Free Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) by Michelle McMaster Page A

has graciously asked to drive me home, tonight. And I have consented.”
    Mungo gave a look of warning.
    As if in reply, Lord Weston said, “Have no fear, Mr. Church. Your mistress will come to no harm while in my presence. You have my word upon it.”
    Mungo seemed appeased by this assurance, and even smiled good-naturedly. “I ’ave no fear o’ that, milord. For I know ye still remember me ’ands about yer neck, squeezin’ it like a grape.” He nodded to Prudence. “I shall see ye tomorrow, Miss.” With that, the huge man disappeared into the shadows.
    And then she was alone with Lord Weston. Save for the hired coachman who sat placidly on top of the carriage, seemingly detached from the whole scene.
    Lord Weston opened the door. He took her hand. And in a moment, she was sitting beside him in the plush cab as they rolled down the dark street. Where they were going, she didn’t know or care.
    “You have nothing to fear, Prudence,” Lord Weston said. “I would never hurt you.”
    “I know that,” she said.
    “Nothing will happen tonight unless you wish it. As I said, I want only the pleasure of your company. Nothing more.”
    “Nothing more,” she repeated.
    She saw the angled planes of his face in the shadowy darkness, lit by the coach lamps that swung outside. She was drawn to his eyes—dark and glittery like a moonlit pool she was being dared to dive into.
    “I thought we’d drive for awhile,” he said, his voice velvety soft. “See the sights of London at night.”
    Prudence nodded.
    “But while we’re driving,” he said, “I might do this…”
    He raised her hand to his lips, pressing his mouth to her skin. Over and over he kissed the back of her hand…the palm of her hand…the length of each finger. Prudence felt hot shivers dance up and down her spine at his wicked attentions.
    He pushed the cloak further up her arm, exposing more of her bare skin to the ministrations of his mouth. His lips were soft, yet completely masculine. They blazed a possessive trail over her wrist, up her forearm, in the crook of her elbow, and at that, she caught her breath.
    He looked up, then bent his head again. In fascination Prudence watched as he continued slowly kissing her trembling skin. The subtle smell of him, soft and spicy, invaded her senses.
    All in all, she thought she might swoon.
    No other man had ever done this to her before. She found herself entranced by the sound of his breathing, the sound of his big, solid body moving around as he inched closer and closer to her.
    Certainly, she’d endured a few chaste kisses from the suitors of her youth, but nothing like this.
    It was unbearable, and yet she didn’t want it to stop.
    Prudence closed her eyes as Lord Weston’s lips reached her bare shoulder. Gently, he turned her face toward his, and Prudence heard herself give a little moan as his mouth finally touched hers.
    What his lips had been doing all the way up her arm, they now did to the mouth that trembled beneath his. Warm and wet, his mouth caressed hers with perfect skill.
    At least, Prudence thought it must be perfect—it felt perfect—even though she hadn’t much to compare it to. With his tongue, he parted her lips further, and she obeyed his command without protest.
    He pressed her back into the plush seat, encircling her with his arms and pulling her powerfully against him.
    Her limbs were going to jelly. She was dizzy…yet how she could be dizzy while sitting down, she didn’t know.
    He cradled her face in his hands and regarded her, his eyes heavy-lidded and filled with undeniable passion.
    “Oh, my beauty,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck and kissing her there, too. Prudence felt delicious little shivers ripple over every inch of her skin and steal her breath away. And as he continued kissing her there, Prudence pulled him closer, for she could do nothing else.
    “Patience, my sweet,” he whispered.
    “Prudence,” she corrected breathlessly.
    “I know,” he