Free Seducing the Beast by Jayne Fresina

again. “I thought you were interested in the inside, not just his appearance?”
    “The condition of a person’s teeth reveals much about their character and personal cleanliness,” she replied primly.
    Another low chuckle built in his throat and he struggled to contain it. “What are you doing here, wench? The truth now!”
    His arm neatly bandaged, she sat back on her heels, sighing deeply, the eager swell of her bosom caressed by the gentle firelight. “Someone has to fight for justice.”
    Warily perusing the woman kneeling before him, he wondered if she did this sort of thing often. How many others did she entice like this?
    She smiled complacently. “Are you not glad I came to amuse you again, before I leave London?”
    Leave London? Oh no, no, no. “Where do you go?”
    “Somewhere.” She laughed, the lush sound invading his quiet chambers with so much sudden life the dark, staid, paneled walls trembled with indignation. He flexed his fingers, easing the tension, hastily regrouping his thoughts.
    Returning to the little tapestry foot stool, she continued her interrogation that would put the Spanish Inquisition to shame. “Why do you serve the earl, if he’s so horrid?”
    “I have no choice.”
    “You’re an indentured servant?”
    He nodded. “Some of us are born with a duty, a responsibility. Mine is to the Swafford name.”
    “I think it makes you terribly unhappy.”
    He managed a terse, “I’m no less happy in my life than any other man in his.” As he reached for his wine goblet, she leaned forward again at the same moment. Surprised, he fell back in his chair, empty handed.
    “You never smile.” Her voice was almost musical, the timbre deceptively soft, but resonating deeply in each dark, neglected corner of his being.
    He clamped his lips firmly shut.
    “Do you not know how?” she persisted, eyes shining. “Shall I teach you?”
    There was no escape, he was trapped. “Ridiculous wench. Leave me be.”
    “It won’t hurt.” She chuckled. “Try it. One little smile.” Sliding forward she put her hands on the arms of his chair and he froze. How long had it been for him? Too long. If she came much closer she would put him over the edge. With narrowed eyes, he quickly scanned the distance to the woven straw rug by the fire. The bed might be more comfortable, with room to spread out, but the closer convenience of that rug would do to start. Very shortly the natural predator within would obscure any last gentlemanly cavil. She would discover the truth about his impotency, first hand.
    But she moved first, tipping from the footstool onto her knees, forcing her way between his thighs. “Come, sir, I see the twitch, right…” she pressed a finger to his unshaven cheek “…there.”
    It was not the only twitch she caused.
    Her teasing ended in a startled yelp as he caught her trespassing finger and trapped it within his fist. “Very well then wench, let’s to bed. Or do you prefer the floor here, before the fire?”
    “I told you--I’m saving myself for your master.”
    He growled. “If you please me, I’ll speak to the earl on your behalf.”
    She laughed again, a deep, husky, wanton sound connecting instantly with some needy part of his soul. Watching a faint pulse at the side of her neck, he wanted to press his lips to it.
    “I think you drank too much wine,” she said, mischievous dimple appearing again in her cheek.
    No. He hadn’t drunk any wine. She kept preventing it.
    “’Tis not the wine, ’tis you.” The war drums of his heartbeat rumbled another call to advance. Why restrain it when she made no masquerade of her purpose there in his chambers? He sneered. “Lost your gumption?”
    She clambered to her feet, brushing down her skirt. “Now you’re being silly.”
    He scowled, outraged, speechless.
    The rotten little tease headed for the door, leaving him without his permission. No one ever left his presence until he decreed it.
    Especially not her.

Chapter 7
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