The Honourable Fortune Hunter (Scandalous Miss Brightwells 5)

Lizzy felt herself melting. He was so gentle and respectful, and yes, she really did want to reassure herself that an extension of the kiss they’d shared beneath the mistletoe would decide her, unequivocally, on the merits of marriage with Harry.

“Yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes and tilting her face so that he had access to her lips.

She shivered in expectation; her mind consciously blanked to all but the heat of his body, the pressure of his hand cupping her cheek and then…

His lips upon hers.

She sighed, opening up her lips to his, conscious of his body pressing closer, gently pushing her backwards until her back was against the stone wall of their dark, intimate, trysting place.

She felt her body begin to respond. He was handsome and honest about his dealings, she reminded herself. And he was being gentle. She liked that.

/> Yes, she was going to marry him if kissing him was like this.

“You like it?” His voice was breathless, his body pressing harder against her. She could feel something pushing into her stomach, and barely thought to wonder what it was until his hand moved to the front of his buckskins and began to fumble between them.

It felt strange and uncomfortably intimate and Lizzy tried to move her mouth away to take a breath—and to take stock—but he pushed her back; his mouth fused to hers, it seemed.

She felt a moment of suffocating panic, but almost at the same time reminded herself that perhaps this was the threshold at which Susan had baulked; and that this was the reason she’d been bitterly derided by her husband.

And Lizzy knew how insipid and lacking in courage Susan was. No, if this was the test Lizzy must pass in order to satisfy herself about her marriage bargain, she would do it.

So, she let her body slacken just sufficiently to let him do what he wanted. And she let him continue kissing her, even though concern and discomfort were beginning to curdle deep in her belly.

Then she felt his hand on her thigh and was tugged slightly downwards as he—what was he doing?—felt for her ankle before his palm was sliding up her leg, her skirts were rucked up, and now his fingers were probing—dear lord…between her legs.

Her mind was in disarray. What was happening? There was a disconnect between what she’d thought was happening and what really was happening, and she had no idea what it was.

She’d enjoyed the kissing to the extent that she’d hoped she would. But now, the unwelcome things Harry was doing to her had jerked her back to reality and made her realise just how much more she’d enjoyed Mr McAlister’s kisses.

She didn’t like this horrible, intimate, crass fumbling up her legs.

Yet with his mouth so firmly upon hers, and his actions so single-minded, he did not seem to register her attempt at protest.

She tried to push him away, but his bulk loomed over her with even more forcefulness.

“No Harry, I don’t want—” She managed to drag her mouth away to say the words, but she saw in his eyes that he registered nothing. His expression was glazed while he seemed to be working at something in his breeches.

Something that was now against her thigh.

She was terrified. What was happening?

She tried to scream. Harry wasn’t listening to her. There was no tenderness in his kiss. It was rough. His movements were self-interested and brutal.

And, she suddenly realised with awful clarity—he was about to ruin her.

If ruin was this rough manhandling with all this poking and prodding, she wanted nothing to do with it.

She’d thought love was about prolonged, tender kisses.

What a fool she was.

“Please, Harry!” she whimpered. Then, when he ignored her, “I don’t want—” Her breath came in frightened gasps, and she wriggled ineffectually. But she was like a butterfly, pinned to the wall.

“Relax, my darling. Relax and you’ll enjoy it,” he muttered between kisses. “Let me show you how much I truly love and adore you.”

Lizzy kicked and squirmed and managed to tear her mouth away to protest more forcefully this time. “I want you to—”

His mouth fused with hers on the word stop. Her nightmare was not about to end. Harry said he loved her. He’d told her this was what love was. Love. Marriage. A union of body and soul.