by Clee, Adele
“Or Fitzroy Adair is the son of a groom,” he mocked.
He withdrew suddenly, but she did not feel the spurt of his seed over her buttocks.
“I have a better idea.” He turned her around to face him. “I want to kiss you. I want to have my tongue in your mouth, my fingers inside you when you come.”
Sophia swallowed past a rush of pure lust. “Yes.”
“Touch me, Sophia. Stroke me.”
She reached out, finding his slick shaft. He was so hard, so hot.
His hand delved under her skirts, his fingers slipping between her damp folds. “Yes, Finlay. Don’t stop.” The sudden quickening in her core sent tremors rippling to her toes.
“Is this what you imagined we’d be doing tonight?” he whispered before kissing her neck.
“It’s what I’ve imagined us doing every night.”
He faced her, his mouth inches from hers. “And how does this feel, Sophia?” He stroked her sex, slipped his fingers into her entrance.
Her head fell back, her hand stilling on his erection. “Divine, so divine I’ve lost my rhythm.”
His laugh sounded rich and warm, as if it sprang from the heart, natural, not forced. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
“Touching you is enough to make me come,” he said, which was evidently why he played her like a maestro, teasing her sex until she ground against his hand and begged for her release.
She pumped his manhood hard and fast, slowing between passionate kisses. And then he moaned into her mouth, spurted his seed over her hand. Her body clenched possessively around his expert fingers and she came apart, too, sagging against him. Spent. Boneless. So utterly in love.
Chapter 12
Three years was a respectable time to mourn one’s wife. That’s what Finlay told himself as he sat in the dimly lit confines of Sloane’s carriage. It was possible to love two women but in different ways. Hannah had married him with no expectations. His inability to make her happy had nothing to do with the fact he loved Sophia. He knew that now. Nothing could have cured her of the mental malaise. Nothing could have saved her from the fever that eventually claimed her life.
He must have sighed aloud, his apparent anxiety causing Sophia to say, “You’re quiet. You’ve hardly spoken since we left the theatre. Are you thinking about Fitzroy’s revelation?” She shuffled uncomfortably in the opposite seat. “Or are you plagued with guilt over our interlude in the broom cupboard?”
“Storeroom,” he corrected.
She laughed. “Does it matter? This isn’t the time to be pedantic.”
“I wished we’d had the luxury of a bed.” During sleepless nights, during those times when a man needed to take himself in hand, he had conjured a seduction scene in his mind. But while the storeroom proved unsatisfactory for a romantic liaison, their lovemaking had not.
He could still smell the potent scent of her arousal, could easily recall the way her muscles pulsed around his fingers. His cock hardened at the mere thought of driving deep into her body again. Indeed, he found himself more than infatuated with the woman who’d let him make love to her in a damn cupboard. More than obsessed.
“I like it when you’re impulsive,” she said. “You’ve been so guarded of late.”
“The mind makes fools of the most logical men. I shall strive to do better.”
“Better in following your impulses? Or better when choosing the next place to make love?”
Finlay cleared his throat. With this new devil-may-care attitude, he considered pulling her into his lap, letting her feel the thickness of his throbbing erection. He had thought about little else since he’d tucked his cock back into his breeches. D’Angelo would be proud.
“Both.”
She lowered her lids in the way he found so beguiling. “So, you wish to be intimate again?”
His heart softened. Sophia radiated confidence now they were back in London. She wasn’t plagued with fears and doubts as she had been at Blackborne. Still, he could hear the apprehension in her voice and felt the need to offer reassurance.
“Sophia, I thought being close to you would push me to the brink of madness, but I find the opposite is true. When I’m with you, everything feels right. Once we’ve dealt with our mounting problems, we might take time to examine what that means.”
In the stillness that followed, he pictured a vision of the future—bright, not bleak.
“Did you have to mention problems?” she teased. “We were so engrossed in pleasing each other I didn’t ask if you believed Fitzroy’s tale.”
While briefly considering all they had learned this evening, Finlay glanced out of the window. They had left the bustling streets of the metropolis and entered the rural province of Chelsea. Soon, they would be at Keel Hall, and a private conversation would be nigh on impossible.
“I didn’t necessarily believe it or disbelieve it.” He’d thought it too much of a coincidence, but where else would Adair have discovered the information? “We need to question Dr Goodwin to get to the truth. Jessica has lived peacefully at Blackborne all these years. So what changed?”
Lost in thoughtful contemplation, Sophia gazed at the sprawling fields stretching into the blackness. “For years, Jessica has been quiet and subdued. She’s often confused, unstable on her feet, but she’s never ventured to the woods. Everything changed two months ago.” She turned to look at him, sadness filling her eyes. “That’s when the whimpering started and the bursts of hysteria. That’s when she started sleepwalking, started the silly talk about witches and curses.”
“And you cannot think what prompted the change?”
“No. Life at Blackborne is rather uneventful. Mrs Friswell keeps to a strict routine as she believes habitual practices help with a disordered mind.”
“She has the look of a tyrant if you ask me.” Those sharp green eyes held a hidden wickedness.
Sophia shook her head, and in a disapproving accent said, “Mrs Friswell may look like a stern governess, but she has a kind heart. For Jessica’s birthday, she made—” She halted, her eyes widening in recognition.
“What is it?”
Sophia sat open-mouthed, even when the carriage rattled to a stop at the Chelsea Park turnpike, and Sloane’s coachman paid the toll.
“What is it?” Finlay repeated, his pulse racing in anticipation. “What have you remembered?”
“Oh, Lord!” Sophia flopped back in the seat as the carriage lurched forward. “How remiss of me not to have suspected a connection. Jessica celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday three months ago. That’s when it all started. It has been a nightmare ever since.”
One might assume the milestone added to Jessica’s emotional trauma. She should be married with children, not locked in a manor house in the heart of a creepy wood. Perhaps it triggered buried resentments. It must have some significance. Jessica was past the age of majority, but perhaps there were specific stipulations in Clarence Draper’s will.
“You mentioned your father’s cousin inherited the house, but that Clarence made financial provisions for you and Jessica. Might you elaborate?”
“Yes. Father amended his will when Jessica became sick. When I married, he set a substantial sum aside for my settlement.”
Finlay snorted. “A substantial sum? If it’s so substantial, why must you bow and scrape to Fitzroy Adair for your allowance?”
“William agreed to a monthly allowance large enough to cover the upkeep of Blackborne. When he died, my settlement gave me the freedom to manage the house and still keep it a secret from Fitzroy. The jointure from William’s estate is somewhat measly, hence the reason Fitzroy uses an additional allowance as bait. Had I given William a son, things would have been different.”
While he understood her reasons for secrecy, understood why William Adair wanted his son to control his stepmother’s purse strings, it still left one puzzling question.
“Are you saying your father made no provision for Jessica in his will?”
&n
bsp; She tutted. “Of course he did. He always hoped she would recover, which is why she could not draw her portion until she turned twenty-five. There’s one stipulation. Jessica must be declared of sound mind before she can inherit a penny.”
It was Finlay’s turn to flop back in the seat.
He was physically sated, mentally exhausted. But this new revelation was a promising move towards finding a motive for Dr Goodwin’s mysterious meeting and his manipulation of Jessica’s mind.
“For obvious reasons, I’ve avoided making an appointment with the solicitor,” she added. “Jessica cannot claim her portion while still so unbalanced. And I needed my allowance from Fitzroy.”
Guilt—Finlay’s faithful friend—surfaced. Had he not feigned indifference, had he not been so self-absorbed, Sophia might have turned to him for help.
“If you need anything, need money, you only need ask,” he said, knowing it was too little too late.
She forced a thin smile, though her expression remained bleak.
“Anything at all,” he stressed.
“Do you want to know why I attend lavish balls and spend my evenings dancing and making merry?” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “Because for a few hours I like to pretend life is easy, and I have nothing to worry about other than making space on my dance card.”
“You seek a distraction.”
“Yes.”
Is that all this was between them—an escape from life’s problems? Were they both fooling themselves to think they might learn to love as deeply as they had before?
“Bear that in mind the next time I ask you to dance, Finlay,” she said, referring to the night at Lord Newberry’s ball when his duty to the Order meant he was forced to spend time in her company. He’d left promptly, keen to keep contact to a minimum.
Sloane’s carriage turned through Keel Hall’s majestic wrought-iron gates and ventured through the avenue of conical topiary trees. This time, Finlay couldn’t raise a smile as they passed the mermaid fountain. Regret weighed heavy on his heart.
“You’ll find the master and his guests in the drawing room, sir,” Fitchett said, straightening his eye patch. “They’ve been there for hours and asked not to be disturbed. I was just on my way to the cellar to fetch another bottle of rum.”
“Is Mr D’Angelo still here?”
“He is, sir.”
Sophia stiffened beside him. The thought of Jessica sitting with two rakish gentlemen clearly proved unnerving.
“Come.” Finlay placed his hand at the small of her back. “We shall join them and discover what has held their attention these last few hours.”
The drawing room door was closed, not left ajar. Beyond, it was deathly quiet. Jessica wasn’t playing a lively tune on the pianoforte. D’Angelo wasn’t regaling a hilarious tale that had them in fits of laughter. Sloane wasn’t reciting poems in the husky drawl women loved.
“That’s a risky move, Miss Draper,” D’Angelo said in his teasing voice.
“One that will reap rewards, sir,” came Jessica’s playful reply.
“What the devil’s going on in there?” Sophia muttered.
Impatience saw her barge into the room as if expecting to find them naked before a roaring fire, all tangled limbs and sweat-soaked bodies. The reality was far different. Yes, the fire blazed in the hearth. Yes, beads of sweat clung to Sloane’s brow, but he loomed over a chessboard, studying the pieces intently. Jessica sat opposite him at the games table, equally engrossed.
As the spectator, D’Angelo was the only one to tear his gaze away from the board and acknowledge their presence.
“Ah, you’re back.” D’Angelo pushed out of his chair and crossed the room. “How was your night at the theatre?”
Finlay glanced at Sophia, remembering the warmth of her snug channel, soft as silk, hugging his cock like a glove. “Enlightening.” He could hardly say earth-shattering.
Sophia returned his gaze. “Stimulating on all levels.”
Mother of all saints!
D’Angelo wasn’t a fool. He was a master of innuendo.
“That good, eh? Presumption, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Is the creature as monstrous as the novel suggests?”
“Monstrous, yes,” Sophia said, “yet one cannot help but feel an ounce of pity for his plight.”
“Indeed.” D’Angelo’s curious brown gaze scanned the blonde tendrils escaping Sophia’s coiffure, then drifted to the faint red mark on her neck. He inhaled. The man could smell a woman’s arousal from a hundred yards. “I imagine one might almost feel the impassioned struggle.”
“The performance certainly stirred the senses.”
D’Angelo noticed Sophia’s bare hands. “What happened to your gloves?”
They were covered with the evidence of their lovemaking and folded in Finlay’s pocket as he’d somehow lost his handkerchief in the dark.
“I left them in the carriage,” Sophia replied, her cheeks glowing as hot as the fire blazing in the hearth.
D’Angelo smiled. “Such a stimulating performance can play havoc with the mind. So, you didn’t stay to watch the farce?”
“We went to the theatre to question Lord Adair,” Finlay said, sounding somewhat defensive, “not watch fools dance around the stage.”
D’Angelo’s expression turned mischievous. “And did the evening bring the desired results? I presume so, as you both seem a little flustered.”
Hellfire!
The devil knew damn well they’d shared more than a liking for the play. “I’ll explain what we learned once Sloane has finished his game.”
“I doubt it will take long.” Sophia lowered her voice. “Jessica rarely plays and is easily distracted. I must thank Mr Sloane for his patience.”
D’Angelo frowned. “Madam, Miss Draper has won every game. From the pieces lined on the table, she has a clear advantage.”
“That’s impossible.” Sophia glanced at her sister, whose grin stretched from ear to ear. “She used to play when we were children but hasn’t played for years.”
D’Angelo shuffled sideways, blocking their view of the players, and whispered, “It appears Mr Blent refreshed her memory. She said he taught her to look at the board strategically, to imagine she’s defending herself from those scoundrels who mean her harm.”
It was a rather odd approach to a game, but echoed Blent’s reason for giving Jessica a book about wastrels with wicked tempers, men who married for money, not love. Finlay sensed Blent knew more about the situation at Blackborne than he would have them believe.
“Blent? Blent plays chess?” Sophia wrinkled her nose in surprise. “But I’ve not come across a chessboard in the house. Jessica has made no mention of it before.”
“Perhaps because she visits Blent’s cottage to play the game, has done for years.” With some hesitation, he added, “She didn’t mention it because she said you would worry. She said you worry too much.”
In the silence that followed, Finlay almost heard Sophia’s heart sigh. Sadness hung in the air. She had given everything of herself to help Jessica. It must hurt to have her sister find fault, no matter how small.
“And rightly so,” Finlay whispered through gritted teeth. “Dr Goodwin is a liar, a skilled manipulator. Blent is equally devious for keeping secrets from his mistress.”
D’Angelo shrugged. “Don’t scold the messenger.”
“Checkmate!” Jessica suddenly cried. She jumped from the chair and clapped her hands. “That’s another new gown you owe me, sir.”
“Damnation.” Sloane shook his head as he scanned the board, puzzled. “Miss Draper, you seem intent on gaining a whole new wardrobe. One might think you could read minds.”
“The skill is to find your opponent’s weakness.” Jessica spoke as if she were the sanest person in the room. “I lured you into making a mistake. Blent said men have a particular strategy that is easy to predict.”
Yes, Blent was a fountain of knowledge.
; D’Angelo laughed. “She had you all hot and bothered when the conversation turned to the anatomy of mermaids. And I imagine the constant swigs of rum didn’t help.”
Sloane gave a sly grin. “Now I’m aware of your strategy, Miss Draper, let’s see how you fare when I’m sober. We shall have a rematch after breakfast tomorrow, and you may confide your teacher’s secrets.”
Jessica’s amusement faded. “I would never betray a confidence. There is nothing between loyalty and disloyalty, sir. One is faithful to one’s word, or one is not. That’s what I keep explaining to Dr Goodwin, but he is forever making excuses.”
Oh, Goodwin was undoubtedly unfaithful.
Sloane relaxed back in the chair. “Perhaps Dr Goodwin tries to see the good in everyone. Even those who have behaved abominably.”
Jessica hugged her arms and shivered. “Blent said people who lie don’t deserve a second chance.”
“I waver between both points of view.” Sloane narrowed his gaze. “Are you suffering from the cold again, Miss Draper?”
D’Angelo moved to stoke the fire, but the room was already so hot it was suffocating.
Sophia hurried to her sister’s side. “You complained about feeling the chills earlier this evening. Perhaps we should retire. And you need a good night’s sleep if you wish to beat Mr Sloane at chess tomorrow.”
Sloane stood and strode to the bell pull. “I’ll have Mrs Brogan bring you a tisane, something to keep the cold at bay.”
“I pray it tastes better than Mrs Friswell’s restorative. The concoction is vile. But it works wonders when one feels they can do nothing but sleep.”
Sophia glanced at Finlay. The narrative he read in those worried blue eyes conveyed suspicion. To his knowledge, the only medicinal remedies Jessica ingested were prescribed by the doctor, not Mrs Friswell. He saw a flicker of something else there, too. A need to escape. A need for peace. A need he knew well.
Sloane flashed a wicked smile. “A dash of rum banishes the bitter taste of some herbs.” He bowed. “Until tomorrow, Miss Draper. I shall, no doubt, spend a sleepless night considering my strategy.”
D’Angelo laughed. “I would concentrate on calming your pulse whenever someone mentions mermaids.”
