Too Dangerous to Desire

by Cara Elliott

  A lingering drop of the ice-cold champagne splashed on the tip of her nipple, drawing a gurgled moan.

  “Chilly?” He let the glass fall to the carpet. “Here, let me see if I can warm your flesh.” Lowering his head, he drew the rosy nub between his teeth, and gently nipped.

  “Cam!”

  He suckled the sensitive flesh, again and again and again.

  Her blood was boiling, bubbling through her body—oh, surely it would melt her skin.

  Cameron gave a husky chuckle and reached for the bottle. A small splash of champagne drizzled over her areola, cold yielding to heat as he licked off the pale gold liquid.

  Sophie cried out again, her voice sounding very faraway. The sensations—fire and ice, fire and ice—were unbearably sensuous. In another moment, she feared that she would shatter into a thousand crystalline shards.

  He lifted his mouth, only to begin anew on her right breast.

  Her body was suddenly boneless, and with a breathless gasp, Sophie felt herself slipping, slipping. Cameron caught her, and stepping between her widespread legs, he eased her back against the velvet coverlet.

  Hard, soft, rough, smooth—a myriad of different sensations teased against her flesh. His mouth was doing such delightful things, but his cock…

  Heat flared in her core as his erection kissed against her folds. Arching up, Sophie opened wider.

  “Yes,” she cried. “Oh, yes.”

  “Yes,” he echoed, moving closer, so the head of his manhood nudged in a little deeper.

  So close, so close. Sophie lifted her hips higher.

  And then suddenly his knowing hand was at play, and the swirl of sweet, sweet heat and friction rose like a frothing storm-whipped wave, carrying her to its crest.

  With a hoarse cry, Cameron surged forward, thrusting himself deep inside her.

  Swirling—her whole being was swirling, swirling. Spinning, spinning as their bodies came together as one.

  Thunder—or was it just the pounding of her heart as she felt herself come undone.

  His own release splashed on the dark velvet, and then his weight covered her, his sweat-skimmed skin warm, his pulse thudding in skittering harmony with hers.

  “That,” she mumbled after a number of long, languid moments, “was wonderful—too wonderful for words.”

  “Then don’t speak,” murmured Cameron. He shifted, gently adjusting their spent bodies to lie full length on the bed. “Just feel.” He gathered her in his arms and drew her close.

  Sophie snuggled her head against his shoulder. “Mmmm, next time…” Oh, please, let there be a next time. “I would like to feel you, explore you, and learn more about your body’s secrets.”

  His lips feathered lightly against the nape of her neck. “There are still several hours until dawn. More than enough time to unlock a few more mysteries of desire.”

  Cameron lifted an eyelid and drew in a deep, spice-scented breath of air. The perfume of their passion was still thick, lightening the darkness with memories of the night.

  A fleeting smile, and then his gut clenched as guilt warred with exultation. This was too damnably dangerous…

  Sophie stirred and stretched. “Is it morning?” she asked, sounding muzzy with sleep and sated passion. “It’s hard to keep track of time when you can’t see a glimmer of the real world.”

  “That is precisely the point,” he drawled. After dropping a kiss to her brow, he untangled his legs and rose. “It’s still early,” he murmured after consulting the small clock that was discreetly hidden in the dressing table drawer. “But we had best begin getting ready to take our leave.”

  “Must we?” She yawned and flashed a feline smile.

  Oh, do not tempt me.

  “I’ll have one of the girls bring up your valise,” answered Cameron, hurriedly gathering his clothing and dressing. “And ask Sara to arrange for a tub and hot water, if you like.”

  “A bath would be heavenly,” murmured Sophie.

  “Very well. I’ll leave you to dress at your leisure.” He drew the door shut and headed downstairs, where the rose-colored dawn had finally brought the night’s revelries to an end. The corridors were quiet as he made his way to Sara’s office.

  “Perhaps she’s retired,” he murmured to himself, “and I can deal with McTavish.”

  No such luck.

  As he feared, she was waiting for him, and looking none too pleased about what had transpired.

  “You,” she said through her teeth, “ought to be ashamed of yerself. Bringing an Innocent here and treating her like a lightskirt.”

  “I didn’t bring her here,” he pointed out.

  Sara waggled a warning finger. “Don’t ye try to make a jest of it or I’ll slice off yer…tongue.”

  “I am not making light of the situation. There was no choice but to spend the night here. In my defense, things were a little raucous upstairs. It would have been very dangerous to try to spirit Miss Lawrance away. If Dudley or Morton had happened to spot her, there would have been hell to pay.”

  Sara scowled. “That doesn’t absolve ye of all guilt. I’ve worked at this business long enough to be able to read a girl’s face as easily as our friend Haddan reads his fancy books. And written plain on Miss Lawrance’s features is the fact that you two are lovers.”

  Cameron didn’t wish to insult their friendship by denying it. Hoping to distract her from the subject of his own shortcomings, he hastened to ask, “Would you be so kind as to send up her clothing and a bath? The sooner she can make her toilette, the sooner I can remove her from the premises.”

  “Lucy is already arranging it.” Sara crossed her arms, unwilling to drop the matter. “And what, may I ask, are your intentions? A gentleman—”

  “You are forgetting that I am not a gentleman…” Damnation, actually I am, Cameron realized belatedly. “Be that as it may,” he hurried on, “you can be assured that I will see that Miss Lawrance does not suffer any damage from this night.”

  “Are ye going to marry her?”

  A heartbeat of silence. “What makes you think she would say yes if I asked her?”

  “Ye daft bugger! Because she’s in love with ye—though God only knows why. Ye don’t need spectacles te see it writ plain on her face.”

  Cameron refused to meet her gaze.

  “And ye—ye ain’t so hardbitten as ye wish te seem,” went on Sara. “Maybe it’s time te let yer better nature come out of hiding.”

  “Don’t be so sure that I have one.” Even to his own ears, the cynical quip sounded a little flat.

  She made a rude noise. “Bark all ye want, but yer a bloody fool if ye let pride stand in the way of happiness.”

  Can I make Sophie happy?

  Cameron wished he could be sure. But before he could even consider that thorny question, he had to resolve the conundrum of his heritage—and the threat to the Lawrance family.

  “It’s not a question of pride, Sara. It’s far more complicated than that.” He blew out his breath. “That’s all I can say at the moment.”

  “Hmmph.” Her gimlet gaze softened just a touch. “I’ll cease raking ye over the coals. But be advised that if ye don’t heed my advice, ye’ll find yerself banished from the Lair.”

  “Ye gods, that would be a fate worse than death. Where else would I drink for free?”

  “Out.” Sara picked up her letter opener and made a shooing gesture with the razored steel. “Go to the gentlemen’s retiring room and make yerself presentable. And I warn ye, I’ll have the Wolfhound and Haddan skin ye alive if ye don’t do the right thing by Miss Lawrance.”

  He walked off, happy to escape, and yet unsure whether having to face his own reflection in the looking glass would be an even greater ordeal.

  Do the right thing by Miss Lawrance.

  Would that he knew what that was. Until recently, it was never a question—his old life would have snuffed all the light out of Sophie.

  And now?

  He touched his earring, l
etting his fingers linger on the silky smooth pearl. And now he felt as if he was hovering somewhere between Hades and the Heavens.

  Shadowed by both the past and the future.

  Could a man change his skin? Cameron stared into the looking glass and studied the hazy reflection for a long moment. “Griggs seems to think I have it in me to be more than…what I am now,” he murmured.

  So, perhaps the answer is up to me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A blissful soak and a cup of hot chocolate had done much to clear the seductive haze of champagne and sex from Sophie’s mind. Not that clear-headedness was all that welcome. As she made her way down the back stairs, her hooded cloak drawn close to conceal her identity, she was uncomfortably aware of how far she had strayed past the boundaries of propriety.

  “I’m likely halfway to Hell,” she quipped to herself. “Maybe three quarters.”

  Still, Sophie didn’t regret her trespassing into the Land of Sin.

  “As Cam said, virginity is vastly overrated.” She sighed, yet couldn’t repress a smile. “I may live the rest of my days in virtuous spinsterhood, so I’m glad I had this night to hug and to hold in my memory.”

  Cameron was waiting for her in the landing, watched by Sara, who stood framed in the doorway of her private office. The proprietor’s expression made Sophie even more uncertain of her position.

  I am somewhere between a rock and a stone.

  “Th-thank you for you hospitality,” she said hesitantly, suddenly aware of how ridiculous the words must sound.

  Sara’s mouth tightened to a fleeting semblance of a smile. “Yer a very nice and intrepid young lady, Miss Lawrance. So don’t take it amiss when I say that I hope never te entertain ye here again for the night.” She shot a daggered look at Cameron. “Some folk ought to have more sense.”

  He cleared his throat. “Speaking of sense, I have decided on a change of plans, Sophie. On reflection, I think it best that you return directly to Norfolk. There is no reason for your aunt and uncle to know of this visit.”

  “But…” She bit her lip. Returning home without raising awkward questions would be a difficult endeavor if she did not arrive in her uncle’s carriage.

  “Sara and I have worked out a plan that should satisfy every stricture of Society. We’ve hired a reliable coach and driver, and Lucy will accompany you on the journey. You’ve simply to say that your uncle’s carriage cracked an axle, and it was decided that your visit to London should be put off. Seeing as the repair was going to take several days, he sent you home with a local driver and tavern maid.”

  “Yes, that should work,” Sophie conceded, rather relieved that she didn’t have to fabricate a story for Aunt Hermione. “But we have not yet talked about…”

  Again, Cameron had anticipated her concern. “I will ride with you for a short while so that we may discuss the situation.”

  Sara made a small noise in her throat.

  A warning growl? Whatever the message, Cameron chose to ignore it. “The carriage is waiting outside. Let’s be off.”

  Once she had settled back against the squabs, Sophie carefully pleated the folds of her skirts into place. Lucy had taken a seat on the driver’s perch, so privacy was not an issue. Still, she felt a little nervous as she looked across the space separating the facing seats. “I—I suppose we should have dealt with business before anything else last night, but my mind wasn’t functioning very well.”

  “I can’t say that I was thinking very clearly, either,” he said softly. “Sophie, before we talk about Dudley and Morton and Wolcott, we had better deal with our own personal problem.”

  “Is that how you see it—a problem?” she asked, trying to keep the pinch of dismay from her voice.

  “Yes. A grave one,” he answered. “We cannot keep having these illicit encounters. It’s too risky. I am taking precautions, but there is always a chance for a mistake. And if I plunge you into scandal and disgrace, all our efforts to counter Dudley and Morton will be for naught. I doubt Anthony’s parents would allow him to marry Georgiana.”

  Sophie’s throat grew painfully tight. He was right—until her sister’s marriage was settled, they must avoid disaster. But after that…In her own mind she had already decided that she was willing to risk everything for love. However, for the moment, with so many things still so unresolved she dared not voice that sentiment aloud. Instead, she replied coolly, “Put that way, I see your point. I shall endeavor to think things through more clearly.”

  If Cameron noticed the edge in her voice, he gave no sign of it. “It’s me who should have being thinking more clearly. From here on in, I shall keep a leash on my lust.”

  She felt a flutter of disappointment deep down in her chest. “Yes, of course. That would be the wisest thing to do.” The window glass rattled as the wheels clattered over the cobblestones, allowing a draft of damp air to sneak in and chill her cheeks. “Well, now that we’ve settled personal matters, let us move on to the real threat.”

  In the gloomy half-light, his expression was impossible to read. Only the slight shrug of his shoulders showed any reaction to her words. Even then, there was an interval of silence, as if he was gathering his thoughts.

  Or perhaps simply relegating the memory of the night to some far corner of his brain.

  Oh, don’t be maudlin, she told herself. He has always been honest about the fleeting nature of his attachments. Pirates sailed where the tide and wind took them. If she cast off caution and sailed after him, she must be prepared for the fact that her own ship might founder on uncharted rocks.

  “As I told you,” Cameron murmured, when at last he began to speak, “I knew about Wolcott’s demise from a source of my own. I also learned that it is Morton who stands to inherit everything, assuming, of course, that I am either illegitimate or dead.”

  Sophie couldn’t repress a shiver. “Oh, surely he is not so depraved as to ever contemplate murder.”

  “I have good reason to believe otherwise,” answered Cameron. “According to my source, there is compelling evidence to suggest that Wolcott’s yacht was sabotaged.”

  The revelation momentarily robbed her of breath.

  “And the more I think about it, the more it makes sense,” went on Cameron. “I did a little digging. Morton is, by all accounts, a clever man, who feels that it is an unfair accident of birth that has robbed him of the money and position in Society that goes with the Wolcott title. He devised a clever plan—and then discovered the rumors about me.”

  He crossed his legs and flicked a speck of mud from his boot. “It was a minor enough detail to leave to his friend Dudley.”

  “It seems too impossible,” she protested. “First of all, Morton would have to know when Wolcott was planning a sailing excursion with his family.”

  A flash of teeth glimmered in the shadows. “Oh, but he did. Remember the correspondence I saw on Wolcott’s desk? Though I didn’t see the significance at the time, there were several letters discussing the itinerary. You see, it turns out Morton is an expert sailor, and knows the North Sea coast like the back of his hand. Wolcott asked his advice on anchorages.”

  “Good God,” intoned Sophie as the significance of what he was saying sank in. “You mean that Morton…”

  “Would know how to weaken a boat enough to make it founder in rough weather?” finished Cameron. “Yes, without a doubt.”

  She took a measured breath, trying to control the sudden churning in her stomach. “That means you are in terrible danger.”

  “Not at all,” he responded. “To Morton and Dudley, I am simply Daggett, a Hellhound of highly questionable morals who has a reputation for getting his paws dirty in any number of unsavory ventures. In fact…” A hint of humor shaded his voice. “…I have been hired by the pair to eliminate the pesky problem of Wolcott’s long-lost brother.”

  “Cam—”

  He silenced her with a touch to her knee. “Don’t worry, Sunbeam. You must trust that I know what I am doing. I’ve
hinted that I know where the elusive marriage document is, which will keep Dudley away from you.”

  Sophie fisted her hands, squeezing so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.

  “Furthermore, I’ve arranged to rendezvous later this week at Morton’s house on the coast near the Fens—and I think it likely I shall find your father’s incriminating paper hidden there, and perhaps some proof of their perfidy regarding my late half brother.”

  “How did all this come about?” she asked.

  “I met with them last night at the Lair. It was the reason that I was late in coming to you.”

  Sophie frowned, trying to find some argument to dissuade him from such a dangerous plan. “You alone with those two miscreants? It’s too risky. There must be a better way. Can’t you simply sneak inside Morton’s residence and steal the evidence against my father?”

  “I could,” he agreed. “But that does not address their other crime.”

  “What about going to the authorities?” she pressed.

  He lifted a brow. “There is no proof at this point, only conjecture. And be assured that any assertions from me would hold little water with the Powers-That-Be. We are not, to put it mildly, on the friendliest of terms.”

  “What can I do to help?” asked Sophie, feeling wretched that she had drawn him into a cesspool far worse than anything she had imagined.

  He was no longer looking amused. “Promise me that you will stay at home in Norfolk for now. I’ve a plan in mind, but if I must worry about your safety, it will be a distraction.”

  Defeated, Sophie leaned back. “How can I argue with that?” she said in a small voice. “You have my word. However, in return, you must vow not to take any undue risks.” The thought of losing him squeezed like a vise around her heart. “Nothing—no title, no fortune, no avoidance of family scandal—is worth your life, Cam.”

  His lashes flickered, stirring a strange spark that was quickly swallowed by shadows. “I’ve no intention of sticking my spoon in the wall just yet, Sunbeam. I am always careful, so you need not fret.”