The Duchess and the Highwayman (Hearts in Hiding 1)

“The station to which you’d like to be elevated and which you are currently doing an admirable job of emulating.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, it’s two now, is it. And how might I benefit from my generosity since you refuse to speak to Sir Roderick? If I tell Mrs Withins to send for a girl to fit you for two dresses, I’ll want some enjoyment for doing it.” His mouth quirked and his voice thickened. He was, of course, li

ke any other man playing with her, only right now she found the experience more entertaining than frightening. With Ulrick and Wentworth, she’d had as much free will as one of the butterflies in their collection. But in no way was she bound to Mr Redding. She could leave at any time. It would have been a liberating thought if she’d had anywhere to go. “Just how much do you want a new dress, Phoebe?”

Phoebe assessed him with equal interest as his eyes raked her body. She took in his highly polished Hessian boots with their fashionable tassels into which were tucked buff riding breeches. Riding breeches which clung to his shapely, muscled, thighs as if they’d been painted on. She pursed her lips as her eyes traveled north, lingering on his groin which, before her very eyes, began to show the obvious signs of pleasure at her interest.

Shocked and embarrassed, she tore her eyes away with a gasp, the heat burning her cheeks as his mocking laugh rang in her ears.

“A bold miss you are, to be sure.” His voice had the consistency of treacle, and the smooth assurance that he would have what he wanted, but he was enjoying the process of bending her to his will.

The reflection, coming so soon after her confidence that she held the upper hand, made her thrust out her chin and declare angrily, “Ye want Mr Wentworth? I’m not askin’ fer much. Jest somethin’ decent ter clothe me, sir. Ye insult me if ye think I’ll…”

She might have bartered her body for her husband, for Wentworth, but she was still enough of a lady to be ashamed to put into words the baseness of what they were negotiating.

“…You’ll what, Phoebe?” He rose slowly, the humor just beneath the surface, and it riled her.

“A kiss fer a garment that will aid yer aims, sir!” she ground out, stepping forward and thrusting herself into his arms, twining her arms around his neck and closing her mouth over his.

She felt his surprise as his body reacted, first with a ripple of defense at her suddenness, then with a flare of something else—a different kind of surprise. A surprise that emulated hers, as his arms went around her, and he pulled her against him with a sudden movement that belied his mocking humor of earlier.

Her immediate thought had been that she would make him enjoy this. Yes, for once she would be in charge. And then, without warning, something extraordinary happened. Heat filled her, a slow, mesmerizing sensation that first curled lazily through her body, then fired her senses as it powered through her groin, twined through her heart, and snapped at her nerve endings.

She took a shallow breath as he deepened the kiss, his tongue breaching her first line of defense: the portcullis of her teeth that she’d intended would keep him at bay.

But as his tongue began to explore the inside of her mouth which unthinkingly, wantonly, she opened to give him greater access, she found herself pushing herself against him, her body flowering with willingness while he too showed every sign of being equally enthralled.

A brief kiss. That’s all it should have been. A kiss to show that she had what he wanted, but would withhold it.

That this was a business transaction, that was all.

And yet, it was enslaving. Euphoric. Her head swam, and moisture heated her inner thighs. She should push him away, but as he continued to plunder her mouth, and his hands roamed over her body, she was his slave.

He now had her back arched over the back of the sofa.

“By God, you’re a vixen, Phoebe.” His breath thrummed against her lips. She felt his hands grip the bulky wool of her skirts, pushing them up past her thighs while he pressed more heavily against her.

He thought he had her acquiescence.

He did not!

“I said a kiss!” She tore herself out of his grip, angry now. Angry at herself as much as him for taking such liberties. “If ye think I’m so cheap as ter barter me body fer a mere dress, then ye can think again, Mr Reddin’.”

He looked shocked and surprised. At himself? “I’ve insulted you, Phoebe,” he muttered, raking his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Ye have.” It was foolish to allow herself to succumb to tears. She was stronger than that. Still, the disappointment ran deep. He was just like any man. He’d take what he could and damn the consequences. She was a servant. Below him…she didn’t matter.

Yet wasn’t every man just the same, and hadn’t she led him on? He’d push for what he could get. Men were like that.

She shrugged off his placating hand on her shoulder. When she glanced up, she could almost imagine she saw genuine contrition. She sniffed. “I s’pose most men don’t apologize. Wentworth didn’t.”

Now he looked truly mortified. “He…really tried to force you?”

“Ha!” Her lip curled, and she put her hands to her face. “Didn’t I say? Wentworth took what ‘e could get an’ pushed fer what ‘e believed ‘e were entitled to. Most men believe they’re entitled ter whatever they wish fer.” She stopped, caution screaming in her head. She mustn’t confess. But she could give him some of the truth. She rubbed her hand across the back of her eyes. “‘Tis not a kind world fer women. But then, what would ye know ‘bout that, Mr Reddin’? Ye’re a man, an’ a wealthy one ter boot. Ye’d know little of what it is ter be vulnerable to the desires of others.”

She stopped when she saw he was staring at her in some amazement. “You should be on the stage, my dear, reciting that perfect piece of prose in such ladylike tones. “You’d know little of what it is to be vulnerable to the desires of others. Are you parroting your mistress?”

Phoebe gave herself a mental shake as she prepared her answer. “My mistress and I were…close,” she whispered.

“And where do you suppose your mistress has gone now? She murdered a man. She has good reason to fear for her life.”