To Be Seduced. Stephens Ann Sophia

simple enough to pay someone to act as a man of the cloth. You shall not wed me in a mock ceremony only to take my money and abandon me.”

      The insufferable man had the gall to take offense. “Good God, madam, I’m not a thief.”

      “I vow ’tis a burden off my mind to know that I’ve been kidnapped by an honest man,” she spat.

      For a few seconds Lord Harcourt’s green eyes blazed with rage. Then his lips twitched into a reluctant grin.

      “Touché, my dear,” he chuckled. Opening the window, he shouted to the coachman to make for London. Now if he could just get his bride-to-be to the altar without throttling her.

      Chapter 2

      Some time later, Lane wheeled the coach onto the London road. His route, as far as Bethany could discern, had ranged over a series of ill-kept tracks in an attempt to remain hidden from everyone in the Stanworth area. The jostling she experienced in the rickety vehicle surpassed her earlier imaginings, and she prayed the smoother surface of the highway would bring some relief to her aching head. It did not, but the sight of Lord Harcourt bracing himself against the squabs next to her proved obscurely comforting. She stiffened her spine, determined not to complain.

      As the coach traveled farther and farther south, her resolve dwindled. The ache in her head spread down and formed an alarmingly familiar heaviness in her stomach. For some time, deep breaths of the chilled air seeping around the window frame kept her nausea at bay. When the fresh air no longer helped, she turned to her new fiancé, trying not to show her distress.

      “Excuse me, my lord. I believe I should like to avail myself of the vinaigrette you offered earlier.” His only reply was an arched brow, but he produced it willingly enough. Bethany took it from his outstretched hand and held it under her nose, inhaling the acrid odor thankfully. The leaden ache in her stomach receded slightly, but she feared her relief would only be temporary. Attempting to distract herself, she spoke again.

      “Will it take long to reach London?”

      “We should arrive near midday tomorrow,” he replied. Bethany felt another lurch in her midriff, this time caused by the reminder that she would be spending the night in an inn with a stranger, fiancé or not. At her choice, she reminded herself firmly.

      Her companion looked out the window. “I believe we have another two hours of daylight. We should start looking for a decent place to stay before dusk.”

      Bethany nodded, hoping her stomach would remain calm that long. She cast about for another subject to speak of. “Where exactly are your lodgings in London?”

      “Not far from Somerset House.” His sharp glance in her direction belied his civil answer.

      “What are they like?” she persisted.

      “So many questions, so suddenly,” he mused softly. “Not thinking of changing your mind, are you?” He grasped her jaw and forced her to look into his furious green eyes.

      “As if that would do any good now,” she gasped. “It’s too late to turn back.”

      “Aye. You’d do well to remember that.” As his gaze flickered over her face and down her body, she realized he was not referring to the distance they had traveled. She supposed she should feel threatened, but another violent bump in the road caused her stomach to reel in misery.

      After pausing for another sniff at the vinaigrette, she asked, “My lord, do you think we might start looking for a place to stay soon?”

      “Now you’re eager to stop? You’re rushing your fences, my girl. Few men are stupid enough to think even a woman can change her mind that quickly.” His handsome features contorted into a sneer.

      “I am not changing my mind, sir,” she said stiffly, trying to hang on to what dignity she could. “But I feel most unwell and would be grateful not be shaken about like dice in a box.”

      “Unwell? You can’t be trying to gammon me with that excuse.”

      “It is not an excuse,” Bethany stated in between deep breaths. “And if you do not stop this horrible contraption very soon, the consequences will be unpleasant.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Exceedingly so.”

      “Oh my God.” Lord Harcourt immediately opened his window and shouted wildly for Lane to stop the coach.

      Bethany did not wait for it to come to a complete halt. As soon as possible, she wrestled the door open and jumped onto the ground. Desperate for privacy, she headed toward a line of trees several paces from the road. But before she took ten steps, she doubled over, stomach heaving.

      As she finished retching, she became aware of two arms firmly supporting her. Lord Harcourt murmured into her ear as she tried to compose herself. “Shhh, there now. There’s a girl.” The stream of phrases meant nothing, but his deep voice soothed her so that she ceased shaking. A folded square of clean linen was pressed into her fingers. He helped her straighten up, holding her against his chest until she could stand on her own. Even then, he kept a steadying hand at her elbow.

      Humiliated, Bethany could not bring herself to look anywhere but at the dead leaves around her feet as she wiped her mouth with Lord Harcourt’s kerchief. One of his elegantly shaped hands slid into her line of sight, holding a small flask.

      “Drink,” he ordered. Too ashamed of her weakness to argue, she opened it. The pungent odor of strong spirits nearly gagged her and the fumes brought tears to her eyes. She took a swallow, swirled it around in her mouth, and spit it out.

      “God’s teeth, woman! That’s French brandy,” he exclaimed.

      “It wouldn’t have stayed down,” she said weakly. “I’m sorry. It did help get the taste out of my mouth. Thank you, my lord.” She still could not bear to raise her head.

      She felt him shake with repressed laughter. “Considering that we are betrothed and have just shared a highly intimate experience, I think it’s time you called me Richard.”

      Bethany looked at him for a long minute. Then she bent over and retched at his feet.

      His lordship scrambled out of the way, mindful of his boots, but slipped a supporting arm about her waist once her stomach had emptied itself. He sighed and offered the brandy flask once more, wincing when she spit a second mouthful on the ground.

      He peered down at her quizzically. “Under the circumstances, I shan’t complain, but I am curious. Do you often become violently unwell on long journeys?”

      Her stiffening spine assured him of her recovery. When she pulled away, he let her go easily and stood, waiting for her answer.

      “Only in badly sprung vehicles.” Her frosty stare swept over him. “Where did you unearth such a monstrosity?”

      “Simply by telling the livery stable what I could afford, love.” The sun had dipped lower in the west while his unwilling betrothed dealt with her indisposition. Bandits and worse haunted the roads after dark, and Richard wanted to find a place for the night before much more time passed. He bowed and indicated the coach. “Your monstrosity awaits.”

      She did not argue, although neither did she appear remotely enthusiastic about resuming their drive. He watched her square her shoulders and walk to the vehicle. Hiding a smile, he followed.

      As they approached, the patient driver greeted them affably. “Mistress done casting up her accounts?” He climbed down from the box and opened the door. “Here you go, my lady. We’ll take it a bit slower now.”

      Bethany could not meet the man’s eyes despite his kindly meant words. Richard took pity on his companion’s obvious embarrassment and assisted her into the carriage before addressing his servant in a low voice. “We’ll stop at the Bell and Moon. We can reach it before sundown.”

      “Should we take the lady there, milord?” Lane scratched his graying head. “It ain’t a place what gets much of the