Hello dear Doris and all your fans. Such a strange word that, for people. To me a fan is an aid to flirtation. Or to cool hot cheeks when a gentleman is being particularly attentive. Or forward. Then it raps knuckles oh so successfully.
However, that is as maybe, before you all yawn and disappear, let me tell you why I'm here.
You see I live in Regency times, and run a rather unusual school. A school for seduction. What is different, is that so far, it's the young ladies who do the seducing. After all why settle for less than you deserve?
I am having some success with aiding my pupils, and my reputation is growing rather nicely.
Maybe I was getting complacent, who knows? I like to think not, but when Raven told me she was writing my story, I laughed. I didn't have a story to tell.
After all everyone knows I was, many moons ago, the Mistress to Ashley, the Earl of Addersley, before he married his lovely Adriana.
And anyone who has read the previous stories about my school (and if you haven't why not?) knows that Ash and Adriana set up my school for me, and they along with their friends know just who to point in my direction.
Who told Raven to point Charles in my direction I don't know, but it turned out he was my first male pupil. Imagine my surprise when I realized the lady he intended to claim…
Here's the blurb
Miss Simpkins' School—where seduction's the game and success is the aim. Why settle for less than everything? Come to school and let classes commence.
Lady in the drawing room and whore in the bedroom?
As the ex-mistress of an earl, Molly is ideally suited to teach the young debutants of the ton to get the best out their marriage. Where does that leave Molly, herself, however?
She's no debutante, but a woman with needs and fantasies—fantasies that Charles knows he can fulfil. If only he could convince her to take on her first male pupil.
Will Molly allow herself to be persuaded, or will he be Miss Simpkins' school first failure.
***** *** *****
A wee tease…
Damn her, why couldn't she see they could be together? Oh, it wouldn't be easy, but then nothing worth fighting for was.
"We do. I do." Molly kissed his cheek. "Dearest Charles, I have some very happy memories, and I want to keep them. If I was to discover what we experienced had made your life hard, it would sully them. Do you understand?"
"No." If she could be obstinate then so could he. Charles slipped his hand between them and inched her skirts upward. Molly gave the most erotic moan ever and swayed into him. Emboldened, he let his fingers slide over the top of her stocking to stroke the soft skin of her thigh.
"Ah..." Molly parted her legs, and his fingers brushed against the wet, warm entrance to her channel. She clenched her muscles around him, and he slipped one finger inside. Molly sagged and it seemed only his arms held her upright, as she nipped his neck, and began to fiddle with his breeches. "Yes, I can not say no, it has to be yes." She closed her eyes and sighed. The expelled air tickled his hairs, and sent goose bumps skittering down his spine.
"Yes," he agreed with her and thrust two more fingers into her channel to tease and scrape the soft skin. His mind went cloudy. How on earth could he get them both naked without leaving her? He couldn't. Invention would have to do.
Charles used his other hand to sweep her skirt and petticoats around her waist and tucked them in on themselves. Molly opened her eyes, and he stayed his hand. If she asked him to stop now it would nigh on kill him. She didn't.
"If you carry on like this, my lord, I will climax very soon. I wish to enjoy all of you, not just your hand, if you please?" Her eyes were misty, her expression begged, and Charles' cock quivered with anticipation. Molly lowered her gaze to where the material of his breeches stretched to its limits and smiled. "So it seems, may you."
Charles laughed. "Oh, I please." He scanned the room. "Will you be naked for me? Let me show you how it could be even though I accept you think it won't?" Would she realize just how he'd worded his request? Of course she did.
"Clever, my lord. It will be only this once. But yes, if you will join me?"
"Then let's start." How trite his words sounded, but Charles was under no illusion about how strung up they both were. He wanted no premature ejaculation, even though he was sure he could persuade her to change her mind afterward. He began to undo the tiny covered buttons that stretched from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine.
"Lud, woman, these are killing me. My cock is ready to snap in half. Who on earth designs a dress like this?"
"Madame Losange, and it is designed to torture, tease, and tantalize. Even if we have no intention of using our wiles on a man, we dress as if we do. A woman needs all the help she can get."
Charles reached the last fastening and slipped it from through the loop that held it in place. "You need no help, love."
He drew the dress down her body, to bare the elegant column of her spine inch by inch. Molly gasped and spun round to face him. As her dress slithered off her body to pool in a heap of vibrant crimson and gold around her ankles, she lifted her face to run a series of tiny teasing nips across his cheeks.
"Now it's my turn." With tantalizing slowness she began to undo his cravat.
***** *** *****
So what do you think? Who is teaching who?
Miss Simpkins' School: Molly is available from
If you'd like to know about the other books in the series, you can check them, and all my other books out on
Well what can I say?
I'm growing old disgracefully and loving it.
Dh and I live on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for us.
Our kids have grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep breath and smell the daisies so to speak.
I write in my study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I'm often seen procrastinating, by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and assuring tourists that indeed, I'm not the bed and breakfast. That would mean cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.
Being able to do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic. Long may it last.
Love R x