by Cara Elliott
“Oh, Georgie.” Sophie felt her throat grow too tight for further speech.
“You don’t need to hide your feelings from us,” went on Georgiana. “Pen and I have seen you staring out at Highborn Hill when you think we aren’t watching. We both recognize true love when we see it.”
She choked back a watery laugh. “Good heavens, Penelope is only thirteen—what does she know of true love?”
“More than you think,” answered Georgiana. “She’s been secretly reading your collection of novels—including the naughty ones like Tom Jones.”
“Oh, dear.” Sophie grimaced. “Remind me to take a birch to her backside when we get home.”
Her sister grinned. “We shall put the new ones under lock and key. I can’t wait to start Lady Avery’s Awful Secret.”
“When did you purchase that?”
“While you were kissing Cameron Daggett in Green Park,” replied her sister. “And speaking of the Devil, what are you going to do about Him?”
“Nothing,” said Sophie. “He offered to help me, but I refused. So he left.” She forced a smile. “At least this time he said good-bye.”
“Is there a reason you refused him? It seemed to me that the two of you were getting along rather well.”
“Too well. I can’t deny that there is an attraction between us. But it’s all wrong—he is too dangerous to desire,” whispered Sophie. “My brain doesn’t function properly when he is near. Like a magnet, he seems to exert some strange force that pulls my inner Compass of Reason all helter-pelter.”
“Perhaps your compass needs to alter its course,” said Georgiana quietly.
Sophie twined the sash of her wrapper around her fingers. “Anthony is like a bright, shining star in the Heavens, a steady guiding light that makes it easy for you to steer a straight line through turbulent seas. Cameron is far more mercurial.” She drew in a ragged breath, thinking of his dark, sea-green eyes. “He is more like the flashes of lightning that flare in a raging storm.”
“Storms can be dangerous,” agreed her sister. A glimmer of mischief hung on her lashes. “But also exciting.”
A laugh slipped from her lips. “Good Lord, do I have to curtail your reading habits, too? One wild romantic in the family is frightening enough.”
Georgiana quirked a smile but then her mouth pursed in concern. “In all seriousness, Sophie, Anthony and I have discussed the future and, well, we both agree that you should not bear all of the burden of caring for the family, once we are married. Papa and Pen can come live with us, allowing you the freedom—”
“Let us discuss such momentous decisions after you are married,” interrupted Sophie. If you are married. “At the moment, we must concentrate on all the myriad details of making your wedding perfect.”
“Very well,” conceded her sister. “But be assured that I mean to see you get a chance to follow your compass, no matter that it might lead through uncharted waters and storm-tossed seas.”
“Right now, I’ll settle for navigating through the rest of our shopping lists.” Sophie gave Georgiana a last little hug and then waved her away. “Off to bed—you need your sleep. Tomorrow is our last day in Town and you’ve a busy day of fittings.”
Her sister brushed a kiss to her cheek and turned for the door. However, in passing the dressing table, her gaze fell on the small porcelain dish next to the looking glass. “I didn’t know you had brought Mama’s earrings with you.” She drew the dish out of the shadows. “Why didn’t you wear them to Mrs. Griffin’s soiree?”
“I—I forgot,” murmured Sophie.
Georgiana arched a brow. “Well, no matter. They will look lovely with your new gown. The pale lace trim I chose will help bring out to their luster.”
Candlelight played over the pearls.
“They are beautiful, aren’t they? I’m so glad that you refused to consider selling them. Their worth cannot be measured in money.”
“No, indeed.” She rose. “Good night, Georgie. It’s been a long day, and I am ready for sleep.”
But when the door clicked shut, Sophie made no move for her bed. Instead, she returned to the table and picked up the earrings. For a long, long moment she held them in her palm, watching the flickering flames gild their silvery smoothness with flecks of gold. Then, on impulse, she fastened one in her left ear and returned the other to the dish.
Perhaps I should cast caution to the wind and become a pirate, too. I could sail away on a plundering ship, bound for the unknown, she mused, making a face in the looking glass as she tilted her head to and fro. Georgiana’s comments had left her in a strange mood.
The earring danced in the hide-and-seek shadows, as if sensing her unsettled emotions.
“Perhaps Georgie is right and I’ve let my life become too staid. I wasn’t always afraid to be daring. I took risks.”
And I liked the thrum of excitement bubbling through my blood.
A needle of guilt pricked at her conscience. Her own past transgression was far more scandalous than her ailing father’s unwitting mistake. It had happened one summer afternoon in the soft meadow grass of Highborn Hill. Mellowed by the warmth of the sun and a bottle of beer stolen from Lord Wolcott’s cellar, she had shamelessly allowed Cameron to kiss her, to touch her…
Oh, she still had her maidenly virtue intact. But just barely.
Luck had been with her that day. If anyone had witnessed the interlude, her family’s reputation would have been utterly ruined. Aware of how close she had come to disaster, Sophie had redoubled her resolve to be strong and sensible.
Perhaps I’m not just afraid of Cameron, but I’m also afraid of myself and my own dangerous urges.
Sophie moved to the window and pressed her forehead to the glass, letting the mist-damp night air cool her heated skin. Skirls of feathery fog rose up from the small walled garden. A nightingale trilled from somewhere in the bushes, the soft song barely stirring the hazy stillness.
Closing her eyes, she felt her thoughts begin to drift off in a slowly spinning swirl of images—a flash of lightning, a storm-tossed sea crashing against a rocky shore…
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It took a moment for her to realize the sound was coming not from inside her head but from outside the glass.
Her lids flew open and she found herself face to face with a leering smile. Above the gleaming teeth was a black silk scarf, tied pirate-style around rain-tangled hair. An earring—the spitting image of her own—gleamed bright in the darkness.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She blinked and opened her mouth to scream.
“Sophie, open the window,” urged Cameron. “Before we stir a up scandal.”
Throwing open the casement, she stepped back to let him slip into the room.
“Y-you’re wet,” she stammered.
“You’re naked.” His smile sent a frisson of heat tickling over her flesh. “Or nearly so.”
“All the more reason why you shouldn’t be in here.”
He shook off his headcovering, sending a shower of tiny droplets over the rug. “That’s assuming I follow the rules of Polite Society.” A rumbling laugh, low as distant thunder. “But you know me better than that.”
At the moment, Sophie wasn’t thinking of rules, but how sinfully seductive his mouth looked with rain beaded along his lower lip.
“You’re wet,” she repeated and then, as if drawn by the fog-swirled force of some storm demon, she leaned in to blot them off with a gossamer kiss.
“You’re naked,” he murmured, and pulled her hard against him.
The dampness soaked through her wrapper, setting off hot and cold flares along the length of her body. Cameron was right—she was nearly naked. Distracted by the day’s turmoils, she had undressed and simply thrown on a light wrapper, rather than seek the nightrail folded neatly within the armoire. And now the lawn cotton was molding to every intimate inch of skin.
Sophie clung to him for a heartbeat longer, savoring the sensation of hard chiseling of muscle a
gainst her softness before pushing him away.
“Y-you shouldn’t be in here.”
“You said that,” replied Cameron. An unholy twinkle of amusement lit in his eyes. “But as I told you, I’m no gentleman. A gentleman would not invade your bedchamber.” His gaze slid down from her face. “And a gentleman would definitely not be staring at the tantalizing sight of your rosy nipples peeking through tissue-thin fabric.”
She quickly crossed her arms over her chest, feeling…
Wicked. Wanton.
A rector’s daughter should not feel a thrum of pleasure at seeing desire in a man’s eyes.
Looking away, she snatched up a shawl, and wrapped it around her shoulders.
“It doesn’t quite cover the intriguing ‘V’ between your thighs,” said Cameron. “But I’ll promise not to look.”
Heat spiraled through her belly. A little angry with herself for letting his teasing stir up such unwanted reactions, Sophie gestured at the window. “You won’t be looking because your eyes will be focused on finding handholds on the ivy vine. I am going to count to three…”
He curled a smirk. “And then?”
“And then I shall…I shall toss you out on your arse.”
“Oh, that should be jolly interesting.” Rather than retreat, he took a step closer. “There was a contessa in Italy who made the same threat. As I recall, we wrestled our way out to the balcony—a lovely little wrought iron nook overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea—but once there, her strength began to ebb and we agreed to cease hostilities, so to speak.”
“You are more incorrigible than ever,” she snapped, her face flooding with color as she tried to not think of Cameron with his arms around a voluptuous Italian.
“And you,” he said softly, “are more beautiful than ever.”
The murmur raised gooseflesh along her arms. “I’m not.” Tugging the shawl tighter, she told herself not to respond. Cameron was, by his own admission, an unrepentant rogue. “Georgie is the real beauty, while I am…just plain Sophie.”
He said nothing but continue to stare at her through his dark lashes.
The dampness was now beading between her breasts and spreading down between her legs.
Clearing her head with a small shake, Sophie shifted again. “I don’t understand…” Nothing was making sense—not his unexpected presence, not her fierce longing. “I’ll ask yet again—why are you here?”
“Because last time you refused me, I disappeared from your life.”
It suddenly hurt to breathe.
“You were right to do so, of course. Asking you to elope to Scotland was rash, reckless idea.” Cameron flashed a self-mocking smile. “I was a penniless bastard, with no prospects, no future. It was supremely selfish of me to expect you to trust that I could take care of you.”
“It wasn’t that simple, Cam.” Sophie didn’t dare meet his gaze. “I couldn’t leave my family. My sisters were so young, and Mama’s death had changed Papa. He was already retreating into his own little world but her leaving us seemed to send him over the edge.”
“Ah, yes.” The hard edge of irony in his voice scraped against her heart. “Life never is simple.”
“You could have said good-bye.”
“Actually, I couldn’t. I had no choice but to leave the area in a hurry, else end up on the gallows.”
A gasp rose in her throat. “What do you mean?”
“Wolcott was intent on seeing me hang. You see, I had caught one of his houseguests beating a barmaid in back of The Golden Crown’s stables. She was demanding the agreed-upon fee for her services and he did not wish to pay.” His mouth thinned to a grim line. “So I relieved him of his purse and gave it to the girl, whereupon he raced back to Wolcott Manor and said that I had robbed him.”
“Lord Wolcott believed his friend?”
“You need ask?” Cameron’s voice was hard as stone. “My half brother has always hated me. That his high-and-mighty father conceived a child with a mere nobody was a pollution of the precious family blood that His Lordship simply couldn’t bear.”
“Oh, Cam. I never knew about all that.”
“Wolcott is very good at hiding all his dirty little family secrets,” he replied. “He called me to the manor to confront me with the incident, and told me that he would see me hang for the crime of theft. So I knocked him down and stole a rather large sum from his desk on my way out the door. As you see, I wasted no time in choosing the path to perdition.” A careless shrug. “The arrogant dastard must have been too proud to inform the local authorities, but be assured, he sent Bow Street Runners to track me down.”
“You were hardly more than a boy. How did you survive?”
“By quickly learning to be tougher and smarter than the men pursuing me.” Cameron brushed the curling strands of hair back from his brow. “But enough of the past, Sophie. I came to talk about the present.”
She didn’t dare meet his gaze.
“You can’t deal with men like Dudley and Morton alone. You need my help.”
“No, no, I can’t let you get involved,” she protested. “It’s too dangerous for you. Those men are friends with the marquess, and Wolcott won’t have forgotten his grudge.”
A laugh, low and a little rough around the edges. “My dear Sophie, this will be child’s play compared to some of the things I do. Bad as those men are, there was a band of Flemish criminals I knew several years ago who were far worse. They were known to lop off the limbs of anyone who trespassed on their territory. However, there was a particularly nice painting by Botticelli that I’d had my eye on, and I waited until a stormy night…” Cameron glanced at the window. “The castle walls were far higher than these, and the turreted roofs were treacherously steep. Luckily, I have a good sense of balance. My pursuers were not so fortunate.”
He reached out a hand and slowly twined the fringe of her shawl around his fingers. “So you see, danger doesn’t frighten me. It never has.”
Her pulse began to pound as he drew her closer.
“What about you?” The question tickled against her cheek. “Admit it—deep down inside, you’re not afraid of danger, either. Think of all our adventures, and the risks we took together.”
“You give me too much credit for courage,” she answered. “Those were youthful larks. For the most part, I’m prudent, cautious Sophie.”
“So you say.” Freeing his fingers from the silky threads, Cameron cupped her breast. “But I know better.”
Dear God. Dear God.
He lowered his head, his breath hot on the damp fabric. “Yes, you’ve always been a paragon of common sense, a voice of calm reason who kept me from spinning out of control. But don’t deny your own daring, your own passions.”
She sucked in her breath as his tongue teased over her nipple. The friction of the finespun cotton made her flesh feel on fire.
“You have physical needs, physical desires.” He licked again. And again. And again.
Her body clenched. “But it’s wrong. It’s wicked.”
“This isn’t wrong, it’s oh-so right.” His mouth closed over the jutting point and he gave a gentle nip.
A cry caught in her throat. “My aunt…my uncle…”
“Are asleep in a different part of the house.”
“Cam—”
“Hush, sweeting. Don’t talk, don’t think, just feel.”
Another throb of heat surged through her as he suckled her to a rigid arousal.
Dazed, dizzy, Sophie clutched at his broad shoulders to keep herself upright.
Lifting his head, Cameron let out a ragged sound, something between a laugh and a groan. “Do you remember that afternoon on Highborn Hill? The sunlight was warm as melted honey, the grass was bright as pure gold, and you let me unlock your passion with my touch?”
A liquid warmth pooled between her legs. Once, and only once, had she given in to burning desire. But that moment was imprinted on her body. Imprinted on her soul.
“Yes,” she whispered, unsu
re whether the word was an answer or a plea. “Yes.”
“Spread your legs, Sophie.” He kissed her. “Please.”
Her feet slid wide on the rug.
With a groan, Cameron found the opening of her wrapper and slipped his hand inside. His palm skimmed over her thatch of curls and then his fingers were dipping and delving through her feminine folds.
Sophie pressed her face against his shirt and bit down to keep from crying out.
“Sophie.” He found her hidden pearl and his strokes quickened. “Sunbeam.”
Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her body. She threw her head back, dimly aware of the dancing candle flame and drumming of rain against the windowglass.
Oh, was it possible to expire from ecstasy?
A rasping groan, echoing her own cresting, coiling tension.
She arched into his touch, and with a muffled cry came all undone.
Cameron held her close, waiting for her to come back to earth. His own breathing was a ragged rasp as he whispered, “Heaven help me, but my self-control—my sanity—is dancing on a razor’s edge. I want nothing more than to bury myself in your sweet, sweet warmth. But for once in my life, I shall try to do the honorable thing.”
He pulled back, and she felt that a part of herself had gone missing.
“Oh, Cam.” She touched his sleeve. “You are honorable in all the ways that really matter.”
“No.” He caught her hand and pressed it hard against his rampant arousal. “I’m not.”
She felt his heat pulsing against her palm.
“I haven’t been a saint. Or a monk. I’ve made a life of stealing—money, jewels, artwork, not to speak of the pleasures offered by willing ladies.”
Sophie didn’t flinch. “You don’t frighten me.”
“I frighten myself.”
They stood for a moment, still and silent, until he finally released his hold. “Forgive me—I didn’t come here intending to paw over you like a ravening beast,” he went on haltingly. “Some strange force seems to take hold of me. I don’t know what to call it.” He made a wry face. “Black magic, or perhaps the Devil’s own madness.”
