Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Had he truly imagined she would be shy? He had no doubt of her innocence because she was not a woman who would give herself easily to another, not out of false modesty or social strictures, but because she had been guarding both her heart and her body for so very long. Her hands lifted to the ties of her stays, tugging them free, and then sending the worn garment fluttering to the floor of the carriage.

Desmond was alternately thankful for the heavy curtains at the window which shielded them from view and also eternally frustrated by them because they impeded his own ability to see her, to fully appreciate the beauty of her. Her full breasts were tipped with berry pink nipples that begged to be tasted. And he was unable to resist.

Dipping his head, he captured one taut peak between his lips. A soft gasp escaped her, but he had no doubt that it was one of pleasure. Her fingers had threaded through his hair, holding him to her as he teased the furled bud with his lips. When he drew her deeper into his mouth, increasing the pressure, she arched against him, her hips thrusting forward and her head falling back.

Tugging his mouth from her, he paused in his ministrations just long enough to pluck the pins from her wealth of black hair. With the mass of it cascading over her shoulders, it hung well bast her bottom, brushing his thighs.

Circe. Aphrodite. Venus. Eve. Delilah. She was more seductive than all of them. And she was his. Or she would be soon. Though perhaps not as soon as he would have liked.

"Belladonna, there is only so far we can take this in a carriage," he said. "But that doesn't mean it has to stop here. There are things we can do, things that will bring you incredible pleasure."

"Only me?"

"For now," he said. "I want to please you. I want to show you how wonderful it can be. That is all the pleasure I require."

"For now?" She asked, her head titled at a coquettish angle as her lips curved into a slight but wholly seductive smile.

"Yes," he agreed. At that point, he would have agreed to anything she asked. He'd have offered her the moon and stars were they in his power to give. Instead, he slipped his hand beneath her skirt, caressing the delicate bones of her ankle with his thumb and gradually sliding his hand higher and higher. Savoring the feeling of her silk clad leg beneath his palm, he moved slowly until at last he reached the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. The first touch of his hand elicited a gasp from her. Touching her more intimately, stroking her flesh in a way that he knew would both deepen her desire and heighten her pleasure, he watched her face, cataloguing her every response. To watch her discover those sensual delights was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if carnal activity were new to him as well. As if, he thought, he were discovering those wonders all over again.

Her body tensed, every muscle quivering as she hovered on that precipice. When she tumbled over the edge, her lips parted on a sob of pleasure, he captured her lips in a kiss. Swallowing that sound, drinking it in, he gloried in her responsiveness, in being able to share that with her.

When her shudders subsided, he cradled her in his arms, grateful to hold her, to have that perfect moment with her.

Reverend Lynden Stalker approached the cottage cautiously. It was the first surreptitious effort of the day. Prior to that, he'd walked through the village of Highgate-on-Trent, nodding and smiling, waving in greeting to others or exchanging pleasantries with them when it could not be avoided. Above all, he appeared entirely nonchalant, as intended.

Anyone who'd asked him where he was off to, had been told he was going to visit the tenant farmers who lived just outside of the village between Highgate and the next village. It was a manageable walk however, only a few miles, and not one that would arouse suspicion. After all, he'd been claiming to do just that for months. In fact, every such episode had been an excuse to spy upon Miss Belladonna Goodwynne.

But he wasn't going to spy. Not that day. On that day, he'd decided to finally put an end to her wickedness. In the small satchel he carried was both his bible and the tools he'd amassed to do the work the good Lord had intended. But as he neared the cottage, he noted one thing in particular that bothered him. There was no smoke coming from the chimney. While the day was turning colder, it was not yet so cold that a fire would have been necessary. Still, it worried him. She might have gone, after all. If she had left there was really only one place she would have gone to. Mrs. Frye's.

There were other worries, of course. Mr. Crane's body had not been discovered. It was possible that he'd wandered senselessly into the woods and succumbed to his injury. It was also just as possible that he had been discovered by someone and was even now being nursed back to health. Health, he thought with concern, that would see him ruined. If Crane exposed him, he'd be cast out. Ostracized. Or perhaps worse.

Approaching the door cautiously, he pushed it open. Inside, the cottage was empty. Though it was dark and deserted, he felt no qualms about letting himself in. Cautiously, he moved through the lower level of the small home. He paused here and there to examine various items. The trinkets and talismans of a woman in league with the devil, he thought with a sneer.

He found nothing of particular interest to him, so he moved to the narrow stairs. Climbing them cautiously, he found himself in her bedchamber. As he looked about him, seeing her clothing hanging on peg—a worn chemise, a set of stays that had been patched and mended many times over. Moving to that row of pegs, he lifted the chemise to his nose and inhaled. The scene was seductive—heady and feminine. Insitanlty, he felt that familiar stirring of lust. And that was why she had to die. She was tempting him, drawing him into her web.

"Bathsheba," he whispered. "Jezebel." She was all of those things to him. Every woman who had ever seduced a man to his downfall, was culminated in her. "You'll live to cast your spells for another day. But your time is coming. Very soon."

With one last inhalation of the undergarment, he dropped it to the floor and then crushed it beneath his boot, leaving muddy footprints on it. Let her know, he thought, that she was being hunted. Let her know that her days were numbered.