The School for Brides by Cheryl Ann Smith

despised him. She hated his arrogance. She knew, without seeing his face, that there was smug satisfaction in his eyes. He’d elicited a sexual response in her, and he knew it. Her body was pliant in its betrayal.
    The spicy scent of male mingled with horse and leather to add to his unwelcome appeal.
    “ ‘Violate’ is such a harsh term, Miss Black.”
    With his smug tone came some sanity. “What do you really want from me, Your Grace?” she breathed, and closed her hand around his wrist to stop his exploration before she dragged him off into the bushes and begged him to ease her suffering.
    “I only ask you to live up to your part of the bargain, Miss Black.”

Chapter Six
     

     
    B argain?” she said. “I have not agreed to a bargain.”
    She attempted to step away, but her foot gave way beneath her, and she wobbled. His Grace caught her tightly against him.
    “Easy. I have you.”
    She tipped her head back and peered up. The look in his eyes stunned her. Her disguise hadn’t repelled him one lick. The desire in his eyes was acute.
    She became aware of a hard ridge against her leg the moment he leaned to drag his mouth across her temple.
    He was steely hard with desire. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he had her.
    Panic gripped her. He was a debaucher of women, willing or otherwise. She was certain of it. But her body ached for his touch with a shocking intensity she didn’t understand.
    Perhaps she was a whore after all.
    Eva felt her eyes burn. Somehow she found the strength to whisper, “No, please. No.”
    His Grace stilled and lifted his head. Slowly he released his hold and his hands dropped away. He was quiet for a moment, then, “As you wish.”
    The duke turned abruptly and walked to Muffin. He lifted her hoof and dug out the stone. Eva wanted to call him to her and slip back into his arms. But the moment was lost. His face was set and his jaw tight as he returned and lifted her into his arms without ceremony.
    The little mare barely acknowledged Eva as the duke settled her back in the saddle. For a moment, their gazes met.
    Eva gathered the reins and gently kicked Muffin into a run.
     
     
    N icholas watched Eva nudge the mare into a jarring lope up the path, his gaze burning across Eva’s back and down to her trim rump. The surprise of discovering a warm and responsive woman in Miss Black had unsettled him. There was an instant, when he held her, that she’d molded enticingly to his body, close enough for him to feel the delightful curve of her breasts; breasts that she kept well hidden.
    She’d flattened the firm flesh somehow during her previous visit. He shook his head. Her surprises were endless.
    Not once, when he’d stumbled upon her hobbling about in the mist with her fat gray pony, did he expect she would so easily accept his offer to help.
    Instead, she’d sat stiff and quiet while he examined her toes, seeming to accept her fate. There was no weeping and wailing, no begging for mercy, no cutting barbs as he nuzzled her temple. He’d known the moment when she’d surrendered her body to him. And it wasn’t just the same resignation he’d felt at first. He felt her stiff spine bend against his hand on her back and heard her breath catch, then grow uneven. It was desire in its purest form.
    Her desire had taken him aback. The feel of her erect nipples against his chest had certainly left any question of her hidden sensuality undisputed. There was a hunger in her that was deeply buried beneath her ridiculous costume.
    He’d bedded women who feigned desire, and Eva wasn’t one of them. Her response to him was instinctual and passionate.
    When he proposed she become his courtesan, she’d responded, as expected, with a biting refusal. Never once did he believe she’d accept any part of his outlandish plot. He’d never forced himself on a woman and didn’t plan to do so now. He expected that even if she did agree, by some queer twist of insanity, she’d come to his bed and lie