by Sophia Nash
But there was still the matter of his impending marriage. Sophie must not allow her pity for the boy William had once been to loosen her resolve. She must not allow the temptation to comfort him, to love him, grow within her breast. Even if the Tolworths had entrapped him, seeing him again would only bring them both unhappiness in the end.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the spectacular sunset of molten orange rays shooting through pink clouds above the vast gray ocean. She clenched her hands, bowed her head and prayed for William's happiness. She would not ask for any for herself, only for peace of mind. Happiness would be out of the question for a very long time. But, still, the tears would not come.
Chapter Fourteen
THE steward's reports were gratifying. Sophie studied the column of figures then glanced at Mr. Gallagher who was studiously concentrating on a mound of papers at his side. The elderly gentleman, his white curls pulled back in an old fashioned queue, finally acknowledged her presence in his domain.
"Miss Somerset, is anything amiss?"
"Not at all, Mr. Gallagher. Everything is perfectly in order, as usual. I see your ideas regarding the summer crops have proven their merit. We should discuss your other suggestions for the next season."
"Thank you, miss." A facial tic bothered one of his eyes every so often, betraying his ill ease. "My wife asked me to convey her thanks for your help in sending our grandson off to a proper school this fall."
"Say no more, sir. It's my way of thanking you for taking such good care of this estate almost your entire life."
"Well, it was very good of you."
She suppressed a smile. It was the closest she would get to a personal comment from the dedicated curmudgeon. It had taken three months, but at last she had gained the respect and proper deference due her from all of the servants. Ofttimes, she hated the burden. She would have much rather succumbed to the gaiety and friendliness she heard emanating from the kitchen and stables. There were few real joys to be found as the mistress, only hollow creature comforts.
Mari's sister, Alis, had become Sophie's new companion to preserve an air of propriety. But the duties of companionship were fairly lost on Alis who, for the first time away from a large boisterous family, reveled in the quiet. The cousin could not be pried away from her books or the solitude of her embroidery.
And so Sophie roamed the cliffs alone and accepted the shy formality afforded her by all the tenants, villagers and shepherds wherever she went. She rigorously shook off every moment of ennui that dared rear its indolent head by a strict schedule of charitable work, landowner duties and few pleasures.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the butler's intrusion into the steward's dark and leathery lair. "Lord William Barclay to see you, miss."
Her breath caught in her throat. "Excuse me, Simmons?"
"Lord William. I put him in the smaller sitting room on the west end, miss."
"I—I am sorry, Simmons, but I cannot see him, presently. I must finish this review with Mr. Gallagher."
The steward cleared his throat. "I can wait, miss. There are still entries to—"
"Thank you, Mr. Gallagher, but I prefer to attend to this now," Sophie said and turned to the butler. "You may tell Lord Will-William"—she swallowed quickly—"that I am not receiving today."
A long silence engulfed the room.
"That is all, Simmons," she said with more firmness than she felt.
He bowed and retreated.
Sophie looked unseeing at the ledger in front of her. After a few minutes that felt more like hours, she rose, trying not to sway. "I think I shall excuse myself, Mr. Gallagher, after all. Shall we begin again tomorrow, say at eight o'clock?"
"Of course, miss."
Sophie barely heard his words. She rushed to the hallway, and turned down the narrow corridor toward the servant's entrance at the back of the villa. Struggling with the heavy oak door, she budged it slightly and slipped past, not bothering to secure it behind her.
She must get away. Get away from all possibility of seeing him. The passionate turbulence she'd tightly leashed in the remotest corner of her mind came unbound in a torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
Half running along the faint trail to the cliff and the sea, and breathing hard from the exertion, she tried not to succumb to the addictive notion of hope. She'd not dared imagine he would ignore her words and come.
Oh, she'd dreamed about seeing him again. And she'd woken each time and had desperately clung to the memory of those precious imaginings. She'd decided she had little of the moral strength from her past life. Hence the need for distance.
She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone followed her, then stumbled over an overgrown tree root. Damp tendrils of her hair clung to her neck and face, hampering her vision.
She chose her footing with more care when she negotiated the steep, winding trail down the cliff. The dirt and grass gave way to sandy loam at the small ledge where she jumped onto the beach littered with odd bits of driftwood. The heavy, moisture-laden air depressed her spirits further. With reckless abandon, she kicked free of her sodden slippers at the base of the berm.
Sophie ran to the sea, her feet sinking into the wet sand and foam at the water's edge. The sea, what she could see of it through the fog, was a deep glassy gray. She closed her eyes and tried to regain her composure by regulating her breathing.
God was testing her. She struggled to listen to her heart, past the erratic pounding. But Sophie knew what she must do or, rather, what she must not do. It was what her father would have expected of her.
She turned and strode along the shoreline in the dense haze. The hem of her dress became heavy with sand and water.
Suddenly, a dark figure appeared in the swirling fog, striding before her. His tall black riding boots left deep impressions in the sand while the mist played with the black tails of his coat.
Her step faltered. And so she would find out if her character was something she could be proud of after all.
William was angry—an emotion Sophie had never seen on his face. And he was becoming more furious by the second if the cold, marble mask he wore was any indication. He bowed correctly in front of her, all heavy-lidded charm, and devil-may-care attitude gone from his expression. He appeared years younger in his fury.
"You will not even receive me, Sophie? Your mistrust or is it disgust, of my character is so deep, then? Is it as my brother says—that you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me for my earlier deception?" He gripped her arms almost painfully. "You always spoke of your father's principles. Did he not teach you forgiveness? Is not absolution part of godliness? You are so sure of your own actions in your lifetime?"
She pushed him away from her.
The pounding in her throat made it difficult to speak properly. "I forgave you long ago, William. More than you know. But, you are correct about my old-fashioned morals. I find I'm not made for casual affairs. My upbringing cannot be overcome no matter how great the immediate gratification. I refused to see you as I didn't want to be tempted—for the hours and days after would torment me for a lifetime. Now I beg you to go away from here… from me." She looked up at him with tears brimming in her eyes.
"But I don't want a casual affair with you," he replied with impatience. "I never have."
"But that is all you can offer me now." She examined her hands. The starkness of his open expression was almost too painful to witness.
"Ah. So it is true—what my brother relayed? I understand Lord Drummond was here. My guess is that he was sniffing about, his hat in hand and his heart on his sleeve." His eyes narrowed. "You've accepted him?"
Her throat was sore from checked tears and she couldn't speak. She shook her head.
Abruptly, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. "Is the thought of a life spent with me so abhorrent?"
Sophie tried to remain all awkward elbows and angles, but failed. She softened and allowed herself the momentary illusion o
f comfort within his embrace. She held back the tears threatening to spill from her tightly closed eyes.
He leaned close to her ear. "Hush, my love. I'm sorry. I can't bear to hear you cry." He kissed her temple. "I only came to tell you that… well"— he paused and added in a hoarse whisper—"I love you. I cannot bear the thought of being without you."
The tears Sophie had so ruthlessly held in check for so many months spilled down her cheeks.
"But I'll go away again if it is truly what you want. It's just that I spent so much time in Yorkshire arranging the marriage for that silly chit—all for you. I knew it was what you would want me to do even if I was the not-so-innocent dupe of their scheme."
Sophie cringed at the mention of his marriage.
He stroked her head. And she remained pressed into his neck cloth, unable to give up the false comfort yet.
"And I did fairly well by the girl. The great lummox of a rich local squire's son, for whom it seems she had a childhood fondness, was thoroughly convinced she was the ugly duckling grown into the beautiful swan after Farquhar corseted, primped and dressed the girl. And Tolworth—a tightfisted man if ever there was one—was soon drawn to the idea of saving a bundle on the dowry. It was a love match on every level."
What? Miss Tolworth wed to a squire's son? Could it be? Sophie cried harder and tightened her grip on his coat. Vast waves of emotion flowed through her and she struggled to speak without success.
"I'm rambling… I—I've run out of things to say. I'd prepared an elegant speech to be delivered in a salon that was to have been followed by you falling gratefully at my feet, accepting my explanations and apologizing for thinking the worst of me and refusing to see me." He touched his hands to her lips to silence her plea to speak. "When Alex relayed your refusal—in much kinder terms than what you probably said—I almost decided to stay away. But, I found I couldn't give up hope unless I faced you one last time. Ah, Sophie, forgive my stubbornness."
He pulled slightly away from her and lowered his lips to hers before she could say one word. And he did it calmly, softly and thoughtfully. Not passionately, not calculated to titillate, only quietly, to express his deep love for her.
Sophie felt every nuance of his feelings flow from his lips to hers. And she quieted finally, although speaking was out of the question. She savored the idea of loving him without guilt.
Time slowed to the pulse of her heart when she paused to encounter his open gaze with her own. All masks dissolved. And for the briefest instant, Sophie looked past the dark depths of his eyes and glimpsed through the window to his soul. There were the embers of a burning need haunting his spirit and a lingering question in his expression.
No words seemed adequate to reassure him. And if she did speak of the depths of her feelings, she feared the tears burning the back of her eyes might overcome her again. Only a forced change of emotion—a lighthearted manner—would rescue her from unhappy reminiscences of the past.
An idea itched the corners of her mind. It was wicked, yes, and sinful, and immoral, and deliciously devilish—just what was wanting and had been wanting for too long.
And so quite rationally, with every thought to the impropriety of it, Sophie unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat.
He swallowed and looked down at her. "My God, Sophie, what are you doing?"
She smiled through the tears, which had all but stopped and tried to fashion a coquettish smile on her face. "Why all this talk of morals and principles has made me remember that I was never allowed to give you your lessons of so long ago." She pulled his linen shirt free from his doeskin breeches and reached up inside to touch the hard planes of his chest.
He wore a painful look of hope and raw longing. For the first time, Sophie witnessed uncertainty in his expression.
She continued. "I was to teach you about Character, and instill a Distaste for dandies as part of showing you the Error of your ways. You remember—C, D and E?" She slowly drew back one end of his neck cloth, unraveling the intricate confection.
William stopped her hands with his own, and stared at her. The burning need she had glimpsed in his depths rose to the surface. He stood stock-still.
On tiptoe, she reached his face with her lips, showering him with kisses—on his bronzed, angular cheekbones, the bridge of his strong nose, on his noble forehead, and last of all on his full lips. The muscles of his broad back coiled tightly under her caresses.
Lightly nipping his ear, she whispered, "Perhaps it is you who should be teaching me about character, for yours—I am now convinced—is undoubtedly superior to mine." She disentangled herself from the warmth of his embrace. "But, I shall live up to my promise of a lesson while you devise a suitable penance for me for—for reveling in your embrace while believing you were married to Miss Tolworth." She peeped up to encounter a look of disbelief on his face.
"I—married to Penelope Tolworth? Who had the audacity to suggest that?"
"No one. When your brother mentioned you were arranging a marriage in Yorkshire, I assumed it was your own."
"My brother has never been known for his clarity," Will replied dryly.
Sophie shook her head. "No, no, Will. He did me a great courtesy, which cost him greatly in familial pride. Although it might be a long time before you see it as I do." She paused, awkwardly. "He had the courage to tell me something of your past—your years at Eton and visits here.…"
He grasped her small hand in his large masculine one and looked uncomfortable. "Why, I shall have to fry his spirits-laden liver and serve it to Mrs. Tickle for nuncheon."
"I suspected you would say as much. But you should be forewarned that I shall protect him with my life—so grateful am I for his forcing me to examine my ill-conceived notions of your character."
Will looked at her with hunger in his eyes. "I find I have no interest in talking further about my damn brother."
She smiled up at him and forced back a flash of shyness. "May I then—that is—would you allow me to proceed with the lessons?"
His lips twitched. "If it includes removing your clothes as well, I could perhaps be persuaded."
Heart hammering, she led him to a sheltered overhang in the cliff face, plucking his long forgotten greatcoat from the sand along the way.
Between the heavy fog, and the cliff, no one would see them except for a bold seagull or two.
He took her hands in his own and stood before her, searching her face. The heartfelt expression of joy found deeply lodged in his eyes spoke volumes.
She tugged at the formfitting coat sleeves of his austere black coat. William took over the removal of the rest of his clothes and arranged his greatcoat in the remote corner. Sophie unbuttoned and untied the hidden fastenings of her gown and chemise and let them slide to the ground. Stepping over the puffed-up dress and undergarments, she turned into Will's arms.
The sound of waves breaking and the cry of invisible seagulls in the shroud of fog cocooned them. His beautiful dark eyes were flooded with happiness and longing. She reached up to move a lock of his hair from his eyes then touched her lips to his.
Within moments, Sophie lay on his greatcoat, her pale body almost fawnlike against the black fabric. She reached her arms toward him and he joined her, his body covering her own, the urgency of his desire in evidence.
"Perhaps, I shan't have to help you acquire a distaste for dandies, after all, my lord." Laughter threaded her words.
He raised himself on his forearms and arched an eyebrow. "I've always prided myself in being a quick study, ma'am."
There, finally, a glimmer of his old roguish charm surfaced in the corners of his expression—or perhaps it was just his dimples making an appearance.
His leg fell between hers and nudged the sensitive juncture of her thighs and he lowered himself reverently to her breasts, pausing to kiss each tip.
She gasped in pleasure and pushed at his impossibly strong shoulders. "No, no, this is my lesson. You're getting ahead of yourself." She urged him to his b
ack and leaned over him.
Her fingers, tentative at first then more boldly, touched the length of his body, hesitating only once. He groaned. "Don't touch me, Sophie, or this will be over before it has begun."
She stopped, then smiled at him before placing gentle kisses on his neck down to his flat nipple. She swirled the small tip of her tongue around him, then nibbled on the tightened bit of flesh.
"You're going to regret this," he growled into her ear as her face passed near his. "I am going to disgrace myself and act like an inexperienced schoolboy."
"I should like to see that better than the experienced rake."
"I assure you, you would not," he said dryly. He then groaned and all restraint lost, he grasped her hips and positioned her over him, urging her to take him. "I can't bear another moment."
She whispered in his ear, "Well, I cannot bear it either." Sophie sensed the pulsing heat of him and experienced a torturous desire to be possessed.
He drew her down, achingly slowly, and firmly adjusted his hardness to her softness.
She let out her pent up breath. "Oh…"
William stopped, and looked at her with a closed expression. There was tense restraint in every still bunched muscle.
She leaned close and kissed the recent scar on his brow.
"Ah, Sophie, you are about to be granted your wish."
"The inexperienced schoolboy wish?"
"Precisely."
"Good. You were never allowed to experience the innocence of youth. We shall bring it back for you."
He closed his eyes and tried to regain control. Within moments a low rumble of laughter came from him. "My love, I've reconsidered." He opened his eyes and reached to stroke the pins from her half-fallen and tangled hair. "I have a reputation to maintain, don't you know?"
Sophie smiled and found herself unexpectedly swept beneath him, his greatcoat at her back. He began a slow rhythm of movements, his actions deep and sure.
