by Wendy Vella
“Well, then”—Letty sent Sophie a curious look—“the archery it is.”
“Are you participating, my lord?” Amelia said over her shoulder as the small party began to walk.
“As it happens I am, Miss Pette.”
“And Lord Sumner, my lord?” Amelia added.
Something in Miss Pette’s tone alerted Patrick; he hoped she did not have her sights set on Stephen, as his friend had all the substance of aspic jelly when it came to women.
“I believe so, Miss Pette.”
The archery competition was to be held a small distance from the house, on the grounds above Lord and Lady Shubert’s gardens. They walked across the neatly manicured lawns with the other guests toward the large Eygptian tents that had been set up to protect them from the sun. Flags flew from the roofs and more scantily clad servants were on hand should the guests require anything.
“We shall take a walk here after the competition, Sophie; they have the most amazing array of flowers you have ever seen,” Amelia said, pointing to the steps to the right that led down to the gardens below.
“I should like that.” Sophie knew that if she was with Amelia, Lord Coulter could not corner her and demand answers.
Taking their leave of Lord Coulter as he went to join the other competitors, the ladies followed the spectators and moved to stand inside one of the tents to await the start of the competition. Sophie could see several evenly spaced targets before them and a group of servants to the left.
“They will be checking to see who gets closest to the bull’s-eye.”
“I don’t think I’d like to stand there,” Sophie whispered to Ameila. “What if a stray arrow comes their way?”
“Then they will flee.”
“You are heartless, Amelia Pette,” Sophie scolded, looking at the competitors as they began to take their places. She tried to keep her eyes from seeking out a certain earl, but they would not obey her commands.
He had removed his hat and jacket, handing them to a servant. Relaxed, he waited his turn, seeming at ease, yet she knew he was watching, observing, and taking in his competitors’ strengths and weaknesses. He began to check the fletching on his arrows and test the bow. His shirt pulled taut across the corded muscles on his arms and shoulders as he moved his hands steadily over the weapon. Sophie hated this feeling inside her whenever he was near, this seething, boiling mass of emotions. It was disturbing to be so completely unsettled by one man, so completely aware of him that it pushed every other thought aside.
“Look at that silly Miss Harborough, she is giggling and simpering and no one is taking any notice,” Amelia hissed in Sophie’s ear.
Dutifully Sophie dragged her eyes from Patrick and looked to where Miss Harborough stood surrounded by a legion of her friends, all of whom were behaving the same way.
“They are having fun, Mellie, and causing no harm, so leave them be,” Sophie whispered back. Amelia, however, merely sniffed and gave them another glare.
“Lord Sumner is a very handsome man, don’t you think, Mellie?” Sophie said into her friend’s ear. Lately she had wondered about Amelia’s interest in Lord Sumner. Whenever he was near, she seemed to stiffen. Often she would snap at the viscount and other times she would simply walk away as he approached her. Occasionally she would talk to him and they would become immersed in a discussion of poets or some bill being proposed in the House of Lords. More often, however, their discussions ended in arguments.
“No, I think he is a peacock who cares far too much for his appearance, and capturing the attention of every woman under the age of sixty,” Amelia snapped.
Taking one look at the closed expression on her friend’s usually happy face, Sophie decided that this was perhaps not the best forum to question her further. She just smiled and nodded, then returned her attention to the competition.
Lady Shubert was to be the adjudicator. She stood before them dressed in acres of gold fabric that was belted at the waist and fell to her leather-sandaled feet. Around her neck she wore a wide gold collar studded with blue and green stones. Her loud voice carried clearly to where the spectators stood.
“Do you think Lady Shubert is wearing padding around her chest, Sophie? I cannot remember her being quite so …” Amelia waved her hand around. “Voluptuous.”
“I have never studied Lady Shubert’s chest, Amelia, however I believe you could be right.”
“I have to say that scarf wrapped around her head is definitely an improvement,” Amelia continued. “I’ve seen her hair and to be honest I have seen better horses’ tails.”
Sophie hid her giggle behind a gloved hand as she looked at the green silk scarf Lady Shubert wore.
“You’re a wicked woman, Amelia Pette.”
Amelia just smiled and then grew silent as Lady Shubert finished her opening remarks and called everyone to attention.
“My husband and I are most pleased to have six very skilled competitors participating in our archery competition today! Each has three arrows, and after the first round, three competitors will be eliminated!” Lady Shubert boomed, enjoying her moment of fame. “The last three competitors will then fire a further three arrows and we will then remove one more competitor.”
“She should sing for a living with those lungs.”
“Amelia!” Sophie gasped.
“Don’t tell me you did not think it.” Amelia’s wicked brown eyes twinkled.
“I, however, did not mention it.”
Ignoring Amelia’s unladylike snort, Sophie watched as Patrick put his first arrow just left of the bull’s-eye. Lord Sumner did the same. She laughed as Lord Sumner gave his friend a smug look, which Patrick ignored completely.
The servants quickly determined who had come closest to the bull’s-eye and after the first round, there were Lords Coulter and Sumner left, plus Mr. Robertson.
Sophie sighed as the wind picked up and ruffled Patrick’s dark curls. He was quite simply the most handsome man she had ever known.
“Two left,” Amelia whispered as Mr. Robertson’s arrow went wide of the bull’s-eye.
“Now I will have two ladies, please, to distract our two remaining gentlemen!” Lady Shubert declared as she walked to where everyone stood.
Patrick had not been in an archery competition before where a lady was called upon to distract him, yet as he watched Sophie take a step backward as their hostess headed toward her, he was quite happy with the change in the rules. She tried to slip behind several other guests; fortunately they held their line and she was left standing before Lady Shubert. Serves her right, he thought. Sophie deserved a bit of torment for the chase she was leading him on.
“Seems your fair lady is reluctant to come to your side, Colt; methinks your charms are waning,” Stephen said, laughing.
“And yours,” Patrick whispered back, “is looking as though she has swallowed something vile and would be more than happy to spit it up on your highly polished boots.” As Stephen had never shown any emotion for a woman other than his sisters, Patrick was surprised to see his friend’s cheeks flush with color as he observed Miss Pette’s obvious reluctance to come to his side. Interesting, Patrick thought; he would enjoy watching this development.
“Lord Coulter, the countess will stand beside you as you fire your last arrow and do everything in her power to unsettle you,” Lady Shubert said with a particularly salacious expression on her round face as she led Sophie forward. Patrick almost felt sorry for Sophie. He, too, hated being the center of attention, yet it was something that he had learned to live with. Her face was flushed and her eyes wide and nervous.
“I thought you would relish the opportunity to irritate me, my sweet countess.”
Sophie looked around her to see if anyone had heard his words. “Please do not speak to me like that!”
“But you are my sweet countess, remember. I know you better than any other person, Sophie, and as such you are now mine.”
“No,” Sophie said quietly, “I belong to no man.”
“We must talk, Sophie. After the contest, let me take you somewhere private … just to talk,” he added as she began to shake her head.
“There can be nothing further between us, my lord, and I do not want society thinking that there is.”
Before Patrick could respond to that loaded comment, Lady Shubert once again spoke.
“Lords Coulter and Sumner will have one arrow each! Lord Sumner will go first. Ladies, do your best,” Lady Shubert encouraged with an exaggerated wink.
Amelia looked furious. She stood with her arms crossed, staring sightlessly behind Lord Sumner, and then, just when he took aim, she bent forward and whispered something into his ear and his arrow shot skyward, coming to rest well beyond the target.
“Shrew!” he hissed.
“Rake!” Amelia retorted.
Patrick’s smile was smug as he lifted his bow and nocked the arrow. Sophie would not upset him; she wouldn’t make a scene in front of so many people.
Something about the earl’s superior expression annoyed Sophie. A devilish impulse urged her to do something. Not giving herself enough time to think, she took one step forward, leaned into Patrick’s large body and opening her mouth, she nipped his ear just as he released the arrow.
“Bloody hell!” Patrick roared as his arrow shot over the target and nearly impaled one of Lady Shubert’s servants. Taking a deep breath to still the bolt of lust that nearly crossed his eyes, Patrick looked at Sophie. She stood demurely with her gloved hands folded, eyes cast down. No one had seen what she’d done as she had nipped the ear on the side of his head turned away from the spectators, and in truth, who would ever think her capable of such a deed? Disgruntled about losing and seriously discomposed, Patrick ignored her while he shrugged into his jacket.
“I cannot believe you did that,” he muttered.
Sophie could not quite believe she had done it either. She decided, after looking at his dark expression, that it might be prudent to remain silent.
“Well done, ladies!” Lady Shubert cried. “It seems we have a tie today, so if you will come with me, my lords, I will give you both your prizes.”
“I have promised to show Lady Monmouth the gardens, Lady Shubert; I shall collect my prize later,” Patrick said, taking Sophie’s arm before she could run from him again. With a curt bow, he then towed her away from the crowds.
“My lord!” Sophie struggled to keep pace with his much longer strides as they started down the stairs.
“What?”
“I-I did not say goodbye.” Sophie looked over her shoulder and acknowledged Amelia’s farewell with a wave of her hand.
“It is not as if you will never see her again.” Patrick steered them down the last step and then toward the gardens, where there would be private paths and hidden bowers.
“I do not wish to walk in the gardens.” Sophie knew that once he got her alone, he would relentlessly question her until he had all her answers. And what if he tried to kiss her again? Would she be able to resist him?
“I want to talk to you, Sophie, and to do that we need privacy.”
Patrick entered the gardens, then swept down a path, only slowing slightly as Sophie tugged her hand for release, which of course he did not do.
“I cannot believe you bit my ear.” His ear was still tingling from her endeavors.
“You make it sound like I hurt you.” Sophie was now gasping for air from the frenetic pace he had set.
“Parts of me hurt,” Patrick muttered.
They walked for several minutes past flowers of various colors and bushes trimmed in startling shapes.
“If you insist upon viewing the gardens, my lord, then must we do so at such a pace? I cannot take in the beauty of the flowers if you do not occasionally stop.”
Patrick instantly relented and shortened his stride to match her smaller ones. Releasing her wrist, he slipped her fingers between his and then walked them down another path that veered to the left and into an overgrown part of the garden.
“It is dark in there, my lord,” Sophie whispered loudly as they passed through the small arch.
“You are safe with me, Sophie. I would never let anything harm you.”
“I know that,” Sophie said. “It is just that I am not fond of the dark.”
“You trust me then?” Patrick had no idea why that thought gave him so much pleasure, yet he felt some of his tension melt away as he looked at her in time to see her nod.
Overhead vines and trees formed a ceiling, and all around them overgrown greenery created thick walls. Light filtered occasionally through small gaps as they moved deeper into the foliage.
“This garden is very different from the others,” Sophie moved closer to her large companion as both the silence and shadows gathered around them.
“Not so different,” Patrick said, pointing to a grouping of deep purple and red flowers. “Don’t be afraid, even flowers are growing in here, so surely it cannot be that sinister.”
“I am not afraid.”
Patrick smiled at the waspish tone, then took a sharp right and Sophie had to hold on to his hand to stop herself from falling. He saw it then, the small conservatory nestled into a bank. Opening the door, he urged her inside, followed, shut the door, and locked it behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sophie knew that she had been outmaneuvered as the key clicked in the lock.
“I … I will be missed.”
Patrick threw his hat on the small bench and moved to stand before her. “Just answer me one question, Sophie. And I will ask nothing further from you.” For now, Patrick added silently.
Dropping her head, Sophie did what she always did when her existence was threatened; she remained silent.
“Oh no, not this time, my sweet.” Patrick drew closer, and his body surged to life at the nearness of her. “This time you will speak to me,” he added as he gently lifted her chin, trying to read her expression in the dim light.
“Tell me who you are, Sophie. I know you were a virgin when I took you and therefore Timmy cannot be your son.”
“Let me go,” Sophie pleaded.
“My answer is the same as it was in the theater, Sophie. No.” Patrick pulled one of the satin ties at her throat to release her bonnet, lifted it from her head, and dropped it beside his hat. His mistake was that he looked at her then, really looked at her, noted her soft pink lips, wide uncertain eyes, and lord, how he wanted her. He wanted to make those eyes darken and hear again the little aroused cries she had uttered in his carriage.
“Trust me to hold your secrets safe, sweetheart.”
“No.” She couldn’t trust him; it was too dangerous. “I must go.” Sophie tried to step away as she read the desire in his eyes.
“Yes,” Patrick said, lowering his head; he brushed her lips once softly and then again.
Sophie had been expecting a fierce hard kiss, but this light caress was so different. She tried to fight the heat that traveled through her body, but she remembered the feeling, remembered the desire that turned her muscles to liquid. The burning need that ached for release, and all these feelings that came with just the lightest of kisses.
“I will never hurt you again,” Patrick said against her lips.
“I know,” she answered, because she did know that he would never willingly cause her pain.
Patrick placed small kisses along her lips, soft butterfly kisses that made Sophie’s knees grow weak.
“Open your mouth, sweetheart.”
Dazed, Sophie obeyed, then moaned as his tongue slipped inside. Tearing off her gloves, she rose to her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back. She was inexperienced, but Patrick seemed not to care. A deep rumble sounded in his chest as she ran her fingers through his curls; the texture was surprisingly soft against her fingers.
Patrick had had many discreet affairs; hell, he had kept a mistress for years. Never, not once, had the touch of a woman’s hand in his hair made him ache. Every inch of his body wa
s affected by the gentle brush of Sophie’s fingers. The subtle hint of her floral scent intoxicated him as he began to kiss his way down the pale length of her neck.
One of his hands stroked her back, then swept down to cup her bottom. Sophie could hear their breathing in the small room and then her wanton whimpers as his lips reached the tops of her breasts. She wanted more, needed more. Wanted the ache between her legs to be soothed and she knew Patrick could do that—fill her with sensual heat until she soared high above the clouds.
Patrick pushed her backward until she fell onto the chaise he knew was behind her, and following seconds later, he eased her bodice lower to gain access to what he sought. He remembered her breasts, had dreamt of her lush full flesh in his hands and her soft cries as he caressed the hard rosy tips.
Sophie writhed as he stroked her with his tongue; oh dear lord, it felt delicious against her sensitive skin. She tugged his hair in desperation as he moved closer to his target, closer to the aching nipple.
Placing one hand on her thigh, Patrick used his long fingers to slowly hitch up her skirts; his mouth, however, kept tormenting her breasts. Slipping his hand beneath, he moved between her legs and touched her, stroked her curls, then lower to run his finger down the dewy folds beneath.
“Patrick!” Sophie shrieked.
Pushing his fingers inside her damp sheath, he captured her nipple at the same time and was rewarded with a delicious full body shudder from his countess.
“Please, Patrick,” Sophie begged, “I-I can take no more.”
“Yes, you can.”
Sophie watched in a sensual daze as he stood to unbutton his trousers and then he was there, moving over her. She stiffened as she remembered the pain of their last encounter.
Patrick felt her body tense, and cupping her cheeks, he looked deep into her eyes. “I promise there will be no more pain, sweetheart; trust me.” She nodded and reached for him. Her hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer. Patrick tried to hold back and be as gentle as he could, but he was shaking with the force of his need. Never had he wanted anything more than to sink into her welcoming heat. Gritting his teeth, he eased inside her, inch by exquisite inch until he was buried to the hilt.
