by Jo Goodman
Eastlyn let his hands fall to either side of Sophie's waist as he stood. The small lighted candle she had placed at her bedside extinguished itself, and the room had only the glow of the coals in the fireplace to save them from darkness. "Do you require help turning down the covers?" he asked.
Glad for the shadows that lingered over East's face and her own, Sophie shook her head. She eased herself up the bed until she could turn back the blankets and then slipped under them.
"Do not become too comfortable there," he said. "I sleep on that side."
She could claim no such ownership of a particular side as she had never shared her bed before. She began to move over and was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.
"Stay where you are. I am not for sleep just yet."
"Oh." Sophie watched him begin to remove his frock coat. "I thought perhaps you had changed your mind."
East paused his fingering of the brass buttons. "No," he said. "Have you?"
"No." Though she was having some regrets now about the candle being gutted.
Eastlyn did not know if he should be as relieved as he was by her answer. He was not unmindful of using her to get what he wanted, yet he could not dismiss the notion that he was being used as well. In spite of the fact that he was the one experienced here, he continued to think that Sophie had acquired the upper hand.
He removed his frock coat and loosened his stock. Aware that she had not averted her gaze, Eastlyn said, "Tell me about that other naked man."
Sophie blinked, and her eyes lifted from where they had been leveled at the waistband of his trousers back to his face. "Naked man?"
"The one you swore to me you have seen before." He pulled the tails of his shirt free, then sat on the edge of the bed and raised one leg to remove a boot. "Or was it all a lie?"
"It was no lie. His name was Timothy Darrow, and he was a groom at Tremont Park."
"He is no longer there?"
She shook her head. "He was dismissed."
"Because you saw him naked."
"No. Because he was never good with the horses. No one save him and Katie Masters ever knew I saw him stripped of his breeches."
Eastlyn was beginning to get an inkling of what had happened. His erection was pressing painfully hard against his own breeches, and yet he did not think he had ever been so diverted as he was now. He let his boot thump to the floor, which had the effect of bringing Sophie's attention back to his face. He served her an arch grin and began removing the other boot and stocking. "And who was Katie?" he asked.
"One of the scullery maids." Sophie jerked a bit as he dropped the second boot and was a shade breathless as she explained, "I spied them flagrante delicto."
Eastlyn's chuckle resided deep in his throat and gave sound to the perfectly roguish smile that still lifted the corners of his mouth. "I see. Then you are a great deal more worldly than I had thought."
"You are having fun with me."
"Yes, I am." East leaned over her and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders. "And I intend to have a great deal more." He lowered his head and fit his mouth to hers. Her lips parted immediately, and it was as if there had been no pause between what he had done to her before and what he was doing to her now. Her arms came around his shoulders, and she bore the weight of him against her breasts. He pushed at the blankets that separated them and felt her move to accommodate the same urgency to be closer.
Sophie whimpered softly as East's lips tugged at the curve of her neck. His tongue flicked her skin. She felt his mouth on her collarbone and his teeth pulling at the edge of her shift. He caught the tip of her breast in his mouth through the fabric and sucked. Her response was immediate. She arched under him as a ribbon of heat uncurled along the length of her spine, making her breasts swell and ache and turning her insides to liquid. The dampening of her shift around her nipple, the slight abrading quality of the material, made her feel even the most delicate touch of his tongue.
When he raised his head, she shifted restlessly at the loss and was comforted to the point of madness when he applied the same singular skill to her other breast.
She was extraordinarily responsive in his arms, to his touch, and Eastlyn found a great measure of satisfaction in wresting those small cries from her throat and feeling the tension in her just beneath the surface of her skin. So pliant was she, so receptive to whatever was done to her, that he could scarce temper his own desire to feel her release.
Sophie drew a ragged breath as Eastlyn rolled away. He lay beside her with his forearm across his brow, and she noted that his own breathing was not much steadier. There was no part of her that did not ache with need. She remembered Timothy Darrow tumbling Katie Masters in the stable and how little she had thought there was to recommend that activity. Another opinion in want of revision, she decided.
"You are smiling," Eastlyn said. He was propped on one elbow now, regarding her mouth with particular interest.
"Hmm?" She glanced at him. His eyes so darkly intent on the shadowed curve of her mouth made her stomach curl deliciously. "Yes. I suppose I am." When she was wrong—as she was about Tim and Katie—she was very wrong. Spectacularly so.
"Take off your shift, Sophie."
That order, summarily given and brooking no argument, collapsed her smile and quickened her heartbeat. Sophie reached for the hem of her nightgown, already rucked above her knees, and pulled it up to the tops of her thighs. At that point her fingers caught the edge of the patchwork quilt, and she drew it over her as she raised her shift. She managed to lift it as high as her breasts before she felt resistance.
"You must think you are very clever."
Sophie looked down at the fistful of quilt in Eastlyn's possession. "I am." She quickly pulled the shift over her head as she scooted under the blanket. He pulled it away from her, of course, but she was already turned on her stomach and unable to entirely restrain her laughter.
"You would not be so amused," he said dryly, "if you knew what a lovely target your bottom presents."
That brought Sophie's head up and effectively silenced her. She held her breath as he lifted his hand... and brought it down with infinite gentleness on the curve of her buttocks. He caressed the taut flesh until he reached the back of her thigh and then let his fingers trail up again so they came to rest at the small of her back.
"You're trembling." East could feel the tremor just beneath her skin. He let his hand wander the length of her spine, massaging her back just below her shoulder blades.
He watched her head bow as she relaxed until it finally came to rest on the pillow again. He felt her gaze on him as his fingers slipped into her hair. She made no protest when he removed the anchoring pins, and when he actually sifted through the tumble of curls to touch her nape, she sighed.
Eastlyn sat up and removed his shirt and neckcloth, letting them fly over the edge of the bed to join Sophie's discarded shift on the floor.
"I only saw his bare arse," Sophie said as Eastlyn moved to unbutton his breeches. She offered this quickly in the manner of a confession most reluctantly given. "Timothy Darrow, I mean. It was only his arse."
"Bloody hell, Sophie. You do say the most singular things."
"Are you choking?"
East cleared his throat. "Quite possibly." He lifted a dark brow as his fingers returned to his breeches. "Unless you turn away you are going to see considerably more than my bare backside."
She sat up instead and pushed his hands out of the way. He watched her face as her fingers worked. The meager light from the fireplace could not explain the suffusion of warmth in her cheeks. He did not try to assist her until she had the drawstring of his drawers untied and her fingertips curled around the material at his waist. He rose up the few inches necessary to remove the last of his clothes. When he was done, Sophie pushed them out of the way and over the side, though her eyes never strayed from the proof of his arousal.
Eastlyn lay back and pulled Sophie with him. She fit herself neatly at his side with
no urging from him, one leg raised against his thigh, an arm flung across his chest. Her lips were very near his shoulder, and he could feel her light breath on his skin. "You are very quiet of a sudden," he said.
"It's rather a lot to take in."
That gave him pause. "Is your meaning figurative or literal?"
"Both, I think."
East turned his face and found the top of her head with his lips. He laid his smile in the sweet scent of her unbound hair. "You had better kiss me, then. You will find it more easily borne that way."
Without protest, Sophie allowed herself to be turned on her back. He found her mouth and kissed her deeply, and she gave herself up willingly to the pleasure of it. Her hands slid over his back, and she felt the bunching of muscles and the retraction of skin, sometimes in response to her touch, sometimes in anticipation of it. Exploring, she found two small dimples at the base of his spine and a raised crescent scar on his shoulder. He shivered when her thumb tripped lightly down the length of his vertebrae, and the vibration of his body was felt by hers.
Sophie was aware of nothing so much as an ache of wanting. Her tender breasts felt heavy, the tips engorged to such sensitivity that even the lightest pressure hovered as close to pain as it did to pleasure. He seemed to know what she could bear and what she could not, and the trail of his hand went lower, caressing her hip and the curve of her thigh, rising again to the flat of her abdomen. His fingers made a spiral around her navel and dipped low into the copse of dark honey hair on her mons. His knee insinuated itself between hers, and there was space enough now for him to slip his hand between her legs.
She gave a little start at this unexpected intimacy but did nothing to deny it. When he bid her open to him, she did, raising one knee slightly and lifting her hips at the first press of his fingers inside her. She pushed against the heel of his hand, and the movement gave her such intensity of pleasure that she immediately shied from it. Her grip on Eastlyn's shoulders tightened, and she drew a great breath of air, which only seemed to lodge as a lump in her throat.
East's hand stilled, and he nudged her lips with his. "You are very quiet, Sophie. You don't have to be so quiet."
"I do," she whispered. "Else I shall scream."
He grinned because her beautiful distress was so clearly not from pain. Kissing her full on the mouth, his fingers moved again, and this time she tightened around him. She was warm and wet, so ready for him that he could have slipped a third finger inside her and she would have only welcomed the pressure of it.
He withdrew his hand instead, slipping it under her bottom as he moved between her thighs. The slightest urging of his fingers had her lifting for him. He reared back and pressed his entry.
Sophie let her hands fall from Eastlyn's shoulders and curl into the sheet instead. Her breath caught, and for a moment her body went rigid, and then she found she was taking him, all of him, into her, and the size and length of him was not too much to bear. There was pain, not unexpected in its degree or duration, but not so much that she wanted him to leave her. She watched his face, the shadowed, tautly held features that were evidence of his effort not to hurt her. Where she gripped the sheet, her fingers slowly unfolded. She raised her hand to his cheek and caressed it with her knuckles. One caught the corner of his mouth. His lips parted on a soundless expulsion of air as she drew the knuckle across the lower curve.
"You are very quiet, Eastlyn," she said. "You do not have to be so quiet."
He wondered if she even realized that she had finally deigned to use his name. The intimacy of that seemed as substantial to him as the joining of their bodies. "I do," he said. "Else no one will hear you scream."
He pushed himself deeply into her then and heard the cry she could no longer restrain. Her body contracted around him: her arms, her knees, her thighs, and again where she held him in the most carnal embrace.
Sophie felt as if the beat of her heart was changing to match the rhythm demanded by East's body. Her hips rose and fell in a cadence that was unfamiliar to her but wholly natural. Her throat arched, and she felt his mouth on the curve of her neck, sipping her skin. He drew up again and thrust hard, pushing her back as he ground against her, and the ball of heat that was centered at their joining simply exploded.
Every muscle in her body that had been pulled taut was pulled tauter yet. She hovered on the edge of pleasure, seeking purchase, and finally gave into it because no other possibility existed. She threw her head back and lifted her spine, and the scream she might have made was swallowed by his mouth hard on hers.
Eastlyn felt the same rush of pleasure a moment later, as if it were something that could be absorbed from her. He braced his arms, lifting, arching, his hips making a final thrust. Pinpricks of sensation skittered across skin that no longer seemed to fit him as it should, and he spilled his seed into her.
It was only then that Sophie felt the full import of what she had done. There was no sense in it, she thought, that she should be so aware of the consequences now when they had been in plain view at every juncture. She might have never opened the door, or upon opening it, she might have told him to leave. She could have remained at the fireplace when he entreated her to come closer or kicked him with her slipper rather than let him remove it. She could have said no each time she said yes.
Sophie let her breath out slowly and lay very still. Eastlyn's weight was not uncomfortable, and the steady thud of his heart gave her ease. He could have stayed joined to her much longer and she would have made no protest, yet when he left her to rise from the bed she did not protest that either.
She turned away as he poured water into the basin at the commode and washed himself. A cold gust of air swept the room when he opened the window to discharge the contents of the bowl. Sophie pulled the quilt up to her shoulder. She heard him pouring water a second time and then the soft approach of his footsteps as the floor creaked under him. The mattress depressed behind her.
"There will be some blood, Sophie," he said quietly. "And you will want to remove the—"
"Yes," she said, loath to let him finish. "I will."
East held the basin steady while she sat up. He noticed that her movements were awkward as she would not allow the quilt to fall below her breasts. Reaching over, he pulled the blanket free from where it tangled under her legs and effectively ended her tug-of-war. He made no comment, and she did not thank him.
"Will you turn aside?" she asked when he pushed the basin toward her.
"If you wish."
She said nothing, but simply waited.
East faced the fireplace. He heard her dip the flannel in the water and wring it out. He did not dwell on her ablutions after that. Leaning over the side of the bed, he picked up his drawers and put them on, cinching the drawstring at his hips. He gathered Sophie's nightshift and robe and laid them behind him on the bed, then took up the remainder of his discarded clothes and set them on the chair where his coat was drying. He stayed at the fireplace, adding tinder and coals to warm the room again, and waited for Sophie's approval to turn around.
He had not considered that she would leave the bed, but that was precisely what she did. Without an invitation to do so, East glanced over his shoulder at her first footfall. She had slipped into her shift, but not her robe, and was carrying the basin to the window. "Let me," he said.
Sophie did not look at him, but shook her head in firm refusal. She rested the bowl on the lip of the sill and pushed the window open. Rain spattered her arms as she tossed the contents into the yard. The wind pressed her shift against her breasts and billowed the fabric at her back. The chill that went through her went bone deep.
Eastlyn came up behind her and closed the window when she did not move away. He rested his hands on the curve of her shoulders. His chin nudged her hair. "I glimpsed you at this window upon my arrival. Did you know that?"
She shook her head. "I wasn't sure."
"It seemed that you were waiting for me, though I knew you couldn't be. We should no
t have met here at all. I should not be half this far, and you should be half as far again."
"It did seem unlikely," she said softly, closing her eyes.
"You believe me, then, when I say this end was not designed by me at the Park."
Sophie's smile was faint, a trifle plaintive. "I believe you."
His fingers tightened a fraction, and he drew Sophie back so that she rested against him. His arms slipped under hers and crossed beneath her breasts, cradling her. She laid her hands on his forearms and rubbed the back of her head against his shoulder. "I want you to marry me, Sophie."
The proposal was not unexpected, and she did not remove herself from his arms to refuse it. "No," she said. She tilted her head slightly so that he might look down and see the resolve in her eyes.
"Sophie."
She turned away. "No."
"Things are changed between us."
"Only if we allow them to be."
Eastlyn felt his patience being drawn taut. "You are unreasonable. How can you not see that you must marry me?"
Sophie made her wish known to be released now by tugging gently on East's folded arms. She sensed his hesitation in the brief tightening of his grasp; then he let his arms fall to his sides, and she was free. She stepped away from him and the window and turned again when she was out of his easy reach. "Must? Is that the ultimatum you had in mind when you came to my room tonight?"
"I told you, I did not plan this. I—"
"At Tremont Park," she said. "You did not set this plan at Tremont Park. It came to you here. When you saw me at the window, mayhap. Or when I opened the door to you." Her small laugh was without humor. "I cannot pretend that I was seduced, for I wanted to lie with you. I trusted you, you see, not to use it to force my hand. You made me that promise. Do you remember? When you invited me to leave Tremont Park, you told me that your intention was not to force me into marriage."
A muscle jumped in Eastlyn's lean jaw. "I also said I would not compromise you."
