by Louise Allen
‘Open the front door, Chivers.’
‘Callum, you cannot be taking me outside—’
He swept past the maid, down the step to the carriage drive, then turned around and walked back in. ‘There. I have carried my wife over our threshold, something I failed signally to do in London. Chivers, you may lock up and see to the lights. Do not hurry breakfast in the morning.’
‘Sir.’ The maid retreated, giggling. ‘Goodnight, sir.’
‘I sincerely hope so,’ Callum muttered and began to climb the stairs.
‘Put me down, I am much too heavy,’ Sophia protested, hoping very much he would do no such thing—this was the most romantic demonstration she could have imagined. It was also deliciously masterful. She knew Callum was fit, but the feel of his muscles moving as he climbed, the steadiness of his balance, the heat of his body, made her melt with anticipation.
Chivers had turned down the bed and left a lamp burning on the carved chest. Callum kicked the door closed and eyed the huge old four-poster bed. ‘The knack with this will be not falling off—you could break a limb from that height.’
‘We could stay in the middle,’ Sophia ventured.
‘I fully intend using every square inch of this piece of furniture,’ he said as he deposited her in the centre of the bed which sagged, almost swallowing her into the depths of the feather mattress which billowed around her as she struggled to sit up. ‘Ah,’ Callum said. ‘Once this thing captures us there will be no escape.’
‘I don’t think I want to escape,’ Sophia said, as she wriggled into a sitting position. ‘I would rather save all the interesting and adventurous things for another time—I just want you, Callum, holding me, inside me.’
It was the right thing to say, she could see it in his face. He leant over the bed, caught hold of her and hauled her out. ‘Come on then, we’ll get undressed and then fall into that billowing mass together and hope we don’t suffocate.’
They were laughing as they helped and hindered each other to undress, fingers fumbling on buttons and tapes, mouths meeting and lingering, then parting as they twisted and turned. Finally they half-fell, half-rolled into the soft depths of the bed and stilled, tangled in each other’s embrace.
‘I haven’t said it yet,’ Callum murmured, rolling over so Sophia was beneath him, her thighs cradling him, her hands caressing his back and shoulders and lean flanks. ‘I love you, Sophia.’ He eased into her slowly, filling and possessing with a gentle power. ‘You have made me complete in a way I never was before. You have made me whole.’
‘I love you,’ she answered, feeling him within her, answering with the quivering pressure of her intimate muscles, stroking and holding him as he sheathed himself deep in her core, making them one.
They lay there, eyes locked, their bodies hardly moving as they rocked together, up and up, higher and higher, until there was nothing but the sound of their gasping breaths and their bodies meshing together and the love and passion in Callum’s eyes as they read every feeling she could not find the words for, the strength of his body giving her pleasure beyond her dreams.
She broke, like crystal shattering, and knew she called his name because he answered as he surged impossibly deep within her and she felt the heat of his release and clung to his broad shoulders as they sank together into fulfilment and peace.
*
Cal opened his eyes on to a room filled with swirling dust motes in sunshine that lanced through the uncurtained window. He turned his head on the pillow and saw his wife—his love—standing quite naked in the shaft of light, watching a robin on the sill.
‘I used to think you were skinny,’ he said. ‘I must have been blind.’
Sophia spun round, laughing at him, and the bird flew away, scolding in alarm. ‘I used to think you were arrogant.’
‘I am. Come back to bed at once, wife.’
She came as far as one of the bulbous Tudor bedposts and stayed just out of arm’s reach, tracing a grotesque mask with her fingertip. ‘Must we go back today?’
‘We need never go back, if you don’t want to.’ He threw back the sheet, sat up and stretched. Sophia’s gaze trailed over his body like a touch, with inevitable results.
‘What about the Court of Directors?’
‘The Court of Directors will have to make love to their own wives.’ He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and Sophia bent and kissed him, open-mouthed, lingering. ‘I could just farm the two estates.’
‘Give up your position?’
‘If you want me to.’
‘No,’ Sophia said, shaking her head so her hair fell over her shoulder and caressed his chest. ‘You are destined for great things and I am destined to be the Countess of Long Welling, wife of the chairman of the Court of Directors of the East India Company.’
‘I can’t do it alone,’ Cal said, knowing it was the truth. Without her, he would never have the heart for the fight; there would be no one to be doing it for except himself.
‘We will do it together,’ she promised as she pushed him back into the yielding mattress and scrambled up to straddle him. ‘The Company, the estates and the three children.’
‘Only three?’
‘Four, then.’ She lowered herself, inch by tantalising inch on to him, purring with pleasure, her eyes half-closed, the sunlight outlining her body.
‘Now that,’ Cal said, reaching for his wife, ‘is something we can put our minds to immediately, my love. Not that we need an excuse.’
‘Yes, my love,’ she agreed, falling forwards on to his chest. ‘Oh, yes.’
*
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
First published in Great Britain 2011
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Melanie Hilton 2011
ISBN: 978-1-408-92366-5
Table of Contents
Cover
Excerpt
About the Author
Author Note
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-
Two
Copyright
