Free The Sherbrooke Bride by Catherine Coulter

even when she felt one of his long fingers slide upward into her. She yelled, and he kissed her, hoping the carriage driver hadn’t heard her.
    â€œA delightful virgin, a beauty, and a spoiled handful,” he said, his breath warm on her mouth. “That’s what I married. I’m not complaining, don’t misunderstand me. I had an excellent idea of your character before I ever nibbled that sweet spot just behind your left ear. But I will beat you, you know.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t! No, I shan’t allow such a thing! Stop, damn you! Stop doing that!”
    â€œOh yes, I will beat you,” he said as his thumb found her flesh and he began to fondle her. “And I have no intention of stopping. You will see that I shall do whatever I wish to with you.” She was undoubtedly beautiful, absolutely exquisite, even with her eyes near to crossing in rage, and truth be told, glazed in utter incomprehension, for she’d never encountered his like before. She tried to jerk away from him. He merely removed his hand, pulled up her gown, her petticoats, and her shift, then bent her back so that she was lying across his lap against his arm. She was wearing her black leather slippers and stockings that were just above her knees, heldthere with black garters. From there on, she was naked to her waist, and he looked down at her and smiled.
    â€œVery nice,” he said only and splayed his fingers over her white belly. “Very nice indeed. I fancy I’ll keep you. Were you a trout I wouldn’t toss you back into the water. No, indeed.”
    â€œYou cannot do this, Tony! My father will challenge you to a duel, he will cut your ears off, he will—I’m not a damned fish!”
    â€œDearest wife, your father wouldn’t dream of telling me, your legal husband, master, owner, and lord, not to give you pleasure. And that is what I will do if you would simply close your quite lovely mouth and attend my fingers.”
    She opened her mouth to yell again at him, then realized the driver would probably hear her. She felt sunk with embarrassment, so mortified she held herself quiet until his fingers began to caress her in that very private place he’d touched the previous night. She hadn’t protested much then for she’d still been feeling wicked, and it was dark in the bedchamber, and truth be told, she’d felt very powerful—ah, she’d eloped to Gretna Green!—so she hadn’t fully realized . . . simply hadn’t known that he would want . . . but now, now it was different. It wasn’t black as pitch. It was daylight. They were in a carriage. He had actually looked at her, spoken easily as he’d looked, and she’d been naked and he’d touched her belly and other lower parts. It wasn’t to be borne. Suddenly, she felt a deep piercing sensation that made her hips jerk upward against his fingers.
    She stared up at him, not understanding, and saw that the damned sod was smiling at her, aknowing smile, a master’s smile, so smug and satisfied that it was more than she could stand. She threw back her head and screamed at the top of her lungs.
    The carriage jerked to a sudden halt.
    Tony’s smile didn’t slip. He eased her up, helped her straighten her clothes, and waited for their coachman to appear at the window, which he did almost immediately. His eyes went at once to Melissande, and she realized that he must know what her husband had been attempting to do to her.
    â€œGo away!” she yelled at the hapless man. “Ah, just go away!”
    â€œYes,” Tony said easily, sitting back against the squabs, his arms folded over his chest. “Forgive my wife for disturbing you. Sometimes ladies, well, they forget themselves . . . you understand.”
    The coachman was very afraid he did understand, and, flushing, hurried to climb back to his perch. The carriage jerked forward.
    Tony was