The cousins nodded, then slipped out into the hallway beyond.
Ben turned and, opening the French door leading out to the balcony, he looked in either direction before stepping out and creeping along the outer wall of the house. He moved past two empty rooms before he peeked into a brightly lit drawing room.
The tableau before him made his heart stop.
Sophia, gagged and bound, was seated in a wing chair, just to the left of Greaves, who held a pistol pointed in the direction of a man who had his back to the windows. It was Morgan, Ben could tell. He’d know that arrogant pose anywhere.
He calculated how best to get inside and get the gun out of Greaves’ hand. If he did the wrong thing, Sophia could get hurt. He didn’t much care, at the moment, whether Morgan was harmed. He was responsible for this entire fiasco as far as Ben was concerned.
The moment Sophia saw him, he felt it in his gut. Her eyes widened and she glanced at Greaves, then at Morgan. To his surprise, she slid a hand out to show him that her hands were free. Then, just as quickly she pulled it back.
As he watched, Greaves spoke to her. He couldn’t hear what the man said, but he knew it was an apology of sorts from the hangdog expression on the butler’s face. Then, Morgan said something that made Greaves look coldly at him and raise the gun and point it more firmly at the man.
Sophia must have made a noise then, because Greaves turned to her, and taking advantage of the man’s distraction, Ben turned the handle of the French door and slipped inside. Morgan had turned as if to run from the room. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing Ben in the room.
“Vicar!” he said, his surprise evident. “We have to stop this man. He’s kidnapped Miss Hastings.” Since Sophia had just launched herself at the butler, it wasn’t a bad attempt at distraction, but it didn’t work.
Ignoring the industrialist, Ben sprinted over to the where Greaves, lying on his back, was trying to evade Sophia’s grasp. She was clinging to his head, her bound ankles and legs off to the side of the big man’s body like a mermaid’s tail.
“Miss Hastings, stop it!” the butler cried, his face a mask of pain as she twisted his ears. The pistol he’d been holding was lying a few feet away on the floor. “I’m trying not to harm you.”
“You’d have done a better job of that if you’d not decided to kidnap her,” Ben said, lifting Sophia off the man, then pulling him up into a sitting position.
Maitland came in from the hall door then. “I heard the shouting,” he said, scanning the room. Seeing Ben tugging Greaves to his feet, he scowled. “Let me take him.”
Not arguing, Ben let the duke take over subduing the butler, and moved to help Sophia, who was trying to untie the knot binding her ankles together.
He’d barely finished before she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she snuffled against his neck.
Right there on the floor of Morgan’s drawing room, Ben held her tightly and whispered soothing nonsense words into her hair until she calmed.
“I love you,” he said, his voice trembling as he realized how close he’d come to losing her. “I’m sorry I wouldn’t stay. It was stupid. Priggish of me.”
She gave a watery chuckle at that. “I love it when you’re priggish. Don’t you know that?”
He pulled her to him again. “And I love it when you’re wanton, Wallflower.”
Her kiss was every bit as enthusiastic as he could have hoped. And it held the promise of decades filled with more of the same.
“I found this one trying to escape out on the balcony.”
The Marquess of Kerr’s announcement from the French doors where Ben had made his entrance had them turning in that direction.
Kerr had Peter Morgan’s arms held behind him, and marched him inside.
“You have no right to hold me,” Morgan said with a scowl. “Unhand me.”
Ignoring him, Kerr shoved the industrialist over to the where Maitland was finishing up the bonds on Greaves’ hands.
“Here,” Ben said, reluctantly unwrapping himself from Sophia. Rising, he carried the rope Greaves had used to tie her ankles and used it to bind Morgan.
Turning to his friends, he said, “Have you got these two under control? I’ll send for the magistrate.”
“Take your lady home,” Maitland told him with a nod to Sophia. “I’ve already had a word with the servants. They might seem loyal to Morgan, but coin is even stronger.”
“Thank you,” he told the cousins. “I owe you.”
“Just take care of Miss Hastings,” Kerr said with a grin. “We take our duty to the Beauchamp House heiresses quite seriously.”
He returned to Sophia’s side. She was sitting on the floor where he’d left her a moment ago.
Without asking if she was able to stand, he pulled her to her feet then into his arms. “Let’s go have that bath now, Wallflower.”
“But I told you I like your attention to the proprieties,” Sophia teased. “If the gossips hear about such a thing we’ll be the talk of the village.”
“We’re already the talk of the village,” he said as he made his way carefully down the main staircase. “But I have a feeling the capture of Peter Morgan will eclipse even our notoriety for a time. It’s a small window and we have to take advantage of it.”
The music of her laughter rang through the cold, marble-covered entryway of Morgan’s monstrosity of a house.
* * *
Despite Ben’s bold words about not caring about gossip, he had little choice but to accept when Kerr suggested they drop him at the vicarage on the way back to Beauchamp House.
Sophia hoped their earlier discussion coupled with the speaking look she gave him before he shut the carriage door behind him was enough to ensure that he doubled back later and found his way to her bedchamber. She wasn’t even all that intent upon lovemaking—though of course she enjoyed that too—but instead craved the secure feeling of Ben’s arms around her. Especially after the ordeal she’d suffered at the hands of Greaves, whom she’d trusted.
Once she’d bathed, and been fussed over by her maid, who was aghast and not a little overset by the news that Mr. Greaves had been the one to kidnap her, Sophia was seated at her dressing table when a noise at the window made her turn.
To her astonishment, she saw Ben step through the open casement.
“How on earth did you manage that?” she asked in astonishment as he shut the windowed door behind him.
Brushing off the front of his breeches, and then giving the same treatment to his sleeves, which were, she saw, peppered with leaves, he said, “My brothers and I were quite competitive about tree climbing as boys. And fortunately the ornamental trees that line this side of the house are sturdy, and tall enough to give me enough height to grasp the edge of the balcony and pull up.”
He stepped forward, and before she could ask any more questions, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
“Hello, Miss Hastings,” he said in the low voice that never failed to send shivers down her spine. “I did tell you I’d see you again this evening, didn’t I?”
“You did,” she whispered against his mouth. Slipping her arms around his waist, she reveled in the warmth of his body against hers, the now familiar tingle of desire licking at her insides.
“I’ll always keep my promises to you, Sophia,” he said in a low voice, his hands caressing her through the fabric of her night rail. She’d been disappointed with the practical nature of her night clothes when deciding on what to wear earlier. But whether it was Ben’s proximity or the knowledge that very soon clothing would be forgotten altogether, she soon ceased to care.
She lifted her mouth to meet his, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to kiss him. To be the one who took his mouth, who opened hers and slipped her tongue against the seam of his lips. And, ever patient, he let her, responding to her overtures with answering heat, but not taking over as she experimented with taking the lead.
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br /> Stroking her tongue against his, she soon lost track of who kissed whom, and before long, her hands were tugging at his waistcoat. “Take these off,” she muttered against his mouth, surprising a breathy laugh from him.
Without speaking, he lifted her into his arms—and in an echo of the way he’d carried her from the beach only days earlier, he carried her to the bed, which had been turned down, and deposited her gently on the cool sheets.
He made swift work of removing his coat and while he bent to remove his boots, Sophia grasped the bottom of her gown and lifted it over her head. When she turned back from tossing it to the side, she found he was watching her.
His own shirt was gone as well, and for a moment they stared, taking one another in.
It was somehow more exciting to see the muscles and smooth skin she’d already felt beneath her hands. There had been that day in her studio, but this was different. She was far enough away to be able to take it all in. The curling dark gold hair that tapered from between his pectoral muscles—she’d learned about those while studying anatomy for painting—down into a narrow line that disappeared into his breeches.
And beneath that trail, well … Sophia swallowed. She might have felt him inside of her once before, but the proud erection there seemed larger than she’d remembered it.
While she watched, Ben—never looking away from her—unbuttoned his falls and shucked out of the breeches.
When he stood naked before her, Sophia felt as if she’d run a mile. Beautiful. It was the first word that came to mind, though not one normally used to describe men.
She must have spoken aloud because almost as soon as she thought it, his lips curled in a knowing smile. “Thank you, my dear,” he said as he stalked toward her.
Suddenly overcome with shyness, Sophia scrambled to get beneath the bedclothes. She thought perhaps he’d tease her for it, but Ben slid beneath them too, perhaps sensing that she was less self-assured than she’d at first seemed.
When he took her in his arms, and she felt the overwhelming sensation of skin on skin, she exhaled with such relief that it almost brought her to tears. She clung to him, then, and despite her excitement and arousal, she also felt the fear and rage and disappointment of the ordeal in Morgan’s house that evening again.
She must have cried out, because Ben pulled her closer, and made soothing noises as he stroked over her back. “It’s all right, Sophia,” he whispered against her hair. “You’re safe now. I have you.”
They lay there together like that for a few moments, just holding onto one another, drawing the most elemental sort of comfort from simply touching. And when he kissed her, the embrace turned fiery again and soon his mouth left hers and trailed down over her jaw and into the hollow just below her ear, where his hot breath made her shiver.
While he kissed her, she let her hands rove over him, stroking down his hard chest, where she stroked a finger over his tight nipples—first one, then the other—and then lower, gliding over the trail of hair she’d only gazed at before.
But before she could stroke the part of him that pressed impatiently against her stomach, his hand circled her wrist and brought her hand up to rest on his shoulder. “Not yet,” he said as his tongue flicked out over the tip of her breast. Later.”
She wanted to object, but the feel of his mouth, which was now hot and wet and covering her nipple, made rational thought impossible, and she moved both hands to clutch his shoulders as he gave the same treatment to the other side.
“So soft,” he whispered against her skin, the vibration of his deep voice against her skin giving her another reason to shiver.
As he caressed her, Sophia’s hips had begun to shift restlessly, and that part of her where she needed him most ached. When she felt his fingers there, she almost cried out with relief.
“Yes, please,” she said, her head thrashing a little as he teased at her entrance. “Please, Ben, please.”
But instead of giving her what she wanted, he pulled away. “What are you—?”
She stopped in mid-question as she felt him slide down the bed and nudge her legs wider with his shoulders.
His mouth was on her before she could even understand what was happening. And the sensation of his hot mouth on the sensitive skin of her core was enough to make her cry out.
It was almost too much to bear. Sophia had never known anything like it, not even the intimacy she’d shared with him in her studio that day. It was as if her whole being had been set alight but the fire made her whole rather than destroying her.
Her hips moved of their own volition now, and when he slipped two fingers inside her while his mouth sucked one particularly sensitive spot, it was simply too much to endure. With a sharp gasp of relief, she felt herself tumble over the precipice, her being suffused with indescribable joy. And for a moment, it felt as if she left the mortal world and reached the heavens.
* * *
The feel of Sophia’s body climaxing around his fingers was something Ben wouldn’t soon forget. He’d guessed this kind of lovemaking would be something she’d take to, but he hadn’t been prepared for his own response to her joy in it.
As it was, he was rock hard and though he’d have liked to give her more time to recover, he could barely keep himself from spilling before he moved to brace himself over her and lift her knee to his hip.
“Yes,” she said, lifting her arms to him and pulling his mouth down to kiss him. “Yes, now.”
And he wasted no time pressing himself into her. By the time he was fully seated his arms were trembling with the effort it took to keep from hammering into her like an untutored youth. When he opened his eyes, however, he saw that Sophia’s were open, watching him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt, this connection. And when he pulled out and then thrust back in, she whimpered. The noise snipped the last remaining thread of control he had, and he could hold back no longer. With a strangled noise, he pulled both her knees up and tilted her hips, which in turn made Sophia gasp at the deeper contact.
Once, twice, three times he pushed into her and on the fourth stroke he felt her clench around him and cry out as her crisis took her. Then, it was only a matter of a dozen or so more before he felt himself fly over the edge with a groan.
He came back to himself and realized he was likely crushing her with his dead weight. But when he made to move to the side, Sophia protested. “Stay,” she said clutching him to her. “I like it.”
Her shifting hips made him groan at the friction. Clearly his long deprived carnal side was not yet slaked. Even so, he was mindful of her ordeal earlier and reluctantly moved to her side.
When she’d settled against him, their bodies still touching from head to toe, he turned to rub his nose against hers. “We couldn’t stay like that forever, you know,” he said earnestly. “It would be dashed difficult to wear clothing. And I feel sure my congregation would not approve at all.”
As he’d intended, she giggled.
There was something so intoxicating about being here with her like this. He’d been with other women, of course. As a student at university—before he decided on holy orders—he’d behaved like any other randy young man. But in the years since, he’d of necessity curbed his physical desires and channeled them into other activities.
Being with Sophia, though, was different from anything he’d experienced before.
He understood the sacrament of matrimony now in a way he hadn’t before. They might not yet be wed in the church’s eyes, but they were man and wife all the same.
“Does it bother you?” she asked, interrupting his reverie. “That we’ve anticipated our vows?”
“Did it feel as if I was regretting anything just now?” he asked, tilting his head so he could meet her eyes, which were shadowed now with concern.
“No,” she said softly, “but sometimes in the moment…”
“I don’t regret anything I’ve done with you, Sophia,” he said firmly, “because if I know anything about the joy given us to
enjoy on earth, then you are the Lord’s own gift to me. How can our joy in one another be a sin? We haven’t yet wed in the church, but in our hearts we are and have been since that day in your studio.”
She exhaled, and Ben felt her physically relax against him. “I felt that too,” she said, tucking her face into his neck. “But I was afraid I had sullied you somehow. I’ve never been particularly devout. And I thought perhaps my own sins might … might ruin you.”
He touched her face, forcing her to look him in the eye again. “No one is without sin. Not me, not you. No one. I don’t need a wife who is perfect. I need a wife who will love me despite my imperfections. Who will let me love her despite hers.”
“Did you just tell me I’m not perfect, Ben?” she asked with a mock frown.
“What? Me?” He shook his head. “I suppose I did. But will it make you feel better if I point out my own imperfections?”
She laid her head on his chest and stroked her hand over his chest absently. “I don’t think that’s necessary. After all, you had to learn all those skills you so aptly demonstrated a few moments ago somewhere.”
He stifled a laugh. “Yes, you see. Not so perfect after all. And for all that you seem to think that taking holy orders turned me into some sort of saint, I’m only a man. With the same desires and faults as other men.”
As if to prove his point, his body chose that moment to respond to the soft strokes she slid over his chest.
“Thank heavens for that,” she said softly. Then, leaning up to kiss him, she said in a tone that made his chest ache, “I love you, Ben. So much more than I thought possible.”
“I love you, Sophia,” he returned. “Let me show you how much.”
There was no more conversation for a long while.
Chapter 28
“I can’t believe Greaves was the forger all along,” Ivy said the next morning as she buttered her toast.
The four heiresses were at breakfast alone. Maitland and Kerr had gone to speak to Squire Northman about the events of the day before, and Ben had, reluctantly, left Sophia’s bed at dawn to return to the vicarage, where he had parish business to attend to.
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