Free Temptation and Surrender by Stephanie Laurens Page A

know.
    After a moment, she looked ahead; looking at his profile, all hard edges and planes currently set in uncompromising lines, wasn’t an occupation likely to soothe her overactive nerves. “We hail from York originally. As I mentioned we’ve traveled quite a bit—we stayed in Leicestershire for some time before I took on those positions for which you saw the references.”
    There was a certain challenge—a certain thrill—in successfully skating around the whole truth. “The tavern at Wylands was quite lovely.” She continued to color in her supposed background, inventing freely—filling the time.
    Jonas stopped listening. He knew her references were false, ergo the memories she was now relating were fictional, fabrications. But she’d revealed more than he’d expected.
    Thinking back over their conversations, he noted she hadn’t reacted to his mention of the Cynsters. She had no knowledge of the family, which suggested she’d never moved among the haut ton. Combined with her father having attended Pembroke College, that gave him a clearer idea of the social strata to which she belonged—and she’d just told him she hailed from York. That, he thought, had been true.
    And if she hadn’t known that the twins weren’t being educated, then her father must have died when the twins were quite young—say between seven to ten years ago—and she’d been acting as head of her family ever since. That was plain in the way she spoke of her siblings, in her attitude to Henry and his to her.
    He glanced briefly at her; she was still holding forth about the inn at Wylands. Looking forward, he inwardly debated her age—twenty-four or five, at the most twenty-six, given her other sister was twenty-three. It was her maturity that made her seem older, gained no doubt through having to look after her siblings from an early age. That and…she’d definitely had experience of holding gentlemen at bay.
    Those barriers she’d erected against him were too practiced; she was too watchful, too aware of the possibilities at all times.
    It bothered him that she felt she needed to be so wary, so careful around gentlemen, especially him. It smacked of a loss of innocence, not in the biblical sense but in a practical, day-to-day sense, which in his book was regrettable.
    Just how, where, and why she’d been subjected to unwanted attentions he didn’t know—but for some reason he didn’t comprehend, he felt compelled to learn the answers.
    Felt compelled to…what? Defend her?
    To his considerable surprise, he didn’t—couldn’t—dismiss that idea, much less the feeling behind it.
    Which made him feel distinctly wary as well.
    He drove on, her voice pleasant, almost musical, in his ears, and wondered what he should do—would do—next.
    Wondered what he truly wanted.
    Wondered how to achieve that.
    By the time the first cottages of Colyton appeared, he’d made up his mind.
    He needed to learn a great deal more about Miss Emily Beauregard. He needed to get answers; he needed to learn her secrets.
    She would, of course, resist revealing them.
    But he knew he could unsettle her by playing on the physical attraction between them.
    Against that, he didn’t want to lose her as his innkeeper. Given the strength of her barriers, given what he’d thus far seen of her will, he felt fairly certain that if he pushed too hard, she wouldn’t hesitate to pack her bags and leave.
    Leave him as well as Colyton, and that definitely wouldn’t do.
    He turned into the forecourt before the Red Bells and drew his horses to a halt. He stepped down, pinning her with a glance—defying her to try to jump down again.
    She waited, not happily; that she was steeling herself to weather his touch without reacting was, to him, obvious.
    She rose as he neared. He reached for her, grasped her waist, and swung her down.
    And didn’t let her go.
    Not immediately.
    Couldn’t resist, despite his best intentions, taking just a moment to look into her