by Joanna Shupe
She fell onto his chest, boneless and sweaty. He felt precisely the same way, utterly relaxed and completely satiated. In fact, he could not remember the last time he’d felt this at ease. Probably never, now that he thought about it.
“I do not think I can move,” she mumbled against his sternum.
“Then don’t.” He wrapped his arms about her, kissed the top of her head. “I like you precisely where you are.”
Sophie had no idea how long this light, all-relaxing state would last, but she meant to enjoy it. Quint seemed in no hurry, either. She rested half on top of him, tucked into his side, with her foot dragging over his lower leg. Her fingers twined in his crisp chest hair while he drew lazy circles on her naked back with his palm.
“I cannot recall the last time I felt this good,” he murmured.
She smiled against his shoulder. “Good, how?”
“Feeling insecure, Sophia?” he teased, throwing her earlier words back at her.
“Maybe. I do not have as much practice at this as you do.”
“A good thing. If you’d had more practice, you might have killed me.”
She swatted his shoulder. “Be serious.”
“Kotyonok, I am nearly always serious.”
The foreign word made her tingle, especially the way he said it, with hard, guttural consonants. “You keep calling me that. What does it mean?”
“Kitten. It’s Russian.”
“I like the way it sounds.”
“I noticed,” he said, wryly. “And it fits.” He indicated his stomach, so she sat up slightly and saw red scratches on the taut skin of his abdomen.
“Did I do that?” She covered her mouth, horrified. “God, Quint, I am so—”
“Do not apologize,” he said sharply. “You marked me because you were enjoying yourself, enjoying me. Which means, when I see these marks tomorrow, I can remember the look on your face when you found your pleasure atop me. Sophie, any man who does not appreciate that is a fool.”
He drew her down and leaned over her. “I want you to like what I do to you, as well as what you do to me. You should enjoy it, and there’s no way you can tell or show me often enough. Women should like physical pleasure as much as men do.”
“But ladies—”
“Are still women. I know you are taught it’s not proper to like intercourse, and the man who had you first scared you into believing it, but nothing we do together that brings us both pleasure is wrong. If you never believe me about anything else, believe that.”
It sounded logical, but she couldn’t help but think there was something wrong with her. She’d scratched him like a lion. “I’ll try,” she replied.
“Good. What time did you need to leave? It’s nearly four.”
She sighed. She hated to leave, but staying was out of the question. “I should leave now, before the servants are awake.”
He kissed her, a tender, soft, lingering kiss that made her toes curl. “Thank you for tonight.”
“My pleasure. Literally.”
He chuckled. “And mine as well. Now let’s get you dressed and in a carriage.”
Rising, the two of them found their various articles of clothing on the floor and began putting them back on. His eyes darkened when she slid the drawers up over her hips. “I never thought I would find men’s undergarments so appealing,” he said.
She tied them at the waist. “No time for that again, at least not tonight.”
“Good thing I know where to find Sir Stephen in the future, then.”
“Does that mean you only want me to return when I’m dressed in my male clothing?” She stepped into the trousers.
He was already tucking his shirt in, obviously more used to donning his own clothes than she. “Indeed, no. I like you in whatever you’re wearing. Most especially, however, when you’re wearing nothing.”
“And I you. You are certainly hiding a fair bit of muscle for a man who never leaves his desk.”
“Now that I know you like it, I’ll be certain to show it off more.” He picked up her bandage. “It seems a shame to put this back on.”
“No need. My breasts aren’t so large and they’ll be hidden by my coat on the way home.”
He came up behind her and cupped the bare mounds in his palms, causing them to swell. She swallowed a moan.
“That means they’ll be bouncing and swaying on the ride home,” he growled. He ground his hips into her backside. “It’s enough to make me hard again.”
She remembered their earlier conversation about him accompanying her to investigate. Perhaps now, when he was relaxed and satiated, would be the best time to push him past his fears. She rocked back into his hips. “Then I think you should ride with me, so you can see them for yourself.”
His hands fell and he tried to step away. She spun and grabbed hold of his shirt. “You can do it, Damien. I know you can.”
He frowned, ready to admit defeat before even trying. She stood her ground. “I will be with you. Only me. No one else. And I promise you may fondle my breasts the whole time.”
A reluctant laugh escaped before he could stop it. “A tempting offer, to be sure. But why are you so determined to see me embarrass myself?”
“Because I do not see your weaknesses as embarrassing. I see them as human. You’re afraid, Damien. And I understand that, probably better than you realize. I’ve let fear and shame rule my life for so long, and you’ve set me free from all that. Let me help you this time.”
He crushed her against his chest, holding her so tight she could scarcely breathe. “I will only disappoint you in the end,” he said into her hair.
“You do not know that, not for certain.” He started to shake his head, and she said, “You’re all about evidence and proof. So prove me wrong, Quint. Let’s go outside and see the worst that can happen.”
Quint stared out at the gardens, his heart racing. The base of his skull had already begun to ache. “You will regret this,” he told Sophie, who stood at his side. “When you’re scraping me off the ground and carrying me back into the house. Do not say I didn’t warn you.”
“We shall see,” was the stubborn woman’s response. “The carriage is in the mews. I asked Jenkins to keep facing forward no matter what happens and not to intervene. When we are finally inside he’ll take us once around the block. Then you may return to your house.”
He blew out a breath, wiped damp palms on his trousers. “Why does it matter to you?”
After a moment, she said, “Because I love hearing your lectures. Seeing you standing up in front of a room full of scholars and learned men, your ideas bursting forth. Every pair of eyes on you, waiting to soak up the knowledge you readily impart. It’s . . . humbling.”
“I—I had no idea. You never came up to me afterwards. Why did you never tell me?” He hadn’t ever seen her in any of the crowds, not that he gave all that many lectures. It was never more than one or two a year. But he would have liked knowing she was there.
“I never told anyone. Not even Julia. It was silly, really. Like I am some sort of zealot, one of your devoted followers. Lurking in the back row, hiding just to hear you.”
The words were a punch in the solar plexus. Everything in him softened, a warmth blossoming through his veins. “Sophie,” he said and reached for her.
“No, none of that,” she eluded his grasp. “Stay focused. Besides, you know the definition of a phobia. It’s an irrational fear—and you are a rational, logical man. You can do this. You will do this.”
He exhaled and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
“Just keep your eyes on me.” Sophie stood in front of him and clasped his hands. “I’ll lead you down. All right?”
He nodded, and she began walking backward, keeping hold of him the entire time. His feet shuffled forward, but he focused on her face. The small, pert nose. The heart-shaped bow of her upper lip, resting atop the full, lush bottom lip. The big, round brown eyes that held such co
nfidence, such depth of feeling that he almost believed he could do anything.
Now at the bottom of the stairs, he knew they were in the gardens. His lungs began to work harder as the urge to return to the house hit him full force. His heart hammered as if he were in a race. “Keep looking at me, Damien,” Sophie urged. “Think about what you’re going to do to me when we reach the carriage.”
That was interesting. He thought about her breasts, now bare beneath the waistcoat and shirt, bouncing in the carriage as they had when he’d been driving into her body. She bit her lip, almost as if she knew what he was remembering. Sweet cadmium, she was lovely. And her mouth . . .
He continued running a series of lurid images in his mind, all the things he’d like to do to Sophie if only he had enough time. Arousal, fueled by panic and excitement, hummed through his veins, as if he hadn’t just spent himself twice in the last hour. He wanted her again. Dimly, he realized she’d reached back to open the gate. He kept his gaze trained on her face, even when she glanced away briefly.
Then they were inside the carriage, with him nearly pushing her up the last remaining steps. She fell back against the squabs and he pounced, covering her as best he could in the cramped, dark space as the wheels began to move.
He swooped down to claim her mouth, ravenous for her, delirious with it, as if he’d never had her. She clung to him, returning the kiss and running her hands over his back. He threw her greatcoat open, unbuttoned her topcoat, and jerked her shirt and waistcoat out of the way, shoving the fabric higher until he could get to her bare skin. Sliding down, he drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking deep.
Her fingers tunneled into his hair. “Oh, God. Quint.”
He released her breast and returned to her mouth, kissing her feverishly. “If we were not in a carriage, I’d be inside you already,” he whispered darkly with a roll of his hard shaft along her core.
“Oh, yes,” she whimpered, clutching his buttocks with both hands.
“I cannot get enough of you.” He ground against her once more. “If only you had on skirts.”
She was panting now, writhing under him. “Next time,” she promised.
Lust roared through him, his erection nearly painful. “Touch me, Sophie. Please.” She moved her hand to stroke his cock through his trousers. “More. God, Sophie. I need you.”
Together, they worked the buttons free with due haste, and he groaned when her hand found bare flesh. “Yes. Harder. Stroke me. Faster. Yes. Like that.”
Her hand pumped him and he thrust into her grip. So good. So tight. “God, yes. Keep going.” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and everything inside him wound taut. Sophie was there, talking to him with sweet, low words of encouragement, and he kept rocking into her fist. Then it rushed over him, his back bowing, body clenching, as he spilled his seed in hot pulses all over Sophie’s silk waistcoat. He shuddered, gasping her name as the spasms continued to echo throughout his limbs.
When it finally ended, he noticed that the carriage had stopped. “We’re back,” Sophie said softly.
He blinked. Oh, God. He straightened, sitting up and giving her space while he tried to collect himself. Once again, he’d completely lost his sense of control around her. Exhaling, he rubbed his eyes. He’d never treated a woman so disrespectfully. And Sophie certainly deserved better of him. He’d debased her, ejaculated all over her. Christ, what must she think of him? He didn’t carry a handkerchief, so he whipped off his loosely tied cravat and cleaned her up the best he could.
“Well, that’s one stain Alice won’t be expecting,” she said, dryly.
“Better take it off and let me have it. I’ll have my valet clean it.”
Woodenly, he helped her remove the topcoat and the soiled waistcoat. Then he slipped her topcoat back over her arms. He couldn’t even look at her as he buttoned up his trousers. “I’m sorry.”
“Damien.” She laid her palm on his cheek, bringing his gaze to hers. “Remember, nothing we do together that brings us both pleasure is wrong.”
“I doubt that was pleasurable for you, me using you like that.”
“You would be wrong. Did you enjoy pleasuring me out on your terrace?”
“Of course,” he answered quickly.
“Well, it is the same for me. I enjoy giving you pleasure, you stubborn man. Now get inside so that I may return home. Do you need me to help you?”
“No. I’ll be fine,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure. But she’d done enough. He did not want to burden her further. So he picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Sweet dreams, kotyonok.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie surveyed the ballroom from her spot in the back corner. For two days, she’d been searching for Lord Tolbert, but she hadn’t been able to locate him. Until tonight. With help from Alice’s network of servants, they’d learned Tolbert planned to attend the Earl of Portland’s ball. The marchioness had been thrilled when Sophie requested to come along.
Good thing her stepmama did not know why.
She was not here to dance or engage in polite conversation. No, she attended merely to watch Tolbert, to see where he went when he left here.
Because Pamela had been found yesterday, dead. Strangled, raped, her right hand severed. Struck in the back of the head. Thrown into the river. Sir Stephen had returned to the Thames Police Office last night to see the body. Despite being bloated from the water, the girl had fit Madame Hartley’s description.
And Sophie was convinced the blame for her death lay squarely at Tolbert’s feet.
Unfortunately, Tolbert had not yet arrived. When he did, however, she would be waiting.
“Lady Sophia.” The Duke of Colton bowed in front of her. In his impeccably turned-out black evening clothes, it was easy to see why Julia had fallen so hard for her husband.
“Colton.” She curtsied. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. Isn’t this event a tad on the respectable side for you?”
“Yes, but respectability is a nice change of scenery every now and then.”
“The benefit of being a duke, I suppose.”
“Indeed.” He grinned.
Sophie nearly rolled her eyes. “You are fortunate that Julia puts up with you.”
“I’m well aware of that, which is why I would do anything for my wife. Including leave my newborn son and daughter to come to London in order to see you.”
“Me? Julia sent you to see me?”
“Yes,” he said with a nod, then folded his arms over his chest. His gray gaze studied her face. “She is worried about you. Said your letters are infrequent and vague. And you refused to come and visit Harry.”
Sophie shifted in her slippers and clasped her gloved hands. “I plan to visit in a few weeks.” After I prove that Tolbert is guilty. “I hardly see why my absence is a matter of grave concern.”
“I doubted it as well, until the other day. Now I happen to agree with her.”
“Do not be ridiculous. I’m perfectly well.” Other than nearly dueling, getting stabbed, tracking a killer, and having a torrid affair, of course.
“Sophia,” he said tersely. “You and I do not know one another well, but I do know Quint. And I suspect he is the reason you are avoiding my wife.”
She tried very hard not to react. “What did Quint tell you?”
“Nothing, but he is one of my oldest friends. And the way he is acting has me concerned for the both of you.”
Did he know of Quint’s fits? She couldn’t imagine Quint would readily share that information. “There is no reason for concern. We are friends.”
“Yes, that is what he says as well.” He sighed. “Sophia, most men are foolish, vain creatures. We tend to run shallow. Quint is . . . deep. He is unlike other men. Whatever he feels, he feels it all the way through, with no exceptions. And he is exceedingly loyal.”
Was this a warning? Sophie wasn’t sure how to respond. Not to mention that no one need tell her of Quint’s nature. She’d seen him at both hi
s best and his worst. “And you mention this because?”
“Because I can see how he feels about you. I’ve never seen it before in the twenty-odd years I’ve known him. And he is not a man to dally with an innocent woman.”
“So, you’re asking me what my intentions are?”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking. He is acting strangely, refusing to leave the house. You are clearly visiting him whenever you feel like it, unchaperoned. Do you plan to marry him?”
“He has not asked, if you must know.”
“I’m . . . surprised.” Colton rubbed his jaw. “I assumed . . .”
“That he asked and I turned him down?” An unnecessary question, considering the shock on the duke’s face.
Taking your innocence was only a small part of why I did not want to bed you, Sophie. Like the fact that I cannot marry you.
That had stung. Quint hadn’t explained why, exactly, but she could not blame him. Not really. She was the ruined daughter of a marquess who spent her evenings skulking about gaming hells dressed as a man. Not exactly proper wife material.
She’d avoided examining her feelings for him. Pointedly refused to worry over the future. And she would not allow Colton—or Julia—to force her to face up to it now.
“I will not hurt him, if that is what you are concerned about,” she told Colton. “And Quint is much stronger than you think.”
A man suddenly stepped into their small circle, a man she had not seen in eight years.
A man she’d hoped never to encounter again.
“Lady Sophia, it has been a long time, has it not?” Lord Robert, now the Earl of Reddington, wore a knowing smirk as he bowed. How had she ever thought him handsome, with his neatly styled brown hair and elegantly tailored clothes? All that perfection hid an underbelly of dishonesty and cruelty.
Blood rushed in her ears. She dragged air into her lungs and made no effort to curtsy. “My lord.”
