He sucked in a breath, and she jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he choked out. “Just keep touching me.”
She lifted her gaze, saw the tension coiled in every muscle of his body. She’d created that. She had power, just as he did.
And in that moment, she wanted to use her power. She caught him in her hand, reveling in the soft and hard dichotomy of this thing. That some used for wrong, but that could also make her feel so very right.
She stroked him with her palm and he gripped his fists at his sides, his neck straining.
“You’ll put it in me,” she said softly.
“Yes.” His tone was strangled.
“Will it hurt?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, at first. If I’ve done my job right, then not too much.”
“Will you do it now?” she asked, rubbing her thumb across the swollen head, wondering at the drop of liquid that escaped the tip.
“Jesus, but you test a man,” he murmured, and he moved back over her, his mouth hungry against hers. She sank into him, her arms around his neck, smelling his skin and his hair and his body that she wanted so very desperately.
He wedged himself between her legs, his narrow hips forcing her wider so that her sex opened. Heat filled her cheeks, but she didn’t pull away. What he was doing felt too damned good to ever stop it.
He reached between them, his fingers finding the slick heat of her, stroking her gently, parting her folds, teasing her until her body hummed with anticipation.
“God, I want you, Sophie,” he growled against her ear as his tongue traced the shell there. “Now. To make you mine.”
She nodded as she buried her face into his shoulder. Her heart was throbbing with want and fear and surrender all at once. He rubbed the head of his member against her, and she jolted at the thickness of him against what felt like an impossibly small entrance.
“Relax,” he whispered, his deep tone hypnotic, gentle. She found herself following that order even as he continued to stroke her. Stroke her. Then he pushed forward and her body somehow let him in.
There was pain. It was not something she could deny. A burning sensation of flesh that should not be stretched. His mouth found hers again and he kissed her deeply, sweetly. With every inch he took, his mouth distracted her, and suddenly he was fully seated and the pain was gone, replaced by a wonderful fullness and completion. She wiggled beneath him, flexing her internal muscles around his girth.
He moaned her name and then moved his hips, withdrawing and pushing forward once more. The pleasure she felt from his mouth rushed back, different this time. More intense. More wonderful. More united because he was inside of her and they were one body with two throbbing hearts.
He met her stare with the next thrust, rotating his hips to grind against her. A flare of powerful pleasure was the result, and she dug her nails into his still-clothed shoulders as her eyes went wide.
“Rowan,” she whispered.
“Let it come,” he said, his gaze still holding hers with focused intensity. “It’s yours.”
He stroked into her again and again, and she was lost in it, this magic that she’d never known existed all around her. This thing that was so right and so foreign and yet so much like coming home.
The pleasure hit her then, with wild beating wings that tore her from the earth as she writhed and cried out beneath his still-thrusting body. She watched his face, which was now tense as he focused on her spiraling pleasure. Then his eyes fluttered shut and he made a deep, guttural grunt before she felt the heat of his seed flood and fill her.
He collapsed over her, panting as he kissed her temples, her neck, her shoulders. She smoothed her hands over his broad back, whispering meaningless endearments that fell from her mouth like water.
“You are magnificent,” he said, tucking a hair behind her ear when both of them could speak coherently again.
She smiled. “I’ve never thought…I never knew. Will it always be like that?”
He nodded slowly. “It will. In fact, it will be better, for we won’t be rushed. And I’ll learn your body, as you’ll learn mine. What you want and like will become second nature to me.”
She leaned up and brushed her lips over his. “It seems it already is.”
He grinned and then pushed off of her, parting their bodies as they each groaned in disappointment. “We should go back. Face the scandal.”
The word scandal should have made her breath catch and her heart throb, but instead Sophie found herself laughing as she got up and fixed herself as best she could. “The best unions start with a scandal, so I’ve heard.”
He touched her cheek with the back of his hand and smiled softly. “I hope that is very true. Now come.”
She took his arm and let him lead her from the studio, back to the terrace where everyone else was still gathered. And in her heart, she felt something she’d never understood before. A hope that she’d always feared to name. Never thought she had.
But here it was, in the form of a man she had always avoided, somewhat feared…and now was going to be hers for the rest of her life.
Chapter Nine
The scandal did come. Both of them had known that it would, but to Sophie’s surprise, it had not been in any way damaging. The week since her engagement had been filled not with censure, but with knowing glances and playful jabs about the lengths one went to in order to land a rake. No one seemed very surprised at the match, and Society at large seemed to celebrate the end of Lady No and the beginning of Mrs. Sinclair.
“You look happy,” Louisa said as she took her place next to Sophie and touched her hand.
Sophie shot her a playful look. “You may gloat if you’d like, you know.”
Louisa had the kindness to at least look shocked at the suggestion. “Me? Gloat? Why?”
“Oh, don’t be coy now!” Sophie laughed. “You came to me weeks ago with this bit about living a life of regret and letting in the possibility of more. I did so, against my will, and here I am, engaged and, as you say, happy. You must have a tiny desire to gloat at that.”
Louisa leaned back in her chair, and her smug smile said it all. “I’m pleased to hear you say that I am always right,” she said.
Sophie’s lips parted. “I said no such thing!” she teased. “But…I suppose you are.”
“I knew Rowan would be the right match for you, too,” her aunt said with another of those smug grins. “And that if I could have him use our bargain—”
Sophie’s smile fell and she stared at her in confusion. “Wait…Rowan knew of our bargain?”
Louisa clapped a hand over her mouth. “Damn,” she said through her fingers. “I should not have said that.”
Sophie sat still, shock flooding her. Her hands shook, her blood pounded in her veins, her head spun and hummed.
“You look as though you’ll faint,” Louisa said, concern heavy in her tone as she caught Sophie’s hands and squeezed. “Rest back, darling, breathe.”
Sophie tried, but breath felt impossible. “When?”
Louisa shifted. “When what?”
Spearing Louisa with a fierce look, Sophie snapped, “When did you tell him about our agreement?”
“The day after his brother’s ball.” Her aunt frowned. “You are angry with me.”
“Yes!” Sophie burst out, shaking her hands away and standing to pace the room. “How could you? Our agreement was between you and me—how could you bring someone else into it? Especially someone like Rowan Sinclair?”
“Your fiancé,” Louisa reminded her gently. “Sophie, come now. My subterfuge worked out, did it not? You love him, don’t you?”
Sophie swallowed. Love him. She had been avoiding thinking about that since his proposal. He hadn’t said that word, though his sweetness had touched her heart so very deeply.
“I—”
“Look into your heart,” her aunt whispered. “Where you are so afraid to go after what happened between your moth
er and father. Do you love him?”
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, but tears still swelled and slid down her cheek. “Yes,” she admitted, and then gasped in a breath. “Yes, I love him.”
She heard Louisa rise, heard her come across the room. She didn’t open her eyes until Louisa wiped a tear from her cheek. “I told Rowan and I will tell you: love is a war. I only equipped him with certain advantages. What happened after that is—”
“Real?” Sophie whispered. “I want it to be, but what if he used what you told him against me? What if it is all a manipulation for his own means?”
“And what would those be?” Louisa asked, wrinkling her brow.
Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t.”
“You may be angry with me, but please don’t let this give you an excuse to distance yourself from him,” Louisa said with a smile. “Go talk to him. Tell him what I told you. Allow him at least the opportunity to explain himself. Doesn’t he deserve that? Don’t you?”
Sophie shivered. “I’ve closed myself off for so long. Now I’ve opened myself to a man who…to be honest, he terrifies me, Aunt Louisa. In the best ways, but terrified still. He can see me, and he shares things with me. He makes me want things that I always saw as dangerous and he makes me promises that I so want him to keep.”
“Then give him the chance,” her aunt said. “Go to him.”
Sophie gasped in the breath that she’d been unable to find earlier and managed a weak smile for Louisa. “Unchaperoned?”
Louisa’s arched brow was her response. “Your scandal is already afire, my dear. And since you will marry, I see no reason not to look the other way.”
“Very well. I will go.” She got up. “There is no time like the present, I suppose. I’ll march over there and confront him and…and…”
“And see what he says,” her aunt finished gently. “Once you have, come home and I will apologize again for my interference.”
Sophie kissed her cheek. “I hope I will need no apologies, and will come home happier than ever.”
But as she left the room to make her arrangements, Sophie couldn’t help the leaden feeling deep in her stomach. The fear that when she confronted Rowan, his answers wouldn’t be satisfactory and her illusions of love would fade away like music on the wind.
Sophie smiled at Rowan’s butler as she stepped into his foyer just an hour later. She liked her future husband’s servants and she wanted them to feel the same way about her. “Good afternoon, is Mr. Sinclair in residence at present?”
The man’s face fell and he glanced over his shoulder as if he were concerned. “He is not, my lady, I am sorry.”
She tilted her head. “It’s Barton, isn’t it?” He nodded, and she continued, “You seem troubled, Barton. Is there something I can do?”
“It is only that Mr. Sinclair stepped out on business for an hour and his…his…”
Before he could finish, the door to a parlor at the end of the hall opened and a round, angry-looking man appeared. Sophie took a step back in surprise. It was Rowan’s eldest brother, the Earl of Terrington, who stepped into view.
“Damn you, Barton, where is the bloody tea?” He moved a few steps down the hall and suddenly stopped when his beady eyes found Sophie standing with the servant. “Well, well…if it isn’t little brother’s lady love.”
She pushed her shoulders back and took a step up the hall. “Lady Sophie,” she said, holding out her hand even though she didn’t want this odious man who had only brought Rowan pain to touch her. “I understand you are waiting for Rowan’s return.”
His face pinched. “We are, my dear. Barton, bring the damned tea. Lady Sophie, why don’t you join me? I’m sure my brother Keaton and I would love to get to know you better.”
Sophie glanced at Barton. He did not look pleased. Slowly, she nodded. “Very well. I would like to wait for Rowan regardless, and I suppose since we will be family soon, it would be very pleasant to get to know you.”
He offered an arm, which she pretended not to see as they walked up the hall together and back into the parlor where the earl had come from. She entered cautiously and looked around. Another man, slightly less portly than his elder brother, stood at the fireplace, staring up at the portrait of Rowan, his mother, and his father. There was a forlorn look to the other man. Almost pained.
“Look what I found, Keaton,” Terrington drawled as he stepped toward his middle brother. “Rowan’s new fiancé, Lady Sophie.”
Keaton jolted and turned to her with a scowl. “Sinclair,” he barked out with a slight lift of his hand for a greeting.
Sophie pressed her lips together. So much for the warm family welcome. These men were as dreadful as she’d always heard told.
“I am happy to find you here,” she lied. “After all, we will soon be…family.”
Terrington snorted. “Such as it is.”
She ignored the barb as a maid appeared in the doorway with a service. She set it on the sideboard, and Sophie smiled as she said, “I’ll pour. Don’t trouble yourself.”
The girl bobbed out a curtsey and left the room with a concerned glance at the two men. Sophie drew a long breath and began to pour the tea.
“How do you like it?” she asked the earl first.
He glared at her. “Sweet. Three sugars. No milk.”
She did the preparation and turned over his cup before she put her attention on Mr. Sinclair. “And for you?”
“With a splash of whiskey,” he muttered. “But just milk will do.”
She frowned as she prepared his cup, then did the same for herself. When she had taken a seat, the two men did the same facing her from the settee in what could only be called an icy silence.
She shifted with discomfort, trying desperately to find a topic that would be appropriate. “I am sorry about the death of your father,” she said.
The men exchanged a look, and Terrington barked out a laugh. “I’m certain you are.”
She drew back. He was being purposefully rude, and a great part of her wanted to give him the same in return. If anyone had ever deserved a set down...but she thought of Rowan and bit her tongue.
“It’s been a fine Season,” she tried instead. “Have you been to any interesting balls or parties?”
“None,” Keaton Sinclair growled as he took a sip of tea.
She sighed. “I am trying to be polite. Is there any topic of conversation that would tempt you to do the same while we wait for Rowan’s return?”
Terrington tilted his head as he set his teacup aside. She shifted beneath the weight of that stare. It was focused and hard and had a cruel bent to it. She didn’t like it. She wanted to be free of it. And she pitied Rowan for having to endure it all these years. Their contempt for the man she loved was palpable.
“I have a topic I would very much like to broach, actually, since you are here and we are being forced to wait.”
She swallowed but lifted her chin to face his nastiness with all the calm and collected sophistication she had been taught by her aunt. “And what is that, my lord?”
“Are you aware you are being married for your money, or are you too stupid to see that my brother is using you?”
Chapter Ten
Rowan stepped into his foyer and smiled at Benton as he approached. A smile that fell when he saw his butler’s pinched, unhappy expression.
“What is it?” he asked, his stomach clenching. He knew that face. There was generally only one cause for it.
“They are here, sir.”
There was no need for any other explanation. Rowan knew who they were.
“Wonderful,” he grumbled, his good humor fading. “How long?”
“Three quarters of an hour, sir. But they…they are not alone. You had another caller and she was swept away by them.”
“Christ, did they get hold of my mother?” Rowan asked, running a hand through his hair. The countess could hold her own, but he hated to think of those jackals surrounding her.
“No, Mr. Sinclair. It’s…it’s Lady Sophie.”
Rowan staggered, feeling all the blood drain from his face, rush to his racing heart. He shook out his tingling fingers and said, “Where?”
“The Blue Parlor, sir,” Benton said, motioning up the hall.
Rowan raced forward, rushing to the room, fearing…he wasn’t even sure what he feared. But he knew his brothers, he knew their hatred for him and their drive to destroy anything he loved or that mattered to him.
And the only thing that truly mattered to him was her.
The door to the parlor was partially open, and he shoved through it and skidded to a stop as he looked around him in fear and torment. Sophie stood at the window, and as she turned his heart stuttered. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her hands trembled. When she saw him, her expression hardened and she lifted her chin and stared at him like he was…
The enemy.
His shifted his gaze to Keaton and Alistair. Both of them had risen from the settee upon his entrance. And they both looked smug as they smiled over at him.
He had no idea what they’d said to her. Or perhaps he did.
“Sophie, are you well?” he asked, moving toward her in three long steps.
She backed away, raising her hands to ward him off. “Don’t,” she hissed.
He spun on his brothers. “What did you say? What did you do?”
“Merely told her the truth, Rowan,” Keaton chuckled.
Alistair shrugged. “Funny how you’ve spent your miserable life pretending to be so good, so much better, and yet you would lie to this charming creature.”
Sophie swallowed and her soft, wavering voice drew his attention. “Is it true, Rowan? Is it true that you are destitute?”
“Sophie,” he began, holding up a hand as he moved more cautiously toward her this time. He needed to touch her. He needed to make her see that he wasn’t the bastard he’d been described as by these two circling vultures.
“Tell me the truth,” she hissed, wiping at fresh tears that sparkled on her cheeks, accusing him as much as her words. Her pain was palpable and it cut him to his very core. “Is that the real reason you pursued me?”
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