When a Lady Dares (Her Majesty’s Most Secret Service)

by Tara Kingston

  In the fireplace, flames licked at the logs, casting a warm, soft light over the hearth. Would Sophie believe him a cad if he took her in his arms and peeled the proper white blouse from her body? The firelight would glow like gold against her creamy skin, over the delectable curves he longed to touch, longed to adore.

  Since his fiancée had cast him aside for a husband with far better prospects, a chap who had not been dubbed the spare, Gavin had never desired a woman to share his life for any longer than the hours when she warmed his bed. He’d never craved quiet moments devoted to sharing hopes and dreams and fears, to recounting pivotal moments that had indelibly marked their lives.

  Until he’d looked into Sophie’s warm brown eyes.

  He’d give her the world on a platter, if that would bring her happiness. Somehow, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. A woman like Sophie did not crave things. She did not seek wealth, or power, or flamboyant jewels. No, she’d demand a far more elusive prize. One he could not offer. After all, one could not give what one did not possess.

  Love. One syllable, four letters. A simple word a child entering the schoolroom could read. And yet, it held the power to cut him to the bone. He could not tolerate such weakness. Not this time.

  As a younger man, he’d given love a go, hadn’t he? And where had that gotten him? He’d been cast aside, all in the name of securing a more beneficial match.

  He’d learned his lesson a decade before he’d first laid eyes on Sophie. One could cherish a woman. He might treasure her company and value the challenge in her debate. He’d make love to her through the night, if she wanted him. But he could never allow himself to cast aside his shields.

  Opening his heart to a woman was a fool’s game.

  Especially, if the woman in question was Sophie. She was magnificent. And mysterious. Her secrets intrigued him. He would protect her to his dying breath.

  But he knew better than to trust her.

  He took her hands in his. She watched him. Silent. Waiting. A glimmer of anticipation in those gorgeous eyes.

  “I want to kiss you. You know that, don’t you?”

  She gave a sly nod. “I suspected as much.”

  “Would you like that?”

  “Yes. Very much.”

  Lowering himself to one knee, he framed her face between his hands. Allowing himself a few breaths to simply take in her loveliness, he brushed his thumb over her plump bottom lip, tracing the soft curve. She was a beauty. Incomparable. The temptation of her mouth beckoned him. God above, he wanted this. Wanted her.

  He kissed her, feeling a surge of triumph as she responded to his caress. Parting her lips, she moaned softly as her arms curled around his neck, and he deepened his possession.

  So damned delicious. He’d never tire of the taste of her. A subtle whiff of roses filled his senses, and he drank it in.

  “I want you, Sophie. In my arms. In my bed.”

  She nibbled her lower lip, as she did when she was nervous. Her throat tensed, and she swallowed. When she spoke, her reply was cheeky, not at all what he’d anticipated.

  “Do you now?” Her voice had gone softer, its notes velvety, slightly husky.

  He dragged in a breath. His hungry cock issued its own demands. Perhaps he should strip her bare and love her right here, on the brink of the hearth’s heat.

  “More than you know.”

  Damn it, Sophie deserved more than a tussle on a braided rug. She deserved luxury and fine cotton sheets. Someday, he’d pamper her in a suite, bathe her in a tub filled with rose-scented oils, and love her in a plush feather bed. Someday, he’d show her the life he could offer.

  But tonight, he could love her in a rugged four-poster bed warmed by a humble stone fireplace.

  He’d learn the texture of her skin and stoke the fire of passion in her eyes. He’d give her pleasure. He’d drink in the sight and sound and delicate aroma of her skin.

  If she wanted him.

  “Come to me tonight, Sophie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Beneath the soft lamplight glow in her bedchamber, Sophie lay on a feather bed, a quilt loosely strewn over her body. Arms folded behind her head, she peered at the ceiling, her gaze following the mix of shadows and light.

  Come to me tonight, Sophie.

  The mere thought of his tempting words unleashed a wave of hunger, a decadent ache deep within her. She’d gone utterly wanton. Truly she had. How else could she explain her desire to spend the night with Gavin? The very thought was a sweet madness.

  It was bad enough that she’d succumbed to temptation back in London. He’d given such pleasure, taking nothing for himself. He’d seemed to relish her response, the way she’d reacted so passionately to his touch. She’d felt no shame. No apprehension. Only bliss, unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  If only Henry’s brash arrival had not interrupted their interlude…what might have happened? Would Gavin have taken her there and then, a passionate, desperate coupling? Or would he have restrained himself, reining in his ardor before the point of no return?

  If she went to him tonight, he would make love to her. He’d left no doubt of that. Stripped of her defenses, both mental and physical, she would surrender to the wanting, to the desire that made her crave him more with every throb of her pulse.

  She would share his bed, sleep in his arms, content to lie against him, soothed by the rhythm of his breaths.

  He had not demanded a response to his plea. “If you come to me, I’ll know your answer.” He’d tipped up her chin, punctuating his words with a sweep of his lips over hers.

  The decision was hers to make.

  She wanted Gavin. No, wanted was far too tame a word. She hungered for his touch and the taste of his kiss, yearned to learn the secrets of his male body.

  She would indulge her desire tonight.

  She sighed. In the rush to depart London for a safe haven, she’d been forced to leave behind the majority of her clothing. In addition to a few serviceable dresses, she’d packed a cotton nightdress, thin and plain as a chemise, and a light dressing gown. If only she wore a corset. At least that might provide a bit of allure, far more than a gown she’d never imagined wearing for any purpose other than sleeping in her own bed. Alone.

  Well, there was nothing to be done about it. She peeled back the quilt, stepped onto the braided wool rug, and pulled on her dressing gown. Tying the pink ribbon around her waist, she gave thanks for at least that small bit of color.

  Toying with the ribbon, she nibbled her lip. Would Gavin be surprised by her secret? She conducted herself as a modern woman. He likely believed her to be a woman of some experience, well-versed in lovemaking. Would he be disappointed to learn she was an utter novice in the art? Not quite a virgin. Yet unschooled in the ways of sensuality that heightened a man’s senses, that elevated making love from a simple mating to a heavenly experience.

  Pulling in a breath to shore up her courage, she extinguished the lamp and tiptoed from her chamber. She walked silently down the hall. At this hour, it wouldn’t do to be caught sneaking about, much less entering Gavin’s chamber. She’d mentally prepared an explanation should she encounter any of the others, but she’d prefer not to have to use it.

  She slowly opened the door to Gavin’s bedchamber and crept inside. A fire licked at the logs in the fireplace. He’d lit an oil lamp with an amber-tinted shade, bathing the room in a gentle light. She’d expected him to be in his bed, propped up against a pillow, waiting for her. Or perhaps, reclining in a relaxed pose, he’d already drifted off to sleep.

  The bed was empty, the covers turned neatly back.

  “Hello, Sophie.”

  He stood at the washstand, bared to the waist, wearing only loose-fitting black pajamas. Turning to her, he toweled dry his freshly shaven face. Firelight cast golden hues over his chiseled abdomen. Her mouth went dry, and for a heartbeat, she wondered if she still possessed the ability to form coherent speech.

  “You shaved,” she obs
erved, chiding herself for pointing out the obvious as soon as she uttered the words.

  “Yes, I did.” He smiled. “There’s no cause to be nervous. We won’t do anything you don’t wish to do. You have my word as a gentleman.”

  “A gentleman? You were quite convincing as a bold scoundrel.”

  “I will only be as bold as you’d like.”

  She moved closer and reached out, touching him, skimming her fingertips over the strong contours of his chest. His skin was warm, heavenly so, an intriguing blend of satin and a slightly rough texture she couldn’t quite describe.

  “I’ll make love to you tonight, Sophie. But only if you want me.”

  “I do want you,” she breathed against his mouth. “So very much.”

  His hands went to the dressing gown sash. An unspoken question filled his sapphire eyes.

  She nodded. He untied the ribbon and slowly slipped the garment over her shoulders. A single fingertip traced the ridge of her collarbone as the robe pooled around her ankles.

  Dipping his head, he kissed the column of her throat and nipped at her earlobe, light and teasing. Strong arms held her tight, molding her to his body. His erection pressed to her softness, throbbed against her with a powerful need, and she tilted her hips, seeking the precious contact.

  “I’m going to love you tonight, Sophie,” he said. “There’s no need to rush. We have all night. I intend to savor every moment.”

  He eased his hold. Taking a step back, he released her.

  Against the background of the firelight, her cotton gown clung to her curves. Her nipples grew taut against the soft fabric, rosy against the translucent cloth. His gaze swept over her. His fingers threaded through her hair, and he pulled in a breath.

  “I want to see you. All of you.” His voice took on a raw tone.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Easing her arms up, he pulled the gown over her head with an unhurried motion. It drifted to the floor.

  She stood before him, bared to his eyes, utterly vulnerable. And yet, she felt no fear, no apprehension. The look in his eyes tore away the last shred of doubt, of restraint. She wanted this. She wanted to learn what it meant to be wicked and free.

  And most of all, she wanted him.

  “You’re perfect, Sophie.” He skimmed the curve of her hips with his hands. “God above, you’re beautiful.”

  And then, her feet no longer touched the floor. She was in his arms. He carried her to the bed, placing her on the sheet before he stripped off the pajamas and tossed them over a chair.

  Oh, my! He was gorgeous. Tall and lean-muscled, he bore not an ounce of excess flesh. Dark hair dusted his powerful chest, while a thin line of the same shade etched a path from his navel downward over his taut lower abdomen. That tempting trail had intrigued her earlier, when it led beneath the waist of his trousers. But now, he stood bared to her, and she drank him in.

  He came to her. Her heart raced as anticipation surged through her.

  Dipping his head, he kissed her, a passionate caress. Sparks deep within her core flared to life. Her body heated. She wanted him—needed him.

  His hands were strong and gentle, the skin rougher textured than hers. He caressed her breasts and then ducked his head to kiss them. His tongue circled the bud of one nipple, then the other, stirring her longing.

  She arched her back, thirsting for more of his touch, even as her fingers curved around his shoulders. Exploring the steely muscles. Relishing the feel of him. Delighting in the faint aroma of shaving soap and the healthy male musk that filled her senses.

  He prowled lower, pressing tender kisses to her belly, to her inner thighs, to the sensitive pulse point behind her knee.

  “You’re lovely, Sophie, my sweet. I can’t get enough of you.”

  He parted her thighs, the motion slow and easy. He stilled, his breath warm against the sensitive flesh. Oh, how she ached for him.

  And he sensed it. He knew what she needed. What she wanted.

  His fingers sought and found that most sensitive flesh between her thighs. Teasing. Caressing. Loving. She heard a soft moan, dully realizing it was her own voice.

  “I want you, Sophie. I want to love every inch of you.”

  “Oh, Gavin,” she whispered, reveling in the pleasure of his touch.

  He lowered his head, easing between the apex of her thighs. Her eyes widened with shock. Surely, she misunderstood his intent. Surely, he did not think to—

  Oh, my! His intimate kiss seared her.

  Trusting him, she closed her eyes.

  Delicious sensation careened through her veins, through every cell, every nerve. So intense. So very wicked. Mindless, she arched against him, silently pleading for more.

  Pleasure built within her. Throbbing. Pulsing. Driving her mad with a need unlike any she’d ever known.

  She shattered, mind, body, and heart.

  Tiny ripples of pleasure coursed through her. She clung to him. Whispering words of adoration, he enfolded her in his arms. Their gazes met. In that moment, seeing the hunger in his eyes—hunger for her, and her alone—she felt like a goddess.

  She coiled her fingers around his shaft. She’d never touched a man before, not as she touched Gavin, and she reveled in the pulsing of his cock with every featherlight stroke of her hand. Growing bolder, she cradled his bollocks. A low moan escaped him. She smiled to herself. She’d drive him mad with need, just as he’d made her wild with wanting him.

  He groaned, low in his throat, gritting his teeth as he fought for control over his own desire. “Much more of that, and you’ll unman me, love.”

  He turned the tables then. She lay on her back, her hair in disarray over the pillow. Supporting his weight on his forearms, he kissed her again. His cock pressed to her belly.

  “Do you want me?” she whispered.

  “Desperately.” His voice came as a husky rasp. “Sophie, I will not leave you with a babe. You’ve my word on that. But if you are hesitant…if you’ve any doubt, you’ve only to tell me.”

  “I want this, Gavin.” She coiled her arms around his broad back. “I want you. Desperately.”

  He kissed her again, a tender caress. Entering her slowly, he filled her, inch by wanton inch. Her body seemed made for his.

  When he began to move within her, the profound inner need stirred anew. Her hands clasped his buttocks, and she pulled him deeper still. She rocked her hips, driving him to a frenzy of need, as sensual pleasure radiated from her center.

  He was close now, so desperate to take his pleasure. She clung to him, holding him tight, clasping those firm, solid muscles and savoring the joy of this moment.

  She felt suspended on a tightrope, each decadent quake of her body bringing her nearer to toppling over the edge.

  With a hushed cry, she plummeted into a swirling whirlpool. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and he held her secure in his arms. A sense of utter completeness washed over her. Had the two truly become one?

  His body went taut. With a low growl, he pulled his hips away.

  Moments later, he sank against the mattress. Utterly content, she nestled against his chest. He had loved her thoroughly. Tenderly. With satisfying abandon.

  He draped an arm around her, gentle and protective. His mouth swept a kiss over her brow. The light touch of his lips felt so right. It seemed she’d found her true home, safe in his embrace.

  His breaths slowed, even and steady. In his slumber, he pulled her closer.

  If she spent every night in his arms, she’d never tire of this—of him.

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes. A peculiar ache permeated her chest. How was it possible to want him so badly, a man she wasn’t meant to have?

  She adored Gavin. There was no denying that. His very touch was intoxicating. His passion was exceeded only by his tenderness.

  Pity her hunger for him was nothing more than a sweet madness.

  Ah, they’d share these days and nights, brought together by fate’s wicked sense of humor.
Two souls drawn together by a fierce connection neither understood—but neither could deny. Danger tended to intensify emotion, or so Jennie had warned her. But after the menace that bound them had been extinguished, what would happen then?

  Gavin was a wealthy man. Someday, most likely in the not-so-distant future, he’d desire an heir and a spare. She had no aversion to motherhood. As a governess, she’d cherished the time she’d spent with her impish young charges. Someday, she might cradle her own child in her arms and beam with pride as the toddler took its first steps. She’d love her child with a fierce devotion. Of that, she had no doubt. But she wasn’t prepared to settle into a tranquil, domestic existence. Not just yet.

  She couldn’t simply cast aside her position at the Colton Agency. She’d been provided a rare opportunity to serve the Crown. Her investigations were rewarding, and at times, exhilarating. She wasn’t quite ready to leave that life behind.

  No doubt her unusual career would one day give way to a desire to settle into a life centered around home and hearth. But for now, she craved her independence. She’d seek out opportunities to travel, to explore her passions. Even now, she could picture the yearning in her father’s eyes as he recounted the adventure he’d had as a young man. How he’d itched to go back. Indeed, he’d often spoken of bringing Sophie with him. Soon, she’d explore the sites Papa had described in such vivid detail, seeing the pyramids and the Sphinx with her own eyes.

  Someday, she’d make her own adventure. She wouldn’t cast her dreams aside. She could not allow her own traitorous heart to stand in the way.

  Burrowing against the down pillow, she let another sigh escape. In truth, the point was moot, wasn’t it? Gavin had whispered sweet words of passion during their lovemaking, but he’d made no mention of enduring emotion. He’d given no hint of what his heart craved.

  In time, the danger they faced together would be in the past. They’d go their separate ways. Their parting would be bittersweet.

  Nights in Gavin’s arms would be naught but a tender memory.

  Somehow, that would have to be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight