“Sophie.” He could barely get the words out past his clenched teeth. “If you ever, ever go down to the stews again, there will be the devil to pay, I promise you. I’ll see to it that you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
She opened her mouth, preparing to launch into a tirade. He smothered her lips with a punishing kiss, ignoring her pathetic attempts to push him off. Thrusting his tongue between her lips, he ruthlessly explored her until she began to moan with a reluctant pleasure.
He broke off, noting with satisfaction her disoriented expression.
“I mean it,” he said softly. “Stay away from The Silver Oak.”
Her slender brows snapped together as irritation obliterated her dazed response to his kiss.
So much for that strategy.
“Don’t threaten me, Simon. I’m not a girl who has yet to let down her skirts. I’ll do whatever I think is right and just to protect those children. Besides,” she added, tipping up her chin in defiance, “it’s not like you can stop me.”
He sighed and shifted onto his elbows. Would they have an argument every time they had sex? Life with Sophie was looking more complicated by the second.
“Not unless I lock you up in the root cellar,” he admitted. “But I do expect you to exercise some common sense. Taylor is a dangerous man, and The Silver Oak is the worst kind of flash house. You will be the death of me if I have to constantly worry you will slip off to see those children.”
She gave him a searching look, the angry glitter in her eyes beginning to fade. After a moment she stretched up to give him a gentle kiss.
“I understand you want to keep me safe, Simon, but those children need more protection than I do. Please let me,” she pleaded.
He forced himself to stiffen his resolve. She would have to learn obedience to his wishes starting now, or she would be the death of him.
“I’m your husband, Sophie, or I will be in a few weeks—”
She narrowed her eyes at that.
“—and I insist you obey me in this. I give you my word that all will be well. I will see to Becky and Toby’s welfare, both now and after we leave Bath. You must learn to trust me, my love.”
She softened beneath him. “Of course I trust you, but the children know me better. And you can be rather intimidating, you know. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you frightened the poor boy when you spoke to him today.”
He lowered his head. “I didn’t frighten him, and you are not to go down there,” he growled, injecting as much menace into his voice as he could.
She rolled her eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Now I’m sure you scared him to death.”
“Sophie—”
“Oh, all right. I promise I won’t ever go down there without you. Is that satisfactory?”
It was obvious from her exasperated look that she was only humoring him. But since he had no intention of ever taking her down to The Silver Oak, he supposed the grudging capitulation would have to do.
“I have your word on it?” he demanded, annoyed with himself that he even had to ask.
She rolled her eyes again. “Of course, silly. I promise.”
He forced himself to smile, even though long years of dealing with Sophie told him that her promise was halfhearted at best. But a moment later she wrapped her arms around his neck, arching up to brush pink, kiss-swollen lips against his mouth. The hard points of her nipples pressed into his chest, sending a hot rush of blood directly to his groin. He groaned and pushed her heavily into the bedding, deciding that any further conversation about Toby and Becky could wait for another time.
It took but a few minutes to make her ready for him. Simon eased into her soft, delicious body, giving himself up to the luxury of her enveloping heat. But before he relinquished all hold on rational thought, he recalled one other piece of business that had to be settled between them. And since sex apparently made Sophie compliant—or as close to it as she ever would be—he decided to strike while the iron was hot.
“Sophie,” he murmured, dropping gentle kisses on her cheek. “I want to post the banns so we can be married by the end of the month.”
She sighed, arching her spine as he withdrew to the entrance of her tight sheath. When she didn’t answer right away, he pulled himself from the saturated flesh in a slow, teasing slide. She thrashed her head against the pillows, moaning in frustration.
“Sophie…” he coaxed.
“Whatever you want,” she whimpered. “Just don’t stop.”
He plunged back into her, casting off all restraint, wanting and needing it as much as she did. As he spiraled toward physical oblivion, he exulted in the satisfaction that he finally had Sophie right where he wanted her.
Chapter Twenty-One
The dreary October rains had finally ceased, and clear, fine weather had blown in. The Bath company seemed to be out in force this afternoon, hurrying to the shops or taking leisurely strolls to the Pump Room. Simon drew the crisp fall air deep into his lungs, relishing an uncommon feeling of contentment as he strode up Bond Street to the jeweler’s.
Sophie was his. The very notion still made him shake his head in disbelief, but by Christmas they would be man and wife, and she would be safely ensconced at Kendlerood House, his family’s ancient manor in Lincolnshire. He imagined Puck as chatelaine of his estates, comfortably settling into her role as lady of the manor. He grinned. Perhaps she would even be pregnant by Christmas. They had certainly made a good start on that project over the last few days.
The thought of Sophie grown soft and round with his baby was surprisingly enticing, and not just because she would provide him with an heir. Unlike most men he knew, Simon liked children and looked forward to fatherhood. Sons and daughters—and he wanted two or three of each—would have the added benefit of keeping his mischievous elf busy and out of trouble. When she had her own babies to care for, she wouldn’t have the time to rummage through workhouses and taverns looking for lost sheep and hopeless causes.
But it was more than that. Children would make Sophie happy. Since her first Season, she had watched her friends and cousins marry and start families of their own. Then Robert and Annabel had wed, and her fears that she would dwindle to the status of a maiden aunt had become obvious, at least to him. Simon couldn’t repress a twinge of guilt over that, since he was partly to blame. After all, if she hadn’t been in love with him, she likely would have married long ago.
But Sophie’s wish for a family of her own would be granted, and the sooner they started, the better. Her well-being was now linked to his in a most elemental way, as last night had shown with stunning force. That truth made him hellishly uncomfortable, but it could no longer be denied. Responsibility for her happiness now rested with him.
Simon dodged a pair of chattering matrons as he stepped into Bassnett’s, the most prestigious jeweler in Bath. The clerk behind the counter in the empty store looked up to greet him with a smile.
“Good afternoon, sir. How may I assist you?”
“My secretary, Mr. Soames, dropped a ring off last week for cleaning and repair. I understand it’s ready.”
The man looked puzzled for a moment, then his brow cleared.
“Ah, yes! The antique poesy ring. A beautiful piece, Lord Trask. I was expecting Mr. Soames to pick it up later today. I’ll step into the back room and wrap it for you.”
“I’d like to see it first.”
“Of course, my lord.”
With an apologetic smile, the clerk disappeared through a doorway at the back of the shop. Simon removed his gloves and tossed them onto the counter. He supposed he should have allowed Soames to run this errand, but he wanted to see for himself that his grandmother’s poesy ring had been properly cleaned and the dent marring its surface repaired to his satisfaction.
The ring had been in the family since the time of William and Mary. One of his ancestors had given it to his wife on their wedding day, and it had been passed down from father to son ever since. It
had last been worn by his grandmother and had remained untouched, along with the other family jewels, since her death fifteen years ago. Though much too old-fashioned for his taste, he knew his fiancée would be touched by its mawkish sentiment and thrilled to receive it as a betrothal gift.
The clerk returned a few moments later with the piece resting on a velvet-covered tray. Simon plucked it up for a critical inspection.
The simple gold band had been polished to a high gleam. The goldsmith who had worked on it knew his business, for no trace of repair marked either the surface of the ring or the inscription on the inside of the band. He held it up to the light and read the engraved words: As true to thee as thou to me.
Sophie would love it.
Nodding his approval, Simon handed the ring back. He would have preferred to see a diamond or an emerald on her hand, but he could give her a more appropriate token of his esteem later on, perhaps for her birthday. Or on the birth of their first child.
The shop bell jangled. Simon had his back to the door, but when the heavy scent of jasmine and roses wafted up his nostrils, he knew exactly who had entered.
He bit back a groan and turned around. Bathsheba stood before him, clad in an elegant, formfitting carriage dress. She was astoundingly beautiful, and as hard and lethal as a steel blade. Only a year ago he had willingly gone to her bed at the slightest opportunity, but now he couldn’t understand how he had ever preferred her to Sophie.
For a long moment they stared at each other like boxers in the ring. When the corner of her mouth kicked up in a questioning smile, he forced himself to make a polite bow.
“Lady Randolph.”
Her eyes glittered with satisfaction at his small concession.
“Good morning, my lord. I was surprised to pass by and see you in here. Are you choosing a gift for your fiancée? I remember well the many times you did so for me.”
She raised a graceful hand to push back a lock of hair curling down from under the brim of her stylish hat. The deliberate gesture displayed the emerald bracelet on her wrist—the one he had given her when he broke off their affair.
The clerk cast a swift glance from her face to Simon’s and disappeared into the back room.
“What do you want, Bathsheba?”
“Simply to talk. We used to talk all the time, don’t you remember?”
Simon didn’t bother to answer. She gave him a veiled look and strolled over to one of the glass cases, tapping a gloved finger over a tray of enamelled snuff boxes. Another clerk hurried over to pull the tray out for her inspection. Simon silently cursed. How long did it take to wrap up one small ring?
“I was sorry not to see you at Sir Geoffrey’s salon last night, but I was otherwise engaged,” said Bathsheba. “And so, apparently, was Sophie.”
Simon had to force himself not to clench his fists. He knew he should spin on his heel and walk out the door, but something held him in place.
“Cut line, Bathsheba. What is it you wish to say?”
She turned away from the case. Her eyes rounded, faux innocence and treachery all wrapped up in one tempting package.
“I only wish to give you a warning. As one of your dearest friends, I feel it is my obligation to do so.”
The other clerk threw him a startled glance, and Simon jerked his head in a silent command. The man glided through the door to join his compatriot in the back room.
“Alone at last, dear Simon.”
“Whatever it is, Bathsheba, get it over with.”
“So cold,” she sighed. “How times have changed.”
“Bathsheba—”
She smiled, her face a porcelain mask of malicious intent. “Of course, you’re impatient to find out about dear little Sophie. I’m sorry to say that your fiancée has been behaving recklessly again. She had quite a charming private interlude with Mr. Watley last night—in Sir Geoffrey’s greenhouse. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that she seems to care little for her own reputation.” She paused dramatically. “Or so I’m told.”
He fought the desire to grab Bathsheba and shake her until the teeth rattled in her head.
“Who told you that?”
She gazed back at him, the picture of serene loveliness. “Mr. Watley, of course.”
The sour taste of anger flooded his mouth. How could Sophie have been so naïve? And why the hell could she never stay out of trouble?
He took a step forward until he loomed over Bathsheba. She suddenly looked uneasy. Though she didn’t move, she seemed to shrink away from him.
Simon kept his voice low and even. “I would suggest, Lady Randolph, that you tell Mr. Watley to have a care. I will not tolerate gossip about my future wife.”
She drew herself up, eyes widening even further in mock alarm. He had to give her credit for her quick recovery.
“Of course not. How could you even think it? Mr. Watley is the most discreet man I know, I can assure you.”
“He’d better be, if he knows what’s good for him.”
He grabbed his gloves off the counter, then pivoted on his heel and brushed past her. Soames could pick up the blasted ring tomorrow.
He pushed through the door and into the street, his whole body tightening with fury. Sophie had lied to him. Her evasive, flustered behaviour last night and her ready agreement to leave with him now made perfect sense. She must have just come from the greenhouse and her pathetic assignation with Watley. Obviously she had wanted to make him jealous. But why then had she pretended nothing had happened? What had Watley done to her that she made such an effort to conceal it? If he had touched even one hair on her head, Simon would strangle the bastard and throw his lifeless body in the Avon.
He stalked up the crowded street, barely aware of his surroundings. If Sophie had wanted to make him jealous, it had worked. It simmered through his veins, raw and maddening, scorching him with an infuriating sense of helplessness. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to bring her under control. He couldn’t even control his own blasted emotions, much less her.
Bathsheba, damn her, was right about one thing. Sophie was a scandal waiting to happen, at the point when he could least afford the distraction. His future partner, Russell, had traveled up from Bristol and was staying at The Pelican on Walcot Street, where Simon would join him for dinner and a discussion about the new mills. The last thing he needed was damaging gossip that could threaten either his or Sophie’s reputation. Russell was a high stickler, if there ever was one. At the first hint of scandal or setback to their proposed partnership, the cautious factory owner would have no compunction about finding another investor. Simon had to squash whatever problems Sophie’s ruinous behaviour had caused, and without delay.
A quick glance at his pocket watch confirmed he was late for an appointment with his bankers. This time he did curse, castigating himself for allowing this mess to develop. Since his grandfather’s death, he had vowed that no one would control the course of his life again. That had been the driving force behind all his actions, and now his bitter ex-mistress and his goose-cap of a fiancée threatened to turn everything on its head. His carefully constructed plans—everything he had worked for these past several months—were about to go up in smoke, all because Sophie didn’t have the good sense to keep out of the way of someone like Watley. Simon had known all along she had the potential to bring chaos into his life, but hadn’t thought it would happen even before he could get his ring on her finger.
He couldn’t do much about Bathsheba, but he could damn well do something about Sophie.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie yawned as she glanced over at the gilt timepiece on the mantel in Lady Eleanor’s drawing room. Almost ten o’clock. As much as she was enjoying Guy Mannering, she’d been nodding over the same three pages for the past hour and was beginning to think longingly of her bed. Lady Eleanor, as usual, had retired early. Lady Jane had gone to a party and would not return before midnight. Sophie had only her book for company until Simon
came to call.
She smiled, letting her thoughts drift back to the previous night. No wonder she could barely keep her eyes open. Simon had made love to her three times—not including the thrilling incident in the club chair—before he had finally taken her home in his carriage just before dawn. Her thighs ached, her back hurt, her female parts were so tender she could barely sit, and she couldn’t wait until he took her back to bed and did it all over again. Thank goodness she would soon be with him every night, with his strong arms wrapped around her and his sinful mouth covering her body with kisses. She wondered if she was turning into a lightskirt, because just thinking about it made her stomach jump with delicious anticipation.
The clock bonged out ten chimes. She sighed and put down the book, too distracted by thoughts of Simon to concentrate. He should be arriving soon, according to the note he’d sent her earlier in the day.
Sophie extracted his terse missive from the pages of her book. It wasn’t exactly a love note but, then again, Simon wasn’t the kind of man to express himself in flowery phrases. Still, the words, written in his bold copperplate hand, seemed cold, even distant. He asked her to remain at home until he called, which he would do as soon as he finished dinner with Mr. Russell. It was phrased more like a command than a request, though, as if she had done something to annoy him.
She chewed her lip, trying to ignore the niggle of doubt gnawing away at her. He certainly hadn’t been cold the last time she had seen him, no matter what his note suggested. Perhaps he was tired as well, but that didn’t seem likely. Simon had the constitution of a bull, as he had amply demonstrated last night.
She shrugged and stuck the note back between the pages of her book. Simon would always be Simon, and that meant she would have to accept his foibles along with his virtues. He could certainly be immensely irritating at times, but he was a good man. He cared for his family and friends and always tried to do right by them. God knows, he had always been by her side—her faithful protector—whenever she needed him.
Sex and the Single Earl Page 24
