Ripped Bodice