“And what is that, Nicholas?” she asked dubiously, tracing the arch of her mother’s brow on the sketch she held.
“This,” Nicholas said simply, crouching down next to her and holding out the slim, fragile swan. “She was here all along.”
18
Sophia was afraid to touch the fragile glass. She simply stared at the swan, perched on Nicholas’s palm as if it belonged there. It had disappeared from her mind the moment she’d realized her mother was dead. And now it was as if she’d never been without the crystal bird, the sharp yet surprisingly soft contours of its delicate body as familiar to her as her own face.
“One of the servants must have found it on the floor and set it on the windowsill for safekeeping,” Nicholas guessed.
“How could I have forgotten her?” she murmured aloud, reaching out to touch the swan’s expertly carved beak. “She was a gift from my mother—to remind me how very special I was to her.”
Nicholas looked at the figurine in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. “How have I never seen the swan? We four were together every minute of every day. Surely we boys would have attempted to steal her from you.”
“And she would have met a horrible fate in your hands.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “Ah, I see. Then you hid the swan from us in order to keep her safe?”
“Yes,” Sophia confirmed, finally feeling brave enough to take the swan in her own hand. “And no.”
She stroked the swan’s head lightly with her forefinger, the sensation of cool, sleek glass beneath her fingertip achingly familiar. “I wanted something of Mother that was just for me. I suppose it was selfish, but when she gave me the swan it seemed the perfect secret between the two of us. Does that make any sense?”
Nicholas picked up the sketch of her mother that Sophia had been studying. “It makes perfect sense. And I must say I admire your ability to keep it hidden.”
Sophia looked at the portrait in Nicholas’s hands, then at the other drawings she’d examined and set aside.
“What is it?” Nicholas asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sophia replied honestly, worrying the crystal figure between her fingers. “There is something missing—a piece that I’ve forgotten. I was certain everything would come together here at Petworth.”
She looked about the room and frantically searched for something she must have missed—a clue her mother wanted her to find.
“Come,” Nicholas said to her, his hands taking hold of her wrist and pulling her to stand.
Sophia attempted to turn away, intent on remaining in the room.
“Listen to reason, Sophia. Come away from here,” Nicholas urged. “Continue questioning the staff downstairs—hell, dig up that bastard butler, for all I care. But please, leave this room now. For me?”
Sophia’s mind stopped spinning for a moment as she considered his words. “You’re right. I have lost my perspective.”
Nicholas took up her hand and lightly skimmed his lips against her soft skin. “Then let me help you find it.”
He was counting down the minutes. Nicholas looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel, then to the bottle of brandy sitting next to the candelabra on the small table near his bed.
“You’re pathetic,” he told himself with derision, returning his gaze to the window. It was a dark, moonless night. Petworth Manor and the grounds were cloaked in blackness.
He pressed his forehead to the cold glass, the sensation almost painful. Earlier in the day, Mrs. Welch and a senior footman who’d begun his service at Petworth as an errand boy had managed to remember the play that the traveling acting troupe had planned to perform—Dido Queen of Carthage. Actors never forgot their parts, and if any one of the troupe was still alive, they’d find them in Drury Lane.
He looked back at the clock. Two minutes until he could open the brandy bottle. Since Sophia’s observation about his tremors, Nicholas had made a point of going longer than eight hours between each drink.
Sophia. He stared broodingly out the window once again. With each passing hour he felt more and more intimately linked with her, Petworth affording them the time and space to make up for all the years they’d lost.
Still, he hesitated to go to her now. Was he so weak that he needed her to seek him out instead of the other way around? To know once and for all that she desired him, body and soul, as much as he did her?
Nicholas turned away from the window and stalked toward the fireplace, ready to throw the clock across the room should it not show him the time he desired.
“You will live to see another day,” he told the timepiece as it chimed the hour.
“Who are you speaking to?”
The soft, feminine tones startled him. Nicholas spun on his heel, relief and a profound thankfulness flooding his senses at the sight of Sophia in his chamber. She wore a blue silk wrapper, her bare toes peeping from beneath the hem, and her hair was loose. The dark wooden panels of the closed door outlined her slim curves.
“Sophia?”
“I waited for as long as I could, Nicholas.”
She rushed toward him. The wrapper was unbuttoned below mid-thigh, and the white night rail she wore beneath was nearly transparent. Nicholas’s mouth went dry at the clearly visible shape of thighs, knees, calves, and ankles as her swift movements pressed her legs against the thin linen. It wasn’t until she reached him that he realized she held a large book clasped to her chest.
“What is that?” His voice was gravelly, even to his own ears.
“I was stalking about in the dark—as I am wont to do—and wandered into the library.” Her eyes glowed with excitement, her face flushed. “I found this book of maps on the desk. When I was a little girl, my father let me press flowers and leaves in it. And, apparently, other things.” She caught his hand and drew him to the small table near the bed.
She lay the book down and opened it. Tucked between the pages was a sheet of drawing paper.
Carefully, she lifted the sketch and showed it to Nicholas.
The picture, clear and concise, showed the Afton drawing room. A boy lay on a settee near the window; and outside, two children played in the snow. A girl stood next to the reclining boy, watching the others tossing snowballs just beyond the glass.
“I remember this day,” Nicholas said, smiling at the fond memory. “Your mother wouldn’t let me go outside. You volunteered to stay in and keep me company.” The skirt of her wrapper brushed against his bare feet. He glanced at her. Her lashes were lowered as she studied the sketch in his hand.
She looked up and several dark strands of her loose mane of hair caught on the linen of his shirt. Her smile faded, awareness turning her eyes darker as she stared at him.
“If there is one sketch hidden away in Petworth, there may be more,” she whispered. Her gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth and her lips parted as she caught her breath. “Perhaps that is what I sensed in the nursery.”
Neither of them moved.
“Is that the only reason you are here?” He barely breathed the words.
“No,” she admitted, softly. “As I’ve already told you, I waited as long as I could.”
His gaze on hers, Nicholas laid the sketch on the open book. Then he slowly lifted his hands to cup her face.
Her skin was soft and warm, so warm. He closed his eyes.
“We can’t do this,” he managed to get out. “We can’t betray Langdon.”
Sophia lifted her hands to cover his.
“Nicholas.”
Her voice was a quiet command. He opened his eyes and looked into hers. He saw fierce, raw conviction in the green depths.
“I cannot marry Langdon. My feelings for you forbid it, in every way. Even if you make me leave this room, even if you never speak to me again, I will not marry him.”
He believed her. The nearly violent joy that shook him was instantly followed by a wave of guilt.
“If I hadn’t come home from India—if we hadn’t begun the se
arch for your mother’s killer …”
“Stop.” She laid her fingertips over his lips, effectively silencing him. “I do not love Langdon as a wife should. Whether or not you had returned, that wouldn’t have changed. And I’ve come to realize that affection isn’t enough for me. I want to spend my life with someone who feels much more for me. I want passion in my life.” She smoothed her fingertips over the curve of his lips before her palm cradled his cheek. “I want what I feel with you, Nicholas. I want you—all of you.”
“You deserve a far better man than me,” he told her. “But I am yours. I’ve always been yours.”
She was his. His heart constricted with the overwhelming knowledge. Every single point in his life, whether glorious or agonizing, had contributed to this moment.
He bent his head, his lips brushing against hers in brief, tasting kisses. Each kiss was longer, the press of his mouth against the soft, lush cushion of hers harder.
Her hands slid around his neck, her fingers threading into the hair above his nape as she held him closer. Beneath his lips, hers heated.
Nicholas cupped the back of her head in one palm, her hair a mass of silk beneath his fingers. He slipped his other arm around her waist to gather her closer. Her lush curves pressed against the harder angles of his and she shivered, her lips parting in a soft, breathy sigh of surprise.
He slipped the buttons free on her wrapper and pushed the edges aside to give him access to the smooth, bare skin of her shoulders. She hummed with pleasure, tilting her head back as he licked the curve of her throat. His lips traced the upper swell of her breasts and her fingers clenched in his hair.
Nicholas pulled her arms from around his neck and with swift efficiency shoved her wrapper off her shoulders, forcing the blue silk lower until it pooled at her feet. Sophia skimmed her hands over his shoulders and tugged at his shirt. Nicholas finished freeing the buttons on her night rail and yanked it up and off over her head, going still.
Her body was all lush curves and valleys, the full swell of breasts narrowing to a nipped-in waist. The shallow indent of her navel drew his eye lower to silky dark hair, and thighs that gave way to firm calves and delicate ankles and feet.
“My God, look at you,” he murmured reverently. He cupped one rose-tipped breast in his hand, smoothing his thumb over skin softer than the finest silk. The pad of his thumb found the ruched bud of her nipple and she swayed, catching at his arms to steady her boneless legs.
“Nicholas,” she moaned.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
He swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. She curled on her side, shifting one thigh over the other in a belated attempt at modesty.
“Don’t,” his voice rasped. Impatiently, he shrugged out of his shirt, his breeches quickly following. “Don’t hide from me,” he added, needing to reassure her.
Sophia only smiled, her eyes dark as she watched him undress, holding her arms wide and welcoming him into the sweet cradle of her body.
Nicholas was determined to make Sophia’s first time memorable, to gently initiate her into lying with a man. She wrapped her legs around him, answering each stroke and kiss with tender, sensual replies of her own.
“If we finish this, I won’t be able to give you up,” he told her. “Are you sure it’s what you want, Sophia?”
She stilled beneath him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “I’m very certain, Nicholas,” she solemnly assured him. “You’re all I’ll ever want.”
He couldn’t speak, every last word in his vocabulary simply unable to communicate what he felt at that very moment.
He settled between her parted thighs, nudging against her core before he caught himself. He needed to make her his—truly and in every way. With sheer force of will, he reined in his body and held himself still.
“A woman’s first time can be painful,” he told her, his voice husky with need. “I couldn’t bear to think I’d harmed you in any way.”
“I know you won’t hurt me, Nicholas,” she murmured, shifting beneath him, urging him on until they were fully joined.
“Are you all right?” he breathed in her ear.
“I am—please don’t stop now.”
Reassured, Nicholas bent his head, trailing kisses down the arch of her throat as he shifted his hips. Her inner muscles clasped him tighter, silently protesting as he nearly withdrew from her wet heat.
“Don’t stop,” Sophia pleaded, her hands clenching against his biceps to pull him nearer.
“No, my love, I won’t,” Nicholas managed to reply. His body protested the slow pace. But he wanted to savor Sophia, to tell her with his body all that she was to him.
He cupped the full curve of her breast in one hand and bent to take the rosy tip in his mouth, feasting on the soft, succulent skin. Sophia’s breath caught in a gasp of surprise and her fingers threaded into his hair to press him closer. Beneath him, her body lifted, her hips moving to meet the thrust of his.
Sweat slicked their bodies, the scent of their lovemaking filling the air around them as Nicholas torturously tempted Sophia’s desire into ruthless need. He withdrew from her and with openmouthed kisses traveled every delicious slope and curve of her body, tasting the soft skin of her throat, breasts, and the sweet indent of her navel. He moved his mouth to the apex of her thighs, his tongue flicking Sophia’s swollen core until she moaned.
Her hands clutched his shoulders with desperation. “Nicholas, please. I need you.” Her voice was throaty, drugged with seduction as she scored him with her fingernails.
He ceased his carnal assault on her luscious folds and slowly nipped his way up her, each and every last taste punctuated by Sophia’s gasps of delight.
He loomed over her, watching as pleasure and raw yearning played across Sophia’s face.
“Do not deny me,” she begged, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Sophia.” Her name was a prayer on his lips. The answer to everything Nicholas had ever needed to make him whole.
He lowered himself and entered her again, the sensation piercing him to the soul. He was home. Well and truly home.
He stroked his hand down her body, over the sweet inner curve of her waist, to close over her thigh. He nudged her legs higher and she willingly, eagerly wrapped them around his waist, seating him even deeper. He palmed the curve of her bottom and she instinctively pressed her hips more tightly to his. She was made for him, her body meeting his thrusts with dizzying precision.
“I love you, Nicholas,” she whispered, her lips seeking out his with a searing kiss.
The very passion she’d told him she craved caught them up and spun them about in a whirlwind of carnal desire.
Sophia threw her head back upon the feather pillow and cried out, her core pulsating with satisfaction as she gripped the bed linens in a vain attempt to gain purchase.
The sound of her ecstasy inspired a guttural growl from deep in Nicholas’s throat. He hitched her knee higher on his hip and quickened his pace, his need now undeniable.
Sophia reached up and caressed his chest, her tender touch intensifying the moment. He drove deeper, closing his eyes as every muscle in his body flexed and tightened.
“Come to me.”
Nicholas roared at the sound of Sophia’s demand, the powerful release of his climax ripping through his entire being, his mind and soul shattering into oblivion.
“And I love you, Sophia. I always have, and I always will.”
The pieces floated as if in water, their jagged edges coming close to touching, but never quite forming a full picture.
Sophia swiped at the shards until they disappeared into the recesses of her mind. The fragments of memory frightened her, even while she dreamed of making love with Nicholas.
She’d never known such pleasure. Nor had any idea of the profound connection created between two people when they gave themselves fully to each other.
He threatened to take my swan.
He wore a mask, so s
he could not see his face, the red and black squares of the domino coming to life before her very eyes. He must have been one of the members of the troupe—or one of the houseguests chosen to participate. He discovered her hiding behind a large potted plant, drawing the performers as they practiced. He waited until everyone else had gone, then approached Sophia. He was angry with her for capturing his likeness. When he demanded the sketch she refused.
Sophia was back in the parlor, the man’s grip on her arm hurting as he squeezed and bruised the skin. He took the swan and told her he would smash the figurine in front of Sophia if she did not turn over the drawing. The man frightened Sophia and so she did as he demanded. After he’d gone, she drew a second picture of the man and woman.
The feeling of resurfacing from deep water swept Sophia up, carrying her from the world of her dream to a fully awakened state.
She bolted upright in Nicholas’s bed, taking the bed linens with her. “Nicholas, wake up. You must wake up. Now.”
He rolled to face her, his arms raising above his head to flex and stretch. “Whatever for?”
“I know where the missing piece is.”
“Just up here, William.” Sophia beckoned for the young stablehand to hurry.
Nicholas walked beside her, holding her elbow as they trekked over uneven ground, through the bracken and long, overgrown grass. “I haven’t thought about the chalk cave for years.”
“Nor have I,” Sophia admitted, appreciating Nicholas’s steady grip. “Obviously.”
“Do not blame yourself,” Nicholas warned in a lethal tone. “Beyond the fact that there was no real reason for you to remember the man, the incident coincided with the shock of your mother’s death.”
Sophia knew, on a very practical level, that Nicholas was right. But there was nothing simple about what was happening. Nothing at all.
“I cannot argue with you, Nicholas,” she whispered, eager to focus on finding the cave—and with any luck, the sketch.
Sophia tripped over a thick tree root hidden in the grass and Nicholas tightened his hold on her arm. She welcomed his support, leaning into his strength. “Thank you.” She moved closer to him.
The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel Page 17
