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From the Baroness’s Diary II

From the Baroness’s Diary II

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From the Baroness’s Diary II

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178 página
2 horas
Lançado em:
May 30, 2018
Formato:
Livro

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Lady Chloé has learned that innocent flirtations in Beardley Manor can easily become erotic sex escapades. But she has yet to resolve the mystery of her husband's frequent business trips and why he's desperate to create an heir.  And, of course, she wants more than just a tryst with her gardener lover. She wants love!


But little does Chloé know that her search will bring great adventures—and misadventures. 


Sequel toThe Erotic Escapades of Baron Beardley's Wife, the second volume of a young woman’s secret diary collection, The Adventures—and Misadventures—of Lady Chloé, brings a more mature, not-so-innocent-anymorewoman still in search of answers to the world’s most questioned topics: the pleasures of sex and the mysteries of love!  


If you are a fan of the romantic Misadventures Series and Calendar Girl, you will love this scandalous, refreshing, and, of course, incredibly sexy romance. Pre-order this quick-blush, perfect bedside read by USA Today bestselling author Cristiane Serruya by one-clicking today!

Lançado em:
May 30, 2018
Formato:
Livro

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Amostra do Livro

From the Baroness’s Diary II - Cristiane Serruya

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogues, and incidents involving them are drawn from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.


No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.


All rights reserved.

© 2017 Between the Pages llc

Cover by Renata Fontanive © 2017 Between the Pages llc

Contents

Praise for Cristiane Serruya

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Volume 1

1. From the Baroness Diary III

Title Page

Epigraph

Prologue

2. Chapter 1

3. Chapter 2

4. Chapter 3

5. Chapter 4

6. Chapter 5

7. Chapter 6

A Note from the Author

A Delicious Scone Recipe

Also by Cristiane Serruya

About Cristiane Serruya

Praise for Cristiane Serruya

It was like reading Jane Austen or William Shakespeare but in modern English. ~ M. Richardson


Cristiane Serruya is exceptionally good at what she does. ~ Dks


…[Cristiane’s] story line: It gradually enfolds, gently enthralling the reader and touching heartstrings, captivating we romantics. Read and you will find another Nora Roberts in her heydays. ~ Jonhaboutime


Cristiane Serruya is a master of characterization. The depth of her characters is incredible. The intensity of the relationships will have the reader eagerly turning the pages. ~ Readers’ Favorite


…truly Danielle Steele Meets Fifty Shades, except the heroine is not as naive. Strong characters, mystery barely hinted at, and international intrigue. Keeps the reader riveted and hardly able to put the book down. ~ Pat Harmon


Serruya took me on an emotional roller coaster, with heartbreaking and heart-aching scenes...a story that flowed beautifully. ~ Di


Nora Roberts meets 50 Shades of Grey ~ Paula Penteado


…absolutely stunningly beautiful and emotional sexy romantic story by a wonderful writer… ~ Charles Smith


Just when you think you know what is going to happen next, a twist so crazy that you could have never imagined it is thrown your way. ~ For the Luv of Sanity


…you can expect the unexpected. ~ Musings from an Addicted Reader

Acknowledgements

Writing can be a lonely business so I am grateful for the most loyal and dedicated partners I have found in this path I am wandering, and here I thank them.

Edward M Wolfe, my amazing editor, who is always available; who chats, laughs, and cheers me; who explains all my doubts and answers asap all my emails, no matter if he has already eaten or not; during day, night, and weekends. You have a special place in my heart.

Renata Fontanive and Lívia Fortes, my faithful squires, er, I mean my cover designer and my marketing assistant; for putting up with me as I harass you even on Sundays, and for always coming up with great visual ideas.

My biggest thanks go to the hearts of my heart: my broad, six-foot-six, stubborn, loving husband, Raphael, and my dear daughters, my princesses, Raphaela and Giovanna, who do hate when I say I have a new idea for a book but are beyond patient with me when I am immersed and lost in my characters’ lives. I promise to pamper you all in double…until a new idea hits me.

To all women

who were courageous enough to get the most out of life even when circumstances were not favorable.

"NOTICE

Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.

BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR

Per G.G., Chief of Ordenance."

~ Mark Twain, in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Prologue

A Note from the Author

The diary pages which you are about to read—and those of the first volume already published and others volumes which are due soon—fell into the hands of X, who was an employee at Beardley Manor.

In the first volume, we meet a young Chloé, a bit child-like, so lately innocent and pure, who looked at life through rosy lenses.

But her husband taught her—in a peculiar way—that life had less colors and more shades of gray than she could have imagined.

In this volume, Chloé is now a woman of violent passions and unrestrained lust. Refinement of indulgence has generated lust, and lust has rendered easy the road to unrestrained—and even what she herself thought of as unnatural—gratifications.

This volume shows a more mature woman—and unfortunately, also more jaded—but nonetheless, eager to discover what sexual delights Nature could offer her.

It’s interesting to notice that despite her unworldliness and voluptuousness, Lady Chloé is in essence a thinker and her questioning of women’s place in post World War II society gives us a new dimension of her character.

In this candid record of a young woman’s love-life, Lady Chloé’s memoirs illuminate far beyond the usual run of erotic literature. These diary pages reveal how a blossoming woman, even secluded in a lost manor in the middle of nowhere by a much older and autocratic husband, discovered pleasures she never would have thought could be wrought from her body and soul. It is a woman’s search for answers to the world’s most intriguing topic, the riddle that plagues the universe: the pleasures of sex.

Lady Chloé de la Fleur Beardley, no doubt, never dreamed that her memories would someday be put before others’ eyes, but X and this author are completely sure she would be very happy to have you reading about her adventures—and misadventures.

So know this, dear readers, that all this author had to do was to select the diary’s entries, translate them into English, and, voilá, with a bit of adaptation, bring Lady Chloé’s confessions to your hands. I do that with no guilty conscience as Baron Beardley passed away a month ago with no direct heirs aside from a pompous nephew who is serving time in jail now because of…well, that is a whole other story.

Welcome back to Lady Chloé’s world!

Chapter 1

The Morning After

Mon Chèr Journal,

When this morning I woke, it was with a sense of change in myself which I neither care nor seek to analise. I was feeling excited, light, and all I wanted was to dance.

I threw open the French windows of my bedroom and surveyed the mess that is the garden in front of them but I can already see it taking form.

I can never see flowers too many times. I never tire of their sweet fragrance. And there is something about their beauty…

Each one is a delicate bloom, no matter if it is in a formal garden or a wasteland. Their petals are delicate works of art and their hues are medicine to the soul.

Women are compared to flowers all the time: unfurled petals, fragile blooms.

Frankly, I think it is a…load of stinking cow manure if you ask me.

Women are not just delicate flowers waiting to be coddled. We are also strong and unyielding.

I guess it’s not just me that feels that way though I struggle to find a woman who feels the same—not that I have been able to meet many women, imprisoned in this golden cage as I am.

People bring flowers into the hospitals and graveyards, people send them to express their love, people plant them in their yards though they bear no edible fruits.

Flowers are never called strong and I have yet to feel that way in my life.

There was nothing strong about my life, nothing that I have found pleasure in, yet as I look at the flowers in the morning sun, I start to believe that I have found that pleasure.

What had started as a mere whim to plant roses because I was bored became a daily necessity to partake in. Without the flowers, the landscape in front of my window would only be a pool and concrete. Well, right now, it’s a mess of upturned earth surrounding the pool still, but in a few months it will be a welcoming sight.

In Salvatore de Luca’s opinion—my husband’s gardener and since yesterday my lover—a perfect garden should not only be a planned space, set aside for display of ornamental beauty, but mostly a place where one finds the beauty inside oneself. I find this idea not only soothes my soul, but also my heart, and I gladly anticipate the day when I open my windows to blooming flowers.

Oh, a lover, you ask?

Oui, I am certain this is the correct word for paramour.

It is funny, I assume, to think I have taken on a lover now, laughable even, yet I do not find myself just laughing about the thought. Oh non, my mouth has been otherwise occupied with delightful moans and surprised gasps in that regard and happily so. My husband’s gardener has brought a joy to my life that I did not know I was missing.

A wild passion has asserted itself in my character since I met the Baron’s gardener. The sexual emotions my husband had awakened but did not fullfil have been kindled by Salvatore’s attentions and flirtations—and has also been gratified by him.

Of course it might be considered as grossly taboo to take on a lover since I am a married woman.

I imagine the shock, the horror of les soeurs—the nuns—if they learned of my…hmm…indiscretion. And the dowager’s friends? They would label me an adulterer and my precious husband would be a pariah to have married such a trollop.

But do I merit such harsh judgement?

Turning my back to the garden, I looked at my lavishly appointed bedroom, the rumpled bed still warm from my lounging. I should be ashamed from betraying Joseph, but I was far from that feeling.

He is guilty of leaving me alone for days and only using me as a receptacle of his sperm. He was the one who dug into me, leaving me an empty hole of longing, of need, which had driven me into Salvatore’s arms.

Oh, well. Enough rant…for now.

This morning, I took my breakfast in the gardens by the lake with my mother-in-law as company.

She chatted non-stop about her friends’ constant ailments and how much she misses her adored and oh-so-perfect son—who is again traveling on business—and I nodded distractedly, inserting a oui and a non when she paused to catch her breath. Even if I could manage to pay attention to her annoying and repetitive gibberish, I was feeling—I’m still feeling—such an ebullient happiness inside myself that I had to control my urge to jump and run and laugh and scream.

And you, poor thing, less than two years a bride, I’m sure it’s hard for you with him away so often.

With lascivious thoughts of Salvatore’s glorious manhood flickering through my mind, I twisted a smile into a pout and said, I can’t tell you how hard it is when Joseph is away. I really can’t.

She sniffed and picked up her delicate teacup. Well, his hard work does allow you this lavish lifestyle. One must endure the sacrifice of daily intimacy to be swathed in silks.

I pursed my lips, thinking of my sacrifice. I would happily continue to sacrifice on behalf of my husband’s absence, if it meant experiencing the awesome feelings I have felt in Salvatore’s arms. And I do love silks.

My mother-in-law looked over, her eyes narrowing. Are you overheating, my dear? Your cheeks are becoming quite red.

I held in my laughter as I shook my head, my carefully arranged hair bouncing against my cheeks. I am perfectly fine.

She clucked her tongue as she set her teacup back on its saucer, her eyes flitting over me like she were assessing a stud to breed.

Really, even my

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