To Be Seduced. Stephens Ann Sophia

words. Instead her arm slid to his chest, feeling the heartbeat pounding beneath her palm. She gulped for air against his neck, inhaling the faint lavender scent of his shirt and neck cloth.

      Moments later, he reached the settle, pulling her onto his lap. Before she could utter a word, he bent to her lips again, this time merely brushing them before moving on to whisper her name against her cheek.

      When he nuzzled his way to an exquisitely sensitive place on her neck, she gasped and dropped her head back over his arm to allow greater access. Heat gathered in her stomach at his groan of pleasure.

      Overwhelmed by the new sensations coursing through her, she stroked his hair, marveling at the softness of the dark gold strands. Only when his hand slipped beneath the kerchief shielding her breasts did she struggle to push him away.

      “Enough!” She looked into his darkened green eyes inches from hers. Horrified, she realized that her kerchief was nearly undone while Richard’s neck cloth hung loose. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with her pounding heart. His arms tightened around her, pulling her more firmly onto the ridge of flesh pressed up against her bottom.

      “Sweet Bethany.” He rocked his hips under her, and her breath caught. “Let me come to you tonight, lovely girl.” His free hand stroked her neck. “We can be wed as soon as we get to London tomorrow.”

      “No! We can’t.” She scrambled to her feet despite the fear that her shaking knees would not support her. She did not know if the angry cast of his face resulted from a trick of the firelight or his own feelings. In any case, she did not dare give in to the carnal urges sweeping over her. Despite the evidence of his need for her money, she would be at a disadvantage until he placed a wedding ring on her finger. She seized on their earlier conversation.

      “I won’t be married in rags.” Cringing inwardly at the incredulity gathering on his features, she tossed her head. “As you said, a woman’s first concern is dressing well. I shan’t marry you until I can do so in something other a travel-stained dress and an old cloak.”

      “I wholeheartedly approve your plans, madam, but that has nothing to do with our more private relations.” He unfolded himself from the settle. Although her height prevented him from towering over her, she had to look up a few inches to meet his glare. Unnerved, she stepped back a few paces.

      “Tell me you don’t enjoy my touch.” She dropped her eyes at his taunt. “Or that you don’t wish to explore my body the way I want to discover yours.” Bethany stared at the floor.

      “Please don’t make me do this yet.” She raised her head and entreated him. With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed her cloak from the back of the settle and tossed it at her. Mechanically she caught it.

      “Cover yourself. I’ll take you back to your bedchamber.” She nodded at the curt order, not trusting herself to reply as she wrapped the faded wool around her.

      He strode to the door and wrenched it open. Tight-lipped, he awaited her approach. Grasping her arm painfully, he accompanied her past the cheerful crowd in the taproom.

      At her chamber, he unexpectedly pushed her back against the door. The night hid his face, but Bethany could feel every inch of his body as he leaned into her, pressing her to the hard wood.

      “Tell me you won’t dream of this, little Puritan.” His whisper warmed her cheek before he ravaged her mouth. She felt his triumphant smile as she instinctively softened beneath him. She heard him fumble with the door handle. Before she knew it, she stumbled backward into the room.

      His eyes blazed in the light of a single candle, but he did not follow her inside. “I bid you good night, madam.” With those cold words, he slammed the door shut, leaving Bethany alone with her jumbled thoughts.

      Trembling, she hastily undressed down to her shift and climbed between the sheets of the feather bed. Blowing out the candle, she tried unsuccessfully to convince herself that she shook from cold and fear.

      One story below, Richard crossed the inn yard to the stables. He swore under his breath as he stumbled over a stray piece of firewood. Carefully easing the door open, he slipped inside. A horse whickered, reminding him to stop at the stalls where his hired animals rested. He trusted Lane’s report that they had been fed, watered, and groomed, but they had served him well this day. Depositing a dried apple from supper in each manger, he made his way to the hewn bars of wood that served as a ladder into the loft.

      His sour mood worsened when a splinter jammed its way into his forefinger halfway up. Damning his lean purse, his debts, and his stubborn fiancée, he heaved himself up and made a place in the clean hay. A few yards away, Lane snored blissfully.

      Wrapping himself in his cloak, he stretched out on his back, hands behind his head. Thinking of Bethany only worsened his temper. Visions of her fair skin and coppery hair vied with that of her curled up on a soft mattress. He knew not which he desired more, the girl or the bed.

      “Curst virgin!” With that final imprecation, he rolled over and tried to sleep.

      Chapter 3

      Bethany arose heavy-eyed and guilt-ridden the next morning. She had tossed and turned all night even on Mistress Gatwell’s comfortable bed as she recalled her shameless behavior. In the normal way of things, she would give thanks to marry a man whose touch pleased her so. Certainly Mr. Ilkston’s had brought her no pleasure.

      She could not help but wonder what Lord Harcourt thought of a woman who gave in to a few kisses so easily. Her reluctance to face him caused her to linger in her room after she had dressed and penned a note to her mother.

      Eventually she forced herself to descend to the yard. Her betrothed stood in the chill winter air speaking to the landlord. He threw her a lowering glance and told her to break her fast so they could leave.

      Inside the now empty common room, Mistress Gatwell handed her a trencher of day-old bread and a bit of cheese. After requesting the obliging soul to post her letter, she nibbled her food by the window, observing her betrothed as he tossed off the last of a tankard of ale. She wondered if he had eaten anything with it.

      They surely made a fine pair this morning, she reflected. Her skirts fell limply to her feet after yesterday’s travel. His rumpled clothing looked as if he’d slept in it, and there were smudges under his eyes to match her own.

      Lane guided the creaky old coach up to the pathway leading to the door. Richard exchanged a few words with him and turned to pay the innkeeper. Bethany hastily backed away from the window, hoping he had not caught her watching him.

      Almost immediately she careened into a solid mass. Two hands grasped her elbows to steady her, and she found herself looking into the brown eyes of a man nearly a hand span taller than Richard. The thick brown curls of a periwig cascaded over his shoulders, and the fine muslin shirt under the voluminous black coat with green silk facings bespoke a man of substance.

      “Pray, madam, forgive my clumsiness!” The gentleman bowed from the waist and swept his feathered hat over the green ribbons and silver buckles decorating his shoes. The country-bred girl stifled a giggle at the sight of matching ribbons adorning his knees. “I thought I saw a dear friend of mine in the yard, and crowded too close to the window trying to see if I was correct. Are you unhurt?”

      Distracted by his sartorial grandeur, she scrambled to remember her manners. “Entirely unhurt, sir. I fear it is I who must apologize for not watching where I stepped. I must have been woolgathering not to have noticed you.”

      Apparently taking the words as a compliment, he bowed once more. “You are too kind, dear lady. I should have made my presence known to you. My acquaintances often accuse me of being so quiet I nearly sneak up on them.” As he said the last words, an unexpected gleam of amusement lit the dark eyes.

      “Mistress Bethany!” Mistress Gatwell bustled up to say that her brother awaited her in the yard. Exchanging a last nod with the beribboned gentleman, she left the inn’s warmth for the cold winter air.

      She sighed at the old vehicle and faced