Seducing Mr. Heywood by Jo Manning

rather be swept away by what we both are feeling at this moment. I don’t—” She shook her head vigorously and more pale yellow strands escaped from the bun at the nape of her neck. She took a short breath. “I do not want either of us to think overmuch.”
    Charles closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. He still clutched Sophia’s soft hands tightly in his. “My lady,” he began, “I fear that both of us drank, perhaps, a bit more of your late husband’s fine brandy than we should have had. That bit of spirits and the moonlightare not a good combination.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I am going to bid you good night now and make my way to the stables, where I will mount my horse and take myself home.” He prepared to flee.
    Lady Sophia wanted to tell him that she would rather he mounted her than his horse but she refrained from expressing herself so crudely. Two weeks ago she would probably have blurted it out, but she had begun to regain control of her turbulent emotions and disavow coarse language. Two weeks ago, she would probably have boxed his ears, also, but though he deserved a rebuke for this summary dismissal, she would not lose her temper, much as she was tempted.
    Charles was thwarting her, nay, rejecting her, and it was painful.
    She extricated her hands from his. Though she would not express what she really felt, a demon inside her could not resist a parting salvo. The vicar exasperated and frustrated her; she wanted him. His kiss had awakened desire and more, much more. And she knew he wanted her. How could she not be aware of that?
    “Are you a man, Charles Heywood, or a eunuch?” she challenged him boldly, the gauntlet thrown.
    Charles flushed. He wanted to defend his raging masculinity, something she would have discovered for herself if her forward explorations of his person had taken her any farther and passed over his trouser flap. Yes, he was a man, a man who responded physically to her touch, to her overwhelmingly desirable presence. She was the epitome of desirable femininity. It was amazing he had even an iota of control left right now.
    “I am no eunuch, my lady,” he replied, the muscles in his face stiff. “But this is not proper, and you know it. Your children are in the house, your servants are aware that we are out here—”
    Lady Sophia Rowley swept him a contemptuous gaze, dismissing him on the spot. “You lobcock,” she spat, “you fool.”
    Swatting him on the shoulder, she strode angrily toward the house. Charles thought her departing backwas the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Her square shoulders, her long legs…The feel of her silken skin had been exquisite. He sighed. He
was
a fool, a pious idiot. He had insulted her, making himself out to be her moral superior. He was simply more aware than she of the impropriety of the situation, not only for himself, but for her. It was not a time to give in to their baser instincts.
    Though Lady Sophia was an honest woman, she was behaving improperly. What was right for the
beau monde
was not necessarily right for others. If he were more forthright, he would have told her exactly how he felt and why he could not so casually bed her. But he would rather that she saw for herself why it was not proper, why what was
de rigueur
in looser London society was not acceptable here at her late husband’s home.
    He wanted her, yes, that was the truth of it, for he was a man infatuated with this lady, but he could not take her so casually. Perhaps more than halfway in love with her and in danger of falling further under her spell as he saw her on a daily basis and began to admire her spirit, he still had to reject her advances. She was a remarkable woman, and he no doubt seemed a hypocrite and a fool to her.
    Charles could not blame her. Perhaps he
was
a fool and lobcock, as she’d stated he was, but he could not so easily throw over his moral precepts, not even for such a tempting goddess as Sophia Rowley.
    How his