Bella would have squeaked if she was capable of finding the air in her lungs to make that noise, but she was instead left staring over Mr. Crouch's shoulder with wide, alarmed eyes as their bodies came in contact and Mr. Crouch's lips went to her jaw. She'd thought she knew what she was signing up for when she decided to take the night off from her stuffy family to visit Ireland with Mr. Crouch, but apparently he'd had other plans for her.

If there had been any more light in the area, the redness on her cheeks, neck, everywhere really, would have been visible, though she was confident that Mr. Crouch could at least feel the heat emitting from her body. Her decision to come with him was a big enough mistake — certainly one that would automatically solidify her as a harlot in the media if it were to become public knowledge — but she'd managed to make it worse by allowing him to use her as his plaything.

His whispering prompted her breathing to quicken and knees to wobble under her weight, but she wasn't sure whether it was fear, confusion or even the faintest bit of arousal that caused her body to act on its own accord.

Fortunately, his hand moving to undo one of the clasps on her dress prompted her hand to snap to his wrist, weakly holding it in place. "... Please," she just barely managed to get out in a gasp. She knew what that please meant: she wanted to go home. At least she thought that's what she meant; her body language wasn't helping get that message across.