The Scoundrel Takes a Bride

by Stefanie Sloane

  “Is that Singh?”

  Nicholas turned to find Langdon behind him, his gaze fastened on the Indian man.

  “Yes,” Nicholas answered, turning back toward the crowd. “Though he is pretending to be royalty this evening, so do not spoil his fun.”

  Chuckling, Langdon stepped forward and clapped Nicholas on the back. “God, I have missed you.”

  “We reserve such thumps for Carrington, if you’ll remember,” Nicholas replied, handing his empty glass to a passing footman.

  “Yes, well, Carrington is not here. So we must make do …”

  “Nor are Sophia and Mrs. Kirk. Did you forget to fetch them this evening?” Nicholas asked.

  Langdon’s congenial manner disappeared at once, replaced by sober concern. “It was the oddest thing: Sophia became quite upset in the carriage. So much so that Mrs. Kirk and I decided it was best for her to return home.”

  “Upset?”

  Langdon hesitated, his mouth opening and closing as if he did not know what to say. “I believe a physical ailment is at the root of the episode. It was most distressing for her; in fact, I do not think I’ve ever seen her more agitated. She claimed that she could not breathe and insisted Mrs. Kirk unlace her corset.”

  “Scandalous!” Nicholas said dryly, attempting to appear unmoved. “Did you fetch the doctor?”

  “Oh yes, the doctor was sent for immediately. I stayed until after he’d examined her.”

  Nicholas tensed. “And what did he believe the cause to be?”

  “Nerves.”

  “Nerves?” Nicholas repeated, thankful that Sophia was not physically ill, yet still filled with concern.

  “Yes, nerves,” Langdon confirmed. “The doctor inquired as to the subject of our discussion just before the episode and whether it might have been upsetting to Sophia.”

  Was Langdon toying with him? Had Sophia told him of their time in Sussex on the way to tonight’s ball, then broke down from the stress of the admission? “And?”

  Langdon looked at Nicholas with amusement. “Good God, little brother. You’ve not been this interested in Sophia since we were eight and you discovered she could whistle.”

  “She is to be a member of our family, is she not?” Nicholas asked, an appropriate amount of sarcasm in his voice. “I am simply concerned, that’s all.”

  Langdon shook his head. “I’m only teasing, Nicholas. The truth is, we were speaking about our wedding. And I won’t deny that if her attack of nerves was a response to the thought of marrying me, it hardly puts my mind at ease.”

  “But you said you believed a physical malady brought on the episode,” Nicholas pointed out.

  Langdon nodded. “Yes, well, the doctor did hint at the cause being something feminine in nature. Still, I do not want to be a man that assumes every little irritation may be attributed to a woman’s …”

  For the first time that evening, Nicholas was thankful for Langdon’s hesitancy. “Ah, I see,” he replied. “While I commend your desire to be forward-thinking, perhaps the doctor is correct in his assumption.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Langdon agreed, his expression easing. “And it is not as if our marriage should come as a surprise to Sophia.”

  “No, it should not,” Nicholas confirmed, his heart aching for her. To engage in such a conversation so soon after returning from Petworth must have been torturous.

  A footman approached, a tray laden with champagne flutes balanced carefully in his hands.

  Langdon took a glass and waited for Nicholas to retrieve one as well.

  Nicholas waved the footman on and smiled at his brother, eyeing the flute with envy.

  “Are we not drinking this evening?” Langdon remarked casually, though he was obviously pleased.

  Nicholas nodded. “We are not.”

  Langdon beckoned the footman to return. “I will not be needing this after all,” he explained to the man, setting his glass on the tray. He turned back to Nicholas. “A woman?” he asked, clearly curious.

  Nicholas was momentarily thrown by his brother’s question. “Why would you assume a woman had anything to do with it?”

  “Because they always do,” Langdon replied, elbowing his brother in the ribs. “Now, anyone I know?”

  Love was meant to simplify life, wasn’t it? Nicholas had always assumed as much. Yet another bloody fallacy, he reflected, floated by poets and writers through the ages.

  “A gentleman never tells,” Nicholas answered, adding, “nor do I.”

  20

  Afton House

  Sophia sat up at the sound of her bedroom door being opened. “Lettie?”

  The woman’s tall form appeared in the doorway. The candlestick she carried illuminated a look of severe distress on her face. “My lady, I am sorry to wake you. Mr. Bourne insisted I do so.”

  She stepped inside the room, followed by Nicholas.

  “Sophia, assure Mrs. Kirk my presence is acceptable,” he whispered, glaring at her companion. “She threatened to send for Bow Street and insists she will go ahead with the hue and cry if you do not ease her mind.”

  “Lettie,” Sophia began, beckoning the woman closer. “My wrapper, if you will.”

  Her companion handed the candle to Nicholas and retrieved the silk garment from the back of Sophia’s desk chair. “My lady,” she whispered, coming forward, “this is highly inappropriate.”

  “I am aware of that, Lettie,” Sophia answered. She threw back the covers, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and stood.

  Lettie held up the wrapper while Sophia put it on. “The servants are bound to talk—”

  “Then I will rely on you to curb their tongues,” Sophia interjected, tying the sash about her waist. “Trust me, Lettie.”

  The older woman hesitated in front of her and reached out to straighten the two ends of the sash. “It’s not you I do not trust.”

  “Enough,” Nicholas ground out. “I’ll not say nor do anything that Sophia may object to. You have my word, Mrs. Kirk.”

  Lettie released the sash and folded her hands together. “I’ll go, then,” she said, and turned toward the door.

  Sophia reassured her with a loving pat on the back.

  Nicholas offered the candlestick to Mrs. Kirk but she refused.

  “Keep it, Mr. Bourne—and you would do well to light the others in the room,” she informed him, pointing to each and every last candle in Sophia’s bedchamber. “My lady does not like the dark, you see.”

  He nodded impatiently and opened the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Kirk.”

  Sophia watched as Lettie crossed the threshold and Nicholas swiftly closed the door behind her.

  He turned the key in the lock. “If she did not hate me before tonight, she most assuredly does now.”

  “She does not hate you—at least, not entirely,” Sophia answered, hurrying to meet him. “She hates the idea of a man in my room.”

  Nicholas set the candlestick on the fireplace mantel. “I don’t blame her,” he replied, his hands reaching out to lovingly cradle Sophia’s face. “But when Langdon explained the reason for your absence from the ball, I had to see you.”

  The mere mention of Langdon’s name set Sophia crying again.

  “Please, Sophia,” Nicholas murmured, pulling her close. “Come, sit with me.”

  Sophia buried her face in the warmth of his superfine coat. She relaxed into his arms as he carefully picked her up and carried her to the end of the bed.

  “His face beamed with happiness as he talked of the wedding—our wedding,” Sophia began, settling onto Nicholas’s lap. “I’d always assumed he’d viewed marriage much the same as I—inevitable, but agreeable enough. His face told me otherwise.”

  Nicholas felt her words like a blow and he froze for a moment, absorbing the impact. She belonged to his brother. It should be Langdon holding her, not him. But his heart refused to accept the thought and his arms tightened around her in instant rejection.

  He kissed the crown
of her head, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and soap. “I’m sorry, Sophia. If I were not so selfish, I would let you go.”

  She hugged him closer, her soft breasts pressing against his chest. “You’re not selfish, Nicholas, not in the slightest.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “But I’m a terrible person. I felt like the most despicable villain in that carriage—knowing I loved you, yet still allowing Langdon to continue as if I shared his enthusiasm for his plans.”

  She tipped her head back, her gaze searching his with mute appeal. “When I arrived home, after Lettie had helped me undress and prepare for bed, I recalled what I told you at Petworth: Langdon deserves to have someone love him with all the passion, respect, and tenderness I feel for you. I would never be able to offer him more than companionship and a friend’s affection. It isn’t fair to allow him to settle for less when he has every right to expect so much more from a wife.”

  A swell of fierce pride and admiration swept over Nicholas. Her willingness to face her emotions with unflinching honesty was a testimony to the depth of her character.

  “I love you,” he murmured. His voice was rough, his throat clogged with too much feeling. “For everything you are—and all I am not.”

  Her beautiful eyes instantly welled with tears, dampening the thickness of her lashes. “And I love you,” she whispered. “For everything you are, and I am not.”

  She lifted her head to press her lips against his in a soft, warm kiss that felt like a vow.

  Nicholas loved the way her arms wrapped around his neck, claiming him, her fingers threading into his hair. The move brought her unbound breasts tighter against his chest, the rounded curve of her bottom shifting closer. A swift surge of lust hit him, swamping the pure affection, love, and commitment in their kiss that had shaken him to his soul.

  Wrong place, wrong time. He couldn’t strip her out of her night rail and take her, not after he’d promised to be a gentleman.

  He lifted his mouth from hers and tucked her close as he struggled to maintain his composure.

  Sophia turned her head and brushed openmouthed kisses against his throat.

  Nicholas fought to tamp down his desire, the warm, damp movement of her lips over his skin torturous.

  But then she stirred, planted her palms on his chest, and pushed back. He swallowed a groan as her bottom shifted seductively over his thighs. Her eyes were lambent with unhidden need as she reached for his cravat, her fingers busily unknotting the starched linen. He caught her hands in his, stopping her.

  “Wait,” his voice rasped, the tone deeper. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m undressing you.” She looked up at him, her green eyes dark with heat and need, before she gently tugged her hands from his and pulled the linen cravat free.

  “I promised Mrs. Kirk that I would do nothing inappropriate.” His words were strained and his hands restless where they gripped her waist. “I’m desperately trying to play the gentleman, Sophia.”

  “Please, Nicholas.” Her soft voice trembled. “I need you.” She slipped the buttons of his shirt free, pushed the edges back, and settled her hands against his skin.

  The press and stroke of her fingers and palms against his bare skin was a brand. Fire and heat built beneath her touch.

  “Tell me what you need from me, Sophia,” he murmured, unbearably aroused by her touch.

  She glanced up at him, her eyes gleaming through half-lowered lashes. Color flushed the high arch of her cheekbones and bloomed on her throat and the upper curve of her breasts, visible above the neckline of her night rail.

  “I want you to touch me.” Her gaze flickered to his chest, where her fingers stroked compulsively against his skin. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were smokier, clouded with need. “Like I’m touching you.”

  It took all his control to keep his hands on her waist.

  “Where?” he murmured. “Show me.”

  The flush coloring her cheeks deepened. Nicholas felt her fingers tighten, pressing harder against his skin. But then she slowly lifted one hand, as if reluctant to break contact completely with him, and skimmed her fingertips over the swell of her breast, pausing over the silk-covered nipple.

  “Here,” she said softly, her voice husky with desire.

  Nicholas shuddered, barely controlling the urge to rip the silk from her body and ravish her with no regard for finesse. But this was Sophia and she deserved more than a swift, hot ride. He refused to give in to the urgent demand.

  “Whatever the lady wants,” he murmured as he took her hand and placed it back on his chest, closing his eyes briefly at the sheer pleasure of her skin against his, “the lady shall have.”

  He nudged the tiny sleeves of her night rail off her shoulders and tugged the bodice lower until the ribbon-trimmed edge rested below her breasts. If he hadn’t already been seated, the sight would have driven him to his knees.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He heard the gravelly, barely audible words and knew she might not have understood him. He wasn’t capable of pretty words at the moment. He would have to show her what the sight of her did to him.

  He bent his head and brushed his lips over the satin-smooth curve of her breast, taking his time. The world narrowed to the woman in his lap, the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her skin beneath his mouth. Sophia murmured, her hands sliding around his neck to clasp the back of his head and press him closer.

  “Please …” Her voice was desperate, fractured with need.

  Nicholas closed his lips over her nipple drawn tight with desire, and Sophia gasped, holding him closer.

  Long, heated moments passed, the silence in the room broken only by soft sighs of pleasure. When her slim body shifted restlessly in his arms and her breathless pleas demanded more, he caught the hem of her night rail and tugged it higher, up over her thighs until it pooled around her hips.

  He lifted his head and took her mouth with his just as his hand closed over her mons, his fingers brushing the soft folds between her legs.

  Sophia surged against him, her hands fisting in his hair before moving unerringly down his chest to stroke the rock-hard arousal beneath his breeches.

  Her silent demand drove him over the edge, dissolving his careful restraint as if it had never existed.

  Nicholas lifted his head, muttered an oath, and brushed her hand aside. Buttons gave easily beneath his impatient tugs and he shoved his breeches and smalls down, freeing himself.

  Sophia brushed her tumbled hair out of her eyes and looked down. The thick head of his erection rose from the opening of his breeches, flushed with deep, rosy color. She closed her hand around the heavy length, rubbing her thumb over the moisture pearling on the top. Fascinated by the silky smooth skin over iron-hard muscle beneath, she stroked the length, feeling it stiffen even more as she caressed. Several more drops of the clear liquid gathered on the head and, curious, she brought her hand to her lips and licked a fingertip. The warm, faintly salty taste intrigued her.

  Nicholas’s harsh groan barely registered. Compelled to explore further, she closed her fingers around him once more but his muscles bunched and he brushed her hand aside again. With one easy, fluid movement, he caught her waist and lifted her, shifting her astride him. She caught her breath as the hot, heavy length of his erection slid between her legs.

  Then the blunt head nudged her soft entry and she gasped, eagerly pushing back against his silent demand. He slid home, sealing them together, and Sophia shuddered with relief. Nicholas’s mouth covered hers and he swallowed her cries as he lifted her and thrust upward, steeping her in pleasure again and again.

  Sophia frantically obeyed the tight coil of demand building within her. She quickened the pace, sinking herself again and again onto the length of his hard penis. His buttocks came off the bed as he matched her speed and the coil broke, sending the heat of a thousand flames spiraling throughout Sophia’s body. She cried out, small moans of both pleasure and peace shaking her.

  Nicholas wr
apped his arms about her and pulled Sophia down to his chest. “You’re mine.” He flipped her over to lie against the mattress, his penis still buried within her.

  His mouth rested near her ear. Sophia heard his breath falter as he began to move his hips. She wrapped one leg around his waist and held on tight. Nicholas moaned deep in his throat, each ensuing thrust coming harder and faster than the last. Suddenly, every muscle in his body clenched and he stilled, his arms tightening about Sophia until they truly felt as one.

  “No matter what happens, Sophia,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. “No matter what.”

  21

  June 10

  DRURY LANE

  COVENT GARDEN

  WESTMINSTER

  Sophia’s hackney slowed to a stop in front of Drury Lane’s Gloriana Theatre. Nicholas stood with his back settled against the brick façade. He pushed off from the wall and sauntered toward the conveyance, opening the door and holding out his hand.

  “I apologize for being late,” Sophia blurted out, accepting his assistance and stepping from the coach. “The moment I received your note I made preparations to come.”

  Nicholas waited for the hackney to move into traffic before speaking. “Do not worry yourself. I only just received the information this morning. You’ve not delayed us more than an hour at the most.”

  “Nicholas Bourne,” Sophia said skeptically, “no more than an hour? Really?”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Nicholas asked, settling his hat brim lower on his brow in an attempt to escape the light drizzle.

  Sophia considered his question. “Well, yes, I suppose I am.”

  “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,” he replied with a wink. “Now, shall we continue?”

  A fat drop of rain landed squarely on the end of Sophia’s nose.

  Nicholas reached out and tenderly wiped it away. “Come along,” he urged, offering her his arm.

  Sophia shivered. Even the slightest touch and she could feel him surrounding her, the memories more than mere images in her mind. It was as if her entire body had recorded their lovemaking—every touch, smell, taste, sensation.