by Stacy Reid
I do not dream anymore.
But she dared not say it, hating to do anything to take that shine from Lydia’s eyes.
“If someone suitable were to present himself, I might consider it,” she said with a light laugh. For an affair…nothing more.
That excited Lydia, who jumped to her feet, grabbed Sophia’s hand and tugged her to the bed. Sophia spent the next hour, laughing and making a list with Lydia on the kind of gentlemen who might be suitable.
No rakes. Not even the reformed ones.
He must be no older than two and thirty.
Must have a noteworthy title.
Sophia had rolled her eyes at that one, and Lydia had remarked nothing less than a viscount would do for her mother.
His kisses must be pleasant.
And at that…Sophia had shocked and titillated Lydia by saying, “If a kiss from your beau does not make your heart tremble and fire flames from your belly…. he will not do.”
When Lydia had demanded more, Sophia had declined, but for the first time for some many years, that night she had dreamed again of William’s kisses.
Chapter 2
London, one week later…
William frowned into his drink, searching the amber liquid as if it would answer the question as to why he was in Lady Harman’s garden and not inside twirling a young lady across the parquet ballroom floor. He’d been at the ball for over an hour, and no sense of excitement or anticipation thrilled through him at the notion of chatting with the pretty young ladies to help him determine who best to call upon tomorrow.
He was uninspired about starting the courtship dance. With a grimace, he knocked back the whisky in his glass, appreciating the smooth burn as it slid down his throat and warmed his belly. This apathy toward seeking a wife had to end. William knew that it was his duty to ensure the succession that he could not avoid. He feared if he left it for much longer, it would be impossible to drum up any sort of interest to get the deed done.
The din of laughter and music spilled into the night, signaling that one of the wide terrace doors had been opened.
A large hand slapped William on the shoulder, and he turned around with a start of surprise.
Unfathomable dark gray eyes peered at him, and a familiar crooked smile.
“Worsley?”
“Good God, you really are here! I heard a few whispers about town and in the card rooms just now, but I did not believe it.” Viscount Worsley embraced him in a surprising hug.
“It seemed I was more missed that I imagined,” William said drily, but returned the man’s embrace, a sense of belonging shifting through him.
They released each other, and the somber jadedness in Worsley’s eyes had William arching a brow.
They made their way inside, and he ignored the sensations of the walls closing in on him at the crush of ladies and gentlemen milling in every direction, filling all the public rooms of Lady Harman’s home.
“How have you been, Worsley?” William asked, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing footman. Another glass of whisky would have been better, but for now, the bubbly drink would suffice until he retired to the card room.
Worsley had been one of his good friends at University, though they had been like night and day in their characters. The viscount even then had possessed an air of profligacy for a young gentleman and had made no effort to suppress his rakish ways despite his father’s anger.
“The same,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Heard that you have been in India these past few years.”
“Only for three. Spent some time in Calcutta and Bombay. Then I went on to Egypt. Then spent some time in France and Rome researching and investing in new business interests.”
They stared at each other for a bit, and it was as if Worsley understood William’s silent words, that he’d been restless and seeking for a happiness that never came. That he had busied himself with business opportunities when he had enough wealth to last him several lifetimes. It wasn’t that he hadn’t lived. He’d done so with the best of them in each exotic place he visited and stayed for several months, but there was always that hole that no amount of drinking, women, or work had been able to fill.
“And are you in England to stay?”
“I am.”
“Ah,” Worsley said, knowledge gleaming in his eyes. “Planning on finding a wife then and settling down?”
William parted his lips to speak and faltered as if someone had ripped the words away from him. A slow jerk of his heart, then his mouth went dry. A young lady stood on the sidelines of the ballroom, speaking to another young miss. The lady who had captured his attention had her back turned to him, but there was something about her stance, which seemed so familiar. More than familiar, for without seeing her face, his interest had stirred.
“Do you know her?” the viscount asked, his tone shaded with amusement and a bit of envy. As if he saw a conquest he wanted for himself, and William’s unexpected reaction was waylaying his dissolute plans.
“No,” William said with a frown, unable to explain the drumming of his heart or the sudden shakiness of his hand. “The slope of her back…the way in which she canted her head…there! She did it again. It reminds me of someone. Someone I once knew.”
“The way you are staring at whoever that young lady may be, is enough to incite considerable speculation and gossip.”
Despite the viscount’s warning, William walked away, and descended the curving staircase, keeping the lady in his line of sight always. She wore a peach-colored evening gown trimmed with gold lace and ribbons, with matching peach gloves and delicate dancing slippers. Her dress bared the creamy swell of her shoulders which accentuated her exquisite shape.
She shifted slightly, glancing at the dancers on the floor. Her lips curved in a slight smile, one that appeared…sad and hauntingly lovely to William, and so familiar.
“Ah Christ,” he murmured, his heart now a war drum thudding noisily inside his chest. It was the way that she tucked a wisp of her brown hair with golden highlights behind her ears. The sleek way she angled her head to indicate she was listening to her friend’s animated chatter. Then it was the wide smile which curved her lips. Familiar and enchanting. William stood frozen, closing his hand so tightly over the glass of champagne that it shattered.
“Good God, man, what is it?” Lord Worsley said, coming over to stand beside William while beckoning to a footman to attend to the mess.
Blood dripped from the side of his hand, and William did not care. The only thing that mattered was moving closer to the lady who reminded him of her. It couldn’t be her….it could not be, yet every emotion that had been locked underneath the deliberately hardened surface of his heart broke through on an anguished roar.
It was her. He could feel it…but it was impossible. For a terrible, timeless minute, he could do nothing but stare as a decidedly odd weakness assailed him.
“Sophia,” he finally said her name aloud, needed his voice to order him against the foolish hope beating inside his heart.
The lady stiffened, and it was then he realized his closeness. Bracing himself to offer an apology for his impertinence or to fall on his knees in gratitude, he said, “Sophia…Miss Knightly.”
* * *
A startling sense of recognition prickled over Sophia.
That voice.
It belonged to the man she had loved with every fragment of her broken heart. It belonged to the man she heard in her dreams, and it belonged to the man whom she had long given up on ever meeting again in this lifetime. The raw emotions tearing through her were wholly unexpected…for she must be mistaken. She felt afraid to turn around, and dear Lydia stared behind her with an expression of awe and delight, which only meant the gentleman was ‘handsome as sin.’
A warm gloveless hand clasped her upper arm. The wildly improper touch jolted her, and a tremble went through her entire body.
“Sophia...is it really you?”
The question was in a low,
rough, and overly intimate murmur.
Ladies had begun to gawp and whisper behind their fans. She felt too vulnerable to look behind her. Lydia and Aunt Imogen stared, their eyes wide with shock and their lips formed perfect ‘O’s of surprise.
Her cousin’s gaze flickered to the hand which still clasped Sophia’s arm so scandalously. She couldn’t pull away, though she wanted to and to berate whoever it was for their lack of good manners in such a public setting.
“Will you not face me?”
It was a command, and she slowly turned. The world fell from beneath her feet, her throat burned, and her eyes filled with tears. The ache in her chest became a physical thing, and there was no ease in its tightening grip. He was so very handsome, with the firm set of his chin, piercing dark blue eyes, and sensually firm lips. It was hard to see the boy she had loved in the man who now gazed down at her. He seemed hardened, his eyes so much older as if he’d been ravaged by a pain that he’d hardly been able to bear.
The tension in him was palpable, and his eyes darkened with dangerous heat. His black evening trousers fitted splendidly to his lean waist, powerful thighs, and long muscular legs. His jacket and waistcoat molded quite closely to his broad shoulders. The sudden tremble in her heart was appalling. “Wil…William?”
He stared at her with ill-concealed shock, his hand fell away as if he had been singed by the hottest fire. They stared at each other for several moments, a perilous tension heavy on the air.
“I perceive that you are acquainted with his Grace,” her aunt said softly, after hurrying to her side in a welcoming show of support. “However, I will affect an introduction as the entire room is all aflutter with this display!”
“Your Grace,” her aunt began, “Allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Sophia Knightly. Sophia—”
“I…I am terribly sorry, Aunt Imogen, I must leave,” Sophia gasped.
She hurriedly dipped into a curtsey and whirled around. Sophia ignored Lydia’s curious and horrified stare.
Sophia pushed through the throng who craned their heads to follow her as she moved as fast as she could toward the door leading to the hallway. Several whispers floated behind her, but she could not bear to pause long enough to listen. She jostled a footman and the tray of champagne tumbled to the floor with a resounding crash. She muttered an apology but did not stop. The whispers became more rabid and Sophia moved even faster.
Once in the hallway, she gathered the sides of her dress and broke into a run. The butler opened the door at her approach, a look of shock blooming on his face. Not daring to wonder at his expression she hurtled through it and down the steps with reckless haste. Then she ran past the line of parked carriages on Grosvenor Street, and a few shocked faces.
Memories crowded her mind and chased her as she ran away. The memory of his taste, the feel of his lips on hers, the fleeting caress of his fingers on her breast, that halting touch on the softness of her inner thighs. The deep love which had been in her heart washed over her, along with the total loss of hope and abject grief.
“Oh, God, please! Let it stop,” she cried into the night as she ran harder.
Panting she slowed, pressing a hand over her mouth. A hand grabbed her from behind, and she whirled around, glancing about, gladdened to see that the street was empty. It was only her and the duke, and a darkened street barely lit by gas lamps. “You followed me,” she accused, hating how her heart leaped with something fierce and wholly unexpected. It felt suspiciously like joy.
“You ran as if the devil chased you,” he said, raking his fingers through his midnight strands.
“Did he not?”
“I had to chase you.”
“No, you did not,” she said, hating that tears gathered in her eyes like a storm that could not be suppressed.
He stepped closer, and he took her into his arms by slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his body.
“William!”
He pressed his mouth to hers….and it was so unexpectedly gentle that her tensed body relaxed as if it had a will beyond her own. His soft and very chaste embrace was a mere meeting of breath, yet his kiss tasted like heaven, his touch felt like regret. She guarded herself against the pleasure tingling through her. “Do you think we’ll not see each other for so many years and then start back where we left off?” she asked in a choked whisper against his mouth.
He lifted his lips from hers and gathered her into a fierce hug. She pressed her face into his chest, inhaling his masculine scent deep into her lungs, and returned his scandalous embrace.
“Did you stop loving me?” he asked gruffly.
She wrenched from his arms. “How can you ask me this? We have not seen each other in almost seven years! I am no longer a girl of eighteen with foolish and impossible dreams in her heart. I’ve changed…. you have changed…and our lives are different. How dare you ask me that?”
“Sophia…please, answer me. Have you stopped loving me?” he asked gently as if she did love him still that would solve everything when all seemed a jumbled mess. As if the years and all the experiences they had undergone apart would be nothing in the face of a love which had proved constant.
“Yes!” she whispered fiercely. “You left me…. I lost everyone and everything, and when I called for you, William, you were not there. For my sanity…I had to stop loving you.”
His throat worked on a swallow, and his eyes glittered with something thoroughly primal and a bit intimidating.
“Please, leave me be,” she whispered, her breath hitching on a sob. A spasm of anguish snaked through her. “You are my past…please stay there.”
He dropped his hand, every emotion in his gaze shuttering, and she felt the cold pierce deep into her bones. Sophia could not bear to look into his eyes. She turned and fled into the night, grateful her aunt’s townhouse was only a few doors away, desperate to be away from the duke, and the riotous emotions tumbling through her with such terrible force, and the scandal they had just caused.
Chapter 3
Sophia pressed a hand to her chest, hoping to calm her thoughts and ease the furious pounding in her heart. Hours later and the years had still fallen away as if they had never parted. She felt trapped in the past, the memories of William’s kisses, illicit touches, and fervent promises of a forever kind of love haunting her. So many questions had kept her tossing wide awake. Where had William been? Why had he left…where did he go, and what was he thinking with his outrageous questions? And how dare he kiss her as if seven years and so many unknowns had not separated them.
I am silly! She fiercely scolded herself. There was no reason to allow herself to be so out of sorts.
Another knock sounded on the door, and she closed her eyes, hating her cowardice. After taking several steady breaths, she said hoarsely. “Please, come in.”
The door opened, Lydia walked in, then gently closed the door. “So, you know his Grace?” she asked, cutting painfully into the heart of the matter.
There was no mention that Sophia had been hiding in her chamber for the better part of the day, refusing to go downstairs for breakfast or luncheon. “I do.”
Lydia pushed from the door, an expression of hurt crossing her face. “When? How? You’ve never mentioned him before and the rumors that exploded after he ran after you last night were that he had been away from England for about six years. You came to live with us right after the—” her lips closed on ‘tragedy.’
“It was before…I knew him before and Lydia…” Sophia clasped her overheated cheeks between her hands. “I love you, and I promise one day I shall tell you everything that happened between myself and William, but not today.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “William?”
Sophia’s entire body blushed. Before she could respond, Lydia hurried over to the small valise on the bed.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“I…” she raked her fingers through her tousled hair. “I must return to Hertfordshire for a few days. I…he is h
ere…in town. His presence was so very unexpected. When we first came to London years ago for your first Season, I dreaded seeing him. Then I came to realize he had truly left and might never return. Or he might be here, but I was simply inconsequential to him, and I had too much pride and my heart was too shattered for me to ever return to his home and seek him again.”
Lydia’s face softened. “We can stay in for a few days, you do not have to leave.”
“And if he should call on me here? He is a duke! Aunt Lydia would not dare snub him.”
Scandalized dismay crossed Lydia’s face. “He would not dare call upon you after the scandal he caused. And Mama also mentioned that last week, the Morning Chronicles announced that he was engaged to Lady Miranda Cheswick.”
“He is to be married!”
“He certainly did not act the part last night, and society is all aflutter. Are you certain you do not wish to stay? Your departure might fan the flames of the scandal.”
“Or my absence might douse the flames considering I am quite inconsequential to society.” Sophia’s throat went tight, and she tried very hard not to think about the newspaper announcement that William was engaged. It is none of my concern! “I promise to return soon, Lydia. I know how much being in town means to you. I…I need to speak with your Mama for a bit. I…I…need to return to the country, just for a few days.”
Lydia nodded, and Sophia exhaled with relief, her heart gladdened that Lydia did not berate her for wanting to visit the graves of her family.
“I’ll speak with Aunt Imogen and ask for a carriage and a maid to accompany me. Please bear with Tommy and Aunt as your chaperones until I return.”
Lydia smiled and made to leave, paused at the door and without turning said, “I’ve never known you to run away from anything before, Soph. It’s not like you at all.”
