by Wendy Vella
“How dare you!” Sophie cried. “You have no right to question me. If I wish to employ every poor unfortunate that I see, then that is my right.”
She was not stuttering now, Patrick thought, admiring her flashing green eyes as they shot sparks at him.
“Unlike you, Lord Coulter, some are not born to a life of wealth and privilege, and if I can assist those poor souls in need of help, then that is precisely what I intend to do!”
“Do you think I sit idly on my backside from dawn till dusk twiddling my thumbs?” Patrick said, his temper tweaked by her unjust accusations.
Sophie swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. She was not fooled by his tone; he was offended by her words, deeply offended. Why oh why could you not keep your mouth shut, Sophie? “N-no, my lord, it is just that …”
“I hold five titles, four holdings, numerous business interests, a seat in Parliament, and am at present proposing a bill that is an attempt to resolve a situation that should help your poor souls, and let us not forget the several dozen family members who rely on me for their very existence. Do you suppose that this would take some of my privileged and pampered time, Countess?”
He looked relaxed, his hands resting between his thighs, large body still sprawled on the seat, but Sophie could see the anger in his narrowed eyes, dark as a starless night and staring straight at her.
“I-I am sorry, my lord, I spoke without thought. It was ignorant and rude of me, please excuse my ill-mannered behavior.” Sophie looked down at her fingers, because quite suddenly she felt like crying, and she could not remember the last time she had cried, prior to meeting this man.
Patrick studied Sophie’s lowered head. He had seen the tears in her eyes and watched her teeth bite into the soft flesh of her lower lip. She looked small and vulnerable, and suddenly all the anger he had felt drained away. He understood her feelings, she had spoken passionately and he knew that the less fortunate were something she cared deeply about, as did he.
“Sophie, please don’t cry.” Tears, in Patrick’s opinion, were a woman’s most powerful weapon, especially if their intent was to make a man feel helpless.
“I’m n-not.”
Drawing the curtains, Patrick reached for her. “Come here.” He lifted her onto his lap.
“My lord!” Sophie gasped, stiffening at such familiarity.
“Sophie,” he said, his voice coming out gruff as he looked at her tear-stained cheeks, “I forgive you,” Patrick added before he kissed her.
All thought of escape fled as Patrick’s lips touched hers. He was all around her, she was encased by his size but felt no fear, just wicked warmth. She wanted this, had wanted it since the last time he kissed her. His arms felt good around her, pressing her closer to the hard wall of his chest.
Cupping the full curve of one breast, Patrick swallowed Sophie’s moan and deepened the kiss. He nibbled her lower lip and traced the top with his tongue; she wriggled closer. He caressed her lush flesh, enjoying the small sounds she made as he brushed the taunt peak of one nipple.
Wanting to touch him, Sophie turned in his lap and slipped her arms around his neck.
Patrick enjoyed the first tentative stroke of Sophie’s fingers on his neck. Holding her on his thighs was an exquisite form of torture; every delicious movement she made heightened his pleasure.
“My lord!” Sophie wrenched her lips from his to look down at her now open bodice. How had he undone the buttons so quickly?
“Patrick.” His whisper was ragged as his lips began a slow torturous trail down her neck.
“Oooh,” Sophie sighed as he reached her breasts, and all thoughts of resistance fled as his kisses drew closer to the aching tip.
Patrick lifted her until she sat astride his thighs, then bent his head and began to feast on the lush curves before him.
Sophie writhed as each touch drew him nearer to the rose-tipped crests. It was pleasure akin to pain when his lips closed over one aching peak. Heat pooled between her thighs and she delighted in each new sensation as it coursed through her innocent body. All rational thought fled as Patrick touched and aroused her to the point where she could focus only on him.
“Touch me, Sophie.”
Patrick’s eyes held hers, and the sultry heat in the green depths had him tugging her closer for a long, heated kiss that left them both gasping for air.
Sophie’s fingers shook as she pushed the coat from his shoulders and then started to unbutton his satin waistcoat. The small buttons on his shirt took several attempts, but soon she had it open. Lord, he was magnificent; slopes and planes of muscle covered the surface of his chest. Tentatively, Sophie trailed her fingers over the warm skin, feeling the muscles tighten with each caress.
Patrick felt the last of his control slip as she scraped her nails over his chest. Tugging her forward, he pressed her bared breasts to his chest. “God, what you do to me!” His words were harsh against her lips as he closed the distance again. Savage heat gripped him as she answered his kiss, teeth clashing, tongues melding, and Sophie clung to him, taking everything he offered.
The feel of her breasts against the hairs on his chest heightened Sophie’s passion. He continued to kiss her, long sensual kisses that aroused her beyond reason, until she was raking her fingers through his hair, urging him on.
One of Patrick’s hands pushed Sophie’s skirts up her thighs, caressing her satiny skin along the way. His fingers stroked the warm flesh, moving slowly closer to their intended target.
Sophie stiffened as she felt Patrick’s fingers touch the curls no man had ever touched before. “Patrick?”
“Ssssh, let me touch you, sweetheart.” Softly he stroked the plump petals of her sex. His fingers were soon dampened with her dew and Patrick’s body ached with the need to be inside her, to feel her silken heat enclose him.
She couldn’t think, only feel the sensual heat that was spiraling higher and higher inside her. Sophie felt strange, her skin was tight, her body coiled as if waiting for something. “Pleeeease,” she begged, not knowing what she asked for. She cried out as his fingers touched the tiny bead between her thighs. Arching off his legs Sophie reached for Patrick, her hands caressing his chest in sensual strokes as she climbed higher and higher toward the pinnacle.
Patrick thrust one finger inside Sophie’s heat. She was tight and he would lose every shred of sanity if he was not inside her soon. He needed to feel her close around him as he drove deep and hard into her slick sheath. Releasing his breeches, Patrick freed his erection, then gripping both Sophie’s hips in his hands he positioned her above and drove upward.
Sophie screamed as pain sliced through her. Passion fled as she struggled to push herself off him, but Patrick drove into her again.
Through the haze of lust Patrick heard Sophie cry out as he drove into her for the last time. Closing his eyes, he shuddered with the power of his release.
Sophie scrambled off Patrick’s legs as the carriage rolled to a halt. Frantically searching for her cloak, she found it on the floor and threw it around her shoulders, clutching it closed with one hand as the other sought the latch that would release the door.
“Sophie!” Patrick roared when he realized what was happening. Lunging for her, he came up empty-handed as she leapt from the carriage. He watched as she picked up her skirts and took the stairs to her house two at a time, the door opened, and then she was gone.
“Home, Scully!” Patrick bellowed after battling his first instinct to go after her. Slowly he started to right his clothes. She had been a virgin; he had just ruthlessly taken Sophie’s innocence. What the hell had he been thinking, making love to her in a carriage like some young irresponsible fool? “Because you believed Timothy to be her child,” he answered himself. And because only with her could he lose all control, only she was able to destroy his ability to think straight. He stilled as he noticed a few spots of red on his thighs. What kind of hell was Sophie going through at this moment? Her first experience with a man and he had ta
ken her, forced himself into her and caused her pain.
For the first time in a long while Patrick was disgusted with himself. Many years ago, he had vowed to care for and protect those who were vulnerable, whenever possible. He was not foolish enough to believe he could protect them all, yet he would do his damnedest to watch over those who came within his sphere; and now he had hurt Sophie. Buttoning his jacket, Patrick leaned his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. He didn’t fight the memories that filled his head as he usually did—this time he let them come. He deserved a bit of torture for what he had just done, and memories of his childhood would certainly do that.
The previous Earl and Countess of Coulter had thought of their only son as a necessity, a regrettable must-have if the Coulter line was to continue. Patrick had learned this as soon as he was old enough to understand. He was raised as his parents had been raised—by servants whose only concern was to see him fed, tutored, and clothed. Patrick was an only child, therefore he spent all his time alone. No one picked him up when he fell or hugged him when he cried and so he had grown up without love and comfort, but more importantly, he had learned to be what his parents wanted, cold and indifferent. On the rare occasion people visited them, Patrick was cleaned and clothed appropriately and trotted out so they could fawn over him, which he had to endure or he would receive a lecture when the visitors left. Consequently, he could mask his feelings no matter what went on inside his head.
The late earl had treated servants with disdain. In fact, anyone of inferior birth, as his father put it, was not worthy of his interest. His mother had continually reinforced in Patrick the idea that he was never to be like them, the lower classes, and because of this he had begun to nurture an irrational need to protect them. When he first arrived in London after his parents’ deaths, Patrick had spent endless nights on the streets looking for and helping children in need. Stephen, however, had soon put a stop to this.
“You can help them more by fighting for reform, Patrick. Doing what you are, going out each night, you will only exhaust yourself and probably end up with a knife between your shoulders. Fight for them in Parliament, fight for them using your title and wealth, and the results will have a bigger and more far-reaching effect.”
He had done what Stephen suggested, and though the going was slow he had made progress, and every time he won a small victory, he would think of his parents and smile. In the end he had won, not they.
Looking around the interior of his carriage, he felt again the weight of what he had just done to Sophie. A woman should not be subjected to a man’s lust inside a carriage. Guilt made him want to turn the carriage around and seek her out to ensure she was all right, but he knew she would not receive him. He could still feel her in his arms, the texture of her skin and the lush swell of her breasts in his hands and dear God, his body began to respond to the memory of how she had encased him like a glove as he drove deep into her.
“I will find all your answers, Sophie, Countess of Monmouth,” Patrick vowed as his carriage pulled to a halt in front of his town house. “And then you will be mine.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Sophie, are you in there, dear?”
Taking a deep breath, Sophie opened the door to her bedroom. “Yes, Letty,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face.
“Poole said you were asking after me, dear.”
Sophie quickly rushed into an explanation about Ginny and her current predicament. When she finished, Letty studied her for several seconds.
“Are you unwell, dear?” Letty looked at the pale, pinched look on Sophie’s face, and the red-rimmed eyes.
“Just a little bit tired, Letty. I fear my head is paining me.”
“Hmmm,” was all the older lady said, although Sophie was in no doubt she did not believe one word.
“I have no problem with your new maid coming to work here. However, it will be your task to make sure she fits in with the rest of the staff.”
“Of course and thank you, Letty.…”
“But just see that this does not happen too often,” Letty finished, cutting Sophie off.
Needing a diversion, Sophie looked at the small brown parcel Letty held in her hand. “Is that for me?”
“Yes, it was delivered sometime this morning while we were both out, dear.”
“Is Timmy still sleeping?”
“Yes, and I am just going to have an afternoon nap myself,” Letty added. “As I am sure the theater will be quite tiring.”
“Oh, the theater.”
“Come, Sophie, you have been waiting weeks for this night.”
“Yes of course, Letty, I am just tired,” Sophie said, as she battled with the thought of seeing the Earl of Coulter again so soon. At least she would have Amelia for company this evening, and Amelia could always be relied upon to make Sophie laugh.
“Oh, and Sophie.” Letty looked over her shoulder as she turned to leave.
Sophie raised her eyes from the package and Letty could see the dark smudges beneath. Even standing in her dressing gown with a tea stain on the lapel, the girl was stunning, although perhaps a little more approachable than the countess she portrayed herself to be when she left the house.
“If you need to talk about what has upset you, you know where I am,” Letty added before slipping into her room.
Sophie shook her head as she too returned to her room. She had not known Letty long, yet her sister-in-law already knew her better than her own mother had.
Sitting on the side of her bed, she looked at the package. A shiver ran the length of her spine as she studied the spiky, uneven handwriting. It was familiar to her, yet she could not recall where she had seen it before and for some reason Sophie was terrified of what she would find inside. Pulling one of the ties, she slowly unwrapped it.
“No!” The cry flew from her lips as she looked at the piece of white fabric. Touching it with a trembling finger, Sophie felt her stomach roll. How was it possible? Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she searched the folds for what she sought, and turning over one of the long ties she read the initials S.B. A small square of paper was tucked inside. She looked at it for several seconds and then, smoothing the note, she read the words.
“I know who you are Sophie Beams and I will make you pay for your deceit. Tell no one and wait for my next note.”
Sophie raced to the small bowl on her nightstand and threw up her lunch. Retching until there was nothing left, she rinsed her mouth and retraced her steps, this time lying flat on her bed. After losing her innocence this morning to Lord Coulter and now this, her insides were a quivering mess. Someone knew who she was and she had an idea who that someone was. The note had said not to tell anyone and she would not take the risk of speaking with Letty until she knew just what the sender of this package wanted from her. Letty would be consumed with unearthing the culprit, as there was little doubting it was a prelude to blackmail. What other reason could anyone have to send her her old apron? She felt nausea rise again; her very existence was about to come tumbling down around her ears.
“Oh Letty, I knew it was too good to be true,” Sophie whispered, reaching for one of her pillows. Hugging it close, she wondered how Letty would cope with the exposure. How would she feel once society, which she loved to be part of, turned their collective backs on her and Sophie, shunning them both. Sophie cared nothing for herself; in fact, what had taken place with Lord Coulter this very day proved she was no longer fit to be in society. Some widows indulged in discreet liaisons with gentlemen of the ton, yet she was no widow, and now Lord Coulter knew that fact. What if she were to fall pregnant? Was it a possibility after making love only once? Burying her face in the pillow, Sophie let the tears fall. What was she going to do?
Sophie Beams was someone she had worked hard to put behind her. The housemaid with no future, just endless hours of backbreaking work from dawn till dusk. Closing her eyes, she felt a wave of exhaustion thinking about the evening ahead. She would have to pull on her best and most haug
hty demeanor to fool everyone, and use all her skills to avoid the Earl of Coulter, for only he seemed to be able to rattle the usually ice-cold façade of the countess. He would want answers to the questions that even now must be filling his head, but Sophie had none for him. To explain would only complicate matters, so she must instead ignore him.
Then there was the blackmailer. When would he next show his hand? Could Jack Spode be behind this? He was more than capable. But would he come to London to get her like he had vowed when she had run from him so long ago?
It was a relief when her eyes grew heavy; she sighed as the sweet oblivion of sleep finally overtook her. Sophie’s last thought was that maybe she could take the full force of her exposure and Letty could be spared, just an innocent party in Sophie’s trickery.
* * *
Patrick rolled his eyes as Stephen mimicked Sir Milton Hapforth’s lisping drawl into his ear.
“ ’Tith thorely a beautific day, my lordths.”
“ ’Tis a most unbecoming trait to find faults in others when your own are so vast,” Patrick said, his eyes searching the other boxes for Sophie.
“The man’s a blithering idiot.” Stephen fell into one of the seats at the front of Patrick’s box. “Good God, did you see what he was wearing?”
“Yes, he is surely color blind,” Patrick said absently. Where the hell was she? He knew for certain she was to attend the theater tonight; Lady Carstairs had let it slip.
