Raven (Gentlemen of the Order Book 2)

by Adele Clee

  Sophia’s watery smile held barely a hint of amusement. She draped her arm around Jessica’s shoulder and rubbed her sister’s arm affectionately. “Come. Let us retire. You can tell me all about Mr Sloane’s weaknesses.” She turned to their host. “Good night, Mr Sloane. Mr D’Angelo.”

  “Good night,” the gentlemen said in unison.

  “Good night, Mr Cole.” She stopped before him for a heartbeat that felt as long as seven years. “Thank you for an enjoyable evening.”

  The urge to follow her upstairs, to steal a kiss, burned like the devil.

  He bowed. “My pleasure.”

  A few days ago he might have spouted nonsense about duty, about his obligation to the Order. A few days ago, he hadn’t made love to the woman who haunted his dreams. Now, love and loyalty to Sophia overshadowed his commitment to Lucius Daventry.

  He watched her leave the room, his hungry gaze following the gentle sway of her hips. The further she walked, the more fierce the primal tug. Parting brought deep sorrow. It was the reason he’d avoided her company the last few years.

  Finlay released a weary sigh. He turned to his friends to find both men gaping. “Why the slack jaws? One would think I was standing naked and gripping my ballocks.”

  Sloane shook his head and tutted. “At times like these, I long for Ashwood’s rationale.”

  Having wed Miss Dunn less than a week ago, their colleague was enjoying the delights of married life before returning to take another case.

  “Ashwood has more pressing matters on his mind than Dr Goodwin’s treachery.”

  D’Angelo arched a brow. “I believe Sloane is referring to your love for Lady Adair, not the devious goings-on at Blackborne.”

  “I see.” There was little point denying the truth. “Am I so transparent?”

  “Blindingly so.”

  Finlay scrubbed his hand down his face. “How remiss of me. And I thought I was a master of secrets.”

  Something in his tone roused Sloane’s pity, for he sauntered over and draped his arm around Finlay’s neck. “You’re in need of a decent drink, my friend. Something to numb the senses for a while, else you’ll have a devil of a time sleeping tonight.”

  As Sophia was sharing a room with Jessica, there would be no opportunity for an illicit liaison, no possibility of slipping between the bed sheets and plunging into her wetness.

  Finlay smiled. “Have you something stronger than a wily whistle?” It would take a potent beverage to calm his raging lust.

  “Sloane has a new concoction.” D’Angelo shrugged out of his fine coat as if preparing for a night of hard liquor and bawdy banter. “Though he is still thinking of a name.”

  “Now we’ve discovered our friend’s weakness perhaps we might call it Finn’s foible,” Sloane teased.

  “Or a suffering bastard,” D’Angelo joked.

  Sloane hummed. “It doesn’t have quite the right ring.”

  “Remind me to rip you to shreds when you meet a woman who excites your mind the way she does your cock.”

  D’Angelo shivered. “Heaven forbid. When that day comes, you’ll be old and grey and incapable of ripping anything but the newspaper.”

  If Finlay had learnt anything these last few days, it was that a man often found his fate on the road he wished to avoid. Love defied reason. The words of the great philosophers held some truth. Those hardest to love needed it most of all.

  Chapter 13

  “Is something wrong, Sophia?” Finlay asked from his seat in Sloane’s carriage. “Your nose is wrinkled to the size of a button.”

  It was five o’clock in the morning, and they were making the fifty-mile journey to Godstow. She had barely slept, her mind busy conjuring visions of making love to Finlay Cole. Had she been alone in her bedchamber, she might have touched herself to ease the infernal ache. Had she been alone, she would have dragged the object of her desire from the rowdy party in the drawing room and indulged in something more vigorous.

  “Wrong? Other than the fact you smell like a brandy barrel?” Oh, she hoped he heard the thread of annoyance in her voice. While she had lain in bed frustrated, he’d drunk himself into a stupor.

  “Sloane likes to entertain and has a talent for mixing spirits. It would be rude not to appease our host.”

  She pasted a smile. “That would explain why Mr D’Angelo took a detour on the way to his bedchamber.”

  That wiped the smirk off his face.

  Finlay’s eyes widened in horror. “D’Angelo entered your room?”

  “No. I heard him singing in the garden. He found a statue of a sea nymph and professed undying love. Then he pricked his finger whilst picking a rose. He cursed, kicked the bush and ended up somewhere in the borders.”

  Finlay chuckled. The tiny laughter lines about his eyes made him look impossibly handsome. “He did drink copious amounts of Finn’s … of brandy.”

  “As did you, judging by the sickly stench oozing from your pores.” Seeing his eyes bright with amusement, not plagued by heavy storm clouds, soothed her mood. “Have you slept at all?”

  “Slept? Knowing you’re sprawled naked in bed, and I cannot enter?”

  So, he was not oblivious to her plight.

  “Naked? Then I saved you from a crippling disappointment. I wore a rather dowdy nightgown.”

  “I have a fertile imagination.”

  “Indeed.” She thought it wise to change the subject lest she combust from the heat in his gaze, the passion in his voice. “Weather permitting, it’s another seven hours to Godstow. Sleep, and I shall wake you when we stop to change the horses.”

  “Do you wish to avoid an intimate conversation, Sophia?” he drawled.

  “No, but seven hours is a long time to manage one’s frustration.”

  “Six hours,” he corrected. “At three hundred guineas a pair, Sloane’s Cleveland bays are renowned for their stamina and speed.”

  When Finlay had knocked on her bedchamber door but an hour earlier, informing her of his plans, she had asked nothing about the journey. Jessica’s safety had been her primary concern. The need to discover the reason for Dr Goodwin’s duplicity had forced her to wash and dress quickly. The need to spend time alone with Finlay had robbed her of all rational thought.

  “But you’ll need to stop and change the horses. Do you intend to remain in Godstow overnight?”

  “I plan to change the horses when we reach High Wycombe—Sloane assures me they will make it that far—and collect them upon our return.”

  “Tomorrow?” Logistically, they could not return to London before nightfall.

  “Tonight,” he said. “Once we’ve questioned Goodwin, we’ll return to High Wycombe and collect the bays. Then we’ll travel the twenty miles to Blackborne and spend the night there.”

  “Blackborne?” Mild panic tightened her chest. “For what purpose?”

  “Sophia, I would see this business concluded quickly. I plan to interrogate Blent and Mrs Friswell. Do not be concerned about Jessica. Sloane and D’Angelo are more than capable of taking care of her. And I’ve sent word to Daventry, asking that his wife come to stay until our return.”

  “But what if Jessica is unwell, Finlay? She spent the night shivering under a mound of blankets, complaining of stomach cramps and aching limbs.”

  “It’s merely a reaction to the lack of opiates. Her body craves the laudanum Dr Goodwin prescribed. I’ve spoken to Mrs Brogan, who knows how to deal with such complaints.”

  During her marriage to William, Sophia had been forced to leave Jessica in Mrs Friswell’s care. Sometimes a week passed before she was able to make the journey to Blackborne.

  “I know it’s difficult, but I need you,” Finlay added when she failed to reply. “You know the area. You’re the only one who can corroborate the doctor’s story. The only one who has the right to question Blent and Mrs Friswell.”

  Everything he said made perfect sense.

  “But the coachman can turn around if you would rather remain at
Keel Hall.” His coal-black eyes softened. “The last thing I want is to cause you distress.”

  “No.” She released a weary sigh. “I shall come with you. Besides, there is no evidence someone is trying to abduct my sister. Dr Goodwin is intent on confusing Jessica’s mind and hindering her recovery. Money is his motivation. No doubt he met a lover in the coffeehouse and was complaining about my interference.”

  Most men would have appeased her, agreed, said anything to still her fears. Not Finlay Cole. He was a man of truth, honour, a man with a conscience. She could read his wary expression, hear his troubled thoughts.

  “You don’t agree?” she continued.

  He shrugged. “Things are never as they appear. Gut instinct tells me they all have something to hide. Experience says we must attack, not retreat. Hence the reason we are journeying to Godstow at this ridiculous hour.”

  Sophia studied his firm jaw and muscular physique. A woman need fear nothing in Finlay Cole’s company. He was everything she had ever wanted in a husband, a friend and lover. Strong. Determined. Kind-hearted. Undeniably handsome with a body made for sin.

  Indeed, perhaps she was drooling, which was why he said, “Your mouth looks so moist, Sophia, one might presume you’re thinking about walnut cake.”

  Was her desire for him so obvious?

  “I’m thinking about you, not walnut cake.” She swept her tongue around the seam of her lips. “Your confidence, your resolve, everything about you excites me, Finlay.” It couldn’t be helped. She was compelled to speak the truth. “Feeling you moving inside me was satisfying beyond compare.” She had thought of little else since.

  He sucked in a breath and stroked his hand down his muscular thigh. “Perhaps you might choose your words carefully. Sitting in a bouncing carriage with a throbbing erection can be somewhat painful.”

  “We have hours before we reach High Wycombe. Perhaps I might ease your discomfort.”

  A primal hum resonated in his throat. “I swore the next time we made love it would be in bed.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Why?”

  “After all these years, you deserve to have a man worship you properly.”

  Properly?

  Oh, a host of lewd thoughts flitted through her head. “But that’s the man who is always so organised, so thorough. What happened to the reckless scoundrel who pushed me against the wall in a theatre cupboard, bunched my skirts to my waist and filled me full?”

  Just the thought of it made her damp between the thighs.

  “Storeroom, not cupboard,” he growled, adjusting his manhood through his black breeches. “Damn it, Sophia. Do you mean to seduce me in a moving carriage?”

  “Is that what you want me to do, Finlay? Tease you into submission?”

  “Love, the reality is you only need to flutter your lashes to bring me to my knees. But I can continue to play the stubborn oaf if you wish to test your methods of persuasion.”

  Loving a man, made a difference when partaking in an intimate liaison. With William, she had shrouded her body in an unflattering nightgown and hidden under the coverlet. He’d been reasonably tolerant, extremely quick, a fact she had given thanks for during every Sunday Service.

  With Finlay, she was compelled to take her time, wished to strip off her clothes and spread her legs wide. With Finlay, she would lay herself out like a feast and tempt him to gorge on every bare morsel.

  But they were in a moving carriage.

  The broom cupboard had been infinitely more spacious.

  Still, the man opposite proved highly irresistible. She loved his hot mouth, his wicked hands, loved the way his thick shaft swelled inside her. She loved hearing his pants and moans of pleasure, loved seeing the fire in his eyes as he found his release. In short, she loved Finlay Cole and would make love to him atop the coachman’s box if he asked.

  The carriage bounced over a rut in the road, forcing her to grab the overhead strap. “A lady should feel safe when riding over rough terrain.”

  He arched a dubious brow. “Safe?”

  “These bays are so fast I need something solid to anchor me to the seat.”

  “Minx,” he muttered. “They use straps to secure luggage. Perhaps you might ask Sloane to design a lap belt.”

  “A lap belt? What if we had an accident and I couldn’t undo the buckle?” Oh, she would have this obstinate creature inside her before they passed the next milestone. “No, it would have to be something that slips easily into place, something hard and substantial.”

  “Hard and substantial?” The teasing charm in his voice heightened her excitement. “Like a harness?”

  “No, one needs the freedom to bounce up and down without fear of being thrown to the floor.” Suppressing a grin, she raised her skirts and began untying her boot laces.

  Finlay watched but said nothing.

  Once free of her boots, she wiggled her stocking-clad toes. “Until Mr Sloane invents a means to ensure his passengers’ safety, I shall simply have to use the opposite seat as a brace.” She placed her foot between his open legs. “Like so.”

  His mouth curled into a slow, sensual smile.

  A smile that caused tingles to dance across her skin.

  “Of course, I shall have to be mindful not to edge too close lest I do you an injury.” She shuffled her foot nearer to the bulge in his breeches, set about massaging his manhood with her toes. “You’ll let me know if I overstep the bounds of propriety.”

  “I shall let you know the moment I find your manner inappropriate.”

  “Excellent.” She continued to rub her foot over his erection. “You don’t mind if I remove my pelisse? I’m suddenly rather hot, a little damp in places.”

  “Please, make yourself comfortable.” The rasp in his voice confirmed his mounting arousal. Indeed, he groaned with disappointment when she withdrew her foot.

  She unhooked the buttons, slipped out of the garment and draped it beside her on the seat.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Better. But I still feel a little flushed.” She clutched the seat and leant forward, offering him a glimpse of her cleavage. “Touch my forehead. Perhaps I’m suffering from a fever.”

  He reached across and pressed the backs of his fingers to her brow, though his gaze dipped southward. “You do seem rather warm.”

  “Then there’s nothing for it but to let the air circulate.” Sophia sat back and slipped her skirts up past the pink ribbons securing her stockings, fanning the hem to create a slight breeze.

  Finlay watched beneath hooded lids, his eyes heavy with carnal longing. “Straddle me,” he commanded.

  Her stomach flipped at the huskiness in his voice.

  All the blood in her body sought residence between her thighs.

  Sophia bit back a celebratory smirk. “Have you thought of a way to secure me to the seat? If so, I’d like to see this ingenious contraption.”

  Finlay grinned and pulled down the blinds. He rose to her challenge in more ways than one. With masculine arrogance, he unbuttoned the placket of his breeches and let his throbbing manhood spring free.

  “Definitely hard, and more than substantial,” she hummed.

  “Perhaps you’d like to test if it’s fit for purpose.”

  “I’m confident it is, Mr Cole. But in the interest of safety, I feel an evaluation is in order.”

  Sophia wasted no time. She hiked her skirts to her waist and straddled his muscular thighs.

  The first delicious slide down onto his shaft tore a moan from her throat.

  “Yes, Finlay,” she panted as she took every irresistible inch of him. He was so thick and hot. She closed her eyes and let the love in her heart mingle with the lust in her veins.

  “Damn, love, you feel so good.”

  She forced her eyes open, needing to witness the hunger in his midnight eyes, needing to see his jaw clenched in lustful savagery.

  “To conduct a proper test, I must mim
ic the bumps in the road.” She inhaled deeply, came up on her knees and then sank slowly back down.

  “Mmm. You’re as wet as I expected, but the ride is somewhat bumpier than that, love.”

  He smoothed his hands down her back, edged under her skirts and gripped her bare buttocks. The devil parted her cheeks, opening her sex as he jerked his hips and guided her up and down the length of his erection.

  Heavens above. Maybe Finlay knew a spell to make a woman climax quickly in a moving carriage. Every time he squeezed and parted her buttocks, her sex pulsed.

  “Yes, we need a little more bounce,” she breathed, her thoughts lost in a haze of desire. She obliged by grabbing the lapels of his coat as if they were reins, by finding a faster rhythm that had Finlay’s breath coming as hard as hers.

  “That’s it,” he growled. “Ride the hell out of me.”

  The rhythmical rocking of the carriage served to heighten their pleasure.

  The tightening of her stomach muscles, and the wild thrusting of his manhood, pushed her closer to the edge of something spectacular. Her nipples ached for his mouth. Her sex welcomed the constant pounding.

  He must have sensed her sudden desperation because he whispered, “Come for me, Sophia.”

  His mouth settled on the swell of her breasts. One hand left her buttock to grip his manhood and pull himself free from her body. She almost groaned with frustration, until he rubbed the head over her clitoris and they both found their release.

  The pleasure was explosive.

  It left them gasping and panting.

  Lord, six hours confined to a carriage suddenly seemed no hardship.

  As they came down from the heady heights of ecstasy, he stroked her cheek. “I believe you enjoy seducing me, madam.”

  Sophia pressed her lips to his, so utterly captivated by this man. “I enjoy showing you how it feels to be alive, Finlay.”

  Chapter 14

  Dr Goodwin lived between Wolvercote and Godstow in a large thatched house with sprawling gardens overlooking the Thames. Indeed, his ancestors had owned the house for two hundred years, and the doctor inherited the property upon his father’s death five years ago.