Excerpt of A Woman Scorned by Liz Carlyle

In which Captain Amherst Awakens to the Truth

The squall of newly-tightened door hinges slowly stirred
Cole to a hazy wakefulness. He had no notion what was
wrong, just the vague sensation that something was
not . . . right. How long had he slept? And where the
devil was he? Silently, he listened, trying to bring his
senses to full alert.

Ah, yes. The schoolroom. Hinges shrieked again. Cole’s
body jerked taut. Was it Stuart? Or had an intruder
slipped past Donaldson? Outside, the rain beat down
relentlessly, suppressing all sound, swathing his senses
in cotton. But someone was in the room.

His thoughts still disjointed, Cole spun to a seated
position and stood. In the windows behind the sofa,
lightning flared. Too late, Cole realized he had been
silhouetted against the glass. Thunder rolled ominously.
Cole darted toward the door. A sharp, powerful shoulder
caught him low in the spine, sending him facedown into the
floor with a breathless grunt.

Coming fully awake, Cole moved to throw off his attacker,
but the sharp prick of a blade beneath his chin
forestalled all resistance. He froze. Something was very
wrong. Suddenly, it occurred to him—just as a bead of warm
blood rolled down his throat. The attacker splayed half
across his back felt taut and powerful—but absurdly light.
Far too small to be either Donaldson or one of the
footmen.

"Aye, don’t even twitch, you bloody bastard," rasped a
cold, feminine voice against his ear, "or I swear, I’ll
slit your throat from ear to elbow." As if to reinforce
the threat, she shoved his face hard against the floor.

"Oh my God," whispered Cole, his cheek pressed to the cold
planks, his words unsteady. He could feel the point of the
blade quiver against his skin. "Have you utterly lost your
wits?"

The shapely feminine form atop him stiffened for a long
moment, and then collapsed, her mouth slack and panting
against his ear. "Oh . . . shite," came her tremulous
whisper.

The blade fell to the floor.

Smoothly, Cole twisted about until he could pitch his
attacker to one side. He did not need light to know that
it was Jonet he held in his arms. He could smell the deep,
sweet scent of her, feel her breasts and belly pressed to
his. Judiciously, he reached for the knife, tossing it
from her reach.

"Jonet?" he said softly, squeezing shut his eyes despite
the dark.

Against his chest, he felt her begin to tremble like a
green soldier who has just survived his first brush with
death. "W-What?" she finally answered.

"Jonet, where did you learn that disgustingly vulgar word?"

Her breath came out on a wispy little sigh. "F-f-from
Charlie Donaldson, I think."

"I see," he said with utter calm. "I wish you would not
use it again. I find it offensive."

"Just let me go, Cole," she whispered, but she made no
move to roll away from him.

Vaguely, Cole wondered if he would ever be able to do what
she asked. He knew he had no business touching her. She
felt too good, smelled too enticing. But by God, the woman
had jumped him in the dark, and he damned well ought to
teach her a lesson.

Just then, another bolt of lightning split the night,
lighting up the schoolroom. Good Lord—Jonet was wearing
nothing but a plain cotton nightshift!

"Oh, Cole—!" As if the sight of his face had somehow
unleashed her tension, Jonet collapsed in his embrace. Her
trembling intensified to a bone-deep shudder. "I—I hurt
you . . . I’m sorry."

Cole made no move to let her go, telling himself that it
would be wrong to do so when she was so obviously
distraught. "Jonet," he said, folding her tightly to his
chest and speaking softly into her hair. "What do you mean
by behaving so rashly? For God’s sake, you’re shaking all
over."

She said nothing, and after a long moment, Cole looked
down. In the gloom, he could not see her face. But he
could sense that her breathing was still shallow, and he
could hear the little hitch of fear in it. "A noise," she
said, her voice muffled by his shirtfront. "I was checking
on the boys, and then . . . I thought I heard a noise in
the schoolroom. Did you? Did you hear anything at all?"

"No." Uneasily, Cole tried to shift his weight
incrementally away from her. Relief was obviously flooding
through Jonet, but he was far from relieved. Feeling
rather like the word he had just ordered her not to say,
Cole tightened his embrace, feeling his arousal leap to
full flame.

Good Lord, what a prince he was! Jonet had been scared
witless, and now his cock felt like an axe handle shoved
up against the softness of her thigh. Cole prayed to
heaven she would not notice, but he couldn’t make himself
move away.

"It’s just a storm, Jonet," he said softly against her
hair. She smelled surprisingly innocent; warm and
inviting, like apple blossoms and spring grass under a
cloudless sky. Like a woman a man could lie down and sleep
with. But not him, of course.

Cole lifted his head away. "Jonet, the weather worsened
rather quickly. Perhaps a rumble of thunder awakened you?"

"I . . . yes, perhaps," she said uncertainly. Slowly, her
characteristic composure returned and she pushed him away
a little. Cole levered himself up onto one elbow, trying
to bestir some shame. A gentleman would have been on his
feet by now, helping her up from the floor, and warning
her not to be so heedless. But Cole was doing neither, and
Jonet did not seem to expect it.

"Jonet," he finally whispered, "perhaps we oughtn’t
be . . . on the floor like this?" Lightning flashed again,
more muted this time, and he glimpsed her face. Her eyes
were wide and luminescent now, the lines of her mouth soft
and suddenly inviting.

"Perhaps not," she replied. Long black hair cascaded over
Jonet’s shoulder, heavier and more wavy than Cole had
expected. He began to be painfully aware of just where all
their body parts were pressed together. Absolute lust—
hotter and more intense than anything he had ever known—
surged through him, pulling him toward her.

Nearly sightless in the gloom, Jonet looked up at the man
whose body half covered her own. Even in the dark, he was
huge and overpowering. The relief she had felt upon
realizing it was Cole whom she had tackled had been
quickly—too quickly—replaced by the sensations of deep,
shuddering need. She knew that she should be ashamed of
what she was thinking. Of what she wanted.

A bitter smile curved her lips. Perhaps she was not,
strictly speaking, the type of woman Cole Amherst would
ordinarily consort with, but it was rather obvious that
his lofty morals had failed to inform his nether regions.
Pressed against her thigh, Cole’s rod was as hard as his
heart. And at the moment, Jonet wanted them both. With a
calculated deliberation, she reached up and drew Cole’s
lips to hers.

It was as if someone had sent a blazing oil lamp crashing
to the floor. This time, heat and flame rolled over them
with a fierce intensity, burning up every shred of
resistance, every scrap of dislike, and every grain of
suspicion. On a slow moan, Cole dragged his mouth over
hers, then surged inside. Hotly, harshly, he plunged into
her, again and again, giving her no chance to respond in
kind. Fleetingly, Jonet wondered just what she had
unleashed, and then carelessly pitched herself headlong
into the fire.

Her mouth open hungrily against his, Jonet listened in
feminine satisfaction as a second groan—deeper, far more
urgent—rumbled through Cole’s chest. She felt his erection
grow even harder against her leg. She felt the stubble of
his beard rake across her face. Willfully, she skimmed
both her hands along his sides, feeling the ripple of big
ribs and taut muscle. And then, she felt his hands come up
to roughly shove her shoulders hard against the floor.

In one smooth motion, Cole rolled her fully onto her back
and dragged himself over her with powerful arms, rucking
up the hem of her nightdress with his knee. Jonet felt a
second moment of alarm, and then inexplicably relaxed
again when she remembered that it was Cole whose hardness
was now pressed between her thighs.

She let her fingers come up to slide through his hair, but
Cole mistook the motion. He captured her hand in his own,
and dragging it up over her head, held it knuckles-down
against the wood for a long moment, still kissing her.

Cole. Oh, yes! Jonet let herself move suggestively against
him. She wanted and wanted. Oh God, how she wanted him.
She yearned to forget her troubles in the shelter of Cole
Amherst’s arms. It was weak and wrong—even sinful—to want
anything in such a desperate way. Tomorrow she would no
doubt feel humiliated. Tonight, she simply did not care.
In that instant, Jonet would have given up everything she
possessed just to have this man slide deep inside her. The
need was fierce, frightening, and wholly unlike anything
she had ever known. Her mouth still under assault, Jonet
tilted up her hips and pressed herself eagerly against his
shaft.

Arms braced wide above her shoulders, Cole jerked his
mouth from hers just as light flickered through the room
again. His wild, golden mane fell forward, and Cole froze,
his eyes glassy, his face stark with unleashed need.

"Jonet—" he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "This
is wrong."