Sophia and the Duke: Forever Yours Series

by Reid, Stacy

  He made his way over to her and took the offered painting.

  “By God, this is exquisite!”

  “My mother painted it,” she said softly.

  “This is of my father when he was a much younger man.”

  “Mama said she met him once when she and papa called upon Hawthorne Park at the duchess’s invitation. Mama said he had been so compellingly handsome to her, that she went home and had to render his image against the backdrop of the night stars and the forest. I…I thought you should have it.”

  “Thank you,” he said huskily, drawing her forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

  They stayed like that for a minute, where she closed her eyes and simply bask in being so close to him. She stepped back and smiled. “Sleep well, William.”

  His dark gaze watched her as she turned and walked away from him.

  “Stay with me for the night, Sophia.”

  He arrested her retreat with that taut command. She spun around, and his eyes collided with hers, and he held her gaze for a long, timeless moment. He rested his glass on a small table before the chaise longue and led her to the bed.

  They slipped beneath the covers, and Sophia turned to her side, and the duke curved behind her and slipped his arms around her. His hardness pressed against her thighs, and she felt when his manhood flexed. A shiver of want darted through her body, and her core ached. She wiggled experimentally, and a harsh groan slipped from him, but he made no move to seduce her.

  They stayed like that, and she snuggled back further into his arms, loving that she was surrounded completely by his warm, masculine form. She felt safe…cherished, and with a soft exhalation, she relaxed and allowed her eyes to drift close. “This is where I want to be,” she murmured.

  “And here is where I want you.”

  “Why are you not seducing me?”

  She felt his smile on her hair.

  “I’m waiting,” came his rejoinder.

  “On me to pounce on you?” she asked, teasingly and quite sleepily.

  Yet something warned her it was not that, even if she were to face him now, fling one of her legs across his hip and nip at his throat he would show restraint.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  He made no answer, and as she drifted into a deep slumber, she heard a low murmur at her ears, “For you to fall in love with me, my darling, Sophia.”

  Chapter 9

  The last two weeks had been an exercise in torture, not in restraint. As William stared down at Sophia in his bed, with a feeling of such contentment he had never known before filling his heart. Last night with her softness curved into his body, he had slept deeply without disturbance for the first time in several days. His nights had been restless as Sophia had stolen his ability to sleep. He wanted her by his side forever, he admitted ruefully, a thing he doubted she would want to hear. In her eyes as they peeked at him occasionally, he saw an aching need but at other times he discerned wariness. As if she was afraid that she was falling too much back under his spell.

  He drew aside the dark silver and blue tasseled drapes letting in the bright sunlight into the room. She muttered some choice word under her breath, and twisted away from the light, grabbing the pillow and slapping it over her head. Delight filled him. His Sophia was not a morning person, and the sheer nightgown had ridden up high on her thighs and bared one of her luscious cheeks to his gaze.

  His mouth dried as his cock jerked in anticipation of being inside her again. William studied the elegant curves of her hips, which were sensually flared, and the rounded globes of her buttocks that made him want to lower his teeth and bite that firm flesh. He sat on the edge of the bed and could not resist the urge to touch her…just once. He smoothed over her back, relishing the feel of her delicate curves, the feeling of rightness.

  She purred and breathed his name on a whisper of a sigh.

  What if she never falls in love with me again? A painful, aching tightness lingered inside of William and a cold knot began forming in his gut. Despite the wicked temptation of Sophia, and the invitation to make love which glowed in her eyes with more heat daily, he had been waiting to see that softness in her eyes, that shining aching love before he took her to his bed again. Once he saw it there, he would make an offer of marriage and pray that love would be stronger than the fear of eventual loss.

  He could not keep her at Hawthorne Park forever, not with the considerable risk he’d already placed her reputation in. Nor would he set her up as a mistress. Never would he truly dishonor her in such a manner. If she did not come to him soon, with more than fire and passion, he would urge her to return to her aunt and then try his hand publicly at courting her.

  She would possibly run from him if it came to that, but he dismissed it. The Sophia he knew and the woman before him now were so courageous and not afraid to face life. The fact that she had flourished when so many hardships had been stacked against her was a testament to her strength. A feeling of loss suddenly tore through him. He should have been there over the years to see her stunning growth into the charming, bold, and impetuous woman she was now.

  You’ll make a fine duchess and the best of wives, he silently praised her.

  He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and left her to sleep. It was still early yet, but he had business to attend to. One of the cotton factories he’d invested in was on the cusp of shutting down, and another housing venture had run into problems. There was also the matter of the recent investments he had made in the London Stock exchange, and another of his estates in Cornwall which needed modern mining and farming equipment.

  Reluctantly he made his way from the room to his library to meet with his steward and one of his solicitors. His meetings were intense and moved slowly for the day, and he blamed it on his fractured thoughts.

  Sophia distracted him to the point that his man of affairs threw him several glances, and after only two hours, he accepted defeat and rescheduled his meetings for the following week. The thought of eventually relinquishing her if she refused to come to him left a bitter taste of regret in his mouth and a dark pain in his heart. He needed to step up his game and start a more ruthless campaign against her heart.

  * * *

  A few days had passed since Sophia had awaken in William’s bed feeling peacefully contented, when he announced he had a wish to fulfill. She had thought he desired to give her something in return for the painting she’d given him. Sophia had hurriedly assured him that reciprocation was not needed, and the dratted man had only given her a mysterious smile.

  Following his instructions, they had traveled to London discreetly where they had booked into Brown’s Hotel in Mayfair. Of course, she was suitably disguised in trousers which fitted her frame perfectly, evening jacket, a white shirt, and a silver waistcoat. To her delight he had even procured her a short dark blonde wig, and fake spectacles which perched on her nose. Sophia did not believe she looked like a man at all, but society seemed content with the disguise for no one had paid her any particular notice each time that she had walked through the hotel lobby.

  The carriage they had been traveling in rumbled to a halt, and she sat up straighter against the squabs. “Oh, William, where are we?”

  The sliver of moonlight glinted off the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and he flashed a sensual smile. “Now, Sophia. I promise you, there is absolutely no chance of you going to hell once you’ve step foot in this establishment, but it is very important to maintain your disguise as a young man.”

  She stared at him, blankly. Going to hell? Then she gasped, quite dramatically. “You are taking me to a gambling den!”

  “Yes.”

  She spluttered. “I was a foolish eighteen-year-old girl when I mentioned that to you. A piece had been printed in the newspaper about their lavish decadence and vices, and I just thought maybe…maybe I could glimpse inside one.” She clasped her cheeks and groaned. “I should not have told you!”

  “We could always go back,” the devil offered
.

  She quickly rallied. “And let all your hard work go to waste? That would be such a shame.”

  He grinned. “I hope you recall how little convincing I actually had to do.”

  They descended the carriage, and she glanced around the fog-shrouded night. It was late. Almost midnight. Her body felt incredibly alive, every sense feeling somehow sharper. They strolled toward the large door, and Sophia was fairly hopping with excitement. She ignored William as he rolled his eyes at her undisguised glee. The door swung open without his knocking, and then they stepped into sin and decadence.

  The decor was lavish, sinful, and a place she should be refusing to go for fear of her immortal soul. Her father had pounded out many sermons on the ruinous nature of these type of clubs. Sophia looked around as if in a daze. She felt oddly off-balance and doubts that she should be in such a wicked place settled in her heart.

  “You are safe with me, always.”

  The words washed over her senses, and inexplicably all the anxiety that had started to stir inside vanished. The interior was one of such lavish luxury, red and green carpets covered the floor, and swaths of red and golden drapes twined themselves around massive white Corinthian columns. Dozens of tables were scattered in an organized sprawl on this lower floor, and many lords and revealingly dressed ladies sat around the tables cradling drinks in their hands, some with cigars in their mouths.

  Several lords and ladies tipped their glasses to William upon his entrance, but only dealt her a dismissive glance. Of course, she was not a duke, so there was no need to fawn over her. She barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

  Smoke wafted through the air from the many lit cigars, glasses clinked loudly as it appeared every gentleman had a drink in hand, and the clattering of dice echoed as they rolled on the tables. She watched impressed as young men dressed in black and white elegant evening wear shuffled, flicked, and cut cards with artistic expertise. Elegantly clad women with filigree masks on their faces, and a fortune in jewelry at their throats and ears reposed on chaise longues chatting and drinking champagne.

  “Welcome to The Club, a gambling den owned by Viscount Worsley.”

  As if William had instructed her, she glanced up at a balcony at least three stories up to see a man leaning on the balustrade overlooking his domain like a dark king.

  “I’ve read about him in the scandal sheets,” she said. “That says he is wicked and unprincipled, a wolf in a lord’s clothing.”

  “It said all that, did it?” William drawled with provoking amusement.

  “I swear upon my honor, those were the exact words.”

  “Do you wish an introduction.”

  She lifted her face to his. There was such an air of wickedness and debauchery at this club and a pulse of forbidden desire arrowed through her heart. “No…I want to play cards, faro, Macao, whist, and vingt-et-un…and drink brandy.”

  Her lover arched a brow, and a wicked glint entered his eyes. “There is a room here solely dedicated to prizefighting matches.”

  Sophia laughed at the sheer audacity of it all. “Here? How truly wicked of him. Isn’t that illegal?” Then she gasped, “I had read in the new sheet some time ago of a lady of society being revealed here. That she…fought someone in the ring?”

  “I’ve heard of this as well. I believe that the lady is Countess Maschelly.”

  Sophia stared at him. “You jest!”

  William laughed and tugged her through the scandalous crowd. The revelry and raucousness was startling and astonishing. A wicked, daring thrill pulsed through her as she stopped at many tables watching and learning. When her duke pressed a glass of brandy between her hands, she almost kissed him. She had leaned on her toes and then caught sight of his fierce scowl.

  Giggling, she had moved away from him, shocked that she had forgotten she was disguised as a young gentleman.

  About an hour later, he took her up some winding stairs to the first level to a door that led to a fight. A man dressed stood by a large oak door. He bowed slightly, then pushed open the massive door, and they stepped into another opulently fashioned room with soft dark green carpets cushioning their steps. The lights in this room were dimmer, the tables less raucous. Sophia felt a queer sense of vulnerability when they entered the fighting den. She gently fixed spectacles which had slipped down her nose.

  “Would you like to place a bet?”

  “I would win money if this person wins?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  She thought on her modest inheritance her father had left her, and the desire to travel to France, Italy, and Versailles. And also, the knowledge that she could not live with her aunt forever, though she had been invited to so. “Yes.”

  William led her to a table and then went and placed their bet on the man he believed could win.

  “How much did you place?” she asked, rubbing her hand in anticipation.

  “One hundred pounds.”

  She squawked at the exorbitant sum. “And if the man should lose?”

  He sent her an amused glance. “Then I’ve lost one hundred pounds.”

  “I’ve lost it. I mean to pay you back whether I win or not. You’ve only advanced me the bet,” she said fretfully. “It is no wonder men lose fortunes in these places.”

  Footmen darted adroitly between the tables delivering drinks, and she took another glass of brandy, already warm from the previous drink. A large roped area in the center of the prodigious room was the only place well lit. Soon two men approached the ropes, dipped under, and made way to the center of the ring.

  “Oh dear,” she muttered, scandalized. Both men were stripped to the waist, their chests, and torsos on alarming display. The men wrapped thin leather strips that had been soaked in water or perhaps vinegar around their hands.

  Their names were announced, and the fight started, and Sophia sat straight in her chair, riveted by the brutal dance and parry. Jarring slaps and thuds as fists met flesh echoed in the room. “This is barbaric,” she breathed, truly shocked at the brutal display.

  It did not last long when one of the men dropped onto the floor with a resounding thud. Several people cheered and clapped.

  “Congratulations, my dear, you’ve won one thousand pounds.”

  Sophia twisted to face him. “Dear God, are you certain!”

  “Quite.”

  “Oh!” she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him quickly on the lips. She giggled at his softly muttered curse. “Relax, if anyone saw you, it will only be said you are a man of varied and exotic tastes.”

  His mouth came down on hers, fleeting but hard and passionate. The subtle hint of brandy flavored her tongue, and she moaned in delight at his fierceness and unexpected sensual assault.

  She felt breathless…and hungry.

  “What do you want to do next? Lord Huntley keeps a masquerade ball tonight. I received an invitation.”

  “As long as we can go somewhere to kiss endlessly.”

  His eyes darkened. “We can do that here.”

  “Oh, lets,” she purred against his lips.

  Without speaking with anyone, they stood, and he tugged her through the throng and exited the fighting den. They traversed the hallway and then came upon a silent and dark staircase.

  “You have private apartments here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we are going there now?”

  “Yes.”

  They clambered upstairs until they reached the landing. In the silence of the corridor, at a large oak door, he paused and fished keys from his pocket, and opened the door. She was ushered inside, and she halted in the center of the room. It was richly designed in swaths of green and black. A chaise longue that appeared specially built was flush against a wall, near a fire. A small table with a decanter with amble liquid stood in the center of the room.

  The door closed with a decisive snick, and she spun to face him. The air crackled with the intensity of his stare. He cupped her cheeks between his large hands,
bent his head, and crushed her mouth beneath his own.

  She touched him with a featherlight caress, fleeting and tentative, gliding her fingertip across his jaw.

  “Be daring with me, William. I’ve so missed the feel of your body pressing deep into mine.”

  “Ah my sweet, I’ve been very mindful of your sensibilities.”

  A delicious shock ran through her. She lifted her eyes to his, and the heat in his gaze strangled her breathing. “I know…we are conducting a very odd affair if I dare to say so. I’ve been under your roof for over two weeks, and not once have you commanded me to your bed for ravishment.”

  A dark sensuality settled on his face, and a shiver went through her.

  “Lie down on that sofa there,” he ordered, lifting his glass toward the dark blue damask sofa by the roaring fire.

  Shock scattered Sophia’s thought as she stared at her duke. “William?”

  “If you’ll please to take off your trousers and undergarments, so your pretty pink quim is bare to me.”

  Chapter 10

  “Leave the shirt on. You’ll place your feet on the edges of the sofa and open your legs wide.”

  Heat swept through her in a violent wave. A startled laugh escaped before she choked back the sound. “William…I…” She blushed at the picture of what he wanted lodged in her mind. It was scandalous!

  “Do you need liquid courage?” he drawled, holding up a glass of what appeared to be brandy.

  “I do not need spirts to be daring,” she said, tossing her hair, but the fingers that loosened the waist of her trousers trembled. Her hands fell away and she took a few steady breaths. To be so bare and vulnerable before him. The shirt was just about long enough to cover her bare bottom, but once she opened her legs like he’d commanded, he would see everything.