by Lisa Kleypas
He looked both appalled and amused by the idea. “God forbid. No wife of mine will take up residence at the public office. A place like this is more fitting, not to mention comfortable.”
“It’s very grand,” Sophia commented doubtfully, thinking privately that the word “comfortable” would be more accurately applied to a cozy cottage or a small town house. “Ross,” she said carefully, “if you spend all your time working at Bow Street, I do not think I would like to be alone in such a large place. Perhaps we could find some nice terrace on King Street—”
“You’re not going to be alone.” His eyes lit with amusement. “I’ve given enough of my life to Bow Street. I’m going to refashion the public office so that it can function without me. Then I’ll recommend Morgan as the next Chief Magistrate, and step down for good.”
“But what would you do?” Sophia asked in dawning worry, knowing that he was too active to settle into a life of gentlemanly indolence.
“I have more than a few reformist causes to occupy my time, and I need to take a stronger hand in running the Silverhill estate. I also plan to buy a part interest in a new railway company in Stockton, though God knows my mother will have apoplexy at such mercantile pursuits.” He reached out and pulled her so close that her skirts swished around his legs and feet. His dark head lowered until their noses were almost touching. “But most of all,” he murmured, “I want to be with you. I’ve waited long enough for this, and, by God, I’m going to enjoy it.”
Sophia stood on her toes, brushing her lips against his. Before Ross could intensify the kiss, she drew back and regarded him with a saucy smile. “Show me the rest of the house,” she said.
The house was unexpectedly charming, many of the rooms shaped with rounded ends and fitted with niches and built-in bookshelves. The delicate pastel walls were framed with white molding, some panels filled with the fanciful shapes of winged gryphons and other mythical beasts. Fireplaces were made of carved marble, and the floors were covered with thick-piled French carpets. Here and there an odd piece of furniture had been left: a bow-fronted chest in one room, a japanned screen in another. In a back room on the second floor, Sophia discovered an intriguing oddity, something that resembled a chair but had been constructed in a queer fashion.
“What is this?” she asked, walking around the piece, and Ross laughed.
“A chamber horse. It has been years since I’ve seen one of these. Not since boyhood, actually.”
“What is it used for?”
“Exercise. My grandfather had one. He claimed that it strengthened his legs and slimmed his waist whenever he had indulged a bit too often.”
She regarded him skeptically. “How is it possible to exercise on a chair?”
“You bounce on it.” He grinned in reminiscence. “On rainy days, when there was nothing else to do, Matthew and I jumped on Grandfather’s chamber horse for hours at a time.” Using his hand, he pushed on the seat, which had been upholstered with at least two and a half feet of cushioning. “This is filled with springs and dividing boards. Air is expelled through the holes on the sides.”
Ross sat on the chamber horse experimentally, holding the mahogany arms and resting his feet on the stepping board in front. He gave the chair a slight bounce, and the seat moved up and down with a creaking sound.
“You look ridiculous,” Sophia said, giggling at the sight of the dignified magistrate on the odd contraption. “Very well, I will agree to live in this house if you promise to dispose of that thing.”
His smiling gray eyes stared into hers, and he regarded her thoughtfully. When he spoke, his tone had lowered just a notch. “Don’t be so hasty. You might want to use it sometime.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “If I want exercise, I will take a walk.”
“Do you know how to ride?”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t. Neither real horses nor chamber horses.”
“I’ll teach you, then.” His gaze traveled from her head to her toes in a single hot sweep. And then he astonished her by murmuring, “Take off your gown.”
“What?” She shook her head, bemused. “Here? Now?”
“Here and now,” he affirmed softly. He relaxed back in the chair, propping one foot on the stepping board. The wicked challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.
Sophia regarded him uncertainly. Although she was by no means inhibited, she was hesitant to remove her clothes in a strange house in the middle of the day, with sunlight streaming through the uncurtained windows. Cautious but amenable, she started at the fastening at the neck of her gown. “What if we are interrupted?”
“The house is empty.”
“Yes, but what if one of the footmen comes in here to ask something?”
“They know better.” He watched her hands alertly as she fumbled with her bodice. “Do you need help with that?”
Sophia shook her head, feeling excruciatingly self-conscious as she stepped out of her shoes. She unfastened her dress, let it fall to the floor, and unhooked the front of her light corset. When that, too, was discarded, she was left in her knee-length chemise, cotton drawers, and stockings. A brilliant blush spread up to her hairline as she reached for the hem of the chemise and pulled it up to her waist. Pausing, she glanced at Ross’s intent face.
“Go on,” he encouraged.
She felt like a wanton, standing before him like one of the women who were paid to assume seductive poses at some of London’s choice brothels. “If you were not my husband, I wouldn’t do this,” she said, and stripped off the chemise in a sudden decisive motion.
A smile played on his lips. “If you were not my wife, I wouldn’t ask you to.” His gaze moved over her naked upper body, lingering on the curves of her breasts and the rosy peaks of her nipples. His breathing changed noticeably, and his fingers twitched as they rested on the arm of the chamber horse. “Walk to me—no, don’t cover yourself.”
Sophia came to stand before him, gooseflesh rising on her skin as he touched her shoulder with a feathery stroke of his fingertips. His warm hand moved downward, tracing the shape of her breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple. She felt him pull at the tapes of her drawers, and they slid over her hips and down to the floor. Stepping out of them, she reached for her garters and stockings, but he caught her wrist.
“No,” he said, his voice slightly raspy. “I like the way you look in your stockings.”
Her gaze stole to the obvious bulge in his trousers. “Apparently so.”
He grinned and exerted more tension on her wrist, pulling her forward. “Climb onto my lap.”
Carefully she placed her stockinged foot on the stepping board; his hands clamped on her waist and lifted. She collapsed onto his lap in a giggling heap, her arms linking around his neck. The chair creaked loudly, and they sank downward several inches. “This isn’t going to work,” Sophia exclaimed, laughing uncontrollably.
“Cooperate,” he said sternly, his eyes smiling.
“Yes, sir.” Feigning meek obedience, she let him arrange her legs on either side of his lap, until her thighs were spread wide and she was left utterly vulnerable.
Gradually the giggles died in her throat. “Are you going to remove your clothes?” she asked, jumping a little as his hands slid to her bare bottom.
He cupped her and lifted her body upward. “No.”
“But I want—”
“Shhh.” He took her nipple into his mouth, drawing with sweet, hot suction. At the same time his fingers wandered high inside her thigh, until the backs of his knuckles brushed across the patch of protective curls. Every time she moved, the chamber horse bounced gently, forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck for balance.
His finger slipped inside her and stroked until she was wet and throbbing. Closing her eyes against the dazzle of sunlight from the window, Sophia rested her cheek on his thick hair. As he suckled her breast, the scratch of his beard abraded her moist flesh.
Too impassioned to wait, she reached down
and tugged at the fastenings of his trousers. He caught her fumbling fingers and pushed them away. “Let me do it,” he said with a soft laugh, “before you tear off the buttons.”
Panting, she pressed closer to him as he unfastened the row of buttons and freed his swollen erection. With a soothing murmur, Ross positioned her over his hips, canting them to just the right angle. She sank down eagerly, gasping as he filled her completely. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his coat, fingertips digging into the smooth broadcloth.
“Hold onto me,” he whispered. When she had wrapped herself around him, he picked his feet up from the stepping board and let the chamber-horse seat drop several inches in a sudden electrifying jolt. The movement forced Sophia harder onto the hilt of his shaft, and she whimpered in pleasure.
Ross smiled as he stared into her wide, unfocused eyes. Color burnished the edges of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, and sweat misted his skin. His thighs went taut as he braced his feet on the board once more, then let them drop again. “Is this all right?” he murmured. “Is it too much?”
“No,” she gulped. “Do it again.”
Obligingly he began a bouncing motion that elicited a rhythmic squeak from the chamber horse. Air rushed from the contraction and expansion of the cushions like the sighing of fireplace bellows. Sophia held on tightly, her body gripping his intimately. Each drop of the seat caused the stiff, thick shaft to push harder inside her, again, again, until the stroking, grinding motion caused her to convulse in a release that had no end.
Feeling the spasms of her body, Ross impaled her one last time and groaned in satisfaction. When at last he leaned backward with her body clasped in his arms, Sophia draped herself over him, utterly relaxed. Their bodies were still joined, and she moaned as he flexed inside her.
“I think we’ll keep this chair,” he murmured into her hair. “One never knows when you’ll need another riding lesson.”
Until the rented house was furnished with the basic necessities, Sophia and Ross resumed their residence at Bow Street No. 4. While Sophia spent much of her time purchasing goods and furniture, hiring servants, and enduring countless hours of clothes fittings, Ross made good on his promise to arrange for his retirement. Sophia knew that it would not be easy for him to relinquish the considerable power he had accumulated. However, he seemed remarkably untroubled at the prospect. His life had been confined to one narrow channel for a long time, and now it was expanding with new possibilities. He had been an exceptionally serious man, one who rarely smiled or laughed. Now he was far more apt to smile and tease, displaying a playful side that Sophia found utterly charming. And he was a sensual lover, possessing her with an unbounded intimacy that left her utterly fulfilled.
She had thought that she knew Ross quite well, having resided under the same roof with him. But she was gaining a far deeper understanding of him. Ross trusted her with his private thoughts and emotions, and he let her see him as he truly was—not a paragon, but a man with doubts and fears. He was capable of making mistakes, and he felt all too often that he had not met his own high expectations.
To Ross’s frustration, his efforts to persuade the Treasury to release funds to establish public offices and hire new magistrates for Middlesex, Westminster, Surrey, Hertfordshire, and Kent had so far come to naught. It seemed the government was unconvinced that such changes were justified, and that they would prefer to pay only one man to handle the great mass of responsibilities.
“It’s my own fault,” Ross told Sophia grimly, sitting before the hearth in the bedroom with a glass of brandy in his hand. He drank the vintage without seeming to taste it. “I set out to prove that I could singlehandedly do it all, and now the Lord of the Treasury believes it is necessary to hire only one man as my replacement. I’m convinced that Morgan is entirely willing to succeed me as Chief Magistrate, but not at the expense of his family and personal life.”
“No one but you could handle so much,” Sophia said, taking the empty glass from his hand. She sat on the arm of his chair and caressed his dark hair, her fingers trailing gently over the threads of silver at his temple. “And even you were suffering under the weight of all that work, although you were too stubborn to admit it.”
He looked up at her and seemed to relax slightly. “Until you appeared,” he murmured. “Then I realized what was missing in my life.”
“Such as food and sleep?” she suggested, her eyes twinkling.
“Among other things.” His hand clasped her ankle and ventured beneath her skirts to her knee. “And now nothing is going to keep me from you.”
Sophia continued to stroke his hair. “It may take some time for you to implement so many changes,” she said. “There is no need for urgency on my account. Although I want you all to myself, I will wait as long as it takes.”
Ross’s gaze was warm as he stared up at her. “I don’t want to wait.” Tracing circles over her knee, he grinned suddenly. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? For years people have complained about my usurpation of power. But now that I want to leave Bow Street, no one wants me to go. The critics accuse me of abandoning my responsibilities, and the government ministers are offering me all manner of incentives to stay.”
“That’s because there is only one Sir Ross Cannon, and everyone knows it.” Sophia drew her fingers lightly over the hard edge of his jaw. “And you’re mine,” she added in satisfaction.
“Yes.” He turned his mouth into her palm, his eyes closing. “It has been a long, hellish day. I need something to help me forget about parliamentary funds and judicial reform.”
“More brandy?” Sophia asked sympathetically, rising from the chair.
That drew a sudden laugh from him. “No, not brandy.” He stood and caught her waist, urging her closer. “I had a different remedy in mind.”
Anticipation curled inside her, and she linked her arms around his neck. “Whatever you wish,” she told him. “As your wife, I want to be helpful.”
Ross chuckled at her prim tone and nudged her toward the bed. “Oh, you will be quite helpful,” he assured her, following closely at her heels.
Because Sophia was the object of much curiosity, she and Ross were invited everywhere, by politicians and professionals and even some upper-tier aristocrats. However, they accepted only a handful of invitations, for Sophia found it difficult to adjust to the new life she had stepped into. Having worked for so many years as a servant, she could not seem to interact comfortably in elevated social circles, no matter how kind her new acquaintances were. She felt awkward and stiff at most gatherings, although Ross’s mother assured her that she would feel more comfortable as time passed. She found it somewhat easier to mix with “second-tier” sorts, such as Sir Grant and his wife, Victoria, and the crowd of professionals who were not nearly as rarefied as those in the first circles. These people were far less pretentious, and far more aware of ordinary matters like the cost of bread and the concerns of the poor.
Ross helped a great deal to ease her worries. He never belittled her fears or lost his patience with her. If Sophia wished to speak with him, he would interrupt whatever he was doing, no matter how important. On the evenings when they attended a soiree or went to the theater, Ross treated her with such attentiveness that other wives were moved to remark sourly that their own husbands should be half so solicitous of their comfort. It was the subject of much conversation, how greatly changed the Chief Magistrate was, and how such a serious-minded gentleman could have transformed into an obviously adoring husband. Sophia thought that the reason behind Ross’s devotion was quite simple: having been alone for so long, he had a hard-won appreciation for the pleasures of marriage. He did not take his happiness for granted. And perhaps in some corner of his heart he feared that it all might be taken away in the blink of an eye, just as it had with Eleanor.
Frequently Ross would take Sophia for weekend visits to Silverhill Park where they attended water parties, went on picnics, or simply walked through the countryside to enjoy the fresh air a
nd lush green views. Catherine Cannon loved to entertain, and in the summer months the mansion was constantly filled with friends and relatives. Sophia enjoyed these visits, forming a close relationship with her mother-in-law and even with Iona, her sister-in-law. Now that they had spent some time becoming familiar, Iona had thawed out considerably, although there was an ever-present sadness in her pale blue eyes. It was obvious that her melancholy stemmed from her marriage to Matthew. She even went so far as to confide to Sophia that Matthew had seemed an entirely different man before their wedding.
“He was quite charming,” Iona said, her bitter expression somehow jarring on such an angelic countenance. She and Sophia sat on chairs that had been placed in front of a stone boundary wall covered with spilling roses that bloomed fiercely in the heat of high summer. In front of them, a small knot garden and an ivy-covered arch led to wide expanses of green lawn.
As Iona gazed absently into the distance, the sunlight brushed over her exquisite profile and turned her hair into a swirl of sparkling gold. “Of all the men who courted me, Matthew was the most impressive. I adored his wicked humor and, of course, his looks. He was so very charming.” A humorless smile twisted her perfect lips. She paused to take a long drink of lemonade, and its sour taste seemed to linger in her mouth as she continued. “Unfortunately, I discovered later that certain men are only interested in the chase. Once the object of their desire is attained, they become indifferent.”
“Yes,” Sophia said, thinking of Anthony. “I have encountered that kind of man.”
Iona’s smile was resigned. “Of course, I am hardly the only woman who has been disappointed in love. I have a comfortable and pleasant life. And Matthew is not a bad man, only a self-centered one. Perhaps if I could lure him to my bed often enough, I could have a child. That would be a great consolation to me.”
“I hope you will,” Sophia said sincerely. “And perhaps Matthew will improve. Sir Ross says that he is doing quite well with his new responsibilities.” In the past few weeks, Ross had forced his younger brother to have regular meetings with the estate agent, to learn about accounting, management, farming, taxes, and all the minutiae involved in running the Silverhill estate. Although Matthew had protested long and loud, he had had little choice but to comply with Ross’s dictates.
