The Bastard by Brenda Novak Read Free Book Online Page A

to break away. She could feel the ripple of muscle as he moved on top of her, feel his lean, hard stomach on her own as he nibbled her neck and then her ear.
    “Let’s get rid of these, shall we?” he mumbled, tugging at her breeches. “Why are you wearing them, anyway?”
    Again, she didn’t answer, and, fortunately, he didn’t follow up on the question. He was too preoccupied with arousing her.
    This is madness. It can’t be happening. The lieutenant was no one to her, lowborn—but Jeannette’s body didn’t care about his station in life, especially when one hand slid down her breeches to cup her bare bottom and his tongue dipped into her ear.
    Just a few more minutes. She nearly said the words aloud as the fingers of his other hand delved into her hair and his mouth began to travel down the sensitive skin of her throat.
    If only she could pretend, for a moment, that this handsome stranger was her husband. Her arms ached to hold him, to caress his vibrant flesh until he fulfilled the strange new craving that clutched at her belly.
    Tentatively putting her arms around his neck, she tested her power by pulling him back to her mouth.
    “Nice,” he said against her lips and his hand closed over her breast, teasing the tip, fanning the longing he’d already sparked. She was being carried away on a tide of desire by a man she didn’t know, a man she couldn’t give herself to for a million reasons.
    “I must have been crazy to turn you away,” he whispered.
    Don’t listen . The warning seemed to echo in her head, somehow reminding her of her duty. Placing her palms on the broad expanse of his chest, she pushed in hopes of rolling him off. She had to escape the lieutenant’s tongue and hands before it was too late. But her movements succeeded only in confusing him.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked, raising his head.
    “Let me go.”
    Had he heard the French in her voice?
    “Do you want your coin in advance?” he asked. “You’ll get it. You have my word.”
    Thank God, he seemed oblivious to her accent. Or maybe her gruff whisper had masked it well enough. Regardless, she dared not speak again. He was drunk or he might’ve realized she wasn’t Molly, wasn’t even English. And if St. Ives’s men came searching for a French girl before dawn...
    Get out! Now! She shoved at him again, but he resisted. Panicked, she resorted to the only thing she could do: She brought her knee up between his legs.
    When he gasped, then doubled over, she flung herself out of the bed and dashed to the door, scooping up Dade’s shirt and shoes as she went.
    With the lieutenant writhing behind her, she slipped through the door, but she didn’t get away before she heard his furious oath. “You teasing little bitch! I’ll kill you for this!”

*

    Treynor lay awake in the dark hours of early morning, the blankets thrown off his naked torso despite the chill air. His head still ached, but at least his testicles hadn’t fallen off.
    What a night, he thought wryly, cursing himself for trusting a woman, any woman. First he’d suffered through the encounter with his mother. Then the woman who’d appeared in his room nearly claimed his manhood.
    A strange doxy, that one. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Molly. Now that he’d finally sobered up, he realized that much. The body he’d held was too slim, too firm, too small. He had begun to realize that dimly, as her physical features became known to him in the dark room through touch alone. But by then, he hadn’t cared. She’d come to him and awakened a raging desire, promised him a desperately-needed release.
    Bliss.
    Until his groin had exploded in pain.
    Once he could both breathe and move, he’d nearly torn the inn apart looking for her. He’d barged in on the real Molly, with Dade, had roused the other servants to question them, and had awakened most of the inn’s sleeping patrons—until the owner had insisted he stop or be thrown out.
    Only then had he returned to his own