by Kim Bowman
Grateful to tune out their buttery conversation about Naval uniforms, Sophia followed her errant croquet ball around a hedge. Elise had probably hit it there on purpose. Ever venting her angst over her mentor’s strict regime, unaware her newly acquired ladylike behavior probably kept Lt. Sherman at her side after her beauty had lured him there. “How did you earn your gold tassels?” her syrupy voice purred, thick with admiration.
Where is that dratted ball? A little farther she found it, but draped over its wooden rings lay a single coral long-stemmed rose, dethorned. At first it put her in mind of the rose hedges lining the drive to Rosecrest. Then she wondered why orange until she remembered the popular symbolism for roses. Orange meant desire.
“Wilhelm?” She picked up the ball and rose stem then stood, smelling the exotic perfume. Freshly cut. From where? Rougemont grew no rosebushes that she knew of.
“Here.”
She followed his voice behind the hedge and nearly trod on another rose, lavender, for enchantment. Following a trail, she found a yellow bud for friendship, pink for joy or appreciation? And the white could be purity, secrecy, or reverence, but all of those seemed unlikely. Well, before that she’d guessed Wilhelm meant to send her a romantic message. Now that she thought of it, yellow could also mean jealousy. What sort of game was this? And the next rose: dyed blue, in full bloom?
“The unattainable, transcending,” he answered, stepping away from a saddled horse. Sadie, free of her harness and reins, grazed in a little hollow surrounded by ancient garden hedges. Voices drifted faintly from the lawn; apparently the game had gone on.
“I gave Philip the high sign. He will make your excuses,” Wilhelm answered her unspoken thought. “Stay a moment, please.”
She looked around to notice he’d lured her into a thoroughly secluded spot, shaded and overgrown, with soft beams of light filtering through the branches.
He brought a single red rose from behind his back and took the other blooms from her hand, arranging them as he spoke. “Enchantment and friendship. Mystery in spades. Then solace and respect. Always desire. And at the core—” He gave the bouquet back with the red rose at the center.
She held it while her sluggish brain processed the gesture — was he saying what she thought?
“Love.” He stepped closer and speared her with his soul-reading gaze, hypnotizing her. “All these ways and more. I am madly in love with you, Anne-Sophia.”
First a wave of surprise, then as it faded, consuming warmth swept over her. It gave her heart a jolt, tingled over her skin and made her eyes mist. She bit her lip to keep tears from spilling over. It seemed the lovely soaring feeling singing through her veins would sweep her into the breeze.
“It didn’t seem right to let you think I would use you, especially now that… But I don’t ask you to — because we both know I’m not, I mean, I wish… Oh, hell.” He sighed and shook his head in frustration. “Sophie, I’m no good at this. Say something.”
She accidently knocked him in the side of the head with the flowers — did some symbolism exist for that? — as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like it was their first and last. The croquet ball dropped to the ground, narrowly missing their toes.
Almost impossible to let him go, but she made herself step back and catch her breath. She reached to stroke his jaw, adoring the strength and humor visible in the way he held it. He had shaved, showing the scars as well as the dimples. His razor had missed the shallow cleft in his square chin. Another wave of tenderness weakened her knees, and she allowed herself to lean into him a little.
“I love you, too, Wil. With all my heart. I have for a long time.” Oh, the ice-hot way he looked down at her! All the fluttery, absurd feelings she had silently mocked Elise for rushed her in a frenzy, like laughing with a mouthful of champagne.
She wanted romance? Well, here came more than she could handle. “You feel like a miracle and Christmas morning to me. I thought a man like you didn’t exist, and I never dreamed you could be mine. If it is all a dream, don’t wake me.” She dared glance up at him, and the genuine, humble surprise in his expression prompted her to add, “You make me so happy.”
Sunlight and moist air brushed across her shoulders before she became aware of Wilhelm’s fingers lowering the fastener at the back of her dress. She thought he wanted a quick tumble in the garden, not that she meant to complain, but then he turned her around and kissed slow trails from the nape of her neck down over her shoulders, her spine, everywhere the scars marred her skin.
It made no sense to weep, but she couldn’t help it. At least Sophia tried to do it quietly, not wishing to distract him. An odd effect she had not anticipated — healing. Months’ and years’ worth of angst, fear, even hatred melted away. No room for it in her heart, not with splendid elation taking its place. It seemed his lips on her skin mended her from the inside out, filling her with pleasant memories to eradicate the bad.
He managed to remove her clothes and most of his own without pausing, clever man. Sadie blew a snort and stamped, either affected by the surge of emotion from the humans or impatient for a run. Wilhelm whistled low and the horse nickered in argument but lowered its head to graze again. No one would find them, would they? Or hear them?
She unfastened the rest of his buttons and stood back to look, already working for breath. Anticipation, excitement churned low in her belly. Oh, how she wanted him!
The world shrank to this hidden garden behind the hedges. Possibly he’d selected the spot for this purpose, with the grass springy and thick like carpet. Confident of him to presume it would go over this way. Or perhaps he’d read her mind and already guessed she was completely in love with him. Now that she understood his perspective, she could count dozens of his tender looks she might have misinterpreted. Too much time wasted in misunderstanding. The thought made her eager to make up for it.
“Stop thinking,” he muttered into her hair. Then he angled her head to bare her neck and nibbled down the center. He dropped to his knees and kneaded his lips around her navel until she squealed, ticklish. “And touch me.”
Her hand covered the block of muscle over his heart. She squeezed and felt his heart kick, then grazed her palms up and down his arms. Familiar, enticing, his every contour over muscle, bone, veins, and scars. She could find him in the dark by touch, if his heady mint-pine-leather scent didn’t give him away first.
Lovely — he cradled his arms across her back and lowered her to the ground, following her down, his lips provoking hers with ghostlike kisses. Hands raking from her waist to ribs, he nudged her to raise her arms over her head then kneaded her palms with his fingertips, lulling her into submission. He wandered downward, detouring at every sensitive spot between her wrists and ankles. Then he did the same with his teeth, shooting electric pleasure through her nerves. It rang in her head, arched her back, and made her want to purr.
Wilhelm watched her as he moved deliberately, likely waiting to see if she could tolerate him lying over her. She cradled him with her knees, relishing his protective shoulders shielding her, his powerful arms caging her in his embrace. Nothing better than feeling him everywhere at once, beyond skin, beyond the physical act, deep in her soul.
That addicting soaring feeling unfurled in her core, possessing her limbs and then her mind. Pleasant insanity. She leaned her head back and swallowed a moan, and he nudged her to look back at him. Stay with me, his silent prompting.
Not often could she stand to look so closely into his eyes, faceted silver-grey, deeply set with sharp brows and an almost feminine spray of blond-tipped lashes. Unearthly, a little frightening, and fathomless. He always saw too much when he studied her. Honest moments when he communicated with his eyes, the intelligence as well as the masked pain there always struck her. Too intense. Now she saw a tenderness that broke her heart and put it back together.
An edge of wildness colored the mood, turning the smooth rhythm into a playful battle. Impossible, feeling desperate for more,
more, more the same moment he gave her everything she demanded. Intoxicating friction, a ravenous hunger that inspired uncivilized urges. Such as biting. She braised her teeth over his shoulder then captured his head so she could nibble on his neck in a rough version of what he’d done to her. She smiled at his mangled syllable of protest; he sounded helpless.
His movements lost their fluidity, his efforts to restrain his strength failing. She felt the first twinge of irrational fear. Sophia desperately did not want to panic. So close, so near… Did it even have a name, the episode of tumult that washed her entire being with indescribable euphoria?
Her thoughts ceased — Oh, a sweet spot. Her body seized, anticipating… Wilhelm must have noticed, he repeated the motion mercilessly until it happened. He caught her mouth in a rowdy kiss as she cried out, grasping him, riding wave after wave of delicious mind-stroking pleasure.
Her pulse pounded in her head and heat flooded her vision, or else sooner she would have noticed him tense and slide down, burying his face in her abdomen. She loved that moment when he shook and bucked and fought the onslaught with those charming erotic smiles. But what was he doing? She’d missed it. Or he had. Bereft was the word, and the sting of rejection punctuated it.
Wilhelm kneaded over her sides and dotted kisses across her belly, humming in between heavy gusts of breath. When he seemed to regain his senses, she asked softly, “Why did you do that?”
He grunted in reply then seemed to register it wasn’t viable communication. He mumbled in a groggy voice, “Compromise.”
“What?”
“I can’t keep my hands off you. But I will not risk losing you, and now you know the true reason why.”
“You mean to prevent conception? Why — but…” She fidgeted and he let go so she could roll away. Anger threatened her lovely mood, so she tried logic on him instead. “A little late for that after last night, don’t you think so?” She pretended to clear her throat. “To the fourth degree, if you catch my meaning.”
“A lapse in judgment. But unlikely one night will… you know.”
“You know what happened last time, with only one night.” Mercy, but he could be utterly ridiculous.
“Lightning never strikes the same place twice.”
“Never underestimate the power of bad luck. And besides, I dislike the word never. Difficult to swallow when one must shake salt on it and eat it.” She cooled her temper again, and her womb jumped with an echo of vibration, as though in agreement. Why were they arguing now? All she wanted to do was curl up and nap then do it all again.
“Precisely. So I suppose we might discuss… you know. I mean, you have a say in how to go about it, next time.”
She really wanted to shake her head and curse. “Very well. I suggest eye of newt in a potion and dancing counterclockwise around a bonfire every full moon.”
He snorted and chuckled, a rusty, reluctant sound. “I am serious.”
“And I thought we had agreed to try for a child. Why not? So long as I lounge about like the Queen of Sheba, avoiding any threat of danger on two legs or four.”
My, but he looked thoroughly uncomfortable. She waited for him to come out with it, bracing herself for a little upset and perhaps heartbreak. “I do think it wise…”
“Yes?”
“Well, soon my position against your father will be ironclad. Until then I fear what Chauncey might do in his desperation. I wager he feels like an animal in a small cage. And I am about to make it even smaller. Caution would be wise, is what I am trying to say.”
She was right — upset and heartbreak coming her way. Why did her father have to shadow every moment of happiness? Taint her future, and Wilhelm’s? Sophia swallowed the first several retorts that sprang to mind, then finally asked, “What will it take to be rid of him once and for all?”
“Patience, love. An obscene amount of blunt and an equal measure of luck.” His words didn’t seem to convince even himself, and she certainly wasn’t fooled. Why so uneasy? And what was he still not telling her?
She was about to prod him for details when he said, “May I ask something of you? A gift?”
“You chose a good time to ask, Wil. I can’t imagine I would deny you anything at the moment.”
Silence while he drew flourishes around her navel with his finger. “A piece of paper. The one that allows you to annul our marriage with the stroke of a pen. Or you could present me with the ashes, if you truly want to please me.”
Oh. Had he requested anything else, the great pyramids on a platter, perhaps. “I made the provision for your sake—”
He scoffed and dropped his head on the grass. “You really think I am going to — quote — tire of you? After I confessed ardent devotion? Sophie, I have planned this scene since… well, guess how long it takes to acquire a blue rose. But what have I done to make you doubt I am constant?”
“I know you are sincere. And devoted. The purpose was to secure your freedom as well as preempt against Lord Chauncey, should the need arise—”
“You sound like my lawyers. Fancy speech to obscure the fact that somewhere in that enigmatic head of yours, you expect to leave me.”
“An ungracious manipulation of my words. I have been uncomfortable — no, disturbed, frightened — with the danger I have brought upon you.”
He ripped a handful of grass and tossed it in the air. “That damned paper hangs over my head. I want it gone. Please.” He rolled to prop his elbow on the ground and shot her a devastating, smoldering look. Fritz made a similar expression when he begged for a slice of ham, but Wilhelm’s was more effective.
“Anything for you, love. You can eat it for breakfast.”
“I like the fire idea better. And thank you.” He reached across the space to run his hand over her side, following the curve from hip to ribs, over and again. An apology shone in his eyes, then he fell into a trance.
Sophia closed her eyes, letting his warm touch coax her into a brighter mood. Irritation aside, she couldn’t fault Wilhelm for his dedication and unselfishness, even if she thought his methods convoluted.
Part of love is trust. There went her annoying conscience again, though its reasoning rang true.
She succumbed to the drowsy feeling pulling her eyelids closed in concert with the weak breeze and dots of sunshine escaping though the wall of hedges. Either Sadie or Wilhelm would alert her if anyone approached. She did feel safe, she reasoned, or else she wouldn’t drift to sleep naked in the middle of a garden while a tea party went on only paces away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Why Wilhelm Has A Questionable Reputation
Unkind of her to tease him, but she couldn’t resist. Sophia nudged a drawing pencil with her elbow, misaligning it from the others by an inch or so. Wilhelm noticed immediately, glancing over the top of his paper. Sophia droned on about greyscale values to the Cavendish girls, all bleary-eyed and covering morning yawns. At least they remembered to place a hand over their open mouths even if the drawing lesson fell flat. Progress was progress.
There. She saw the moment Wilhelm could stand it no longer — he had been twitching ever since she bumped the pencil. Leaning over the table, he slid the pencil into place, and she pretended not to mind. First the stack of books, then the jars of powder, and now the pencils. He simply could not tolerate the sight of an object out of place. She remembered his stringent standards for starching and pressing his sheets, shirts, and drawers. He’d been quite the tyrant, but months had passed, and he was much altered. Everyone noticed, and the reformed Lord Devon seemed to have charmed the entire household.
And my, had he changed. The man she’d met a year ago would have perished of apoplexy at the sight of his bed thoroughly disheveled as it had been that morning. Creased sheets were the least of it, she thought with a smile.
He noticed. Wilhelm raised a brow in question, and she winked back. The air between them charged, and she wondered if he was remembering the night before, too. His expression heated as he mouthed, “I wa
nt you.”
“Aunt Sophia?” Mary asked, waiting for instructions.
Sophia turned to the girls, and Wilhelm bowed his head over the paper again. Under the table she dropped the slipper from her foot and rubbed from his ankle to knee, slowly to avoid making a rustling sound on the fabric of his trousers, then traveled slowly up his thigh as she spoke. “A common error in technique is to force the tip too deeply. A superior texture is made by softer strokes repeated at various angles.”
Like Fritz pointing his ears, Wilhelm’s attention darted up, and she forced any hint of humor from her expression as she went on, demonstrating the pencil stokes. Let him wonder if she intended the innuendo in her art lesson.
“See? This effect is more complex, more saturated, and more pleasing.” Wilhelm swallowed. It seemed he badly wanted to chortle, or at least trade glances with her. She ignored him, still teasing with the ball of her foot. “Observe the superior control with gentler strokes. And I can intensify the value with sideways and diagonal strokes, which adds a dimension of motion. Oh, and it makes the texture much smoother.”
Wilhelm made a choking sound then disguised it with a false cough.
Just when she thought he might fall out of his chair, she doused the game with a clinical tone. “And besides, I ruined the texture with the first way, see? The lines of the pencil shouldn’t score the paper. Now you try. Start from opaque and shade to absolute white, in a column of graduated values.” The girls bent over their sketchbooks.
Sophia rubbed her toes across Wilhelm’s lap, back and forth slowly, then in little circles — he shot out of the chair, knocking it over and striking his knee under the table. He grunted and held the paper to cover his groin, sending her a look both exasperated and heated with lust.
The girls glanced up in puzzlement, Sophia bade them to stay on task, and Wilhelm cleared his throat. “A loose tack in the upholstery,” he explained and moved to take the seat next to Sophia then snatched one of her drawing pencils.
