Free Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) by Michelle McMaster Page A

sound of their giggles and laughter floated on the still night air with forbidden promise.
    Beckett stepped off the path and led her into the trees. In one swift movement he turned her around to face him. She could just make his features out in the dim torchlight that spilled from the pathway.
    Beckett lowered his mouth and captured her quivering lips with his own. He pulled her close against his hard body as his tongue delved into her mouth.
    Instantly, hot, dangerous sparks shot down her spine.
    Beckett’s powerful arms encircled her and brought her hips tight against his own. Isobel clung to him, not knowing whether it was uncertainty or pleasure that made her do so.
    “Wait,” she said, “I fear someone might see us.”
    “So what if they do?” He asked, teasing her with his tongue. “We can do this whenever we like.”
    “We can?” she whispered weakly.
    “This…and much more,” he replied heatedly.
    “How much more?”
    Beckett smiled and slid her dress down over her shoulder. “Let me show you.”
    Isobel gasped in shock as the cool night air touched the bare skin of her breast. Certainly, this must be terribly wicked. Even if he was her husband!
    He lowered his head to her breast and brushing his lips against it.
    Isobel gasped in pleasure and clung to him for balance. The mixture of the cool air and his hot breath on her skin threatened to drive her mad as he continued his torment. Her knees felt as if they would buckle.
    He pulled the other side of her gown down, baring her naked breasts to his gaze. With his tongue, he teased the nipple of one, making deliciously maddening circles around the hard tip. With his hand, he pinched the other until it was just as hard, just as aroused.
    Isobel arched her neck back and whispered his name. What was he doing to her? Her body tingled with hot desire, which pooled achingly between her legs. Whatever this was, she didn’t want it to stop. She had never felt this maddening, torturous passion before. Her body had somehow become an instrument, and Beckett was a skilled musician. He knew how to make her blood sing. She wanted him to touch her—she wanted to be naked before him as he took his time pleasuring her.
    He lifted his head again and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. Then he stepped back, drawing her gown up to cover her.
    “Why are you stopping?” she asked, momentarily bewildered.
    Beckett’s eyes burned down at her, simmering with raw, dangerous passion. “I must stop now, Isobel—or not at all. And I do not want to take your virginity in Lord and Lady Whitcomb’s garden.”
    Isobel tried to reply but could not form words.
    “Unless you have a preference for gardens, of course,” he added.
    “No. No preference,” she stammered. “I mean, I’m sure I have no preference at all where to do such a thing.”
    Goodness, had that really come out of her mouth?
    “Well, we shall have to do something about that, now, shan’t we?” He smoothed away some of the wayward curls around her face. “Your face is a trifle flushed, my dear. And we have been gone a decidedly decadent amount of time. Everyone will know what we have been doing, out here.”
    “They will?” she said, alarmed.
    “Anyone who was paying any mind,” he replied, “and trust me, many were. It will only serve to intrigue the ton down to the soles of their shoes.”
    Beckett led her back to the path and they strolled toward the huge manor house.
    “I’m not sure I should want to intrigue the ton…or their shoes,” Isobel remarked, still trying to get her bearings after such a passionate dalliance.
    “Too late, my dear,” Beckett said. “You did that when you walked through the door.”
    They ascended the steps and crossed the terrace, re-entering the ballroom as nonchalantly as possible. A curious couple nearby noticed their arrival, and a few ladies began commenting behind their fans. Isobel could almost hear the gossip-mill turning now.
    “I must find Alfred,”