Page 16 of Harpy of the Ton
“Hello, boy,” she said softly, lifting her hand to rub the animal’s nose.
Lawrence’s chance had come. He strode forward and caught her arm, and she let out a shriek, her eyes bright with fear.
“How dare you touch me!”
“How dareI?” Lawrence let out a harsh laugh. “After whatyou’vedone? Were you a man, I’d horsewhip you in the village square.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she spat. “You’re nothing but a common laborer.”
“And what areyou?” he sneered. “Nothing but a spoiled wench who vents her spite on those she considers beneath her, so she can feel better about her pathetic life!”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought he saw moisture in them, before they flashed with fury.
“You’re nothing!” she cried. “Nothing—do you hear me?”
“Is that why you burned my belongings?”
“I never touched them.”
“Spiteful mare! Your servant may have destroyed my things—my tools and my papers. But it was atyourdirection—just what I’d expect from your sort.”
“Mysort?”
“Yes, Lady Arabella,” he said, thrusting his face close to hers. “A pampered miss with no knowledge of the world, nor understanding of hard work or kindness.”
“I see,” she said coldly, only a slight tremor in her voice betraying her fear. “You hate me because I’m better than you.”
He let out a laugh. “I don’t hate you, madam,” he said. “You don’t matter enough to hate. You’re nothing—a woman who seeks gratification from inflicting misery on others merely to satisfy your own joyless existence. If I feel anything for you—it’spity.”
Her eyes widened in horror, then she blinked and they flashed with defiance. A little pulse of need threaded through his body. What might it be like to take such a woman as his own—to tame that spirit in his bed?
But she was not for him.
Or was she?
He pulled her close and caught the faint scent of smoke—evidence of her crime—together with the sweet, sharp undercurrent of the most delicious scent known to man.
The raw scent of female desire—a scent that not even the most accomplished harlot could fake, nor could the haughtiest lady disguise.
He pushed her against the stable door, and a fire of need ignited inside him at the expression in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated until her eyes were almost black—yet, deep within, sparks of desire flashed like stars, beckoning to him.
Sweet heaven!All that passion imprisoned by years of decorum and poise—most likely beaten into her by a governess, or that aunt of hers. And now, before him, her passion swelled, bursting to be let loose from her stays.
Then she arched her back in an almost imperceptible gesture—but nevertheless, an unmistakable gesture of pure need.
She wanted him.
He caressed her neck, relishing the feel of her smooth porcelain skin against his work-roughened fingers. Her lips parted and she let out a small whimper—her body’s cry of need.
Then he dipped his fingers beneath her neckline, running the tips across the top of her breast, which seemed to swell at his touch. He slipped his hand in and cupped her breast. Her eyes closed, and she leaned toward him, as if in offering.
“Oh…” She let out a soft whisper filled with wonder.
Bloody hell—he’d never witnessed such pure need. Of her innocence, there could be no doubt—the surprise in her voice told him she’d yet to experience pleasure at a man’s hands. But the little pip beading against his palm spoke of a passion waiting to be unleashed.
Oh, to be the one to unleash it! Would that lecherous duke to whom she was about to shackle herself know how to elicit her pleasure? Would he even care?
He gave her breast a gentle squeeze, and she let out a little mewl as her nipple hardened further.
