What the Marquess Sees by Amy Quinton Page A

Through with inappropriate and unwanted lust. He looked down at the remaining buttons. There were ten left.
    Bugger them all.
    Before he could think through to the consequences of his actions, he reached out and ripped her dress open the rest of the way—to hell with loose threads and malevolent buttons. The remaining pearls flew through the air and bounced about against the wall, the seat, and on the floor.
    It was a mistake. The action was base and only rekindled his animalistic desire. Need surged and all he wanted was to take her on the floor. Now. Fuck her until neither of them could walk.
    Christ, after everything, I still desire her…
    He beat down his lust. God, it wasn’t easy.
    Beatryce whirled around. “What do you think you are doing?”
    The fire was back in her eyes. Good. Bring. It. On. Her chest was ruddy and heaving with anger, but her hand was there, preventing the bodice from falling to her lap.
    Thank God.
    “My way was much faster.”
    She continued to glare at him, but didn’t say another word. Both to his relief and to her continued safety. He grabbed her ‘new’ dress and tossed it to her lap. “Here. You had better put this on; we’re running out of time.”
    And without another word, he turned away from her and began removing his fine, London coat…

Chapter 13
    “Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent; for beauty is a witch against whose charms faith melteth in blood.”
    ― Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing
    Beatryce kept her gaze locked on the scenery outside and ignored the man undressing behind her, or tried to. It was dark out, so she really couldn’t see very much. Having nothing she could really focus her mind on outside seemed to give her imagination free rein to wander, to visualize Dansbury…undressing.
    Hmmm, the sounds he made as he removed his clothes spawned the most vivid images in her mind. And she had quite an imagination.
    La, her ears burned red and fair sizzled…and seemed to blaze hotter with every shift of his body. She swore she felt his gaze on her back more than once, which didn’t help matters; just the thought made the hairs on her arms stand on end.
    Dansbury was large and broad and quite difficult to ignore. He all but overwhelmed their rented traveling carriage with his size and larger-than-life bearing. For sure, he was beautiful; she couldn’t help but notice. Everything, his entire package, made his presence difficult to ignore.
    But he hated her and made her aware of that fact every chance he got. He always had. He’d seemed to take an instant dislike of her the very moment they’d met. Everyone else in the world knew him for his charisma and kindness, but those traits were never directed toward her. It made her acknowledgment of his attractiveness difficult to bear; it was almost embarrassing to recognize even to herself. Almost.
    She was stronger than that, though; it was his loss that he was unable to see her. The real her. Never mind the fact that she hid her real self from him and everyone else. Self-preservation and all that.
    Beatryce shook off her concerns with regards to him and forced herself to think of her future, or at least, what amounted to her future as it pertained to the next several days. She was a strong woman. She could ignore base attraction and focus on what was important.
    Earlier, he had informed her that they would be posing as newlyweds—as Mr. and Mrs. Churchmouse.
    Newlyweds? That didn’t help ease her discomfort. And Churchmouse? What was he trying to say? Keep your mouth shut, Lady Beatryce , in all likelihood. She couldn’t imagine anyone falling for that phony name. But he was supposed to be the expert. And she was too unhinged by his disrobing to argue the point at the moment. Even with herself.
    After an eternity in her agitated state, the horses slowed as they pulled off the road. Finally. Her nerves were stretched thin. Their carriage rocked to a stop in front of an old, rundown inn;