by Stacy Reid
She delivered a straight thrust which he dodged with seamless skill. With another breathless laugh, she admitted defeat.
“Surely not,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “I was about to relent from sheer exhaustion. Your energy is boundless, …and quite enticing.” Visions of taking her for hours rolled through him in a dark, hungry tide.
Heat flashed in her eyes, and she lowered her stick.
“I never knew you had an interest in fencing.” In all the long talks they had in the past, she never mentioned the desire. A flash of insight struck.
“Is this another desire your mother had for her girls?”
She smiled, a bit shyly. “No, it was a dream my sister Henrietta had for herself. She pestered Mama and Papa for months, hoping to take fencing lessons. I finally hired a tutor a couple years ago, and then Tommy helped me finesse my form?”
“Tommy?”
“Aunt Imogen’s son and my cousin.”
“I see.”
They came up a tree near to his estate line, a place in the forest where they had met several times in the past. She smiled at him, and with a sigh lowered herself to the thick carpet of grass. He followed, and soon he reposed beside her, staring at the last remnants of the lowering sun in the sky.
“What else have you experienced?” he asked, shifting his hand on the grass to lace with one of hers.
“Oh, this and that,” she murmured enigmatically. “Certainly not things a young lady of proper standing would do.”
He heard the hidden implication. Not things any duchess would do. “Is that so?”
“Hmm, mmm.”
“Tell me,” he urged, “What is the wickedest thing you’ve done.”
An unlikely snort came from her. “I sea bathed in the water. Shocking, I know.”
“Terribly scandalous indeed,” he teased.
“Mama always wanted to run into the crashing waters of the sea. We visited Brighton a few summers and the hunger on her face…” Sophia sighed pierced somewhere deep inside of him.
“I always wished we had all donned our sea-bathing suits and rushed towards those frothy waves, and not be transported with a bathing machine!” She chuckled, but it sounded a bit sad to his ears. “I also carriage raced with Tommy. I won,” she said smugly. “He was vexed with me for weeks for having bested him since I’m a girl.”
“Who wanted to carriage race?”
She turned her head on the grass, and her thick lustrous hair hung in graceful curves over her shoulders, with wisps curling on the softness of her cheeks. “Papa! Can you believe it, William? My father wanted to race carriages with rogues and scoundrels. I suppose as the third son of a baron he had little choice but to choose the clergy as his profession, but he had other desires. How I wished he’d been brave enough to indulge in them, even once!” she ended wistfully.
The touch of moonlight over her face rendered her even more beautiful than William could imagine. He stared at her, his heart breaking for the duality of sadness yet satisfaction he saw in her gaze.
With dawning amazement, he looked at her. “Have you been doing what your family desired to do…these last few years?”
Her lashes briefly swept down across her cheekbones. “It is a fine way to experience life,” she said softly with a rather self-conscious smile.
He lightly fingered a loose tendril of hair on her cheek. “You’ve learned to ride with superb skill, fencing, carriage racing, you frolic in the sea without an ounce of propriety…”
She arched a brow. “Yes?”
“And I suspect a lot more thrilling jaunts.”
Pleasure lit her expressive face. “You suspect right,” she said with a teasing nudge of her shoulder.
“I also suspect they were all desires your family had in their hearts…and you honor their memory by experiencing it for them,” he said gruffly.
She reached out and laced his fingers with her own. “Yes.”
“Very admirable and I am glad you found the strength and courage to honor their memory in this way.”
Her lips curved in a tremulous smile. “Thank you, William.”
He unlaced their fingers, place a finger under her chin, and held her under his stare. “Tell me, Sophia…what have you done for yourself?”
She flinched then froze. Her eyes flared with fiery emotions, and the pain in her gaze hurt somewhere deep inside of him. She tried to withdraw from him, but he did not allow it.
Her gaze searched his for endless moments. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done happily and because I want to.”
“I know you wanted to…but were they desires of your heart? Things you’ve always wanted to do?”
Her breath sawed from her throat and fury spit from her eyes, but she answered calmly. “No.”
“What do you want for yourself?”
She wrenched from him and scrambled to stand. William followed, grasping her arm and turning her to face him.
“I am heading back to the house,” she said without meeting his gaze.
“Such a simple question yet you run.”
Her chest heaved as she whipped her head up to glare at him. “I…” she thrust her fingers through her hair. “I survived, William, and they died.”
The pain in her voice was a brutal fist to his gut.
“What right do I have to only live the rest of my life by my desires? Those who should be here, Mama, Papa, Hetty…they are all gone! Far too soon before their time and they did not take me with them! I was left to suffer the pain of their passing and how can I do anything less by doing the things they would have done?” she said brokenly.
Unexpected anger whipped through him. “Don’t you dare feel guilty for surviving! If there is one thing I know is that your family would never want you to feel less for living when they died.”
A pulse became visible in her throat. “How do you know?”
“Because they loved you, Sophia. Your father and mother only wanted the best for you. Hetty was your shadow, and she admired you most ardently and wanted to be like you when she was of age. What you did…living their dreams is beautiful…but you must live for yourself as well.”
She slanted him an unreadable glance. “Do not presume to tell me how to live my life!”
He took a deliberate step toward her. “Where is the girl that lay in my arms and dreamed of having three children? The one who dreamed of traveling to France and Italy? The one who dreamed of sneaking into a gambling hall even as she fretted for her eternal soul for having the desire. Where is the girl who dreamed of attending a ball and dancing until her feet hurt? Those were your dreams…and I own they can change, and you might aspire for other hopes. As your lover and your friend, let me tell you, Soph, it is quite fine to dare to dream for yourself.”
Wide, wounded eyes stared at him. “I did.”
“What?”
She stepped toward him and flushed her body against his. William’s pulse jumped in startled arousal at the lush feel of her pressed so intimately against him. She reached up and cupped his jaw before tipping on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. Another whisper of a kiss feathered over his jaw, and he closed his eyes against the sensations.
He groaned, stifling the impulse to crush her lips to his. “Soph—”
“By the river, when I allowed you to kiss me, to enter my body with yours and devastate my senses with such pleasure and passion…” A delicate blush spread through her cheeks. “That was me for the first time in years daring to take something for myself.”
A breath of need shuddered through him at the memory of how wild and beautiful she had been in his arms. “And I am damn glad, Sophia, that you met me halfway and walked into my arms.”
He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her in tighter against his body. Her eyes flared in surprise, but her sigh as she settled against his chest was of contentment.
“I am terribly sorry for your loss, Soph,” he said gruffly, dipping his head to press a kiss to her temple. “You lost your family s
o tragically…and then you believed I abandoned you. I am so damned sorry.”
“Pray, do not blame yourself. And while I was lost in grief for several months, I recovered quite nicely,” she said with a smile. “My heart no longer cries in the night for them. I found that peace about four years ago. I only think of the fond memories, and I allow myself to miss them without pain.”
You did not recover, for you no longer trust your heart to love again.
And he understood. When he’d believed he’d lost her, loving another woman had felt unbearable. And the loss of his father had taken months to fade.
They stood like that, hugging, as the night grew darker, and the forest quieter.
“Thank you, William,” she murmured against his chest. Her lips curved into a smile and her fingers dug into the back of his jacket as she clung to him tightly as if she would never let him go.
Chapter 8
Sophia had been at the duke’s estate now for several days and noted with a mixture of alarm and intrigue that he had made no attempt to seduce her. Beyond a few sweet kisses to her lips, nothing of an intimate nature occurred. His restraint was admirable, for each night, she tossed atop pristine sheets, remembering the way his body had moved inside hers, and the pleasure which had knotted in her stomach and then the exquisite release. William seemed unruffled by their experience, and she was not entirely sure how to feel about that.
They had fallen into a routine that felt domestic, and she was decidedly unsure how to feel about how happy she was at Hawthorne Park with William. She enjoyed their early morning rides, and then they spent a few hours apart after breaking their fast together. He would retire to his library to discuss estate matters with lawyers and stewards and respond to business correspondence. And she would pen letters to Aunt Imogen and Aunt Lydia, and even Tommy reassuring them of her safety, for Sophia did not delude herself into thinking Mary had kept quiet about her whereabouts.
She had received a letter from Aunt Imogen, which had made her heart pound.
Dearest Sophia,
I am gladdened to hear that you are safe with the duke. You are by no means a young girl anymore, but I do hope you know, the earl and I expect an offer of marriage from the duke after you’ve been under his roof for several days without a chaperone. I suspected when Wycliffe asked for you that his intentions were honorable, and I plan to hold onto that belief. So, my dear, the decision is in your court, and I know your aversion to the marriage state. I’ve also allowed you the freedom to leave London because I have never seen you react with such passion to anything in the years since my dear Richard passed, along with his wife and sweet Henrietta. I felt such hope that with Wycliffe once more in your life, you’ll start living again, my dear. I urge you to consider his offer with a heart not burdened with worry when he asks you. Society is not aware of your whereabouts, and we must keep it that way. I’ll be returning to Hertfordshire in a couple weeks, and I do hope to see you there with us and to hear the explanation of the madness which must have seized your mind to make you travel to the duke’s home.
Lovingly, Aunt Imogen.
Sophia carefully folded that letter and slipped it into her valise. Then she opened the letter from Lydia.
Dearest Sophia,
How I miss your delightful company. Society is still agog with whispers of you and the duke, and how they speculate that you are both missing from town! I daresay they are outrageous for they had not thought of you before this! I’ve attended several balls and made a few friends, Lady Charlotte Simmons and Miss Penelope Mullings. They are quite good-natured and amiable, even if overly inquisitive about your relationship with the duke, who has been labeled the catch of the Season! Of course, I’ve misdirected them, but I am so positively thrilled that the most eligible catch of the Season has chased you all the way to Hertfordshire. How awfully romantic!
Mama almost fainted when she received word that you are at the duke’s country seat. I overheard her speaking with Papa that she fears for your virtue and surely your good senses must have abandoned you somewhere on the road from London to Hertfordshire.
I think it all a grand romantic adventure, and I am quite envious of your position!
Your dearest friend, Lydia.
Slipping that letter in her valise, she stood and made her way downstairs to meet William. He had invited her on a jaunt to the village this afternoon, a departure from their usual activity. At first, she had hesitated, not wanting such an acute reminder of past tragedies, but then a rebellion against her tightly-held fears had sparked inside, and she had relented.
Most afternoons they would picnic by the lake, and take turns reading or regaling each other with bits of their pasts. They dined together nightly, and afterwards they would cocoon in the library playing whist or chess. He touched her at every chance he got and kissed her at least six times each day. She’d counted. But the most delightful part of her stay was the long conversations they had in the nights by the crackling fire as they played chess. Most nights she had fallen asleep on the lush carpet of the library floor, and he would merely lift her in his arms, take her to her chamber and tuck her beneath the warm coverlets.
During their wonderful talks, whenever she questioned him about his years abroad, his answers were terribly vague and noncommittal. Sophie vowed that would change today.
They met in the graveled driveway, and instead of a waiting carriage, two horses were saddled. They exchanged pleasantries and then quickly mounted and trotted away. After riding in the countryside for so long astride, Sophia found her current side-saddle an annoyance, but she had wanted to be properly attired in a riding habit for their visit to the village.
After riding for several minutes in companionable silence, they trotted down the main street of Mulford. The idyllic and quiet picturesque village of Mulford had changed over the years, as evidenced by the new shops which lined the now paved streets, it was clearly a thriving and expanding village. The school had been extended and boasted a larger school yard, a local printer had put down roots and now produced a weekly newspaper for the county, and one of the larger houses now advertised it services as a respectable boarding house. The original village shops had gained a fish monger, and the bakery had taken over the shop next door, which had once been a fairly poky chandlery, and turned it into a small café serving its wares. The bakery was clearly prosperous since the railway had come through Mulford and provided a barrow selling sandwiches and cakes to travelers stopping at the station.
The chandlers had moved down the street to a larger building and now stocked many more items including paraffin for the new paraffin lamps but still stocked the more old-fashioned lamp oil. They still sold the candles, string and other essentials they had previously but now also offered a range of ladies’ gloves and some tableware, brought down from the potteries. There was now a post office, and a book shop that also operated as a library.
“Mulford has grown,” she said, glancing at him.
“It only needed some investment to bloom.”
Sophia admired his patrician profile and astonishing handsomeness. Today he was dressed smartly and as a man of fashion in tan trousers and jacket, a dark blue waistcoat and a white undershirt. His cravat was expertly tied, and a beaver hat settled about his head with an odd sort of elegance. Sophia had donned a yellow riding skirt, with matching half jacket with dozens of buttons leading from midriff to her throat. A narrow-brimmed hat completed her ensemble, and she had perched it at a rakish angle.
“William,” she said, dragging him from whatever he had been musing about silently.
A smile edged his lips. “Sophia?”
“Do you have some terrible dark secrets you do not wish me to know?”
Surprise flared in his eyes. “Good God!”
She gave him a swift upward glance, searching his eyes. “You do become very tight-lipped whenever I ask about your experiences during our time apart. Yet you’ve pried into everything I have done, even getting an admittance that I sne
aked a chocolate drink from the kitchen while the household slept!”
His lips twitched. “I’ve been a bit of a bore, haven’t I?” The words carried an unmistakable note of irony.
“You said it,” she replied with a laugh.
“I wish I could inform you of grand adventures, but my years were frightfully uninteresting and uninspiring. My father…” he cleared his throat, and his gloved hands tightened on the reins. “My father took ill shortly after cholera reached Mulford. For a while we feared it was that dreaded disease, but that was soon disproved. His heart was failing, and he died a few months later.”
“I am very sorry, William, I recalled how much you loved and admired him.”
“My father lived a good life, and I have made peace with his passing. My mother grieved terribly, and I too mourned losing you and him. It became unbearable to stay, as I’ve told you before, and to run from the disquiet I feel I became a bit of a wanderer.”
A wanderer. Hetty had always wanted to travel and it had been her greatest hunger. Memories darted through Sophia as images of running from the sweet shop with Hetty, stopping by the milliner to buy laces and fripperies, and on one such run they had caught the butcher’s son kissing Miss Amelia Dickson, a very arrogant young lady who had sneered down her elegant nose at Sophia and Hetty. Miss Amelia had always boasted she would marry a lord from Hawthorne Park.
Sophia recalled William’s sister observing them from a parked carriage as they had run down this street in the rain laughing like loons. Lucinda—Lucy as she preferred—had been about Hetty’s age, had followed him faithfully, and had demanded to meet Sophia. She smiled, recalling William secretly teaching his sister to swim while she had sat on the grassy banks and shouted encouragement.
“How is dear Lucy? I recall her to be so very sweet-tempered, kind, and owning a very romantic disposition for her tender age. Very much how my sister once was,” she said wistfully. “How grown Lucy must be now.”
He smiled. “I’ve not seen her since my return to England.”
