by Stacy Reid
A decidedly charged tension permeated the air. Would he now say no?
He dragged her up and kissed her with violent tenderness. “I’ll take this, Sophia. If it is only passion you must give…I’ll take it, because anything is better than not having you in my arms.”
Relief hit her, and with it, a lifting of spirits. With a sob she curled her hands around his neck, kissing him back with reckless desire. Something elusive whispered through her heart and it felt frightfully like the love she’d clung to for him all these years. It lurked deep inside her chest, sweetness, fire, and fear.
And as William twisted with her so her back was pressed on the grass, Sophia admitted for the first time in years that she had never truly stopped loving him.
Dear God, what am I to do?
Chapter 6
Sophia rested her chin on her drawn-up knees and stared at the family’s headstone. Leaning in, she brushed a few twigs and leaves from her sister’s and arranged the flowers, so they did not hide her name. Aunt Imogen had reburied her family in the family plot so they could be nearby.
“How are you today, Hetty?” Sophia murmured.
A newfound sense of peace settled inside her as she stared at their graves. It had been slowly happening, and with each visit, the pain had grown less and less until an acceptance had settled in her heart. Now when she visited, Sophia allowed only the happiest of memories to cloud her thoughts. She fancied her family resided in heaven, a place her father had ardently believed existed.
“William is back.” Then she proceeded to tell her family about the race with Tommy, the archery competition she had entered with some of his friends who had believed her to be a lad at the time…and finally, she confessed to making love with William.
A blush heated her cheeks as she recalled the passionate way they’d fallen onto the grass and what had come next. After kissing her passionately for several more minutes, he had shown enough restraint when they hadn’t made love again. So many emotions had filled Sophia’s chest she had asked him for space, and he hadn’t hesitated to grant it, only asking her when he should send his carriage for her.
‘Three days, she’d said. Send your carriage for me in three days.’
“He is sending a carriage for me this evening. I…I am going to spend some time with him before I start my travels. I dare not tell Lydia or Aunt Imogen, though I did send a letter this morning informing them I am staying a bit longer in the countryside to avoid the scandal in town. A very good excuse, I believe, and one I am not guilty of saying. What do you think?”
Of course, no one answered, but an unexpected gust of wind rustled through the beech trees, swaying even the heavy branches, and scattering the fallen leaves all over Sophia. She gasped and then laughed. “Is that approval? Or is that you, Papa, screaming your displeasure that I abandoned my virtue without the benefit of marriage?” A thing she still could not believe had happened but would never regret.
Shaking her head at her silliness, she spent another few minutes before pushing to her feet and walking back to the main house. Once inside her chamber, she called for the maid Aunt Imogen had sent down with her.
“I’ll be leaving Hertfordshire for a few days,” Sophia said as soon as the maid entered.
Mary smiled. “I’ll pack for both of us immediately, Miss Sophia. A few day gowns, dinner gowns, a ball gown, and a riding habit?”
“Yes,” she said, “but Mary, I shall be going alone.”
The maid’s eyes widened at the scandalous proposition. “Miss Sophia,” she gasped, with evident alarm. “Lady Cadenham bid me—”
“I know what my aunt asked of you,” she said with a gentle but firm smile. “I am five and twenty, and I daresay I shall be fine without a chaperone as a guest in a friend’s home. I’ll accept your company for the journey, but I’ll ask the duke for his coachman to return you home immediately.”
Servants were notorious for spreading gossip, and Sophia wanted to keep Mary away from spying on her and the duke. The young and excitable maid would not be able to keep whatever she witnessed to herself.
Her eyes widened, and Mary’s pale, freckled face was alight with curiosity. “The duke? The one in the papers…who chased after you—,” said with considerable inquisitiveness.
Sophia arched a brow at her impertinence. Mary flushed and dipped into a quick curtsy before hurrying off to pack. Sophia moved from the escritoire, made her way over to the bed, dipped to her knees, and pulled out a trunk. She opened it and carefully removed one of the nine paintings her mother had done. After carefully wrapping one in several soft linens she bid Mary pack it in her belongings.
Soon Sophia was alone in the drawing room, peering through the windows down the long graveled driveway for the carriage. The book she’d been attempted to read fell, and she picked it up, checking to ensure there was no damage.
She rested her head on the cushions of the sofa, staring into the ceiling. Alone in this drawing room, Sophia suddenly felt like the only person in the world. The yawning emptiness sank into her bones, astonished to realize how often she had endured this state despite the company of dear Lydia, Tommy, and Aunt Imogen.
The roiling emptiness hungered to be filled, and for the first time, she wondered if a mere affair that would be destined to end would be enough to ease the chill of loneliness.
The sound of the carriage pulling into the driveway tugged her attention to the windows once more. Coming up onto her knees and leaning forward, she smiled upon identifying the ducal crest on the equipage. Anticipation and nerves cascaded through her veins, and she took a deep breath to steady the fierce beating of her heart.
She closed her eyes and took a breath through a throat that felt dry and hot. She scrambled from the sofa, stood, and wrapped her arms around herself. The chasm closed, and the icy bite of loneliness abated. The awareness that it was because of William inexplicably unnerved her yet also filled her with delight.
With a smile, she departed the drawing room toward another wildly exciting experience.
A couple days later, Sophia arrived at Hawthorne Park, Hampshire, the ancestral seat of the Duke of Wycliffe and one of the stateliest country homes she’d ever beheld. The grandeur of Hawthorne Park never failed to impress Sophia. The four-story house was perfectly situated atop a hill, overlooking the forest lands and valley that divided the village of Mulford. William had once told her the Tudor-style mansion was built in the late fifteen hundreds, though many modern additions had been carried out on the one hundred and eight room manor. Expansive parklands and impeccably designed gardens surrounded the building, it had the most magnificent sweeping arched entrance and boasted many decorative crenellations and several decorative towers. A few footmen stood in the forecourt of the duke’s palatial home and assisted her descent from the carriage.
A footman carried inside two single valises and a hat box, and Mary was sent to the kitchen for food and invited to stay overnight before her return to Hertfordshire. Soon, Sophia stood in the impressive hallway of Hawthorne Park, the air redolent with a mix of waxes and lemon.
“Miss Knightly,” the butler said kindly, “Welcome to Hawthorne Park. Please, allow me to escort you to his Grace.”
She recognized the butler from her previous visit to Hawthorne Park, but the butler’s face was professionally inscrutable. He gave no indication that he remembered the duchess tossing her out before and banning her return. The butler knocked on the door, a muffled voice bid them entry, the door was opened, and she strolled inside.
William glanced away from the open windows at the sound of her approach. A quick flash of primal satisfaction settled on his face, and she realized he’d doubted she would actually come. He took some time just looking at her as she discarded her attractive rose-pink Leghorn bonnet, lined with a deeper rose chiffon, revealing her stunning neatly swept-back hair. Her peach traveling gown had a rose chiffon corsage and a shawl collar trimmed with rose-colored piping. Her beige traveling half-cape was swept off showin
g the matching rose-colored silk lining and each button was covered with the same silk. She looked a picture and Sophie was delighted she had clearly taken his breath away.
William stood as the door closed behind her, ensconcing them in a silence fraught with intimacy. The duke sauntered over to her, and Sophia trembled as he gathered her into his arms and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensations winding through her. He had a clean, masculine scent that was so rousingly pleasant that she wanted to snuggle closer.
“You came,” he said gruffly.
She slipped her arms around his waist and peered up at him. “Doubt me, did you?”
His eyes met hers, and there was something dark and dangerous flickering there. “I have lived in hope these few days.”
He lowered his head, and his lips brushed over hers once, so lightly that she barely felt the contact. A sweet feeling flipped several times low in her belly. William stepped away, and she felt bereft at the loss of his closeness.
“I’ll ring a maid to escort you to your chambers. You could freshen up and rest a bit before dinner, which has been put back until seven o’clock.”
“Thank you, but I would prefer to change and go for a ride. I’ve been cooped up these last few days, either inside the carriage or a room at an inn.”
He arched a brow. “You ride now?”
She smiled widely, remembering how William had tried to instruct her and she failing lamentably. “I do.”
Admiration glinted in his eyes. “You’ve lost your fear of heights? Impressive. There’s a story there I am eager to hear.”
She lifted one of her shoulders, feeling unaccountably shy. “My mother always wanted her girls to learn to ride. I…I wanted to fulfill her wish.”
“I wished I’d been there to teach you,” he said, admiration rich in his tone. “I will meet you in the drawing room in thirty minutes for a spot of riding.”
“Thirty minutes,” she agreed with a smile.
He rang for a servant, and shortly after she was led to a chamber that drew a gasp of admiration from her. The soft plush carpet in swirling patterns of blue and gold perfectly matched the brocade drapes and damask sofa by the fire. The canopied bed in the center of the room had a profusion of pillows, and a lightness filled her heart. William had recalled that she’d told him she liked to sleep surrounded by airy pillows. The maid informed her that there was a sitting room, a separate area for her to use as morning room, and another smaller room for her dressing room. The entire picture was one of elegance and sophistication. Her valises were open, and another maid was cheerily putting her clothes in the armoire.
“And where does that door lead?” Sophia gestured to a four-panel oak door; the only door which was currently closed.
The maids quickly glanced at each other before one answered, “It leads to the duke’s chamber, milady.”
Heat slowly washed over Sophia’s face at the realization that they had adjoining chambers, and that this was not a mere guest room, but the duchess’s chamber. What was William thinking? Sophia quickly dressed in her boy trousers and shirt after requesting the maid to assist her with binding her breasts. She laughed aloud, thinking how shocked William would be when he saw her mode of dress. The two maids in the room shared an amused glance, no doubt thinking she had gone off her rocker.
She did not want to hide from the rush of pleasure and anticipation of spending time with William. Instead, she embraced it, humming happily as she allowed her hair to be loose. It tumbled in waves past her pointed elbows and settled near her waist. When the maids left, Sophia twirled in the room, laughing, then she hugged herself.
* * *
The breath seemed to suck itself from William’s lungs when Sophia strolled into the drawing room. The tan trousers clung tightly to her alluring curves, the white shirt fitted snugly, and her hair rippled boldly over her shoulders. An intense jolt of lust hardened his length with such swiftness that for a heartbeat he felt light-headed. She seemed to have discarded to the winds every precept of gentility and propriety. From the exaggerated sway in her walk and the smile of mischief about her lips, William gathered she had meant to shock him.
He was…delighted by this side of her. The girl he remembered had been quite reserved except with her responses to his kisses. He’d thought it because her father was a reverend and he had admired that demure sweetness about her.
Now he felt as if he stared at fire, one which beckoned him to step closer to its wicked heat. “By God, you look ravishing!”
She made a small and indelicate noise, but her eyes glittered with rich pleasure. He realized suddenly that she was blushing, a delicate pink stain spreading from her cheeks down her throat. She was still not used to artful compliments, that aspect had not changed. Waving her to walk ahead of him so he could admire the curve of her derriere unashamedly, they made their way outside and to the stables.
“I can feel your eyes, your Grace,” she drawled. “How rude of you.”
William grinned. “And where do you feel them?”
She rolled forward even more sensually and he bit his lower lip hard and bit back a snarl. God in heaven. “If you ever dress in such a manner outside of my presence, again…there will be consequences.”
“How positively medieval,” she said with a light dismissive laugh. “I do believe I shall ignore that audacious command.”
An odd possessiveness roared through him, and he loathed the very idea of anyone else enjoying the vivacity with which she glowed. “I’ll certainly not hesitate to spank your delightfully rounded arse should I need to impress upon you my seriousness. I’ll soothe it with kisses after, of course.”
She missed a step as if she’d stubbed a toe and glanced at him over her shoulder. Her mouth lifted at one corner, a wicked little smile. “Oh? I’ve heard of such perverse pleasures. How interesting that you indulge in such pursuits.”
It was William’s turn to stare as if she had grown horns. The little minx tossed her head and laughed, clearly enjoying rattling his composure. William laughed, and the sound of her giggle as she entered the large stables floated in the air and lodged in his heart.
“Oh, how beautiful they are,” she crooned, walking toward two horses chomping at the bit slightly, eager to be let loose.
He’d already sent word for two of his fastest and more powerful horses to be saddled. And now he was glad he’d trusted the instinct that told him she’d want to race, and not want to ride a gentle mare who’d hold her back.
The stable lad’s eyes widened when he saw Sophia, and with a nod at the side-saddle, William silently communicated that her horse, a chestnut filly, should be fitted to be ridden astride.
Sophia moved with liquid grace as she eased closer to the horse and with a lift of his fingers, William dismissed the stable hands. Using the mounting block, she seated herself atop the horse with supreme confidence, no hesitation or fear displayed at the sheer size of the beast beneath her.
He walked his horse from the stable out into the yard.
“How long do you wish to ride for?” he asked.
“Until I’m breathless,” she said softly, staring at him in a manner that made him want to haul her into his arms and devour her mouth.
He mounted his horse, and in the dimming twilight, they rode out across the rolling lawns of his estate towards the lowering sun.
Chapter 7
They rode for almost an hour, at times they raced and other times they cantered admiring the birds they disturbed into flight, the rabbits, and the foxes they spied, and it did not escape William that their conversation was filled with amicable chats of little substance. He still found it pleasant and allowed there would be enough time to find out how the seven years had shaped Sophia and what she truly wished for her future. And for him to see if he truly wanted more than an affair with her.
Everything inside him yelled that a fling would not be enough, but he would proceed with caution instead of hammering with brutal fo
rce at her resistance. He did not want to hurt her…that much he knew.
“Let’s race toward the skyline of elm trees, where the blue twilight of darkness beckons,” she yelled and urged her horse into a run, deeper into the forest abutting his lands.
William chased her, appreciating the exhilaration pumping through his veins, and the power of the stallion beneath him as he easily caught her and passed her. She chortled, brought her horse to a stop, and dismounted with impressive skill. He launched from his horse, and they dropped the reins, allowing the animals to graze and to seek water from a nearby babbling stream.
“Your horsemanship is impressive,” he said, moving closer, so they strolled side by side.
“Such a compliment from one as skilled as yourself is a fine thing indeed, your Grace.”
He smiled. “What other skills have you learned in the time we’ve been apart?”
She cast him an amused glance, before bending to pick up a long stick. Gathering another piece, she threw it in his direction, and he deftly caught it. Then she struck an elegant fencing pose.
“En garde!” she cried, “Allez!” quickly advancing with impeccable style.
Every moment he looked at her, she seemed to offer something new. With a twist of his wrist, he brought his stick up and assumed an offensive position. A delighted laugh issued from her, and she thrust forward in a quick, lithe, and graceful motion. William was impressed and engaged her in a spirited bout of stick fencing.
“I am unable to break through your unwavering guard,” she said a bit breathlessly several minutes later, and with thick admiration in her voice. She was breathing hard, flushed, her eyes sparkling.
They continued their dance of thrust and parry, their feet edging forward and back with surety and swiftness over the crunching grass and leaves.
