Mary Wine - Improper Seduction

“Quite so.” Now her voice was firm, her chin steady as she glared at him. “You are making far too much of such a simple matter.”

“Only because you seem so intent on denying me the truth of the matter. I see no reason why you cannot answer me directly.”

He released her, frustration darkening his features. The action surprised her, yet also threatened to shake her composure as well. She was far too aware of how warm his touch had been, too knowing of the fact that he chose to release her and that she was not strong enough to force her will upon him.

Or was she? Marie’s words suddenly rose to mind. Challenging Curan’s strength with her “strength” was unwise. Drawing a slow breath, she pushed her pride aside and sweetened her voice. She forced a soft smile onto her lips and lowered her eyelashes so that her eyes were partly veiled.

“It is only a trifle. What is a bit of bread and cheese when I have done little the entire day? For certain there are more important matters for your attention.”

He hooked his hands into his belt, his lips pressing into a hard line. “Do not try to placate me, Bridget. It was two meals missed, for you never broke your fast this morning.”

Stubborn man, so determined to have his way, but his keen observance of her was unnerving. This attention felt so intimate. Drawing a deep breath, Bridget continued smiling at him. His eyebrows lowered; the hands gripping his belt turned white.

“As you will. The wagon sways, sir. I have not been to sea since I was a girl, but I found the sensation quite similar. It was not so great a burden that I felt the need to delay the progress of your entire army by telling you that it unsettled my stomach.”

Surprise crossed his features at the simple honesty of her response.

“I am quite hungry now, I do assure you.” With another soft flutter of her eyelashes, she turned and resumed walking down the hill. It was a bold move, but she kept her chin level and her pace even. Marie had been confident and smooth. Still, Bridget felt his eyes on her.

She made the bottom of the rise, and the sounds of men talking grew. The horses were quiet now, the animals eagerly chomping on their feed. Smoke teased her nose, coupled with the scent of roasting meat. That smell drew a rumble from her belly, loud and long, betraying just how empty her stomach was. Now that she thought about it, she had not supped the night before, either. The scent of food actually made her quiver. Her pace quickened; the desire to make it through the last screen of trees became intense. Was there truly fresh meat? Her belly grumbled once again.

“We need more practice on how to deal with one another, Bridget.”

Curan spoke next to her ear. She felt his breath, warm against her skin, and shivered. He caught her once again, this time sliding a solid arm around her waist to stop her. He plucked her out of her steps and pulled her against his larger frame.

“I, for one, am most curious to discover just how well your confidence holds up when there is nothing to prevent us from being completely intimate.”

He stood flush against her back, his body hard and large behind her. Every little sensation intensified because she could not see him. The idea of him was far more powerful than the man she saw when facing him. Gooseflesh raced across her skin, and she couldn’t quite decide what to do with her hands. Her fingers released the fabric of her dress and sought out the hard arm holding her in place. But without gloves, her fingertips seemed more receptive. She felt his body heat through his clothing, and her hand abandoned his arm.

A soft chuckle shook his chest, and she recalled it from when she had bathed him. A moment later his fingertips gently stroked the bare skin of her neck.

“Uncertain, Bridget?”

Though his voice was teasing, the inference of his comment annoyed her. There was no thinking through her actions; she was too agitated by the proximity of his body. She jerked against his hold, her hand clawing at the arm imprisoning her.

“Of course I am. What think you? That I have been free with men?”

Her efforts to free herself were wasted. Too much strength rested in him, yet he controlled it, his embrace remaining solid without hurting her.

He stroked her neck again. She was keenly aware of each fingertip. Her own skin, sensitive to his lightest touch, bloomed with warmth under his touch. The chill of the evening quickly became soothing as her body heated.

“I wonder about what you have been doing with a courtesan.”

He spoke the words softly, but there was no mistaking the sharp edge to his tone. Bridget froze, standing still in his embrace.

“My mother told you about Marie’s lessons?”

He grunted, which was no true answer. A moment later she was free. She could still hear his men on the other side of the trees, but she was too curious to know the answer to her question, so she turned to look at Curan.

“Lessons? What sort of a mother has her daughter tutored by a courtesan?”

His tone implied that he disapproved, yet his expression remained unreadable.

“Why didn’t you ask my mother that question?”

His eyes brightened with his temper. “If I had known of it while still beneath her roof, I would have.” Thick determination edged each word. “My men found your teacher on the road, intent on spending another day instructing you.”

“Didn’t you ask Marie that question, my lord?”

His expression tightened. “She refused to speak upon the matter. So I ask you, Bridget. What manner of lessons were you taking from her hand?”

Even Marie’s soft instructions to stroke men’s egos didn’t keep Bridget calm. Her annoyance burned bright. Her neck was still warm and tingling where he’d stroked her, driving home how well he knew a woman’s body. Yet he was displeased that she might know a thing or two about how to touch him.

The arrogance of it all.

“Frank ones, sir. So that I would not find myself quivering like a ninny when my groom removes his nightshirt. Somehow I doubt that you are unaware of what I look like beneath my stays, and yet you stand there displeased by the notion that my mother made sure that I was ready to take my position as wife with confidence instead of dread. If that displeases you, set me back on the road home. I am sure you can find some bride who will sniffle like a frightened child, since that appears to be what men think they desire from marriage.”

His unreadable mask transformed into an incredulous expression. “You play the docile lady well, yet I see it is not your true nature.”

“If you do not wish to hear me speak plainly, do not address me in private. Be assured that I know how to appear meek so that the egos of my male relatives are not bruised while others watch.”

His lips curved up into a grin that was anything but comforting. Instead the expression sent a shiver down Bridget’s spine.

“Yet in private is the only true place for us to discuss what a courtesan taught you.” His eyes narrowed. “Show me.”

Bridget plucked at her skirt nervously. He was playful once more, but she couldn’t miss the warning bell ringing in the back of her mind. “I do not know what you mean.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “Show me what manner of instruction prompted you to stroke my cock.”

His words were intended to prod her into making a hasty confession. Bridget felt her face heat. She pressed her lips into a hard line as her hands fisted in the fabric of her surcoat. A memory of Marie and her steady poise rose to mingle with her temper. She rubbed her fingers against the wool fabric of her dress to distract her from her rising emotions. She needed her poise now, more than ever before, for this man was deadly accurate in the barbs he cast.