The Greatest Lover in All England by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online

been a lesson he taught her, but it was not. He listened to her body’s signals. He deepened his advance only when she craved it, touching his tongue to hers and withdrawing, enticing her to follow his example. She did as he wished, for curiosity’s sake.
    It had to be for curiosity’s sake. Nothing else could explain this madness.
    Yet like flint striking against metal, her curiosity and his patience brought a spark to life, and he laughed softly as that spark jolted her.
    â€œThat’s it,” he murmured against her mouth. “That’ll warm us.”
    Had she marveled at his patience? he wondered. The growing flame obliterated any trace of his control.
    â€œGive me,” he demanded, greedy as a child. “Give me.”
    His kisses forced her head against the wagon. Her wig slipped, and he pushed it off and flung it away. A single long, thick braid tumbled down, and he untied the string that held it in place. She winced at the tug when he combed his fingers through, loosening the weave that kept the rich brown hair tidy, and he kissed her in apology. He kissed her again as he created his own weave—his fingers, her hair, tangled to hold her in place for him, keeping her as if she might run away.
    â€œMore.”
    As if she could run away. As if her knees could evenhold her up. His other hand lifted her ruff and roamed her neck, then delved below the steel corset of her bodice and filled his hand with her. She moaned when his thumb rasped across her nipple, and he murmured, “That moan. The serenade of a lover. My lover.”
    His tone drenched her in his satisfaction, and his satisfaction worked on her like a splash of cold water. What was she doing? She opened her eyes, and humiliation slapped her to consciousness.
    Brilliant sunlight illuminated every bit of their surroundings, and in turn illuminated them. Anyone could see.
    â€œNo one can see.” Tony read her mind, and his rich voice smoothed to a seducer’s croon. “I’ve used my body to block the view of any busybody who might glance this way.”
    His glib assurance only launched her outrage. “Used your body?” she choked. “Aye, you’ve used your body, right enough. The body of a yeaforsooth knave, a foul and beetle-brained rascal.” Desire mingled with fury—or were they one and the same?—and she slapped at his hand. “Remove your leprous paw from me, ere I use my knife to remove it at the elbow.”
    Although his broad chin firmed, he chuckled. “Rest easy, sweetling, my intentions are the best.”
    His amusement convinced her. She’d behaved like a drab from the docks. Doubling her fist, she punched at his throat.
    He flung his head back and the blow struck his shoulder. The padding of his sleeve deflected the force, but impatience and amazement struggled for supremacy on his countenance. “’Tis marriage I wish, I tell you, and this delectable irritation which plagues you”—his fingers stroked her breast—“is easily cured.”
    She dislodged his impudent hand, and again rolledout from under his shadow. He followed, hand outstretched, as she snatched up her wig.
    â€œWhich room have my servants given you?” he asked. “If you will but confess, I’ll find you tonight and bring you such satisfaction that Apollo’s loves themselves will envy your good fortune. Come, lady.”
    His persistent palm thrust itself beneath her nose, and such was his allure that she wavered even while her anger grew.
    â€œPlace your hand in mine, and we’ll seal our fates, one to the other, for eternity.”
    â€œMadness! You’re stricken with moon-madness and know not what you say.”
    The blow deterred him not at all, and he matched her step for step as she stalked away. “Moon-madness? Nay, love-madness.”
    â€œBrain fever,” she countered.
    â€œLove fever.”
    â€œYou’re a lunatic, fit