A Kingdom of Dreams (Westmoreland, #1)

by Judith McNaught

Her fate had been sealed from the moment, seven weeks ago, when she’d been dumped at the feet of the arrogant beast beside her, trussed up like a feastday partridge.

More attracted to her by the moment, he studied her, wondering about her allure, but it was more than just her face or her body that attracted him; Jennifer Merrick had a glowing gentleness that warmed him, a fiery spirit that challenged him—and a radiance that kept drawing him toward her with increasing power.

“Some women need no jewels to make them sparkle. You are one of them.”

But today, he had made her feel something else: he had made her feel needed and cherished and wanted, and those last three things she’d longed to feel for as long as she could remember.

Royce Westmoreland looked exactly as he did when he was about to storm a particularly challenging, desirable castle and claim it for his own. It meant that he would not be deterred by the odds or the opposition. It meant that he was already pleasantly contemplating victory.

want you, and if that makes me a barbarian in your eyes, then so be it, but it doesn’t have to be that way. If you let me, I’ll make it good between us. There’ll be no shame nor pain for you in my bed—except pain I must cause you the first time. After that, there will be only pleasure.”

“Have you any idea how beautiful you are?” he whispered huskily, his gaze sweeping slowly upward to her enchanting face, roving over the tawny red-gold hair spread luxuriantly across his pillows, “or how much I want you?”

First sexual encounter. Two episodes of kissing & petting prior to this…

The realization of all that had passed between them came flooding back to her and there, held securely in his arms, she knew a feeling of loneliness and terror beyond anything. What she had just done was not martyrdom, not even noble sacrifice—not when she’d found such pagan pleasure in it, such . . . heaven.

“You, my lord, are Power and Violence and Might— and to most women, those are the most potent aphrodisiacs of all.”

“It wasn’t a real kingdom with land and castles; it was a kingdom of dreams—a place where things would be just the way I wanted them to be.”

“Nay. I wanted only to be loved by those whom I love; to be looked upon and not found wanting by those who know me.” “And that’s all you wanted?” She nodded, her beautiful profile solemn. “And so I invented a kingdom of dreams where I could accomplish great and daring deeds to make it happen.”

“You’re a brave and beautiful young woman,” he said finally, “and a countess in your own right. Your clan undoubtedly feels about you as you would wish them to feel—and probably more so.” She tore her gaze from his and seemed to become absorbed in the view again. “Actually,” she replied in a carefully emotionless voice, “they think me some sort of—of changeling.”

“Tonight, I became the consort of my family’s worst enemy—the mistress of my people’s foe. In the past, they despised me for things I hadn’t done. Now, they have good reason to despise me for what I have, just as I have reason to despise myself. This time, I’ve done the unforgivable. Even God won’t forgive me . . .”

’Twas not my will to come to your bed,” she answered in a muffled whisper. Dragging her mortified gaze from his smoky gray one, she turned her head away and added, “but once there, ’twas not my will to leave it either.”

She had fought him like a tigress, but she surrendered like an angel. She had tried to stab him—but she had kissed his scars; she had slashed his blankets and sewn his shirts closed—but she had kissed him a few minutes ago with a sweet, desperate ardor that had twisted him into knots of desire; she had a smile that lit up the dark recesses of his heart, a laugh so infectious it made him grin. She had honesty, too, and he prized that above all.

“Why is it when you yield, I feel like the one who has been conquered?”

“Behold your new mistress, my wife,” he pronounced, “and know that when she bids you, I have bidden you. What service you render her, you are rendering me. What loyalty you give or withhold from her, you give or withhold from me!”

“Why is it,” Royce murmured, gazing into her intoxicating eyes, “that every time you surrender willingly, like this, you make me feel like a king who has conquered. Yet when I conquer you against your will, you make me feel like a defeated beggar?”

“You have the bluest eyes on earth,” he added with a low, appreciative chuckle. “When you’re angry, they’re the color of wet blue velvet.” Jenny rolled her eyes in disgust, momentarily pacified by his answer that this was her home. “Wet velvet?” she repeated wryly, wrinkling her nose. “Wet velvet.” His white teeth flashed in a devastating grin. “No? What should I have said?” His smile was irresistible, and Jenny fell in with his teasing mood, “Well, you might have said they’re the color of—” she glanced at the large sapphire in the center of the crucifix “—of sapphires,” she provided. “That has a nice ring to it.” “Ah, but sapphires are cold, and your eyes are warm and expressive. Am I doing better?” he chuckled when she voiced no further argument to wet velvet. “Much,” she agreed readily. “Would you care to go on?” “Fetching for compliments?” “Certainly.” His lips twitched with laughter. “Very well. Your eyelashes remind me of a sooty broom.” Jenny’s mirth exploded in a peal of musical laughter. “A broom!” she chuckled merrily, shaking her head at him. “Exactly. And your skin is white and soft and smooth. It reminds me of . . .” “Yes?” she prompted, chuckling. “An egg. Shall I go on?”

A man trying to compliment his woman…the best way he knows 🤣😍❤️