To Be Seduced. Stephens Ann Sophia

softly spoken word belied his iron grip. Trying to pull away from him only resulted in an agonizing stab up her arm, and Bethany yelped in pain and anger.

      He released her at once, only to move across to her side and examine her slender wrist in the light of the window. “I apologize, madam.” He looked at her ruefully. “I did not realize you have such delicate bone structure.” He looked bemused as his gloved thumb and middle finger easily encircled her wrist.

      She froze as his hand slowly moved to her face. His leather-clad fingertips grazed her cheekbone as his eyes looked soberly into hers. Bethany caught her breath at the intimate touch, but a blaze of outrage cleared her mind.

      The arrogant blackguard was trying to seduce her! She glared at him. “Get away from me and stop the coach at once! I am most certainly not going to marry you.”

      Instead, he released her and leaned back against the seat at her side. “I believe you will have no other choice. Rest assured, I have no desire to harm you, but after two days and a night in my company, the world will assume the worst. You will either become Lady Harcourt or you will be ruined.” Glancing her way at last, he raised his eyebrows suggestively. “A title and an estate, my dear. Many other females would snap me up without hesitation.”

      Fear seeped into her fury as Bethany realized his utter seriousness. She shook her head to dispel her sense of unreality. Giving in to fright would not help her. Or would it? Perhaps a bout of hysterics would convince him to turn the coach around and dump her back on her mother’s doorstep.

      As if reading her mind, her adversary smirked and pulled a small object out of his pocket. “A vinaigrette. French ladies carry them to use in moments of great distress.” He offered it to her. “In case of faintness. We will both find the journey far more pleasant if you do not indulge in a fit of some kind.”

      She itched to slap that irritating smile off his face. “I am never faint.” She lifted her chin and glared at him. Lord Harcourt simply shrugged and tucked the filigree oval into the depths of his greatcoat.

      “My felicitations, dear Mistress Dallison. I am sure you are the first female of my acquaintance to say so.” His voice quivered with amusement.

      Bethany nearly ground her teeth but held on to her temper. She needed a cool head to convince him to return her to Abberley. She cringed to think what her mother would say, not to mention Mr. Ilkston. Her fortune would doubtless overcome his shock, but she feared he would make her suffer for it once they married.

      The thought unexpectedly surfaced that life with Lord Harcourt would make the most intimate aspects of marriage very pleasant, but the idea flashed out of her mind just as quickly. Like Ilkston, he just wanted her money; he merely followed a more direct course of action to obtain it.

      She wished again that she controlled her own money. Disgusting as the idea might be, she would have considered bribing him to return her with her reputation intact. But the law allowed only widows any control over property and income. Most women depended on funds settled on them by their fathers and husbands.

      At this thought, Bethany straightened on the seat and blinked. Unmoving, she stared at the opposite side of the coach for several seconds. Suddenly facing Lord Harcourt, she took a deep breath. If he guessed at the idea that had entered her mind, she faced disaster.

      Tucking the vinaigrette away, Richard congratulated himself on the success of the first part of his plan. Despite the fierce scowl on her face, the girl offered little resistance so far. Granted, she had demanded he stop the coach, and then tried to open the door while it still moved, but he had expected no less. He had recognized the willful streak behind her pretty face the previous summer, but he had every confidence of mastering her. Once he wed her and bedded her, everything she had became his.

      Expanding on this pleasing subject, he regarded the young woman beside him. She refused to look at him, pinning her gaze straight in front of her. He satisfied himself with the view of her rigid profile, even opening the window covering farther to permit more sunlight into the coach. He had thought her pretty enough last summer; he was pleased that his recollections proved accurate.

      Her fair skin glowed against the darker wood and leather. A few pale freckles spotted the bridge of her nose. He tamped down an urge to trace them with his fingers. She had shied away from his touch earlier and a frightened bride would not suit his purposes at all.

      He realized he had never seen her hair uncovered and wondered what color it was. He guessed brown from the brow and lashes turned so fixedly away from him. The color of her eyes, he knew, ranged from cool gray to silver lightning.

      When she turned unexpectedly to face him, they flashed bright sparks of anger before hardening. The charming sight so disarmed him that he was not prepared for her question.

      “How much money do you need?”

      She might just as casually have asked how much he needed for a new shoe buckle. He stared at her.

      The baggage dared to roll her eyes at him. “How much money do you need,” she repeated, her tone of voice suggesting that she spoke to a person of limited mental capacity.

      Richard stalled for time to assess this new ploy. “Why do you want to know?” He leaned against the back of the seat and cocked an eyebrow at her. Stretching one booted leg before him gave the appearance of ease, while his other foot remained firmly on the floor, enabling him to move quickly should she try to bolt again.

      She did not try to bolt. Instead, she settled herself more firmly on the seat and looked him full in the face. “I might not have enough to meet your debts.” A triumphant smile curved her lips.

      Clever puss, to search for his most vulnerable point. “I’m quite sure your assets will more than meet my needs,” he purred. “My uncle determined your worth to be a good fifteen thousand pounds, and I have immediate need of but five thousand.”

      “Ah.” Bethany tilted her head against the back of the seat as if thinking. When she looked at him again, he guessed her next words.

      “Very well, Lord Harcourt. I will marry you.”

      He’d won the throw.

      Trying to hide his overwhelming relief at her capitulation, he pressed her hand between both of his. “Thank you for doing me the honor of agreeing to be my wife, madam.”

      “Indeed. Naturally, there are conditions.” At her suddenly brisk tone of voice, his brows lowered. “In the first place, I wish to be married in London, so you’ll need to turn the coach around. In the second place, I trust you will not pester me with unwanted attentions after the ceremony. I collect you planned to marry me and leave me in Yorkshire?”

      He could not seem to find his voice. She continued, unperturbed. “I think under the circumstances that will do very well, although I might like to travel at least to York or Scarborough occasionally.”

      Lord Harcourt gathered his wits. “And just how do you think to enforce your—er, conditions, girl? Tell me that.”

      “Easily.” How a slip of girl managed to look down her nose at him while sitting down, he did not know. “I shall say ‘No’ in front of the minister.”

      “And destroy your reputation? You’re bluffing.”

      A delightful blush covered her face, but she did not back down. “I might be ruined, but you’ll still be poor,” she retorted. “And that would defeat your purpose, wouldn’t it?”

      She betrayed no sign of her anxiety as she waited for his response. Lord Harcourt underestimated her fortune. Perhaps he would underestimate her intelligence as well.

      “I should think a God-fearing woman would wish to avoid the immoral atmosphere of London,” he mocked. “Are you so eager to embrace the city’s delights?”

      “Certainly not,” she replied stiffly. “Our former vicar now lives there, and I wish him to marry us.”

      “I suppose I must respect your sentiment in wishing to have your childhood