by Mary Campisi
A howl of pain filled the room. Sophie looked up to witness Gregory Thurston wrenching Jameson’s swinging arm behind his back with a vicious thrust. He then spun him around and landed a solid blow to his midsection which doubled the older man over. Groaning on all fours, Jameson pleaded, “Stop, I beg of you . . .” Gregory Thurston ignored the pleas and yanked Jameson to his feet by his collar and proceeded to land a solid, swift blow to his face.
“That one is for the lady,” he ground out as he threw Thomas Jameson’s unconscious body to the ground. Chest heaving, he made his way to Sophie. “Are you all right? Did that bastard harm you?”
“I’m not harmed, merely frightened. If you hadn’t come along . . .”
Gregory cleared his throat and said, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . ” He let out a curse and bent his head toward hers.
“Ahhm . . . excuse me.”
Gregory Thurston jerked back and swung around. Jason Langford stood over the inert body of Thomas Jameson. “I think it might be best advised if Lady Sophie were to depart before this gent rouses and begins spreading tales. I’ll say we had a gentleman's disagreement. No one need be the wiser.”
“That would be the most logical course of action.” Gregory Thurston grabbed Sophie’s hand. “I’ll see the lady home. Please make her excuses to our host. We’ll wait while you bring her wrap and then leave by the side door.”
“What about Mr. and Mrs. Bishop? I came with them. Could you please inform them I’ve left?”
“Should I say with whom?” Jason asked.
“I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“As you wish.” Jason left the pair to fetch Sophie’s wrap and inform the Bishops of her departure. He wouldn’t mention who had taken her home, he wouldn’t need to. Francie Bishop had spent the better part of the supper studying Holt, probably sizing him up for husband material. The woman had a notorious history of ill-fated matchmaking attempts and Sophie and Holt could well be her next venture. He had a strange feeling Francie Bishop might have success this time.
Chapter 8
The carriage rolled down the cobblestone road, crunching into the darkness beyond. Sophie and Gregory sat side by side, his arm wrapped around her waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the touch and scent that were distinctively Gregory Thurston.
“Tell me about your sister.”
The quiet demand in his voice held no hint of morbid curiosity or condemnation that often accompanied this question. For that reason, she told him the truth.
“It was a spring day and I was tending the flowers. Two hours or so had passed when I decided to take a break for afternoon tea and went to fetch Caroline. I knew she’d be terribly disappointed if she missed Mrs. Jeffries’ lemon cakes. When I couldn’t find her in the house, I ventured to the lake where Mother and I often took Caroline to feed the ducks.” It still pained her to recall the next events. “I found my sister unconscious, a short distance from the water. I carried her back to the house and put her to bed. When she woke, she couldn’t speak. That was ten years ago. Caroline was three years old.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said gently.
“Doctors don’t know what happened. I think she saw Mother drown and the shock of it left her speechless.”
“Good God, that’s horrible.”
“I’ll do anything to protect my sister.”
“As you should,” he said, “and you may begin by putting an immediate end to the foolish behavior I witnessed this evening.”
“Foolish behavior?” She sat ram-rod straight and peered at him in the dim light.
“Your willfulness nearly got you attacked. Any man could have pressed his favors upon you and you would not have been able to protect yourself.”
“You think I invited that beast’s attention? I did nothing to encourage his advances other than seek refuge in the quiet of an unoccupied room.”
“Which apparently was not unoccupied.” He stared at her a full moment, the tiny twitch in his jaw the single betrayer of emotion.
The man so enjoyed stating the obvious. Sophie shifted in her seat and settled her gaze on the passing darkness of the night.
“Look at me.” The words spoken so softly could have been those of a lover, but she sensed the underlying menace in his tone and hazarded a glance in his direction. Fire burned deep in his dark eyes as he vowed, “I’ll show you exactly what it means for a man to press his favors upon a woman so you’ll not be mistaken again.” He grabbed her waist and hefted her onto his lap. She tried to squirm away but he merely pushed her onto the cushions of the carriage and leveraged the upper portion of his massive body on top of her. He pinned her arms above her head, his tongue forcing her lips apart, and thrust inside. She tried to fight but he was too strong. Then the kiss gentled.
He licked the edges of her lips, dropped light kisses on her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the cleft in her chin. Ever so slowly, he kissed his way back to her lips. She stopped fighting and arched her body to meet his, opening her mouth to him.
“Gregory . . .” she sighed as he planted tiny kisses along her jaw and throat. His tongue on her skin made her burn and ache for more. Realizing he’d long since released his hold on her, she circled her arms around his neck, entwining her fingers in his thick hair. He worked his way down her throat and settled on her breast. She closed her eyes, savoring the pleasure of his hands cupping her breasts. Her nipples swelled and tightened as he traced them through the silken fabric of her gown. Oh, how she longed to feel his touch without the constraint of clothing.
He must have sensed her desire, for his fingers became more feverish, his breathing more erratic as he loosened her chemise and exposed naked flesh. When he drew a nipple into his mouth, she bit her lower lip to keep from screaming her pleasure. Gregory continued to suckle first one breast and then the other as his hips crushed hers into the cushions in a deliriously intoxicating rhythm.
The world shrank to the confines of the carriage and all that mattered were Gregory’s mouth and hands on her body. When he pulled away, she urged him back but he resisted with whispered promises of things to come. His hand slid under her gown, traveling slowly along her silk-clad legs. No well bred lady should actually want to be touched in that most private spot, but dear Lord, she did.
Gregory continued his torment, inching up her thighs with delicious caresses. After what seemed two eternities, he reached the apex of her thighs and gently cupped her womanhood. Oh, good heavens! She gasped and bucked off the seat. “Gregory,” she moaned.
“Does that feel good, my sweet?”
“Oh, yes,” she panted, raising her hips to meet his fingers.
He found the slit in her pantaloons, slipped a finger into the very heat of her and said in a strained voice, “Can you now see the dangerous consequences a young lady could suffer were she permitted to run unprotected about the countryside?”
“Ah . . .yes . . . ah . . .yes!” She tugged at his collar, drawing his mouth to mate with hers. The kiss matched the fever pulsing in her body as she thrust her hips off the cushions, driving toward a pleasure just beyond her reach. Gregory’s expert hands and mouth teased and tormented, and when she could take no more, she exploded in a lightning bolt of sensation, his name on her lips as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her and the world outside the carriage ceased to exist.
***
Holt stared at the proud beauty before him. A thin film of perspiration covered the exposed parts of her exquisite body; perfect for a man to taste. Her lips remained slightly parted, as though in invitation, her breath still unraveling in quick, unsteady gasps.
Never before had he been so moved and by God, he hadn’t even made love to her yet! Not that he would be able to now, for the carriage had long since stopped, and he would not subject her to the humiliation of possible discovery. Damnation, he hadn’t meant for things to go this far. He’d only int
ended to teach her a well-deserved lesson, but once his lips touched hers, all was indeed lost. Gregory stroked her cheek, tenderness swelling inside him like a foreign object. “Sophie? Are you all right?” She nodded, her gaze skittering from his. She attempted to sit up and readjust her clothing. “Allow me.” His knuckles brushed her breasts as he deftly tied the laces of her chemise. “We can’t continue to pretend we aren’t attracted to one another.” There, he’d said it.
She eyed him. “What are you saying?”
“This changes everything.” He trailed his fingers along her cheek, her jaw, the cleft in her chin. “I want you, Sophie. God knows I’ve tried to deny it from the first, but I can’t continue. I can make you very happy. Just tell me yes.”
Her face burst with a smile and she flung her arms about his neck. “Yes!”
He sighed and cradled her to his chest, more at peace than he’d been in years. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll locate a townhouse, wherever you want, though I’d prefer you not be more than a stone's throw away. Of course, we’ll use the utmost discretion and I would provide for your sister as well.”
Sophie lifted her head and asked, “Why would we have to use discretion?”
Holt cleared his throat and hesitated several seconds before plunging forward. “I know you think I care nothing for convention but I do care about you and avoiding unwanted talk.”
She stared at him, confusion spreading across her face. “Why would our marriage create unwanted talk?”
“Marriage?” He almost choked on the word. “What in the devil are you talking about?”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What in the devil are you talking about?”
“I assure you, it is not marriage!”
Her voice flattened. “You want me to be your whore.”
Blast the woman, why did she have to make this so very difficult? “I want us to be together. I’ll provide for all of your needs, as well as your sister’s. You’ll want for nothing. I’ll even help your father out of his financial situation.” There, that should appease her. He sat back, thinking he’d done a rather admirable job explaining the situation and his willingness to help her family. What more could she want?
“I’ll not be your whore.”
“Damnation, stop speaking in such an unbecoming manner. I want us to be together, why does it need to be more complicated than that?” When she didn’t speak, he went on, “Marriage is a sham. It would only destroy us.”
She said nothing for a long while and when she did speak, her words fell upon him in emotionless waves. “It seems we have very different views on what our relationship should be. It appears there’s nothing more to discuss, other than the question of honor.”
She was too calm. Obviously, she hadn’t liked his idea, but given time she’d see the right of it. And what was this nonsense about honor? “Whose honor?” he nearly growled.
Her look remained serene, her voice calmer yet. “Why yours of course. I’m a maiden interested in marriage. You, on the other hand, are not.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “You, my lady, are no maiden. No woman responds the way you do and maintains her virginity, so let us dispense of the games.”
Her back stiffened and she retorted, “Whether or not you believe me is of no consequence. I ask only that you refrain from touching me again. I want no further contact with you and wish to forget we ever had any association with one other.”
“Not bloody likely.” She was getting out of control and he was getting angry.
“You would see me ruined then?” she spat out, her voice no longer quiet, her eyes burning into his. Fists clenched and unclenched in her lap as though she fought the urge to sock him in the face. “You care so little you would parade me as your whore to all of society and expect they will look the other way because society dictates mean nothing to you? I won’t deny my attraction to you but I’ll not be your whore, or paramour, or whatever fancy name you wish to pin on me. Please, for once in your life, be the gentleman. Give me your word you will leave me alone so I may seek a proper husband.”
He stared out the window into the darkness, his mouth hard, eyes narrowed. For a long while he said nothing. Finally, the words came. “My dear lady, I will not bother you again.” He should have left it at that. But he couldn’t. He pushed on and spoke words meant to inflict pain. “In truth you are not worth the trouble when there are so many others eagerly willing to fill the position.”
She gasped and flung open the carriage door, bounding from it and disappearing behind the walls of Waverly Manor in mere seconds.
“Good riddance,” Holt muttered. “Marriage, indeed.”
Chapter 9
Holt inched his eyes open. Where the hell was he? He turned his head slowly, trying to still the pounding in his temples. Another night of too much whiskey. The morning results were always the same, but at least the whiskey numbed the nights.
“Arghh . . .” he groaned, wishing he’d stopped a whiskey short of this blasted headache. The woman beside him stroked her pink-tipped nails along his belly. Her full lips opened to a generous smile as she rubbed her breasts against him and stroked the medallion dangling from his neck with milk-white fingers.
“Mmmm,” she murmured, laying her blond head on his chest. “The jewel on this medallion is as mesmerizing as its owner.”
Holt squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his palms to his temples, and wished himself anywhere but in bed with Jessica Heathers. In God's name, how had he fallen so low? It wasn’t necessary to elicit divine assistance to determine the reason for his plunge into the depths of depravity. He knew exactly how it had happened. The very thought of her made his breathing quicken in anger and something else he could not define.
Lady Sophie Seacrest was invading his thoughts again, as she had for practically every waking and sleeping moment these past six weeks.
When she had so carelessly cut him from her life the night he informed her she would be his mistress, he’d gone straight back to the soiree and without more than five words taken Jessica Heathers to her home and her bed. He’d remained there two days and nights attempting to exorcise the green-eyed witch who had stolen his soul. He should have enjoyed the naked beauty beside him. Jessica Heathers knew how to pleasure a man but truth would have it, he’d needed to remain in a semi-stupor to feel even momentary desire for her and even then the image of a certain auburn-haired enchantress forced itself into his mind. It wasn’t Jessica's face he saw as she lay beneath him, not Jessica's arms and legs wrapped tightly around him as he pumped into her.
He saw Sophie's face, Sophie's body. Would he never be rid of her? The fear he might not, made him more determined to drive her from his mind. After two days with the widow Heathers, a woman whom he bore not even a passing fondness for, he decided to test other available females in hopes they would drive away his obsession with Sophie Seacrest. It wasn’t difficult to find willing partners. One suggestive look across a ballroom and women flocked to him. He only took the experienced ones who knew exactly what he was offering and would not expect more.
Unfortunately, no matter how many women he bedded, his desire for Sophie did not wane. Weeks passed with Holt working all day, whether at the docks, overseeing the lands or tending the books. He contacted Rendhaven and informed him his daughter’s assistance was no longer needed and all further business would be conducted between the two men only. Each night he attended various functions and if he returned home, it would be a few hours before dawn. On several occasions, he and Sophie attended the same functions. He quickly overcame his initial shock at seeing her again, and decided the best course of action was to ignore her completely. Once, when an elderly earl deigned to introduce them to one another, Holt smiled politely, murmured a few words as he glanced at her flushed face, and turned on his heel, the woman on his arm trailing behind. Touching Sophie again was too dangerous; therefore, he simply walked away.
Their
behavior toward one another did not go unnoticed. Jason usually attended the same functions and more often than not, Sophie was also present. It was as though each desired to make it known to the other that whatever had passed between them was insignificant and forgotten. Both failed miserably. Jason often noted how Holt's jaw tensed and his speech grew stilted whenever Sophie danced with a man or stood among a swarm of suitors. Not that his brother showed his jealousy but it was there, seething just behind the feigned indifference. Jason had never seen two more unhappy people in his entire life and after several weeks of witnessing such absolute misery, decided to put an end to it and cornered Holt the morning after another evening of debauchery.
“You look like hell.”
Holt glanced up from his ledgers and said, “I have a business meeting in an hour, so if you don’t mind . . .”
“Actually, I do have a rather pressing matter I wish to discuss with you. Unfortunately, I don’t think it can or should wait any longer.”
“What is it? Is it Julia?”
Jason slouched further in his overstuffed chair, waiting for just the right amount of silence to pass. “Julia’s fine. She’s traipsing all over the continent like a bohemian and should be returning soon. What has been bothering me for weeks now, is when you and Sophie will settle your differences and admit your feelings for one other.”
“There’s nothing between us.”
Had Jason not witnessed his brother’s behavior in the presence of Sophie, he might have believed such nonsense. “Since she means nothing to you, then it will matter little that Peter Hatherton is planning to offer for her.”
