Without warning he pressed her legs apart and pushed himself into her. God, but she was hot and wet and so damn tight. It was as if he’d never felt this before, never found fulfillment inside a woman until now. He gave up all pretense of self-control and lost himself in the overwhelming sensation.
He thrust himself deeper, pushing again and again, overcome at each movement by the wave that was building up, ready to crash over them at any moment. Part of him wanted to prolong the ecstasy, but the greater part of him drove harder and harder, desperate for release. Everything he’d ever needed was right here, surrounding him, sharing the same oxygen and begging him to…
It was too much. He gave up the fight as passion overwhelmed him and he collapsed onto her. Drawing in air and fighting to keep from crushing her, he groaned from the last waves of his climax. He felt himself pulsate into her, pouring his seed recklessly in a way he usually would not have allowed.
Always before caution had ruled his passions and he’d been careful with his partners. With Sophie he’d not been so diligent. He’d forgotten there could be consequences. Lord, but she’d been so amazing he had forgotten everything but her.
He leaned in and kissed her.
She moaned under him, and the sound was enough to set his blood pounding again. Ah, but he’d known all along there was something special about Sophie Darshaw, hadn’t he? How fortunate they both were that there was still a long, dark night ahead of them.
Carefully, he moved to the side, propping himself on his elbow. He hated to pull out of her, to separate from such a blissful joining, but it was time to see to her comfort. He slid carefully away.
She moaned again. It was not the right kind of moan, either. He knew that because it was followed by something a bit like a whimper and something very much like a wince.
Oh God, was she in pain?
“Sophie?”
“Thank you, my lord. That was quite, er, nice.”
Nice? That’s how she would describe what had just happened between them? Nice? No, by heaven, it was a good deal better than nice.
Unless he’d been such a brute as to only care for how things had gone for him. Had he, perhaps, been a bit too quick? Had he, somehow, finished ahead of her and not thought twice about it? Lord, he suddenly hated himself.
“If you wish, we do not need to stop,” he offered, sliding his hand to the inside of her thigh. “If you’d like to continue, we could—”
“No, no!” she replied quickly, turning herself slightly away from him. “That was fine, my lord. Quite fine.”
But of course he knew it wasn’t. Why was she not snuggling next to him, curling her body toward his and cooing into his ear? Why did she press her legs together, covering herself the way her daring little costume could not? He’d satisfied his share of women over the years, and none of them had ever behaved like this.
Damn, could it possibly be that this had been a disappointment for her?
“Sophie? What’s wrong?” he asked.
She didn’t reply but turned her head to face the wall on the other side of the room. He knew that meant trouble. Why he should care so much, he did not know. But he did care; he cared immensely.
He reached out to brush her cheek. “Tell me what it is, Sophie.”
“It’s nothing, my lord.”
“Rubbish. It is something.”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Of course I am.”
“You are not. You’re crying.”
She didn’t reply. He was right, though. He’d felt a teardrop on her cheek. He could see her body shudder as she struggled to hide whatever it was that tormented her.
“Please, Sophie. Talk to me. I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t mean to.”
“But you are. What is it, are you hurt?”
There was a most disconcerting pause before she answered. “No.”
It was not convincing. Dear Lord, had he truly gotten so wrapped up in the moment that he lost control and actually hurt her? That was completely unlike him. He’d always prided himself on such things as self-control and caution. Had he really been such a brute as all that?
He’d meant to do nothing but give her the same measure of mind-numbing enjoyment he was finding. He wanted to amaze her, to satisfy her, not make her cry! Honestly, he was certain he hadn’t gone beyond the bounds of generally acceptable bedroom behavior. How had he hurt her? It wasn’t as if she’d been an untried virgin and he should have…
Oh no. Realization slammed him as if he’d walked into a wall. By God, it was exactly as if she’d been an untried virgin, and he most certainly should have treated her far more gently than he had. She’d told him the truth when she said all she’d done for Eudora was sew. She’d been an innocent after all, and he’d treated her like…like…
He’d treated her like a whore.
No wonder she was crying. Despite the fact that her body indicated she’d much rather be left alone, he could not help but reach for her and gather her into his arms. She allowed it. He held her close and pressed a kiss into her silky hair.
“I’m told the pain does not last for long,” he whispered.
“I’m not in pain, my lord.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, there may be a small discomfort, but it’s hardly noticeable.”
“So you would deny that you were a virgin?”
Another pause. “You could tell?”
He decided not to indict himself by answering that. “I should have believed you. I could have made it better for you.”
“Better? Oh, I very much doubt that, my lord. Truly, it was…spectacular.”
Well, he couldn’t help but feel a bit smug at that. It wasn’t every day a man’s prowess was rated “spectacular.” But then again, if he’d been so very spectacular, why was Sophie crying?
And she was still crying; he could feel her sniffling. He would have loved to convince himself it was tears of joy for his spectacular performance, but something told him that was most likely not the case. She was genuinely upset, and for the life of him he couldn’t imagine why.
“Come, Sophie, won’t you tell me what it is?”
Now she shook her head. “Honestly, my lord, I don’t—”
“You’ve forgotten the rules, my dear,” he interrupted, hoping a bit of levity might help her mood. He kissed her shoulder and held her tighter, too. “Certainly we’ve earned the right to first names by now.”
“Yes, I suppose so, my lord, but I—”
“Then say it.”
“I cannot.”
Botheration. Why was the girl being so obstinate about this? He wanted to hear his name on her lips. How could it be asking so much of her?
“Why, Sophie?” he asked because he simply could not contain the admission. “I want to hear it. Why is it so impossible for you to speak my given name?”
Finally she replied, “Because I do not know it, my lord.”
Oh. She did not know his name. Well, of course she would not. How would she? Unless she had asked Eudora after him, which he suddenly realized he was intensely disappointed that she clearly had not. Damn, why had he assumed she knew his name?
And here he had badgered her about it. Blast it, but he was a brute. The poor girl had given him her most precious asset and she hadn’t even known his name. Well, he would give it to her.
He leaned forward, turning her so she would face him and bringing his lips close to hers. Indeed, he’d wanted his name on her lips. Now he would have it.
“Richard,” he breathed. “My name is Richard Durmond.”
He kissed her lightly, as chaste as a saint, then waited for her response. Her whisper caressed him in return.
“How very nice to meet you, Richard Durmond.”
By God, that sounded just as enticing in her quiet, freshly kissed voice as he’d hoped it would. If he wasn’t so determined to see to taking better care of
her after his spectacular lapse in self-control, he’d be eager already to find out how his name sounded as she moaned it aloud in a moment of passion. Now that would be something spectacular, indeed.
But he could wait. For her sake, he would let her rest. He would be patient.
At least, as patient as a drowning man could be. Truth and reality seemed to pour over him from all sides. As he lay there, holding Sophie and tenderly stroking her velvet skin, he realized just how hopeless things were.
Tonight he had taken her virtue; tomorrow he would take her father. There was little chance of him ever hearing her speak his name again without cursing him. Indeed, spectacularly little chance of that.
SOPHIE CONCENTRATED ON KEEPING HER BREATHING slow and steady. Breathe in, breathe out. Her shoulder hurt from where it pressed into a lump in the bed, but she didn’t turn. The inn was silent, and Lindley was so close she could feel him breathing.
He was not touching her, though. After they’d…well, afterward…she’d had quite a struggle to calm herself down. Lindley did an honorable job of attempting to comfort her, but really all that did was make her feel even worse. Lord, what had she done, thinking she could play at this, then simply go back to Madame and forget all about him?
She would never forget Lindley, never forget wanting him. Or having him. It made the future—even if she did manage to rescue Papa—terrifyingly bleak. It would be a future with no Lindley, and the very thought of that now threatened to send her back to unstifled sobbing.
Eventually she had managed to extricate herself from Lindley’s too-comfortable embrace. She feigned exhaustion, yawning and sliding away from him and making it very clear she was ready for sleep. He hadn’t argued.
He’d turned to face the other way, and here they’d stayed. She was certain he was asleep. Apparently he’d exerted himself enough. Odd. The girls at Madame’s often made it sound as if such a thing could take literally hours. Surely they had not been at it that long. Then again, how could she say? When Lindley was making love to her it was as if the whole universe simply ceased to exist. For all she knew, it could be days later. Dear heavens, how was she to go on, knowing she’d tasted paradise and would never come close to it again?
Yet she had to go on. There was no other choice. Papa needed her, and Madame had made things clear. There was nothing to do but what needed to be done.
Very slowly and very carefully she shifted position. He did not stir. Good. She gingerly slid out from under the covers and lowered her feet to the cold, worn floor. He still did not move, so she continued. She left the bed, rising and pulling her shift off the bedstead where she had left it earlier.
She’d intentionally left her clothing scattered around the room, hoping Lindley might find that provocative. He had, so she smiled as she tiptoed to them and cautiously gathered them up. Piling them neatly on the washstand, she managed to get herself out of the silk mesh costume and slip into her shift. Then the stockings. Then her usual, more appropriate stays. Then her faded gown.
She’d been dressing herself alone for years now, ever since she’d lost Mamma. She’d modified the fastenings so that she could do them herself. She supposed self-pity would have her wonder how many more lonely years she’d be doing just the same, but she refused to allow it. Now was not the time for self-pity. Now was the time to act. And acting meant leaving Lindley behind.
Her pack of belongings waited just behind the washstand, so she pulled it out. All was intact; the locket was still hidden inside. She was ready to leave. All it would take was just to walk away. Lindley would wake hours later to find her gone. She would meet Madame as planned and never have to face the man again. The locket would be out of his reach and Papa would be safe.
She turned to allow herself one last glance at him sleeping soundly where he had so recently kissed her and caressed her all the way into blissful abandon. She was glad she’d at least had the good sense to say thank you. Now did she dare leave the slightest whisper of a kiss on the way out? No, she’d better not. Her legs were weak, and despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise, she had indeed been much affected by his lovemaking. To touch him again would be a torment too pleasant to allow herself.
If he woke and ordered her to stay, she doubted she’d have the strength to resist. Best to leave while she could. She took her gaze from him and headed for the door.
“What, no kiss before you go, Miss Darshaw?”
She jumped. He was not asleep! Good heavens, had he been awake this whole time, watching her dress? How very rude.
“You should have told me I’d woken you.”
“But you didn’t. I haven’t slept.”
“You sounded like you were sleeping,” she remarked, not quite certain what to do at this point.
“As did you. I take it the locket is in that pack there?”
“No. I’ve hidden it elsewhere.”
He bolted up out of the bed, still bare from the waist up. She couldn’t help but stare at his supple muscles.
“It’s no use lying to me, Sophie,” he said. “I’ve no more stomach for it. You were leaving me.”
“Yes.”
“Even after some damned rogue assaulted you on the street this evening?”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You’ll be murdered! Or worse. What are you thinking, heading out there alone?”
“I have to find my father.”
This couldn’t come as any surprise to him; he would have guessed by now what she was planning. What would he do to keep her from going?
“I thought we were going to do that together in the daylight,” he said simply.
“I changed my mind.”
She could feel his eyes on her, condemning her, yet she still could not meet them.
“You looked inside the locket, didn’t you?” he said after another pause.
“What?”
“While I was seeing about my carriage. You looked inside the locket and you have some idea where to find your father. That’s the whole reason for this sudden desire to seduce me, isn’t it?”
“Seduce you! Really, sir, I hardly seduced you.”
“You were waiting in here in my bed, half naked when I returned!”
“And if you recall, you said you preferred to sleep in a chair.”
“And still you got me into your bed, didn’t you?” he continued. “You seduced me, Sophie. Admit it.”
“I will not!”
Instead of escalating the argument, he suddenly shook his head. The man even had the gall to laugh at her. She didn’t think that was very nice. This was a serious matter, after all.
“Oh, Sophie, you do amaze me,” he said.
Her heart skipped a beat when she glanced up to catch him looking at her the way he was, but she forced herself to remember what was truly at stake. Or perhaps she was realizing it for the first time. She stood to lose much more than just her father. Lindley was perilously close to robbing her of her heart.
He touched her face, and she wondered if perhaps it was too late, already.
“Silly girl. You seduced me so you could take that locket and go find your worthless father.”
Yes, very well, he was right about that. Still, she didn’t think it quite fair to say she had actually “seduced” him. As she recalled, he did a fair amount of seducing her right back.
“But there’s something you should know,” he said, cupping her face in his hands so she had nothing to do but gaze up at him. “I’ve already lost too many people I cared about. I won’t lose you.”
Heavens, but did that mean he cared about her, too? She suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“Run to your father if you like,” he went on. “But I will always find you.”
Oh. His caring only went so far as he cared about capturing Papa. She could have cried at her own foolishness.
“But keep in mind, my dear,” he added, still touching her and standing so close she could smell the sweet scent of him, “I may not be the only one looking
for you.”
She swallowed. “All the more reason I need to find my father.”
“Not without me, you don’t.”
“But you’ll just haul him to the gallows! I cannot allow that, my lord. I’ve got to go find him…alone.”
“And I cannot let you put yourself in danger like that.”
“How do you intend to keep me here, bound and gagged as your prisoner?”
He actually smiled at the suggestion. “Are you trying to seduce me again, Sophie?”
“Er, no…” But is it having that effect anyway?
“Then we will go together. In the morning.”
“No, I don’t want—”
“It’s not about what you want, Sophie! It’s about what’s right and wrong.”
“As if you know anything about what’s right and wrong for me, my lord.”
“I know it was wrong for you to throw away your virtue for that man,” he said, staring at her in a way that made her very self-conscious. “He is not worth it.”
She shook her head and hoped to heaven he wouldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes. “He’s my father. He’s all I have.”
“Damn it, Sophie, you deserve better.”
His arms went around her and pulled her in close. The warmth of his skin against her was intoxicating, and it didn’t even dawn on her to put up a fight. She willingly sought out his lips when he leaned in to kiss her. The urgency and desperation was every bit as strong now as it had been before he’d joined his body with hers in that terrifying abandon that had so thoroughly driven her wild with pleasure. Dear Lord, but she wanted him again and again and again.
She let him pull her tighter, engulfing her with his being. She slid her arms around him, too, raking her fingers up over his solid frame and burying them in his thick, dark hair. She kissed him as if it would save her life. It was heaven, it was bliss, it was…
“What the hell…?”
Lindley pushed away from her. Something clattered to the floor at their feet. Sophie glanced down and realized what had happened.
Temptress in Training Page 22
