The Patriot Bride Read Online Free Page A

enjoying his lascivious attentions? That big, callused hand was gently but inexorably exploring an extremely intimate part of her anatomy, and she wasn’t cringing, she wasn’t crying out – she wasn’t doing anything to try to stop him at all, because it felt much too pleasing!
    Incredibly shamed by her body’s response to a perfect stranger, no matter that he might be her husband, Hannah pulled and tugged and twisted, trying to break his hold on her. It was only his unyielding fingers keeping her from being able to at least attempt to push him away, but even that small task seemed beyond her abilities. He was much too strong for her, and the beast was actually enjoying her attempts to free herself! It seemed the only thing she’d accomplished with her struggles was to press her breast even further into his palm, and jiggle the both of them in front of him like some public house doxy.
    Finally, after trying more delicate, less frantic methods of retrieving her hands, Hannah descended into a state of mortification the likes of which she had never in her life experienced. She’d always been a good girl, and now this man had destroyed her chastity in a matter of seconds. He was lying on her skirt, effectively pinning her legs, and she didn’t know what else she could do to try to extract herself from this situation. So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, losing her battle to keep the tears at bay. She wished, as if she was a little girl, that that was all she had to do to make him disappear so that she could get back to her quiet, uneventful life.
    It had been a while for Wolf – he had no interest in the dirty, diseased camp followers that everyone else seemed to patronize. He took a deep breath, and was gratified to realize that the only things he smelled were the faintest traces off lye soap and the soft scent of the wildflowers that sat in a crude vase on her night table. Her hair was somewhat askew, but it was obviously her own despite the huge mass of it fanning out around her like curls of spun gold. There were no traces of the God awful white horsehair – or human hair – wigs with clumps piled so high a woman could barely lift her head – not to mention the bear grease and birds nests and other flora and fauna women seemed so fond of.
    But he frowned when he saw the tears dampening her temples. She was his wife. He was tied to her by name, and by tradition. But more than that, by honor. She didn’t deserve to have her first intimate encounter with him to be the result of his anger, he thought. But his body had other very distinct ideas. He was rock hard behind his uniform breeches, and her twisting and writhing hadn’t helped that agonizing ache one bit, but perhaps she knew that. He wasn’t at all sure that she was who she pretended to be – the poor, quiet, widowed seamstress. She could have had any number of men since she’d been out from under what he assumed was her father’s strict supervision – he only knew if he had a daughter she’d certainly be under his very strict direction. There was no telling how many of the eligible bachelors in the area she’d wound around her finger.
    Just the thought of her with someone else – despite the fact that he barely knew her; she was his wife – putting his hands all over his wife nearly drove him crazy. But instead of driving himself into her – which he wanted to reserve for a time when they weren’t in her dismal cabin – he instead rose to sit on the edge of the bed, and dragged her, eyes still firmly clamped shut, over his lap. One arm naturally crossed the small of her back, and it was more than enough to keep her just where he wanted her. He reached down and lifted the hem of her skirt, noting its ragged edge and the fact that although it was still nearly winter, the material was extremely thin, and couldn’t be keeping her very warm.
    He would deal with that – and her living accommodations – later.
    For right now, he folded it