To Be Seduced. Stephens Ann Sophia

glass from the open bottle if you please. Pour one for yourself.” When she eyed him doubtfully, he dismissed her unspoken concern. “Claret, my dear, the feeblest stuff imaginable.”

      Once they both settled back down, he thumbed through the book.

      “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…’” As he read sonnet after sonnet, he watched her reaction from the corner of his eye. As the quill moved slower and slower over the sheets in front of her, he lowered his voice, forcing her to concentrate in order to hear him.

      The quill stopped completely. She sat across from him, unmoving, as he wove his spell. Seeing the kerchief over her breasts moving rapidly with each breath she took, he felt his own body tighten in response.

      He closed the book with a soft smack. She raised her eyes then. Looking into their glittering silver depths, he felt himself drawn in, wanting her. He set the book down and rose to his feet, stretching slightly. “Did you enjoy that?”

      She nodded, silent.

      “I shall take you to the theater. You’ve never seen a play, have you?” He smiled faintly as she shook her head. “But first the shops. As Lady Harcourt, you’ll need fine dresses of velvet or silk. Perhaps in green to show off your hair.”

      She touched the coil at her neck. “I despise it!”

      “Why? It’s beautiful.” She stood up and backed away as he approached her. He chuckled. “’Tis a small room, you’ve nowhere to go.” Proving his point, he cornered her by the door. She averted her head, eyes closed, her breath coming in soft puffs. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.” With those soft words, he gave in to the itch to unpin her burnished copper locks.

      The thick braid unfurled down her back. She did not move as he combed his fingers through it, except to lick her lips. He bent to nuzzle her soft cheek, exulting in the shudder he elicited from her. His lips moved over the silken skin, easing toward her mouth, but not taking it.

      She rewarded him by turning her head to him, opening herself to him with a soft moan. He embraced her gently as his tongue swept into her accepting mouth, twining with hers.

      As their kiss deepened and roughened, his arms tightened, holding her to him. Her body nearly matched his for height, fitting perfectly against him. He left her mouth, searching for the sensitive point on her throat as she gasped and threw her head back.

      It smacked painfully against the wall.

      “Bethany! Are you all right?” He stepped back to avoid a bloody nose when she doubled over in pain, but stayed by her side. “I’ve never known such a dangerous female.” He drew her to a hard-backed bench and sat her down.

      “If you’d stop trying to maul me, these things wouldn’t happen.” She grimaced, rubbing the back of her head.

      Still unable to keep his hands out of the soft strands, he carefully stroked over the sore area. He felt heat in the injured spot, but no swelling. Relieved, he let his fingers slide to the base of her neck, circling and pressing.

      She shut her eyes once more, sighing in pleasure as he worked the stiffness out of her tense muscles. When he finished, she sighed. “Much better.”

      “Indeed.” He kissed her again, stroking her cheek with his thumb. In her relaxed state, Bethany responded ardently, placing one hand on his chest while the other moved to cup the back of his head.

      He emitted a guttural moan as his hand stroked down her satiny throat to the top of her breast. Seeking beneath her kerchief and the edge of the wool bodice, his fingers found a sensitive peak. As they rolled and pinched it to stiffness, her back arched and her breathing grew ragged. Egged on by the sound, he followed with his mouth. Grasping the edge of the kerchief with his teeth, he eased it aside while working the bodice lower with his hands.

      Bethany mewled at the pleasurable friction of soft muslin against her straining nipples. She knew she should tell Richard to stop, but thought fled as he freed her breasts from her stays and began to suckle. A trail of fire coursed its way down to the apex of her thighs and nestled there, burning. Her restless fingers tangled in Richard’s honey-colored strands as he cupped the creamy mounds in his hands, sucking and nibbling at each coral tip in turn.

      A protest left her mouth when he abandoned them, but his mouth fastened over hers before she could complete it. Her hand stroked over his cheek and down to his cravat, loosening the snowy folds. He whispered his desire in her ear before nipping lightly at her earlobe and licking the tender skin below.

      She reciprocated, shyly pressing kisses along his skin just below his jaw. At his growl of pleasure, she became bolder, moving her mouth down his muscular throat. Sitting up against him, she buried her face in the base of his throat, kissing and stroking.

      She started as she felt her bodice loosen. Richard was untying it with one hand while his other slipped beneath her skirt and petticoat. His arousal pressed against her thigh.

      “Shall we finish this in the bedchamber, my lovely girl?” The husky murmur meant nothing to her for a few seconds. When the meaning sank in, she choked and struggled to her feet. Looking down at herself, a wave of shame enveloped her.

      “Dear God, what am I doing?” With an agonized cry, she turned away, trying to put her clothes in place. Her hands shook so severely she could barely manage the task.

      From behind her, she heard the soft creak of the bench as Richard stood. She forced herself to face him. He stood only a few paces away, arms at his sides. His rough exhalations and the bulge in his pantaloons indicated his clear state of arousal.

      She could see the fury in his darkened eyes at being denied for a second night running. They rested pointedly on her breasts where they threatened to spill out of her bodice. Unable to find her kerchief, she drew her hair over her shoulders.

      “A trifle late for modesty, little Puritan.” He bit the words out.

      She choked back a sob. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry, Richard. I have no notion what possessed me to misbehave so badly these two nights.” To her horror, another sob escaped, and tears blurred her vision. She dropped her gaze to the floor, struggling with her chaotic emotions.

      He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, Jesu, don’t cry.” Frustration descended on his face. “And don’t pretend to coy virtue. Your zest for the exercise betrays your eagerness.” The lips that had just reduced her to the veriest jade pressed into a tight line as he tugged his own clothing to rights. “God’s teeth, we’re to be married as soon as we find your minister! What difference does it make to start the honeymoon a night or two before?”

      “You said you would not harm me!” Her temper rising, she stepped toward him with the accusation.

      “Those were cries of pain, were they?” The last shreds of shame disappeared at his mocking tone. “You did not appear to be suffering unduly under my attentions, madam!”

      Unable to deny the truth of his statements, Bethany floundered for a reply. In the end, she could only sputter, “Go to your bed alone.” Which, with a deafening slam of the door, his lordship did.

      She glowered after him, then proceeded to make up a bed on the settle by rolling up her cloak for a pillow and curling up under his. Waiting for sleep to take her, she stared at the fire. The journey to London must have disordered her senses, she reflected. She had never experienced the least urge to behave so badly with Mr. Ilkston. Her last thought before drifting to sleep was the sincere hope that they would find Mr. Barker before she abandoned all her morals.