by Lee, Jade
"Kiss me," he urged, and she felt her elbows bend, her face lowering toward his.
"No!" She turned away, trying to run from the room, but he did not release her hand. He still held it pinned against his chest, the warmth of his body seeping through the cloth covering it.
"Sophia—"
"I cannot!"
"Why?"
Why? It was so simple a word, and yet it demanded too full an answer.
"Why, Sophia? You must know I will not release you until I have an answer."
She looked back at him, her sight already wavering from tears, but she saw the resolution in his face. Then she was speaking without wanting to, the words tumbling heedlessly from her lips. She did not know where the thoughts came from, but even as she uttered them, she knew them to be the truth.
"When I am with you, I lose control of myself. I no longer recognize who I am. I cannot control my thoughts or my actions. You anger me as no one else ever has. It is because of you that I have become drunk, gone to a cockfight, and now..." Her voice trailed away.
"And now you want to kiss me."
"Yes."
"So why do you stop yourself? Why do you hold yourself apart? From me, from the world, from everyone?"
She lifted her free hand into the air in a gesture of futility. "You can know of my family and still ask me that?"
He frowned, his grip suddenly relaxing on her hand. She used the moment to pull away from his disturbing touch, but she did not leave him. She knew he would continue to harass her all night until she told him everything. So, she stumbled through the words even though they tore at her like brambles.
"Have you heard the stories of my father? My mother loved him to distraction. He was handsome and impetuous and fall of what she called le joie de vivre."
"The joy of life," he translated.
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "But after they married, he did not reserve his... joy for his wife. He..." She took a deep breath. "He wenched. He had dozens of mistresses who demanded the most expensive baubles to maintain their interest. He spent my mother's dowry on diamonds for his other women. And when her dowry disappeared, he gambled what was left of his inheritance trying to find enough money to buy one more precious stone to please one more lady fair."
"How do you know all this?"
Sophia shrugged. "It is common knowledge, and I was in London for five Seasons. Time enough to hear all the gossip. But what was worse by far was to see my mother. Despite my father's whoring, she still adored him. But without money for fine clothes or expensive airs, she could not compete with the lures of London. He came home less and less, and my mother became wild in her own ways. Rather than try to curb his recklessness, she began to spend money as freely as he. After all, he would run through it soon enough. She decided to spend it while she still could."
Anthony pushed up onto his elbows, his dark eyes steady and sad. "But who managed the estates? Who cared for you and your brother?"
"We had a steward and a nurse for as long as we could pay them. After they left, Geoffrey took over the accounts. I learned my sums at his knee. When I grew, I cared for the household while he tried to manage the rest. We learned early that there was no time for emotion, that there were penalties for losing control."
Anthony took a deep breath, and when he reached forward to caress her cold cheek, Sophia did not move away. "And when your father died?"
She shrugged. "No one cried except my mother." Which told it all in one short sentence.
But he was not done. He continued to press her as he caressed her arm. "But, I am not your father. I do not gamble or whore or spend money recklessly. What has that to do with us?"
"You merely fight in wars."
"Not anymore," he said firmly.
She raised her brows, challenging his declaration. "Then you would not go to whatever wild land, perform whatever task—dangerous or not—that the Crown demanded of you?"
He stiffened. "Of course I would. It is my duty—"
"To leave your wife and children alone at home, abandoned." She shook her head. "Gambling and defending the Crown are different, Major, but the end is the same. Your wife shall be left to fret and manage as best she can without you. To wonder if you will ever come back."
"I intend to take you with me to India, Sophia," he said softly.
She almost laughed. "To be abandoned in a foreign country is ten times worse."
"Sweet heaven, Sophia, I have no intention of abandoning you at all, in India or anywhere else. Have I not already proven that?" His outrage echoed in the spare room.
"These were merely games, Major. My aunt wanted to test you, and so you became our butler. I wished to become outrageous, and so we ended up in gaol. Games, Major. They are nothing compared to a lifetime of waiting by the window wondering when a loved one will return." And in what condition, she added silently.
"So you have been testing me," he said. Surprisingly enough, he did not seem to be angry, merely pleased that at last he had solved the puzzle.
She looked away, ashamed to admit to the truth. She had not thought she would torture a suitor to test his constancy, but that was indeed what she had been doing. "I did not mean to," she admitted. "But it seems I have."
He reached out, grasping her chin and pulling her back to face him. "I have not abandoned you, have I? Indeed, here I am sharing a gaol cell with you." His thumb caressed her cheek. "Sophia, I will not leave you alone in India. Neither will our children ever have to care for themselves as you and Geoffrey did. I want you by my side. Always. Wherever the Crown sends me, you shall go as well. Whatever I do, you shall stand beside me. I would not have it any other way."
She looked at him, wishing she could believe him. Indeed, part of her did trust his words. Her mind told her he was an honest man, speaking his heart clearly and openly. But life had a way of interfering. Indeed, her father had died the one time he intended to keep his promise. He'd fallen off his horse on the way to her birthday celebration. "You would not intend to abandon me," she said.
"I came back from the dead because I swore I would. Doesn't that demonstrate the power of my promises?" He wiped away a tear she had not realized was slipping down her cheek. "You are thinking too much, Sophia. For once in your life, relax and trust someone else."
"Trust is not easy to come by."
"I think I have earned a little," he said, dryly gesturing at his gashed body. "These were, after all, earned on your behalf."
"Yes," she said, a smile easing some of the stiffness in her body. "Perhaps you do deserve something." And with that she leaned forward with the wet cloth, intent on cleaning away the blood on his face. But as her fingers found the cut, her gaze found his eyes, and then his lips.
Before she realized what she was doing, her eyes closed and her lips found his.
Their earlier kisses had been born of anger and frustration, their passion nearly bruising in its intensity. This time was different. It was slower, sweeter, and infinitely more stirring. Perhaps it was because she felt in control. She could pull away at any moment, but she did not. Instead, she allowed herself to relax into his touch, exploring the changes in his lips, feeling the textures of his face until at last, she opened her mouth.
He teased her with a skill belied by his ragged breathing, and Sophia found herself responding to him, wanting things she never thought possible. Emotions and sensations swirled through her in a confusing kaleidoscope that she could not sort through. In the end, she stopped trying, learning to merely enjoy without thought or restraint.
"Oh, Sophia," he moaned as his hands traveled across her body, neither drawing her near nor pushing her away. Instead, he tantalized her, stroking first her neck, then her shoulders and arms, until Sophia was startled to discover his hands on her breasts. It felt natural somehow, the warmth of his palms pressed against her there, as if he weighed her, shaped her, and, most wonderful of all, found her infinitely pleasing.
The thumb of his right hand rolled over her nippl
e, and she gasped aloud at the shock of sensation that burst across her senses. Yet she did not pull away, but continued to kiss him. She felt his groan of delight reverberate through their joined lips, and then he spoke, his words seeming to caress her as intimately as his hands.
"Oh, Sophia, I have wanted you forever. Please, do not leave me now."
"No," she answered softly, her words coming too fast for her to examine them. "I shall not leave you now."
She felt his hands move. Indeed, she felt all of him, his hands, his lips, and his body. When her dress loosened about her, she was not surprised. Her body was quivering like a taut bow, and all she could think was that it felt wonderful. All of it was so wonderful.
She was not sure what to do, which at one time would have worried her. But not now. Not when his kisses seemed to drain her of all thought. His hands tugged at her clothing, and she found herself helping him, shrugging out of her dress, raising her arms as he removed her chemise, even rolling onto her side so he could pull off the tape that bound her stockings.
The candles were flickering as she felt her breasts spill free of their restrictions, but she saw his eyes glow with hunger. Then she felt the most amazing delight as her naked flesh pressed against his chest. He was warmth and power and triumph, and all she wanted was to suffuse herself with his strength. To feel him wrap around her, to press against her, to be within her.
She heard him groan, the sound both a demand and a question, but she had no answer. Her only thought was to touch him everywhere. She ran her hands over his body, caressing and feeling him as best she could. She tugged at his clothing without realizing what she did.
He placed his hands over hers, stilling her. "Sophia, we should not..." he said, but she quickly kissed his words away.
"Don't speak," she whispered.
"But honor demands—" He would have said more, but she stopped him with another kiss, while her hands at last worked his breeches free.
When she raised herself off his lips, she whispered into his ear. "I don't want words." Into her mind flashed an image, that moment in her ritual when she'd flung away her corset, the hated restriction lifting high into the air before it disappeared forever.
How much more liberating was this? How much more freedom could a woman desire than to feel a man stroking her breasts, pressing her down into a cot while he murmured sweet words of wonder into her ear? The major was doing all of those things to her and more. He was taking her breast into his mouth, suckling there while she writhed in delight. He was stroking her thighs and making her feel things she didn't know she could.
Then there was no more thought, only glorious sensation as his naked legs brushed up and along the inside of her thighs. She arched against him, aching, hungering, needing something she could not name while he kissed her face, her neck, her breasts.
"Sophia," he moaned. "My Sophia."
Then his hands slid lower, pulling at her waist, settling on her hips. Her legs were spread and he positioned himself between them. Looking up into Anthony's eyes, she saw such emotion that she could not speak. But he did. He had one last word for her. One word that echoed throughout the room.
"Mine."
Then he thrust into her.
She felt herself stiffen. One thought flew through her mind. It wasn't phrased in words, only in a fleeting glimpse of panic born of the pain. But then it was buried in a glorious tide of other emotions, wondrous sensations. She felt him move, sliding inside her, filling her, making her larger, bolder, stronger with each powerful stroke. Soon she was pushing toward him with each of his thrusts, her staccato cries a distant echo of the need that clamored within her.
Something was happening. Something was building. Something she wanted was right there, and yet still out of reach. He continued to thrust into her, through her, like lightning, flashing fire and beauty with every push. He was bringing her to that thing she wanted.
It was right there.
Soon.
Now.
Joy!
Chapter 10
Anthony woke quickly. It was an old army habit he found hard to break. Every morning he woke instantly, his senses alert, cataloging his every impression as his mind sorted them into a coherent order.
He lay on a straw pallet in a dank, musty gaol. His back hurt and his leg ached, but he was filled with a wondrous contentment that warmed him inside and out. And that, no doubt, was due to the single sensation that overrode all of his other senses: the feel of Sophia, pressed intimately to his side.
He opened his eyes and turned carefully so as not to disturb her. He saw nothing. There was no light, their candles having long since burnt out. But still, in his mind's eye, he saw it all as clearly as if daylight illuminated the room. Her skin would be like fine porcelain, but it was warm, not cool. Her face would be relaxed in sleep, her golden hair spread like a halo around her. Her lips would no longer be kiss-swollen, but perfect dusky rose bows that would forever tempt him to forget reason, honor, everything so long as she was his.
Last night, he had meant to resist her. His goal had been to tempt her, not take her. But now that the deed was done, he could not regret it. Indeed, how could he ever regret something so beautiful it had literally overwhelmed him?
She had been like a living flame in his arms. He always knew that when he finally coaxed her into releasing her rigid control, her passions would surprise him. But last night he had been more than surprised. Thunderstruck was a better word. Astounded. Enraptured.
She had been incredible.
And he loved her.
Anthony leaned down, about to drop a light kiss on Sophia's forehead, when his last thought returned full force.
He loved her.
He froze.
He loved her?
His hand trembled, and suddenly he collapsed backward on the pallet. Of course. Why had he not seen it before? He had told himself he wanted to marry her because of her lineage, her regal carriage, and because of the damned wager. Because she would be a significant asset in the foreign service. Because he'd been grateful for her visits during his convalescence. Because he had long since guessed at the passion that simmered underneath her cool exterior, which meant they would have lifelong enjoyment in their marriage bed. Because he found her wonderful and beautiful and...
Love?
He had not even considered that.
He lay beside the woman he would marry, suddenly aware that he adored her.
The thought was so stunning, so literally breathstopping, that he could hardly believe it.
He curled up behind Sophia, drawing her deeper into his arms. He wanted to tell her, could not wait to share the news with her. But the words would not come. The thought was too new, the feelings too potent to express. He would find a way to tell her. A special, romantic moment to reveal himself. For now, he would be content to hold her, to feel her luscious body pressed against his own.
He loved her.
Smiling to himself, Anthony slept.
* * *
Sophia awoke slowly, her body languorous, her thoughts slowed by a rosy contentment that seemed to pervade her every pore.
She was happy.
The sensation was so odd, she forced herself to wake fully and examine it. As her consciousness pulled together into intelligence, sensations began to flood her thoughts—some remembered, some actual.
She was undressed, her body uncomfortable in small ways, but mostly, she felt warm and cozy, enfolded by a man—by Anthony. The room was completely dark, but last night, there had been candlelight as the two of them...
Her body flushed with the memory as she felt both stirred and horrified by her actions.
They had made love with glorious abandon.
She had surrendered. She had traded in her goal, her dream of freedom, for one night of bliss in his arms. And such bliss! Never had she imagined lovemaking could be so amazing, so full of everything wonderful and joyous.
And yet, now it was morning, and her breath caught
in her throat as the ramifications of last night slammed into her. They had made love. She was a tainted woman. She had no choice but to marry him. And in that marriage she would lose everything.
Suddenly shaking, she scrambled out of bed, frantically searching for her clothing, her heart beating painfully in her chest. Anthony—No, the major. She must think of him formally. The major sat upright. She could not see him, but she heard his muffled gasp and the creak of the bed as his weight shifted.
"Sophia?"
"Do not light a candle!" she cried.
"But—"
"Do not!" She was on her hands and knees, patting the floor as she tried to find her clothing. But it was nowhere to be found. Nowhere! "Oh, where are my clothes?" she cried.
"Right here," came his disembodied response. "Right at the foot of the bed."
She scrambled forward only to bang her shin painfully. The major no doubt would have cursed a blue streak at the sudden bolts of pain, but she merely clenched her jaw.
"Sophia? Are you all right?"
She felt a hand touch her face, and she recoiled instantly. He had touched her last night with such tenderness, done such marvelous things to her body. Sophia bit her cheek, slamming down equally hard on her wayward thoughts. She could not remember those things he'd done if she wanted to be free. She would not remember.
"Sophia!" His voice was becoming alarmed. "What is the matter?"
"N-nothing," she gasped as she finally, miraculously, found her dress. "I... I merely knocked my shin against the... the..." She could not even say so simple a word.
"The bed?"
"Yes."
She heard him shift again, and she scrambled backward, away from the pallet, her dress clutched against her breasts. He had touched her last night. He had kissed her.
"Let me light a candle. There are a few we have not burned."
"No!" Her voice echoed in the chamber, reverberating back to her until it finally faded, leaving a harsher silence than before. "I..." She took a deep breath. "Please, allow me to dress myself first."
