".my first love are historicals with tortured heroes, and this one fit the bill." Luisa, www.thereadingroom.blogspot.com
"This book not only has beautifully written words, but also is erotically moving. When looking for sensuous historical erotica, always look for Charlotte Featherstone's name. Mistress of the Night is a solid 5 hearts! It comes with the highest regards from this reviewer." - Janalee, Love Romances
"Mistress of the Night simply worked on all levels.The sexual tension builds slowly to a flaming heat that envelopes the reader just as it does Blaine and Madeline. Their first kiss is pure dynamite and take of hold of all your emotions with such subtlety that you're consumed." Aggie Tsirikas, Just Erotic Romance Reviews
"Erotic and passionate, Mistress of the Night is a Regency romance you will not easily put down! Charlotte Featherstone's erotic story of love, secrets and intrigue is a page turning story which you will find hard to put down and impossible to forget! Don't miss it!" - Julie Bonello, Ecataromance
"Will you dance with me?"
Madeline stared at him, clearly stunned by his sudden request. How many times and how many balls had she pined away, waiting for him to ask her to dance? That he should ask her now, out in the moonlit garden thrilled her beyond what she thought possible.
They stood together, him looking down at her, her gazing up at him, their fingers locked tightly together. The wind went still around them and the moon slipped behind a cloud, shrouding them in darkness.
Damn it, what had he done? He'd been thinking of her in that damn ball gown, her pale skin illuminated by the moon, her flame red hair enticing him, making him wish to run his hands through its thickness. He couldn't get the image of her wrapped in his arms, twirling beneath the moonlight out his mind. He could never risk the chance of dancing with her at a tonnish event, shouldn't even be tempting fate now, but she looked so damn beautiful in her green watered silk gown that he thought he had to feel her against him or go mad with longing.
Her turquoise eyes searched his face, her full lips trembling with nervousness, or perhaps excitement. Jesus, he wanted to kiss those lips, to feel them against his, to slide his tongue into her mouth and feel her respond to him.
He shouldn't be doing this, he should never have come. He wasn't dressed as a gentleman, wasn't acting as one should, but he didn't give a damn. This was Madeline and he wanted to feel her against him, to discover if she would feel as good in life as she did in his dreams.
"My lord?"
"My name is Blaine. Call me by my given name."
"Blaine," she said, tasting his name upon her tongue. The resulting sound was a hushed whisper, sweeter than anything he had ever heard.
"May I?" he asked, reaching through his gaping jacket and fitting his hand around her waist. "Just one dance, Madeline, that is all I ask."
"Yes, Blaine," she said breathlessly as he twirled her around, the pace slow and unhurried as he brought her closer to him, so close he could feel her heart beating through his shirt. He closed his eyes and savored his name on her mouth, her fingers on his arm, her warmth against his chest. He felt at peace, at one with her. Felt as though he could risk all and let himself fall in love with her-risk laying open his secrets and letting her in. He'd give anything to feel her beneath him, to feel himself inside her.
"I have wanted you to ask me to dance, my lord," she said, her voice low and quiet, almost impossible to hear above the sound of his raging blood. "But you never do. You never even speak with me when we're out in Society. You act as though we've never even met."
"I." he trailed off, catching a scent of her as it wafted up between their bodies. "I'm out of my element amongst the ton, I'm afraid."
"And yet you are a wonderful dancer, as accomplished as any other gentleman I've danced with."
"I'm," he swallowed thickly, unsure of why he wanted-no needed to explain his behavior to her. "I am not comfortable amongst the ton. I'm a solitary person, I keep my own counsel, and prefer to do so."
"You're lonely."
He stopped then, shocked by her words, by her perception of him. He'd made himself vulnerable, let himself weaken as her soft body melded with his. She saw too much, knew too much.
"This," he said, his voice cracking with desire, with the pain of what he knew he must do. "I can't.."
"Just let me in," she whispered.
"I'm afraid you would not like what you see."
"Trust me," she said, her tempting mouth only inches away from his.
Unable to stop the feelings of desire, of desperation, he grasped her hand and pressed her palm to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he savored her warmth and the scent of her. He could be happy with Madeline, content to spend the rest of his days with her, if he wasn't so scared about her discovering his secrets. If he wasn't so terrified of her turning from him.
"You don't know me," he whispered, sliding her hand down his chest to rest over his bounding heart. "I'm not the man you think I am."
He saw the image of her in the drawing room, the sleeping babe curled against her. Saw the happiness, the completeness in her eyes and knew what she longed for. She intended to marry, intended to bring life into the world. Madeline was a nurturer, put on this earth to be a wife and mother. And she would be, but not his wife, nor the mother of his children. He could never marry her, could never fulfill her dreams of motherhood. She was not the sort of woman one dallied with, she was the sort one married and therefore, not destined for him.
"I can't," he breathed, releasing her hand as though he'd been burned. "I cannot give you what you want. I will only make you miserable."
"No," she said, reaching for him as he stalked away. "You're wrong."
"I cannot give you what you need, don't ask it of me."
"You may give up on me, my lord," she whispered, reaching out and grasping his wrist. "But, I too have made up my mind, and nothing will deter me, not even your secrets and your fears."
"Be careful what you wish for, Madeline. Dreams have a way of turning into nightmares."
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