by M. J. Scott
She watched him watching her, hand still moving slowly along the chain, fingers drifting down to where it led toward her décolletage. His eyes followed her movements, the blue of them deepening with each passing second.
She let her hand fall, took a step toward him.
He smiled. "Thirsty? Can I pour you a glass of something?" He swept his hand toward the collection of crystal decanters.
"Not thirsty," she said. Took another step. "I think there's been enough wine today."
"Sleepy, then? It's been a long day." He leaned back in the chair further, tugging at his cravat.
"I find myself strangely awake." She reached up and undid the necklace. Slid the chain from her throat and let it fall to the carpet. "How about you?"
He smiled slowly. "I seem to have found my second wind. So how are we going to occupy ourselves?"
"Right now, I lean toward taking off our clothes and putting that great big bed over there to good use."
Cameron tilted his head, considering. "I think we should definitely get to that part eventually."
Her breath caught. "Eventually?"
"We have the whole night." He patted his lap. "But first, I'd like you to come over here and let me investigate that very distracting frock for a time."
Her pulse was starting to beat heavy in her ears. "You like my dress?"
"I do. Helene is worth every last penny that Aristides paid her."
Sophie swished the skirt slowly. "It's a big dress. That's a small chair. How will I fit?"
"I'm sure we can work something out. The chair feels quite sturdy to me."
"You get to explain to Imogene if you're wrong."
"Imogene can afford all the chairs she wants. And I don't want to talk about Imogene. Or Jean-Paul. Or any Illvyan either of us knows. I want to kiss you. It feels far too long since I did."
"You kissed me before dinner."
"As I said, far too long. And that was deliberately sedate, polite kissing. I didn't want to muss you."
"It didn't feel that sedate." She smiled at him.
"Then imagine how much better it will feel when I'm not worried about mussing you."
She pursed her lips, pretending to think about it. "I don't know, as you said, this dress was expensive. I don't want to ruin it."
"I'll be careful with the dress."
"And with me?"
"Do you want me to be careful?" His eyes seemed blue like oceans, luring her in.
"Not particularly."
His smile widened. "Well, I aim to please. Come here, Sophia. I want to touch you." His voice went low, rumbling through her, setting nerves awake in its path. Her legs felt strange as she walked to him, desire pulsing through her. She stopped when the edge of her skirts brushed the toes of his boots.
He spread his legs wider.
"Closer." Another step had the fabric of her skirt billowing onto his lap.
"If I come much closer, I might smother you."
"Oh, I don't know about that." He grabbed two handfuls of fabric and start easing the yards of fabric up. Soon his hands found her thighs. Helene had included underwear that was a froth of lace and satin and silk. Insubstantial. Designed to be seen.
Designed to be taken off. His hands slid higher. Found the edges of the lace and the ribbon that bound it to her waist and worked it free with a few quick tugs as she stared down at him and his blue eyes burned up into hers.
The underwear fell to her ankles and she stepped out of it as Cameron's fingers began to slowly stroke her inner thighs, sending ripples of heat both down her legs to weaken them and up to pool between her legs.
Her knees began to tremble, and she swayed forward.
"Stay still," Cameron said, his tone low and rough. The sound of it did nothing to help her regain control. But she wanted to find out what would happen if she did as he said, so she sucked in a breath and braced her muscles, fighting not to move.
His fingers moved higher, brushed the crease in her thigh and then paused again.
"Legs wider, love."
She didn't have to be asked twice. She widened her stance. He murmured approval, his eyes dropping briefly as though he wished he could see through the layers of cloth that hid his hands from view. But he didn't seem to need to be able to see what he was doing to wreak havoc with her nerve endings as his fingers drifted oh-so-slowly upward.
Too slowly. She wanted his touch and a small moan escaped her.
"Impatient. I like that," he said approvingly. "But don't move. Or I'll have to slow down."
She bit her lip, fighting the urge to give up the game, tear his breeches open, and ride him, but that would spoil the fun. Cameron smiled and his fingers settled along her inner lips, stroking and skimming but missing the place where she throbbed and ached for him.
"Does that feel good?"
She nodded, wordless as he teased her.
"Let's see if we can make it better still."
She knew the tone in his voice, knew the longing and heat in it, urgent as her own. But as she stared down into his eyes, she felt the lash of heat, spill into something bigger. Something deeper. "Take me to bed, Cameron."
His fingers stilled, eyes not leaving hers, drowning her in blue as always. "Impatient, love?"
"I just want you."
"Then you shall have me. He pulled his hand free, and she moaned again, a small whimper of frustration as he rose, lifting her from her feet to carry her to the bed and set her down at its foot.
His fingers made short work of the tiny buttons that fastened the dress, and he pushed it down off her shoulders impatiently, working at the ties on her petticoats. As the layers of fabric pooled around her knees, leaving her standing in her corset and little else, the air cool on her skin as he shucked his clothes.
Naked, he pressed a kiss into the curve of her neck. "Helene's dress was exquisite, love," he said. He stepped closer behind her, the heat of him palpable even though he wasn't quite touching her. "But you're more beautiful like this." His hand traced down her spine. "So beautiful I sometimes can't believe you're mine."
Mine. The word sank into her skin, blazing through her. She shuddered and felt her knees give way again.
But Cameron's hands caught the sides of her waist, kept her upright. The weight of his cock pressed against her.
"I am," she managed, swaying, trying to get more of him.
"You are. Body and blood. Mine to hold."
"Yours to have," she gasped, pulling him back toward the bed, desperate for him. To have his arms around her and his body over her. To have him inside her.
He settled himself at her entrance, and the wicked pleasure of it blurred her vision. She bit her lip, focused only on him.
"Yours to have," she repeated.
"Exactly," Cameron agreed, his grip tightening on her hips as he lifted them higher. He thrust home, hard. Exactly as she needed. Showing her she was his. And he was hers. That they were together. That he loved her.
She rocked from the force of it, but his hands held her still—his fingers biting into her skin—and the feel of him sliding so fast and strong into her was dizzying. She moaned, needing more even if the sensation was perilously close to the edge of pleasure.
She shouldn't like it, but she did. Loved the strength and power of him as he worked her. Loved knowing that all that strength and power was driven to such hunger by her, could be brought undone by her as she was undone by him.
The bed creaked beneath her, but she couldn't bring herself to care about Imogene's furniture. There was only Cameron and the power of him as he loved her until she was gasping his name with each thrust and writhing up to meet him as the pleasure built and built pushing her further into the place of only him and only now.
Until finally he whispered, "Now, Sophie," and she crashed through the peak of it to the place where everything went away.
Chapter 11
By the time Sophie and Cameron made it to breakfast the next morning, she was sure they were horribly late. B
ut Imogene was sitting in the sunny room the footman showed them to, reading a letter and sipping tea, a neatly sliced apple on the plate in front of her. In a leafy-green day dress, she looked perfectly relaxed.
She looked up and smiled as they entered. "Good morning. Did you both sleep well?"
"Very, thank you," Sophie said. She pressed her lips together to stifle a yawn. She had slept like the dead when they'd finally slept. But they had only finally slept a few hours earlier.
She took the chair the footman held out for her and then reached for the tea that had appeared in her cup before she had barely settled herself. It was difficult not to drain half the cup in one go. She restrained herself to one large swallow before she resumed conversation. Across from her, Cameron had no such scruples, lifting his cup for a refill already.
She hid a smile. "Has Jean-Paul finished breakfast already?"
Imogene nodded. "The man wakes abominably early. But he'll be back for more tea shortly. He likes to get out in the gardens first thing, then come back and eat again before he deals with whatever else his day holds."
She'd hardly finished her sentence when Jean-Paul strode in. He was dressed simply in breeches, a white shirt, and a well-worn and rumpled dark-brown linen jacket.
"Scardales. Good morning," he said before kissing Imogene's cheek. "Anything interesting in the post, wife?"
She shook her head. "A letter from my sister. Some from other friends. Nothing of note to report in any of them. Tea?"
"Tea and food," Jean-Paul agreed. "Jasmine had her puppies this morning. Six of them. Etienne came and fetched me." He turned to Cameron. "One of our best hunting hounds. Always a relief when the whelping goes easily. Do you hunt, Cameron?"
"I did when I was younger," Cameron said. "There's not a lot of opportunity in the capital, and being in the Guard didn't leave me with much free time."
"Well, that's hunting a different kind of beast," Jean-Paul said. "Depending on the state of politics at any given time, I suppose." He grinned as one of the footmen placed a gigantic plate of buttered toast and bacon in front of him.
"What do you hunt in these parts?" Cameron asked.
"Some deer, some boar. There are a few small predators around that can cause issues. Cats and mere-wolves and such. Though my gamesmen take care to keep those under control. It's not really the season for game at the moment. Everything's in breeding mode. But we could ride out today if you want. Take some of the dogs and let them stretch their legs. See what trouble we can find." He forked up bacon, chewed, swallowed. Washed it down with nearly an entire cup of tea. "Let Imogene and Sophie have some time together to complain about us behind our backs."
Sophie tried not to grin at Cameron. The offer to explore with Jean-Paul was exactly what he'd hoped for. A chance to find a way for them to leave. She drank tea to hide her excitement.
"Have you been doing things I need to complain about again?" Imogene inquired. "Sophie and Cameron haven't been married long enough to start annoying each other. They're still virtually newlyweds."
"I'm sure you'll think of something, my darling," Jean-Paul said, refilling his tea. "What say you, Cameron? Shall we ride?"
Cameron looked over at Sophie. "Do you mind?"
She shook her head, knowing he was only asking to seem polite. Both of them wanted him to go. "No. You enjoy yourself. I'm not sure I want to spend more time on a horse today." Her body, when she had rolled out of bed had let her know that between the long carriage journey, the riding, and her night with Cameron, she had perhaps, overdone things. Even if some of the aches and pains were the good kind.
"Excellent," Jean-Paul said. "Then let us finish eating, and we can be on our way."
After the men had left, Imogene stacked the pile of mail by her plate, then looked across to Sophie. "I take it from your comment about not wanting to ride today that you are perhaps feeling sore from yesterday's ride?"
"I confess I am. I am out of practice, it seems," Sophie agreed. She soaked for a time last night and this morning, but there not even Imogene's sybaritic bath could perform miracles, it seemed.
"Then I know how we will start our morning," Imogene said. "The boys will be gone long enough. We have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves. Finish your breakfast. I need to take care of a few things with Barteau, but I'll come and find you after that, and we will laze like experts."
Sophie finished eating and then wandered back out to one of the portrait galleries, studying the paintings. They were a lengthy series of large, dark-haired men like Jean-Paul and the women she assumed were their wives, along with various children, horses, huge shaggy golden hounds, and small black curly-haired dogs all posed in various degrees of luxury inside or around Sanct de Sangre. She didn't spot Imogene or Jean-Paul amongst them, but the fashions shown in the pictures didn't look current to her eyes. Perhaps the more recent family portraits were hung elsewhere.
"Admiring the ancestors?" Imogene asked as she joined Sophie before Sophie had made it even halfway down the gallery. Apparently her business hadn't been lengthy after all.
"They are a handsome lot."
"Mostly, yes. Though some of them were thoroughly unpleasant if the history books are telling the truth."
"I suspect that's true of most noble families," Sophie said. "The kind of people who are always meek and mild and kindly aren't the type to seize power for themselves."
Imogene lifted a brow. "I suppose not. But I like to think, on the whole, we do good for our lands and the people who live here."
"I'm sure you do," Sophie said. She nodded up at one of the portraits. "I wonder if they felt they were doing the right thing. They all look so sure of themselves."
"It's a family trait," Imogene said wryly. "The du Laqs, in my experience, do not tend to lack confidence. I could give you a long list of who is who and what they each did, but I'm sure the Academe is already ensuring your head is thoroughly stuffed with more new information than you need. So I will not force the adventures of my husband's family on you. They will keep." She studied Sophie a moment, expression serious. "I know they have taken you in and I understand that you must feel grateful, but you do not need to do everything the maistres suggest, you know. No one can study round the clock, but they will let you work yourself into the ground if you're not careful." The emphasis on "they" reminded Sophie that Imogene and the Academe seemed to have an uneasy relationship.
"I have a lot to learn," Sophie said.
"And time to learn it, one hopes," Imogene said. "I can understand your desire to find your feet in a new place—I remember being an eager young student there myself—but you have to pace yourself. The Academe is another place full of people who don't lack in confidence and think they are doing the right thing. They've done their share of manipulating power for what they saw as good over the years, too."
There was a hint of warning in her voice.
"Makes you wonder how many of them were right," Sophie said. "From Jean-Paul's family or the Academe. Or your emperors. Or the Anglion nobles." So many people who had made choices that in turn had affected the lives of thousands-or tens of thousands or more—of others. The weight of those decisions. How did you bear it if it went wrong? How did you decide that you were the one to choose in the beginning?
She couldn't imagine it.
"That's far too complicated a question for so early in the morning," Imogene said. "Jean-Paul's dinner conversation has rubbed off on you. You need the antidote. I shall do my best to take your mind off such things for the next few hours. You came here to rest. Aristides will not be pleased if I return you to the city more exhausted than you left."
He'd be less pleased when she didn't return at all. She smiled to hide the thought. "You're very kind," she said. "And you're right. Rest sounds just what I need."
Imogene smiled. "Then you will enjoy this, I believe. Come with me."
They left the house and entered the gardens, taking a different path to the one they had the day before. They hadn't walked
more than one hundred feet when Elarus appeared, winking into existence in the center of the small lawn they were crossing. Sophie stopped short, startled. Then flinched despite herself, when Ikarus appeared behind Imogene as well.
She didn't know how tight a rein Imogene kept on her sanctii—no way of telling if he had come of his own volition or if Imogene had summoned him in response to Elarus appearing.
Ikarus wasn't doing anything overtly threatening—though right then she had to fight down her instinctive Anglion reaction to see it—but his black gaze was fixed firmly on Elarus.
Imogene was watching both of them. And her, Sophie fancied.
Sophie pasted a smile on her face, acting as though nothing was wrong. "Elarus, good morning."
Elarus inclined her head. But didn't speak.
"Was there something you wanted?"
"Looking," Elarus said. "No more."
Imogene made a noise that may have been a cough or a stifled squeak of surprise. Ikarus folded his arms. In the bright morning sun, the darkness of the skin of each sanctii only served to underline their size and strength. Even though both of them stood motionless, there was unmistakably tension between them.
Sophie wasn't entirely sure what to do to ease it. Without really thinking, she sent her awareness down into the earth, trying to locate the ley line. It might do no good at all if the two sanctii decided to clash, but it made her feel slightly better. She reached for a casual tone. Imogene hadn't moved, maybe it was best to proceed as if everything was normal.
"We were just going to..." She paused, looking to Imogene. "Where exactly is it that we are going?"
"The bain-sel. To soak those sore muscles of yours." Imogene hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at Ikarus. "But the sanctii don't join us there."
A salt bath? Sophie didn't know what that was. But Ikarus made a grunting noise of agreement at Imogene's announcement.
Elarus tipped her head to the side, considering him. "Wet. Don't need wet."
Ikarus huffed.
